Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Life on Mars

It's a warm place, and there's a schedule. You know what's going to happen and when it's going to happen. There's comfort in the routine. Sometimes you get to run. Mostly you get to sleep. There's good eating and rubdowns, all on your terms.

Then it stops. No more running. A change in the schedule. Different people. They pull you from your crate, your little apartment, and put you in a truck. The truck goes forever and when they pull you out again it's a different planet. It's cold and there are more new people. The people give you pills and shots and a bath, and then it's a different crate. That's alright, because soon there is a new routine. At least it's still a kennel, even if the turnout is bizarre, all cold and icy and this snow stuff is garbage.

But you haven't been there long, only three weeks, when they pull you again. More shots and pills and suddenly you're waking up and something is gone. Something you liked, a part of you. Your belly is upset too, gurgly and unsettled and you know something is wrong even if you don't understand worms. It's all sore and weird and not even a whole day later they drag you out of the kennel, through the snow, and there's this woman.

She's okay. Words happen between you, even if not out loud. She touches gently. She asks, you answer. She's okay. She touches the good places, finds the itchy places that always need stritching.

You lean. You lean hard. When she gets down on your level and slides an arm around you, you push into it and sigh. You lean. You nudge. There's eye contact, and you nudge her again and sigh, a long one this time. Thanks, lady, for a moment of comfort and connection.

Then that lady puts you in a "van" and there's more driving and then there's a "car," which is worse than the van, and there's more driving.

House. She says that word when she leads you in. House. How much more will there be? There's a dog here, and she likes you well enough. That's good. And that Woman is here, the nice one hasn't left you. That's good. But so much else is wrong. So much else is terrifying.

This is the wrong crate, and the wrong food, and the wrong bed, and one of these people is freakishly small and loud. How much more are you supposed to just take? There's a noise. Bark! That shiny surface keeps showing you a dog like you but he looks scared and he has no scent. Bark! A new person came in the House. Bark! People are outside on the streets. Are they going to take you? Are they going to make you sore? Are they going to change something? Bark! 

There's a limit. Small Person hasn't touched you or yelled at you or anything, but the sight of him is too much so when he walks by your bed you tell him. You warn him, and Woman removes him for you. But then later he makes a noise down the hall and even though you can't even see him you are fed up. You scramble up and snarl and Bark! Enough!

Woman has you on a leash, because she always does when you aren't in a crate, so nothing comes of it. But the leash comes off and with soft words she makes you go into the crate. "It'll be okay, Monsoon."

Whatever "Monsoon" means. Now it's crate all the time, but when you get out there's walkies and sniffing. And after the smaller people are asleep at night, you can come out and play with toys. Toys! You want to tell everyone about toys! Toys are the best!

Now it doesn't matter as much if the Small Person is around. He can't get you. You can even sleep through his noises, except the loud ones. The Woman stays. You can see her. That's good, you like it when you can see her. Sometimes she leaves the room, but she comes back. Sometimes she leaves the house, but she comes back. That doesn't stop you from yelling for a while, but you settle. There's a soft bed in your new crate, and there's a stuffie to put your head on.

Maybe the sudden awful changes will slow down or stop. Maybe you can relax, in a while. Maybe you can settle, and learn this place and these people. There's toys, after all, and cookies. And glorious toys that SQUEAK.

It'll be okay. As long as everyone goes really, really, really slow.

Saturday, January 28, 2012




Happy Saturday! I hope you're having a great day. According to the weather reports, I am likely experiencing a gorgeous sunshiney day of temps that are pleasantly mild for the end of January.

I can't tell you if that's actually true or not, since I'm writing this on Friday night. Remember, I had something to do on Saturday, something pretty important.

Watch this space!

We’re participating in this Saturday’s Pet Blog Hop, hosted by Life With DogsTwo Little Cavaliers and Confessions of the Plume.  If you’d like to participate, please follow the rules and follow your three hosts, add your blog to the Linky and copy and paste the html code into your html editor.  Thanks again to our hosts for putting on the hop!
This is a Blog Hop!

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Wednesday Morning

Her dad, all dressed in his work clothes, jingles Lanie's collar. He brandishes her coat. He calls to her and makes silly squeaky noises.

"Lanie! Come on! You MUST need to pee! Time for walkies! Potty? Hello?"


More jingling and waving, but Lanie does not stir. Dad decides he will eat breakfast first and drag the old girl out later.

He opens the fridge.

Lanie appears. She is simply instantly there. And she won't be moving until she gets something out of the fridge, thanks. And weren't you EVER going to walk her? Where is her coat?! Boy, you humans can be slow...

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Coming Soon...

My dear sweet gray-muzzled girl, my Lanie,

Changes are coming to the house soon. Historically, you haven't appreciated disturbances to your routine so I figured I should warn you.

You miss your boys. After Bullie passed in April, you became instantly less snarky with Drive. You let him cuddle against you and rest his head on you. I think I saw the two of you play -- however briefly -- more in those six months than in the rest of the six years you lived together.

I know it hurt you, when I didn't bring Drive home. I'm sorry. I know I told you that before, but I'm so, so sorry I lost him. I wish I could have explained it to you. I wish I had some way to make you understand.

So for three months now you have been the only dog in our household. You have grown exponentially more cuddly and sweet and, frankly, obnoxious. I can't remember the last time we had a meal that wasn't accompanied by deranged howling. Seriously, girl, it's gotten to the point where I'm considering making you your own dinner plate so we can eat in peace, but you'd just finish first and then demand the rest of ours. Let's face it. You are not now, nor have you ever been, a good dog.

Fortunately, you have been the perfect family member for our particular family. (And your uncanny talent for knocking your dad in the man-bits keeps the sadist in me amused.) No matter how much more senile or demanding you get, you are in our family for life. That's how we roll. There's no escape. ;)

So I wanted to warn you, my spoiled little queen, that the family dynamic will be changing again. I finally got over my anxiety enough to call an adoption kennel. I have an appointment before the month is out, and I'll be going to meet some potential new family members. If the stars align, I may even bring him home soon. I think we're ready.

As our senior canine, this selection needs to be made with you in mind. Obviously, the biggest factor in my choice will be personality. There are a couple other things I'm remembering as well. For example, for some reason you don't like female dogs. While I'm sure we could train and work and force tolerance, I'd rather not stress you because not only are you deranged, you are in your golden years and you don't deserve a major upheaval at age twelve-and-a-half.

The truth is, though, I'm not worried about you. Your dad and I think having a new brother is going to revitalize you. Aged or not, you are as funny and bouncy and energetic as ever and adding a new young man to the mix promises to be fun for everyone.

I can't wait to meet him. I can't wait to introduce the two of you. I can't wait to share him with all of our friends.

Love forever,
Mom, giver of cookies and neck scritches

Note to Our Friends: This post was written under the influences of painkillers, as I had a gigantic tooth removed this week. I hope you will forgive any weirdness, should you find any, but I did want to share my news. Next Saturday, I will be meeting some hounds and hoping that one of them is a match for our family. I'm so excited!

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Heh. Whoops.

Nothing to see here. Everything is fine. Move along.
I'm having the weirdest anxiety right now.

Everything is in place. We're ready! I just need to call the kennel and make an appointment...

I didn't do it Friday. I panicked. I'm too nervous. This means too much to me.

I swear, I'm going to do it Monday. I will kick my long-standing habit of being terrified of happiness. I promise. I just hope I don't embarrass myself and start crying.

 On the chance that you are here looking for non-crazy news, I have rather officially committed myself to attending Greyhounds in Gettysburg again this year. I'm excited to see some of my favorite people, including the fantastic ladies I travel with. Will you be there?