tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25532074582837048822024-03-13T11:02:54.201-04:00The Adventures of the Great and Glorious FinleyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-86796687628381076782010-01-02T09:04:00.002-05:002010-01-02T09:29:26.769-05:00Back from the dead!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4041/4236498693_a8d6140f3a_o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 450px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4041/4236498693_a8d6140f3a_o.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Ugh, 2009 was a long and mostly hard year, and I've been neglecting my blog. I doubt anyone checks it anymore, but if you're still out there, hi!<br /><br />2009 kinda wasn't good. It was overwhelming and depressing and I didn't have time for a lot of stuff, including dog-related things. I haven't had a lot of time for training, or learning more about dog behavior, or volunteering, or, um, anything. My dogs have been pretty much house dogs, left in a state of benign neglect. A house dog is not a bad thing to be, ultimately. Plenty of food, a big yard to run in, buddies both canine and child to play with, toys to chew, food to snatch from the counter, squirrels to chase, short walks around the neighborhood. A dog could do worse in life. But there hasn't been much outside of that, which makes me feel guilty and sad. Where are the exciting training classes and the hours-long walks through the woods and the adventures we're meant to have, the adventures we used to have? Buried in the stuff of our daily stressful life.<br /><br />But it's 2010! And things have changed! So I have hope that this year will be better. The day after Christmas we bought a new (used) car to replace our car, which broke down in May, so we will be able to take the dogs to distant places again.<br /><br />And every day, I look at Finley, and I know that he was the right dog for us. Every day he surprises me with his gentle nature. My son seems to look on him as an annoying younger brother. You see above Finley and A enjoying a television show together. (My taking photos annoyed Finley more than the 35 pounds of toddler sitting on his shoulders.) A takes Finley to his room, shuts both the doors, and plays with him for hours at a time. Fin and Tuni are the best of friends, inseparable. I swear to you, the other day I came into the living room to discover the two of them sitting on the sofa, holding paws, snout to ear, looking for all the world like they were sharing a private joke about the rest of us.<br /><br />I love my dogs so much. I hope that in the upcoming year, I can show them that in more tangible ways. Less stress, more happy. Sounds like a plan, right?!?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-85125500205691316652009-03-26T09:21:00.000-04:002009-03-26T09:22:23.293-04:00A mission of mayhem, Pt IITuesday Finley had his heartworm test. I took him in to have one done right after I got him (in October), but the vet said that if he'd been infected over the summer, the test wouldn't come up positive for a few months, and recommended that we wait until springtime. I guess in the back of my mind I've spent all these months worrying that he would come up positive on the test, but fortunately, he is heartworm-free, yay.<br /><br />He was a total nutcase at the vet's office. He was okay when there were only two dogs there. Then a third dog came in and he was like, "WTF! THREE DOGS! I HAVE TAKEN LEAVE OF MY SENSES." (Finley, honey? Just so you know, you live in a house with six dogs. Three is three less than status quo.) It really did not help that this was the first time in weeks that he got out of the house to go anywhere except the back yard, since we have all been laid up with The Plague for more or less all of March. The past few weeks are a feverish blur. In fact, there has not been a single day since my brother and his family moved in that we have spent healthy. I think they should slap a "Condemned" sticker on our front door, cordon off the block, and drop food packages in by helicopter.<br /><br />Anyway, he was crazy. He was barking! He was pulling! He was acting like a doofus! Boy, I can't believe that I somehow missed enrolling in obedience classes this session. I kept looking in my inbox, waiting for the emails that said registration was open, and I never saw them, despite the fact that they were clearly labeled and SITTING RIGHT THERE. I blame the permafog of sickness. It's clouding my ability to think.<br /><br />Once we got into the exam room, he was clearly scared. He didn't want to walk on the tile floor, and he panted and climbed on me and shed dandruff everywhere. I had to lift all 58.7 lbs of him onto the exam table, after which the vet drew the blood and we left.<br /><br />On the way out, the waiting room was packed with dogs. Not even the hint of a reaction from him. He instead stuck his head in the trash can, looking for food-scented paper items. On our way out, we walked right past the two who were sitting by the door, and he completely ignored them. Go figure.<br /><br />I also bought some lysine for my herpes-having foster kitty, who has had a permanant URI since he was a month old. Yesterday Mr Two Year Old and I went in to their bedroom, to dose up Snotty Pedro with the lysine. Of course, as soon as I opened the door, the cats ran out and Finley ran in. Cats, roaming the house! Finley, snacking on the contents of the litter pans! Empty food and water bowls! What to do? I left Fin to his own devices while I filled the bowls, thinking that the cats would come back as soon as they got food and water.<br /><br />The cats came back, and I put Finley out of the bedroom, but only after he had managed to depoopify three or four litter pans. Ewwwww. But that is not the bad part, oh noooooooo. The bad part is that a few hours later, he came down to the living room and vomited up his stomach contents all over the living room carpet. Cat poop, bits of clay, bile, grass, wheat cereal that the kid fed him, and whatever it was he was eating out in the back yard, all mixed into an unpleasant lumpy paste and deposited on the carpet.<br /><br />I have never in my life been so glad to have The Plague, because my nose is so stuffy that I couldn't smell any of it. I didn't even want to put the carpet shampooer over something so disgusting.<br /><br />It's bad enough that they feel like they have to eat poop, but puking it all over our living room, that's just taking it too far.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-17794259432580225322009-03-17T12:22:00.003-04:002009-03-17T13:09:22.860-04:00People. *sigh*My mom brought her best friend over to see our house the other day. (We've been here for almost a year! I guess we just don't have many guests.) Tuni had been crated all morning, and I didn't feel like listening to the frustrated screaming of a dog who seriously wanted to greet some guests, so I switched up the dogs: Polly in, Tuni out. Tuni and Finley chased each other around joyfully, then hopped all over the place when my mom and her friend came in.<br /><br />My mom's friend claimed that all of my dogs were scary. The little shepherd mix: terrifying! The big black earless pit thing! Oh, yeah, he's a killer (if you're a stuffed toy or a rubber-handled toddler spoon, anyway. I had to buy yet another utensil set for the kid yesterday). Polly, in the crate: surely would have bitten her, except for the bars in the way. And why did we keep Polly in the crate 24/7, anyway? That's not fair! Uh, I have a whole bank of crates set up in my kitchen. A veritable wall of crates. Why would you assume that one dog gets crated 24/7?<br /><br />It makes me so sad that people get so caught up in my dogs' breed mixes that they aren't able to see them for lovely dogs that they truly are. Finley kept following her around and plopping his big butt right in front of her and look up at her, hopefully, desiring greatly that she would scratch his head right around his nubs just like he likes, and she squealed that he was going to bite her and eat the cats and eat the baby and blah blah blah blah blah. Hello! Look at the dog in front of you! What is it doing?!? Is it growling, snarling, snapping, or damaging you IN ANY WAY?!?!?!?<br /><br />Dude, Fin ain't interested in biting anything except leftovers, tender green shoots from the grass that is poking up out back, toddler spoons, and USB cables. Mom'sBFF flesh, not on the menu.<br /><br />Now that spring is rolling around, it's biking weather. I'm looking forward to biking with Finley; he loves it. I'll get one of those toddler seat things for my bike, and a dog leash attachment, and we can all go riding through the park together. Doesn't that sound nice?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-8274595136476764512009-02-23T13:50:00.002-05:002009-02-23T13:58:46.175-05:00Evil twins<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/eviltwins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 208px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/eviltwins.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Here are the Evil Wonder Twins. I'd like to pretend that this photo is the result of extensive training, but really, the amount of dog training going on in my house has been pretty minimal. I saw my brother doing something to the porch roof, opened the back door to see what was going on, and Finley rushed the door with his big fat head and ran out. They were surprised and made roaring noises at first, but then spent about 45 minutes running in circles and taking turns humping each other. Good times, good times.<br /><br /><br /><br />Also: ATTACK OF THE BUBBLE WRAP! KILL! KILL THE EVIL BUBBLE WRAP! DIE BUBBLE WRAP, DIE!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0031021309_095006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 287px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0031021309_095006.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-10180650467191613052009-02-06T09:42:00.005-05:002009-02-06T10:58:46.829-05:00Dogs on a mission -- A MISSION OF MAYHEM!!!Read the title in an 80s lite metal squeal, please. Imagine wild guitars screaming behind it.<br /><br />Yesterday, despite the frigid cold, I decided to take the little people for a walk around the neighborhood. We're going stir-crazy here. Some of the people in my neighborhood seem to have no idea how to shovel their walks properly. Take the shovel. Remove the snow. ALL of it. Apply salt. Ta-da. Safe sidewalks. It seems so straightforward, right? Yet it looks like some people went out there with a broom and lightly swept the sidewalk. Really, people? I don't want to take the kids out to walk in that, slip on a patch of hard-packed snow and ice, and come home with broken limbs.<br /><br />However. Take one two year old and one six year old who has been out of school for over a week, throw them into a big house with tons of dogs, and shake. Stir-crazy.<br /><br />We suited up and went out, walked halfway down the block, and decided it was too cold and we needed warmer hats. We came back. Ms Six wore my big puffy white faux fur hat, and Mr Almost-Two screamed and tore off a scarf and threw his angora knitted hat and doggy mittens on the floor. I gave up on the scarf and shoved his hands back in the mittens and the hat in my pocket, and we tried to go out again.<br /><br />Only, Mr Almost-Two got to the door first, and opened it himself. Finley, who was standing right next to the door, shouted, "WHEEEEE!" and rushed onto the porch. I tried to grab him, and he looked at me with a hurt expression and then pranced further away. Polly, who is not one to miss out on a party, bumrushed Ms Six and zoomed out the door, off the porch, across the street, and down to the park, closely followed by Finley. Snow! Fresh air! FREEDOM! Generally their recall is pretty fantastic, but in this case? I doubt they even heard me.<br /><br />*sigh*<br /><br />I shoved the children back into the house, grabbed my keys and a leash, and went out into the freezing cold calling my dogs, who were nowhere to be seen. I walked all the way to the park and didn't see them anywhere. We're right near two busy roads and lots of bus traffic, I-95, train tracks, a big stretch of semi-wild forested parkland, and the river. They could be <span style="font-style: italic;">anywhere</span>. They could be <span style="font-style: italic;">dead</span>. I walked back up towards the house, and saw the young autistic man who spends a lot of time outside, in front of his house. I thought maybe he had seen them run past. I don't think he did, but it was difficult to tell. He mentioned dogs, but I think he was responding to my carrying a leash, not to having seen my dogs. While I was trying to ask him about the dogs, they came barrelling up to me from the next street over, looking utterly THRILLED with themselves.<br /><br />Polly ran right over to me when I called her, and Finley followed suit. Geeze, was I happy to see them! I am so glad that they ran in a big circle, that they stuck together, and that they came back. Now, how do I prevent this from happening again?!?<br /><br />Oh, and after all that, the little ones did not get to go on their walk. But the autistic guy's mom thought my dogs were "charming." I think she was happy because I helped her son arrange the trash can in the proper spot. He's very particular about the placement of his trash can. :)<br /><br />The crate and rotate routine continues to suck the joy out of the dogs' lives. Tuni screams (a horrifying sound which pierces through closed windows and brick walls, and which I can hear from half a block away), Polly shakes and shivers, but Finley peacefully sleeps on his blanket and eats the peanut butter out of his Kong toy. At least someone is happy.<br /><br />Tuni is anxious, guardy, and obsessive about status right now. I'm not sure why, but she has been really, really unhappy this past week. She won't even sleep on the bed anymore -- she hides underneath it instead. More room for my feet, but it hurts me to see her so unhappy. I am afraid that I did something to make her so miserable, or that I did not do something to stop her being miserable.<br /><br />I think I need to spend more one-on-one time with each dog, but the only one-on-one time I ever have available is when Mr Almost-Two is napping, and I can't leave him alone in the house while I take them out on long walks.<br /><br />Crate and rotate. Boo hiss. Dogs who can't deal with each other. Boo hiss. Dogs who can easily clear high baby gates, or dogs who can knock down baby gates with their big hard heads, boo hiss.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-74352107630664528962009-01-28T13:59:00.003-05:002009-01-28T14:03:25.676-05:00Warm and comfy, on an icy day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/alistair/DSC_0226012809_130900.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 200px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/alistair/DSC_0226012809_130900.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Don't they look warm and happy and peaceful? Don't you want to be under the blankets, too?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-4896100538159254422009-01-18T08:58:00.004-05:002009-01-18T12:21:46.287-05:00These paws are made for walking, and that's just what they'll doI woke up at 8 AM, and the house was silent. No one was barking. No one was awake. "I will just check my email," I thought, "and then take Polly and Finley for a walk while Screamy McScreamyDog is sleeping up in the bedroom."<br /><br />And then the cat peed in the corner of the dining room. And I was annoyed, but that's just how that little jerk is. And then the the kid woke up, and I heard crying from the bedroom, and ScreamyDog came downstairs, and I abandoned my plans of walking the dogs unnoticed. And then the cat had diarrhea in the corner of the dining room. ALL OVER THE PLACE. WHILE I WAS PICKING HIM UP.<br /><br />Well, so much for my peaceful morning.<br /><br />But then Mr HusbandDude cleaned up the poop (I am a horrible person to make him do this, yes, but I was too upset with the cat to do it myself) and my brother made me some coffee (awwwwww), and we took Polly and Finley out for a walk around the neighborhood.<br /><br />I bought a Halti the other day. My husband has bugging me to get one for years, but I have an irrational prejudice against them. I haven't used them, I don't know anything about them, really, but I don't want to use one. Bro's dog uses a Halti and they love it, and Mr HusbandDude took Finley out on it and he loved it too. They were on sale so I finally gave in and bought one, to give it an honest try.<br /><br />Eh. Maybe I was just looking for confirmation for my prejudices, but I don't care for it much. Finley can pull, and he can pull hard, and he needs constant reminding not to dash off hither and thither -- but when you reward him for remaining in the right position, he is incredibly reliable about it. If you don't reward often enough, he starts drifting away. It's frustrating when you just want to go out for a walk, and you don't want to have your arm yanked out by a dog or to deal with training the whole time. However, unless we work on loose-leash walking and training, he pulls on the Halti as hard as he pulls on his buckle or martingale collars. (Mr HusbandDude was very disappointed and noted, "He's learned to pull on the Halti." Then he made a sad face.) Fin clearly finds it annoying to have webbing on his face, but the presence of the Halti doesn't give him an idea of what I want him to do instead of pulling, so he just keeps pullling. It's not a training shortcut that works for him, so what's the point of bugging him with it?<br /><br />Plus, people think it's a muzzle, and that doesn't send the right message.<br /><br />In other news, we passed another dog on the road. Finley was like, "OMG! There's another dog over there! I have to go check it out!" and he got mildly reactive and agitated. Polly, the dog who when I first got her couldn't see other dogs a block away without flipping out, looked at it, shrugged her shoulders, and kept on walking. Same thing happened when we walked past a yard with three or four barking dogs in it. Finley wanted to go check it out, and Polly didn't care at all. Hooray for the Look at That game! Hooray for training class!<br /><br />(Can I take a moment to plug this book again? Because it is FANTASTIC. Wish it had been out 5.5 years ago when I found Pol. http://www.controlunleashed.net/ )<br /><br />I don't really know how to end this entry. I am trying to think of a neat and clever summation, but nothing is coming, so I guess I'll just stop typing. Rather abrupt, lacking in style. I give this conclusion a D-.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-46892754312463269442009-01-13T15:52:00.002-05:002009-01-14T10:31:12.198-05:00More thoughts of little consequenceThe other day, Finley ran into the kitchen and bounced from the floor to the top of the kitchen table. I made him get back down on the floor, but secretly, I thought it was really funny. I mean, he went *boing!* and there he was, on the table.<br /><br />After we did our introductions out in the yard, Finley and Loki seemed a lot calmer about each other's presence. They even went nose to nose through the baby gate, with nothing but mild, polite curiosity about each other.<br /><br />My bro bought a clicker and I've been showing him some basics: hand targeting, watch me, orienting exercises, that kind of thing. His dog is a good dog, but my bro falls into the trap that many of us do (I am certainly guilty of it more often than I'd like to admit!) of waiting until the dog reacts and then attempting to squelch the misbehavior, rather than teaching him how to think through his arousal levels or interrupting a sequence BEFORE Loki turns into a reactive freakdog.<br /><br />In other news, Finley slept in bed with us last night. He is such a bed hog. He prefers to be right up between us, on top of the pillows, but if he has to, he'll stay on the outside edge of the bed. Still on top of the pillows, please.<br /><br />I think there is only one thing in this life that he loves more than food, and that is snuggling in bed with me. I am not flattering myself. He likes the bed okay, but he could take it or leave it. The bed + me, though, is some kind of doggy heaven. I don't know why I am so appealing. Sean could be standing at the bedroom door waving a pizza around, and Finley would look at him, sigh, and then curl right back up next to me and refuse to move. He did not budge from his pillow spot even once, all night long.<br /><br />Finley? He's a good dog, he's a damn good dog.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-38737715026031215542009-01-10T11:12:00.002-05:002009-01-10T11:48:26.891-05:00Better than expectedWell, that went okay! Their pit is a medium-sized, relatively undersocialized two year old intact male. My pit is a medium-sized, relatively undersocialized 1-2 year old neutered male. If it had gone wrong, it could have gone very, very wrong. They are each other's evil twins.<br /><br />I waited on the porch and played obedience games with Fin. Eventually my brother came out with Loki, and Fin flipped his lid. Barking, lunging, hackles (even on the base of his tail), everything. We clicked and treated for everything, playing a modified version of Leslie McDevitt's wonderful "Look at That" game (McDevitt would not allow dogs who were doing LAT to interact -- strictly speaking, LAT is supposed to be for situations where you will never interact, which takes the social pressure off the anxious dog) and kept getting closer. They both calmed down a lot. Eventually I felt like it would be okay to drop the leash, while we kept on working. After a while, we let them interact on their own terms.<br /><br />There was some posturing, and some stiffness, and there were some corrections, but also more relaxed play. It was a balancing act, and we weren't always sure whether it would tip one way or the other. Finley was the one claiming the dominant status between the two of them, and Loki was mostly alright with that. Fin has the home field advantage against the intruder male, I guess. Loki can't help himself when it comes to mounting other dogs, but Fin wouldn't stand for it, so Loki was humping the air two feet away from him.<br /><br />I think that with more work on both dogs, and with a lot of cooldown and break time built into their sessions, they'll be able to interact safely. They have to figure out what their relationship is, and that's something that we're going to need to guide and supervise a lot. I don't intend to leave them out in the house together. The goal is not for them to share a sofa or to be best buddies for life. I just want them to be able to interact under supervision without fighting and see each other through crates or gates without freaking out. I think that's a pretty attainable goal.<br /><br />So, let's hope for continued success.<br /><br />One good thing that can come out of this is that my brother has been trying to figure out how to manage his dog's issues for a while. Maybe now that we have so much time together, we can work on training together, and I can pass along some of the tips and tricks which have been so helpful with my own wild dogs. That would be great, huh?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-48940045972469437652009-01-10T09:01:00.003-05:002009-01-10T09:50:00.776-05:00Real life. Blech.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0113.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 201px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0113.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I ordered a new USB cable for my camera, so I should soon be able to post amusing pictures of my amusing dogs. Yay!<br /><br />In the meantime, here is an oldie. I love how happy Mr Fin looks in this pic. Isn't his face squishable and kissable?<br /><br />Due to somewhat extraordinary circumstances, we are now living with an absurd number of dogs and cats. (Because, um, the three dogs and fourteen cats wasn't enough for us, I guess.) My brother's dogs (and my brother, actually) (and a few other people, for that matter) (and some more cats) are in my [finished] basement, and my dogs are upstairs. We are having Bitch Issues, so they're being crated and separated for the foreseeable future, and possibly forever. With all of the turmoil and upheaval, none of the dogs have been getting the structure or stability or attention or exercise they require on a daily basis. All my dogs are crazy with stress. I've been doing what I can, but it's not nearly enough, and we all need to sit down together and figure out a better way to exercise and train them all and make life better for everyone.<br /><br />Poor Polly is the one who has to spend the most time in the crate, because Tuni screams incessantly whenever she's in there, and it's truly an unbearable sound. Polly is a social butterfly who adores being with people, so this must feel like a terrible, terrible punishment to her. Finley isn't getting enough hard exercise, and he's turning into a wild beast. When he plays with Tuni, he's a spinning, leaping machine. She's not too happy about it, for the record. He knows he's not allowed to get too close to her or bounce all over her, so instead he just runs up and then spins and spins.<br /><br />Yesterday, he spent all afternoon following my six year old niece and attempting to mount her. I don't buy the standard line that it's dominance behavior, not from him. He's majorly overstimulated and frustrated. We went out to the back yard and had a great zoomie session, and he felt a lot better after that.<br /><br />The most concerning is his reaction to the other dogs, who occasionally have to walk past his crate. He is having massive amounts of barrier frustration, and barking enough to bounce his crate around like one of those old-style cartoon dogs in a doghouse. I am hesistant to rush introductions between Fin and my brother's pit, who is kind of a jerky, undersocialized adolescent, but I am worried that if I don't introduce them, the barking and hyperarousal will become a conditioned response, and his frustration will escalate into aggression. I am also concerned that the frustration will generalize to all his interactions with strange dogs.<br /><br />I think that if we do intros out in the yard or on a walk and if we do some click&treating, he'll calm down. I sure hope I'm right, because otherwise, uh... having not one but TWO sets of dogs who can't interact would kinda suck.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-63019869550772944352009-01-04T08:26:00.002-05:002009-01-04T08:34:55.763-05:00Canine GeniusYesterday, I was down in the basement working out on my treadmill, while my husband puttered around with a play kitchen he's been making for our son. (It's almost done, and it is so, so awesome, for the record.) Tuni was downstairs with us, and Finley was upstairs, alone, for about an hour.<br /><br />(Finley has, as of late -- by which I mean in the past two days -- induced a cat-chasing riot, chewed the USB cable for my camera, chewed my favorite hat, and chewed a plastic pitcher. And when I say "chew," I don't mean "put some dents in." I mean, "unrecognizable bits of plastic here and there." I would have kept him in the basement with us, but he kept trying to bite the treadmill while I was running.)<br /><br />My little dude was ready for his nap, so I stopped running and we all came upstairs. Lo and behold, when we got to the bedroom, our son's potty was sitting in the middle of the floor, filled with pee. Dog pee. Because Finley, when he had to go and we weren't around to let him out, went up to the bedroom and peed in the potty.<br /><br />o_O<br /><br />In the words of the great Dave Barry, I am not making this up. I'd have taken a picture to show you all, but since<span style="font-style: italic;"> someone</span> chowed down on the USB cable, you'll just have to trust me. :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-64476293086228982592008-12-30T08:49:00.002-05:002008-12-30T09:00:53.610-05:00LazyI haven't posted lately, and I am sorry to admit that the reason I haven't posted is because I haven't been doing ANYTHING with my dogs. There's lots of cat-harassing and lots of sleeping in sunlight and lots of holding down the couch, and not much else. I took the holiday session off from training classes. I wanted to go back with all, or at least two, of the dogs once January rolled around. The session is nearly upon us, and I haven't signed up, and don't think I can afford to put anyone in class until spring, at least. Christmas, taxes, insurance, heating bills, higher cost of everything, blah.<br /><br />Fin's been walking around all morning with pieces of cat claw stuck in his face. I thought it was fuzz until I finally just checked it out. No, it's claw tips. Oh, Fatboy. (Why do I call him Fatboy? He's really quite slender. Not an ounce of fat anywhere on him, in fact. 'Cept maybe in his head.) (Aw, that's mean.)<br /><br />One of the PAWS volunteers made a video montage of some of the animals who were fostered or adopted from PACCA/PAWS (our animal control facility, though in a few days the contract is going to the PSPCA) this year. You can see Fin and some of my foster kitties around the 2 minute mark, right after the cat in the chicken hat, whee. Fin also makes another guest appearance towards the end.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/shared?p=7abad10bc9f68f2a083675&skin_id=601&utm_source=otm&utm_medium=image" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/cover_thumbnail?p=7abad10bc9f68f2a083675&view=2" border="0" alt="View this montage created at One True Media" title="View this montage created at One True Media" /><br/>PAWS Tribute 08</a><br /><br />Nothing much to say, but I didn't want everyone to forget that we exist!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-13867616579294371812008-12-15T08:37:00.003-05:002008-12-15T09:08:20.987-05:00That trust? Was misplaced.Last night Sean, unbeknownst to me, decided to try leaving Finley out of his crate while we slept. I would have recommended against this, because I find it difficult to trust Finley's judgment as to what constitutes appropriate play with cats or what features are the hallmark of a good chew toy (red, rubbery, filled with peanut butter) vs what features are the hallmark of, say, dirty diapers (white, papery, filled with urine-soaked gel substance). I won't leave him alone for twenty minutes, let alone eight or nine hours.<br /><br />Well, The Man thought it was a good idea, and since I was already sleeping, it was the perfect opportunity to fail to ask me my opinion. I'm sure if he had tried really hard, he could have pretended to ask me, and then pulled up a mental image where I made Spock eyebrows at him and asked if he had perhaps suffered some sort of head injury that he neglected to tell me about. (Which, I freely admit, is probably why he didn't ask me.)<br /><br />And this is why, when we got up this morning, we found poop by the front door, urine in puddles across the living and dining rooms, the trash can upended and its contents, including chicken bones and broken glass, strewn across the kitchen floor, with certain choice morsels (dirty diapers, meat-scented styrofoam, veggie scraps) taken to the only clean spot left in the dining room and shredded into miniscule bits. Oh, and the cat scratching post/bed/toy upside down and in pieces on the kitchen floor.<br /><br />I haven't laughed so hard since, oh, yesterday, at least. Hey, he didn't eat any walls or furniture, like SOME OTHER DOGS would have done when THEY were puppies. (Tuni, I'm looking in your direction!) (It's okay, baby, I hated that ugly sofa anyway.) Even so, I felt a bit like the parents in those 80s films where the parents go out of town and leave their kids at home, and the kids have a house party for about 800 of their closest friends, and destroy the house. At least in the films, the kids usually make an effort to clean up and hide their destruction. Not so with dogs. They're too busy being happily bloated with garbage to have a sense of shame about the whole thing.<br /><br />The husband, on the other hand... *makes spock eyebrows in his direction*Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-45112220059669845722008-12-08T09:47:00.003-05:002008-12-08T14:04:36.944-05:00Finley the Goat, Eating Tin Cans for BreakfastWhile I was upstairs changing diapers and getting the little dude dressed ( a chore in and of itself when the kid's favorite word in all existence is NO), Finley countersurfed a can of black beans, gnawed a hole in it, and chowed down on the delicious bean juice.<br /><br />I came downstairs to find a mangled can and shredded bits of label strewn all over the first floor, my living room reeking of beans, and three dogs obsessively licking various spots on the carpet.<br /><br />So, guess they had fun while I was off parenting, then, huh?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-73877749322369927262008-12-07T08:18:00.004-05:002008-12-07T09:11:14.890-05:00Jealousy!After our beloved Nonnypenny died of cancer in the spring, we really needed a third dog again. Two dogs are cheaper and easier to care for than three, and I didn't necessarily want a third dog, but poor Tuni was going slightly crazy. She and Polly don't have compatible play styles and Tuni has a high need for hours of play with dogs on a daily basis. Without it, she gets anxious and squirrelly and just plain weird. We HAD to get a third dog.<br /><br />Three dogs is a fantastic number of dogs to have, but it gets difficult when you want to take them out for a hike or on a drive (especially with that giant carseat in the back of my car). My dogs are great on the leash separately. Together, they're all over the place. They're not tiny little dogs, so that can be frustrating. We'll only take them out two at a time (one person per dog), which means someone has to stay home. I hate leaving someone home! They stand at the door or bounce in their crates, crying piteously. Sad faces peer at me. "How could you leave US behind and take THAT one? Betrayal! Heartbreak! I'm calling CPS (Canine Protective Services)," they threaten. Also, sometimes they eat the front door in frustration. Two dogs are easier to have adventures with than three. Actually, one dog is easiest to have adventures with, but one dog? Where's the excitement in that?<br /><br />I think today I'm going to break out the yummy meaty bones and crate a dog or two, put Finley in his cute little green sweater, and take a walk along the brand new nature path that they just opened up in the nearby park. It should be very pretty, with the ice and the snow on everything.<br /><br />Total change of subject time! I saw a flea on Tuni yesterday. Augh! Time to break out the Frontline. I think I only have one tube for dogs and two or three for cats, so I need to buy, um... an awful lot of it.<br /><br />For Christmas this year, won't someone buy me something useful, like a year's worth of Frontline for 3 dogs and 5 cats? I would be <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> so grateful.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-28966677086962984252008-12-06T10:04:00.004-05:002008-12-06T10:39:25.788-05:00Thank you<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0035.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 201px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0035.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The recent news that the City has taken the animal control contract from PACCA and awarded it to the PSPCA has created a bit of an uproar here in Philadelphia. I have mixed feelings about the situation. The PSPCA has more funding at its disposal, but PACCA/PAWS has made huge progress in the past few years, and has an intensely dedicated core of employees and volunteers who will stop at nothing to help the animals in their care, even given the many limitations they face.<br /><br />Neither organization is perfect; none is. I'm not going to claim otherwise. However, I have been so disheartened by the folks who have taken the contract news as an opportunity to crawl out of the woodwork and express their disgust with PACCA and its employees. These jerks use the anonymity of sites Craigslist to blast PACCA's shelter for being filled with "ugly pit bulls." They blast the employees for sending dogs to rescue. They claim that PACCA adopts out dogs with known behavioral issues, just because the behavior evaluator has a soft spot for big dogs. The amount of misinformation and hatred is just plain depressing. Oh, and if you have something to say, how about you stand up and own your words.<br /><br />So, PACCA people, this is for you:<br /><br />Johnny, thank you for giving my dog a chance, even though he is an "ugly pit bull" with deeply cropped ears, and terrifies people who can't see past his color and his breed. Thank you for evaluating him and seeing what he really is, and deciding that he was worth saving.<br /><br />Natalie, thank you for working so hard at getting him (and countless others like him) out to foster, so that he did not have to spend even one more day than necessary in a cage in the shelter.<br /><br />Sylvia, thank you for taking him into your home and taking such good care of him. Thank you for putting up with my indecisiveness, when it looked like he and Tuni weren't hitting it off the way I'd hoped. Thank you for trusting me to love him and care for him the way he deserves.<br /><br />To all the volunteers, thank you for your love and dedication to the care of the animals of this town.<br /><br />Knee-jerking pit bull haters, this part is for you:<br /><br />Screw you. You don't deserve a dog as sweet, patient, and wonderful as my "vicious," "ugly" pit bull, anyway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0033101508_093354.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 201px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0033101508_093354.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />That is all.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-91899810462480049322008-12-04T09:02:00.002-05:002008-12-04T09:23:05.991-05:00Slackeriffic, that's meOh my goodness, I have been slacking on the blog. I have all these half-finished posts written up, and then I never get around to posting them. And believe me, it's not for lack of funny anecdotes. That dog is hilarious.<br /><br />In the past week we had a vacation, puppysat, went to Thanksgiving dinner, I picked up another litter of mom and kittens from the shelter, and I placed my first momcat in a great home.<br /><br />I have in my house what any "normal" person would consider an unfathomable number of cats. I mean, we are way past everyday crazy cat lady territory and into call the state and bring the white coats territory. The thing is, although I can't imagine life without cats, I'm not even sure I like them all that much. Oh, I love them and adore them, but they're a pain in the ass. They've got no concept of the rules and they break all my stuff. So why do I have <span style="font-style: italic;">fifteen of them</span> right now?!?!? Does it make a difference that ten are fosters, most of those are kittens, and they're all sequestered in their own rooms and crates? Do you know how much litter and food we go through in one week?!?<br /><br />Oh, and it's definitely ringworm, for the record. He's got another spot on his leg. Well... getting that out of my house, that's going to be fun. Let's hope some of my guys are resistant to it. *sigh*<br /><br />Would you be able to send this squidgy little guy to the euthanasia room? I don't think so!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0205120208_103138.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 307px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0205120208_103138.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-34520432530958360522008-11-26T11:50:00.003-05:002008-11-26T12:14:45.135-05:00Blind, leggy, or zombiebald? A choose your own adventureI met <a href="http://philadelphia.craigslist.org/pet/934934112.html">this dog</a> at the shelter yesterday. I've got to tell you, he was really nice. If my dogs were more in the way of calm, peaceful things, I'd probably consider fostering him. (You know how that would end, right? Elderly blind dogs are so highly desirable among the adoptive populace. By the time I finally found the right sucker -- uh, um, wait, I mean "extremely caring and loving adopter" -- Deek would already be part of the family.)<br /><br /><a href="http://philadelphia.craigslist.org/pet/934811294.html">I like this guy, too.</a> Almost looks like a greyhound mix, in person. Very nice dog.<br /><br />It's too cold outside to take this puppy on a proper walk. He needs a sweater. Maybe he can borrow one of my son's. :)<br /><br />Finley's face cancer has healed into a round scar that looks nothing like ringworm or face cancer but is extremely conspicuously bald. He has such thin hair on his head and face that any scrape or scratch, such as the kind he receives 2387609788 times a day during his and Tuni's rock em sock em play sessions, produces a bald area, making him look oddly patchy. The quarter-sized pink spot on the side of his big earless head adds to the whole zombie-chic look, I guess. If zombies are your thing...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-86887694711301116022008-11-25T16:59:00.005-05:002008-11-25T17:43:18.572-05:00Baby face, you've got the cutest little baby face<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0171112508_153810.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 193px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0171112508_153810.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Ever since we bought our house, I've been getting more involved with volunteering and fostering for PACCA/PAWS, the city shelter from which we adopted Finley. Not a ton of stuff: I've fostered some momcats and their nursing babies, taken in some sick orphans, done a few transports, gone to one or two events, donated some dog treats, that kind of thing. I'd like to do more, but with a toddler and three resident dogs of my own, I'm limited in the amount of time I can spend on things like that.<br /><br />What I'd <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> like to do is foster some behaviorally challenged dogs, because those are my favorite of all. The fear biters and the reactive freaks and the avoidant shy dogs, I can work with those. Oh, let's face it. Without a constant challenge, I get so bored. I need difficult dogs to keep ME engaged.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0137112508_153144.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 208px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0137112508_153144.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>But with the other responsibilities on my plate, it's not fair for me to take on a foster dog, even an easy one. I just don't have the time to dedicate to that. Plus, Queen Bitch Polly does not particularly appreciate strange dogs, and meeting them stresses her out, and that's just not fair to her.<br /><br />Enter my solution: the short term puppysitting foster! Look at this thing! Oh my gosh! So cute! I am just watching him for a few days, until his real foster mom comes back from Thanksgiving. Tuni is enthralled. Polly is intrigued, Finley is being bullied BY A THREE MONTH OLD, and is loving every second of it! I haven't seen him look that happy in ages!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0114112508_152558.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 238px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/pacca/DSC_0114112508_152558.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Poor silly marshmallow of a dog! Getting pushed around by a baby! Hee hee hee hee hee!<br /><br />Note: I've been taking the pup out every hour or so, and he hasn't pooped or peed in the house even once yet, but he HAS tried to rip up and eat the carpet. Mmm, carpet! Yummy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-85283965060177988362008-11-24T21:41:00.002-05:002008-11-24T22:09:01.182-05:00Countersurfing omnivoreI can hear Finley in the kitchen countersurfing RIGHT NOW. Hey, dude! Feet off the counters!<br /><br />Oh, I have never met such an omnivorous dog. For dinner we made <a href="http://ourkitchensink.wordpress.com/2008/04/10/not-those-kind-of-burritos/">chicken burritos </a>(and holy Mary Mother of God, were they good). Finley went crazy chomping up the leftover romaine lettuce. He just countersurfed the empty tin can which had previously held chopped green chiles. Mmm, green chiles. I could make a flow chart depicting Finley's dietary preferences, but it would be fairly straightforward. Is it made of food? Then he'll eat it. Is it not made of food? Then he'll probably eat it anyway.<br /><br />Yesterday's chewing spoils included a glass bottle of perfume, with perfume inside. Uh. Where does he find all this stuff?!? My bedroom door is closed, and it's not as though *I* leave perfume bottles scattered around the house, though god only knows what that child of mine does. Hmm, perhaps they're teaming up against me in an effort to destroy my stuff and erode my sanity. Doing a real good job so far, guys!<br /><br />*makes shifty eyes at child and dogs*Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-90015738252320452992008-11-23T08:45:00.003-05:002008-11-23T08:53:07.110-05:00The State of the NogginI was going to take a photo of all the things Finley has chewed in the past week or so, but Sean came along, saw the huge pile of trash on the table, and threw it all away. Bummer. It would have been a good blog post.<br /><br />Poor Fin has some kind of lesion on the side of his big fat head. I've got no idea what it is, but I'm paranoid that he has CANCER and WILL DIE. From his FACE CANCER. Except that looks to be a huge scrape which is healing up nicely, so, um, probably not cancer. I don't imagine this will stop me from worrying.<br /><br />My mother says I should knit Finley some ears. I think that this is a brilliant idea. I mean, his nubs must get pretty cold, and what would be cuter than a big black dog with pink knitted ears? Oh! I know! A big black dog with !!!!sparkly!!!! pink knitted ears! And pom poms! The only question is, what style of ears should he get? I could make him several, to suit his mood. Rose ears, prick ears, crazy bat ears, huge basset ears...<br /><br />http://www.kittyville.com/knit/kitty_hat.html<br /><br />How long do you think it would take before the prosthetic ears ended up in the chewed pile?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-71514582123656211312008-11-18T18:47:00.005-05:002008-11-18T19:13:19.500-05:00JawsFinley's been on a major chewathon for the past couple of days. He's chewed the boy's blocks and dolls and teething toys. He's chewed my leather and cork coasters. He chewed up a cassette tape and plastic cups. He chewed a large Kong toy into small red pieces. He chewed books and cans and his crate bed and today he ripped up Polly's favorite green frog toy. She really has a thing for little green stuffed toys. She likes to carry them around and sleep with them in her mouth until they get all slimy and flattened on one side. Obviously, they have to be the right shape (and color?) to fit comfortably. Wide and flat (and green), that's what she likes in a stuffy. Now I'm going to have to find her another one, because her beloved frogbaby is nothing more than a few pieces of ripped fabric now.<br /><br />Today he outdid himself with the chewing, because today he chewed up an antique glass medicine bottle which the boy had brought up from the basement. I went into the dining room and found the bottle with the neck chewed off and little bits of glass spread around on the floor. First he chewed the cap, then he chewed the rubber dropper, then he chewed the neck into little glass shards.<br /><br />Dog! Are you insane! Glass is not for chewing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-73126972999699441052008-11-17T16:41:00.002-05:002008-11-17T17:53:53.967-05:00Crime and PunishmentIn my training and in my life with dogs, I prefer to avoid the use of aversives and physical punishment -- choke chains, collar pops, whacks on the nose with a rolled up newspaper, e-collars, beatings, that sort of thing. The reason, and this neatly ties back into my last post, is that in order for punishment to be most effective, the initial punishment needs to be pretty intense. Initial intense punishment increases the effectiveness of later, mild punishment. Initial mild punishment habituates an animal to a punisher and decreases the the effectiveness of later, more intense punishment.<br /><br />What a dog might consider mild or intense can be very much a matter of personality, and discovering it can involve trial and error. Tuni is a very sensitive, anxiety-prone little dog. Even the slightest bit of tension in my body language causes her to slink around with her tail tucked and to show dramatic appeasement gestures, even though I have never so much as popped her collar. Sometimes I do not even realize that I am feeling stressed until I look at Tuni and see her curled up, with her tail tucked. I am sure that if she went into a shelter, people would assume that she was severely beaten on a daily basis. Nah, she's just absurdly sensitive, and shuts down if you look at her funny. Tuni is so sensitive that correction-based training would probably ruin her.<br /><br />Polly is a lot more resilient, but still, she is pretty sensitive and she will respond to a verbal correction. She would never even <span style="font-style: italic;">consider</span> breaking the rules, anyway. Polly loves the rules. Polly lives for the rules. Following! Enforcing! Making up new ones for everyone else to follow! Polly does fine with corrections, but at the same time, she doesn't really need them.<br /><br />Finley, on the other hand. He is a whole different sort of dog. He is somehow hard-headed AND squishy marshmallow soft and completely trusting. He is not going to be cowed by someone raising their voice. If they are raising their voice, it's got to mean they want to play with him! Right? RIGHT!!! If they are waving their arms in the air and yelling, they must REALLY want to play!!!<br /><br />A few weeks after we brought Finley home, we accidentally triggered a big fear in him. My husband was changing his clothes after work, and removed his belt. Finley, who does not tend to be fearful or reactive, took one look at him, tucked his tail as far as it could go, FLEW over the bed, and hid in our son's room. He wouldn't go near my husband for a week. He wouldn't come back upstairs for several weeks. He is still cautious around my husband, especially if Sean is holding something in his hands. Interestingly, he is not threatened at all by me holding objects, even if I pretend that I'm going to hit him with them. But if I hand the objects over to Sean, Fin runs away. Obviously the beatings he received were severe enough to leave an impression. Sean has never laid a hand on Fin, but after the belt incident, Fin sees him as That Guy Who Hurts Dogs and he doesn't trust Sean anymore.<br /><br />I think the only way to use positive punishment (physical punishment, raised voice, whatever) effectively on this particular dog would be to seriously hurt him first. I am not willing to sacrifice my relationship with any dog to that extent.<br /><br />Unfortunately, he is still something of an overgrown puppy and he's still got some poor puppyish manners and sometimes when I tell him to stop doing something and do something else, he just... doesn't stop doing it to do that other thing. I know, I know! He doesn't have enough training yet! He can't hold a sit-stay for twenty minutes when there are cats running past him and he's bored! It's not a realistic expectation! If he's chasing cats all over the place, it means he needs more training and more exercise!<br /><br />But sometimes I feel like I am the only one who can't tell him to knock it the heck off! If Sean gives Fin an Elvis curl of the lip, Fin cowers and runs off, because Sean is That Guy Who Hurts Dogs. If The Bitches tell him to knock it off, he turns tail and apologizes -- because they'll knock him down and bite him otherwise! I'm not biting anyone and I could quite happily live my whole entire life without ever hitting anyone with a belt, thank you very much.<br /><br />If the result of that unwillingness is that I have a giant-headed 51 lb dog who completely trusts me and thinks he is a lap dog and is annoyingly persistent and occasionally bugs the crap out of me, well... I can live with that. Even if it does mean that every time I sit at my computer desk he comes over and tries to climb into my lap and sends my chair spinning in a circle and I have to stand up and turn my back to make him quit climbing on me. :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-21887495132096462882008-11-11T08:20:00.006-05:002008-11-11T12:05:36.340-05:00Levitation, and the fine art of intimidationYesterday I was sitting at my computer desk in the living room when I heard a crashing and scrabbling from the dining room. I looked in to see Finley chasing one of the cats up onto the dining room table. One of the chairs was pushed out, and he climbed up the chair and onto the table so that he could continue mouthing and wrestling with the cat.<br /><br />I went in, told him what I thought of his antics (with some amount of how DARE you hands on the hips indignation and outrage), pushed the chairs back under the table, and went back to the living room.<br /><br />Not even ten minutes later, I hear another scrabbling and crashing and look in to see the 51.1 lbs of enthusiastic bulldog once again perched atop the dining room table, pawing the cat.<br /><br />The chairs were all pushed in, so the only way he could have gotten on the table was by leaping straight up from the floor. The Amazing Levitating Finley! For a guy who is built like a small tank, he is remarkably athletic. I was impressed.<br /><br />But also angry! Because dogs, they do not belong on my dining room table! With cats under their rather meaty paws! It is against the rules, a point which I clearly failed to effectively convey the first time. I put my hands on my hips, made myself very big, and told him in stern tones that the table was off-limits, and what on earth did he think he was doing jumping up there to chase cats, and he'd better not consider doing anything like that EVER AGAIN, and I waved my arms around and raised my voice and looked straight at him, and so on, and so forth.<br /><br />I was hoping for apologetic. I was hoping to come off as so crazy that he would never, ever, ever consider putting his feet on the table ever again. Instead I apparently signaled to him that it was woohoo playtime woohoo!!!, so he jumped up and tried to wrestle with my arms. D'oh. Oops.<br /><br />However, when I turned around, I saw that I had managed to act crazy enough to intimidate The Bitches into feeling very, very apologetic. For something, anything, it doesn't even matter what, but I'm sure they'll never do it again.<br /><br />Sometimes teaching is a matter of trial and error, and sometimes you land, with a big embarrassing kerthud sound, on the side of error.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2553207458283704882.post-31036008481018012662008-11-10T09:54:00.004-05:002008-11-10T10:41:53.056-05:00Hair like MedusaLast week, Finley chewed up one of my hairbrushes. Undaunted, I pulled out the second brush, and used that one instead. Yesterday, he chewed that one into tiny wooden splinters too. You know what I had to use to brush my hair this morning? The teeny tiny plastic comb that came in the baby toiletry set that we received at our son's baby shower.<br /><br />Clearly he wants my hair to look tangled and ugly. But why?!? Why do you want to me look ugly, Finley?!?<br /><br />Note to self: pick up more doggy chew toys soon.<br /><br />In other news, I took this extremely telling picture this morning. Polly was, in her own special dysfunctional way, attempting to solicit play from Finley. When it failed to work, they ran in to the kitchen in anticipation of breakfast.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0046111008_072534.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 317px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0046111008_072534.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />His face completely illustrates the emotions Polly inspires in other dogs. Shall we zoom way in?<br /><br />"Run away! Keep an eye on that one, but avoid eye contact at all costs. She's crazy. Look small. Look small! Get away before she notices me again!"<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0046111008_072534sm.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 409px;" src="http://www.muridae.org/dogs/finley/DSC_0046111008_072534sm.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Poor Polly. She has good intentions, and she wants to be friends with other dogs so badly, but she honestly has no clue how to interact normally with them. Poooooooor dogs'o'mine!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0