Perspective

Just a quick thought on perspective.

Kudzuki, my Great Dane puppy, is teaching me quite a lot on that subject.  To his big eyes, things look different than from my perspective.  I'm used to dogs seeing things from a smaller than me view and it's a bit disconcerting to have it happen the other way 'round.

For instance, when I look at my barn red, cedar sided house, I see a sea of red.  My puppy sees sticks that can be broken off and carried around triumphantly as toys.  God help me, he just tears a chunk of siding off and carries it around and chews on it.  They stopped making my siding back in the early 90s. 

Excuse the blurry pic and especially the Eeyore pjs.

I spend half my time worrying that the ingredients in the paint will harm him, and the other half hoping he chokes on it.  Aggghhhh!  I love him!

Ahhhhh, Ranger

Ranger has been growing - and eating - and eating - and committing crimes.


Crime #1.  Dumpster diving.

Ranger has developed the charming habit of excavating things from the recycling bin, chewing them to shreds, swallowing some of it and evenly distributing the rest all over the house.  One of these days I expect to have my vet tell me we'll have to surgically remove something from his gut.  I'll think about it.

Why don't we just move the recycling you ask?  Because his obsession with the recyclables means he isn't eating as many shoes, purses, hats, couches, etc.  That's why.

Crime #2.  Excavation #1

Our neighbors on the other side of the fence have a herd of dogs that makes ours look small.  One of those dogs is a vicious, dog killing, beautiful, intact blue Pit Bull.  Did I mention he's unusually large for a Pit?  He has killed some of their other dogs, including Snoopy, my favorite.  I don't like that damned dog and I'm always scared he will get into my yard and hurt my babies.  Ranger decided, for whatever reason, to dig under the fence and under the neighbor's shed.  He made a cave big enough to turn his 87 lb.self around in.  There can only be a few inches of dirt left between him and the evil dog over there.  Did I mention the killer dog's name is Danger?  Bren and I countered with this:

He uses these giant mitts to move all that dirt.

Crime #3.  Excavation #2

Ranger is the reason why I will never have any compost for my garden.  He digs under the compost bin, knocks the side door off, and eats every nasty, disgusting bit of rotting vegetation I put in there.  The few things he won't actually eat, like leek tops, he carries around the yard as trophies and toys.  Damn it.

 

Crime #4.  The front and back doors.

This is what he does when I'm out and he's in.  Or when I'm in and he's out.  Buy some stock in vinegar production, folks, 'cause I'm going to be doing a lot of windows.

Crime #5.  Beating his Mama up.

He didn't mean to.  He just forgets how big he is.  So while I was looking out the front door at the rain, a clap of thunder startled everyone.  I heard him coming down the hall like a thundering herd of wildebeest.  I turned just in time to catch 87 lbs. of terrified dog right in the gut.  I think he was attempting to jump into my arms.  I fell backward, striking the back of my head on the edge of the open door.  As I fell with my hip hitting the metal edge of the landing, Ranger fell with me, his front feet driving all of the breath from my body. Oof!  I was just down for the count for a minute there.  My ancient, terribly ill rat terrier Pip is very protective of his mama.  He was beside himself, so he decided the right thing to do was to launch himself at poor Ranger, who was scared and scrambling to regain his footing (still on my stomach, God help me.) Just picture it, if you will.  The hysterical small dog attacking the big, frightened dog and me trying to move so I could separate them before someone got hurt.  Ah, the joys of motherhood!

Why would we keep such a pain in the tuchas, you ask?

Well....he is really sweet.  And really, really lovey.  And it's almost cute when he forgets how big he is and sits on someone's lap.  But mostly we put up with his doofiness because we rescued him as a companion for Chewie and they are great together.

He makes Chewie happy and that makes us happy.

The Garden is Growing!

I've been spending a lot of time at the country house in South Carolina so I could get the garden started.  It is at my brother-in-law's house just down the road.  Here are some pics after he had plowed it.

Three weeks and some torrential rain later, it looks like this:

In the foreground are the peas and their trellising. Off to the far left you can just glimpse the end of the long line of cabbages. In between are beets, carrots, 3 kinds of lettuce, mustard, onions, turnips, and I can't remember what else.  The storms have washed little areas of seed out of the rows and into pools of mystery veggies.  Isn't gardening exciting?

I'm so geeked out about the garden, I should be embarrassed.  Really, though, I'm just excited and can't wait to get warm weather stuff in.  I have an extensive and perhaps unrealistic list.  One thing I will certainly be growing a lot of this year is tomatoes.  I'm fed up with tired of the stuff in cans at the store.  My own tastes so much better and I don't have to wonder what is in it.

This is my new favorite t-shirt I got from Tractor Supply Company:

Gotta love tractor humor.

My little, old, sick, beloved Rat Terrier goes with me most trips.  Although the three hour ride each way is hard on his old, achy bones, (Mine, too!) Pip loves his time in the country.  Here he is basking in the sun and then, well, you know how dogs are about squirrels right?

All in all, Pip and I are having a great time on our weekend trips to the sticks!

Ranger - Sweet but Stupid

I admit it.  I have way too many pets for my small suburban home.  My three cats (Taz, Pyewacket, and Hodge) drive me insane with their constant shenanigans and crimes.  My old and cranky small dogs (Weenie and Pip) are also spoiled and demanding and run my life.  My Boxer/Pit mix (Chewie) is a Money Pit (ok, lame pun) and a law unto her sweet self.  Did I mention she eats cats?  Lots of opportunities to sharpen my organizational skills there. Since she can't play with the cats (!) and my old dogs are just hateful and mean to her, I began to worry about Chewie.  She is young and energetic and had no one to play with.  The wife is disinclined to play with her and I'm just not strong enough.  She tries so hard, bringing her squeak toys to each of us in turn.  No one is ever willing to play.  Regardless of species, we all just snarl at her.  She tries and tries and, finally, I couldn't take it anymore.  I snapped under the guilt of watching her optimistic advances always being met with rejection and disappointment.  My solution?  Get her a dog of her own.  Damn Virginia Woolf, anyway.  Enter Ranger, a big, beautiful, deeply stupid black lab.

Ranger eats.  He's good at it.  Ranger eats more than twice as much food as Chewie does, maybe four times as much.  When he's not draining my pet food budget, he's eating other things.  Things like my Coach purse.  My cell phone. ALL of my shoes.  The corner of my priceless, irreplaceable tool chest my grandfather received upon his retirement.  Brenda's earbud.  Books.  Baskets.  Garbage.  Recycling.  Bras and panties.  He really likes bras and panties, the pervert!  Socks. Anything he can get his big, slobbery mouth on.

Brenda is very, very upset with me (and rightly so) because I did not consult her before adopting Ranger. My only defense is that Mommy couldn't take her poor Chewie's sorrow and loneliness anymore. Thank goodness he and Chewie love each other and play and play.  Problem fixed.  It's a little hard on my house with those two behemoths crashing into everything, but in the end, her happiness is worth it.

I guess.