dogs

musings about my dogs

Potty Trained and Literate, and Other Parenting Goals

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Dad always said that he enjoyed children once they were potty trained and literate.  Mastering these basic skills can occur for some children by the age of five, but I do not have a whole lot of confidence in a young child’s toileting accuracy, and few children gain reasonable command of the written word until about the age of eight or nine.  I can understand why Dad is rather uncomfortable in the presence of infants, toddlers and preschoolers.  He’s sensitive to smells, and he has an almost phobic reaction to the bodily effluvia of others.  After the age of eight or nine kids are a bit less messy.  It is far less likely that they will pee, poo, puke or snot all over you by that time.  They understand using the toilet, and hopefully before they hit puberty, they will understand snot is not a condiment, and they should also have a rudimentary knowledge of how to use Kleenex. 

Steve-o has been potty trained and literate for about ten years, which for a male is pretty good.  When I say “potty trained,” I mean fully trained, as in (for males, anyway) we aim and achieve our target without spraying the entire bathroom floor, AND we both wipe and flush every time, after dropping a deuce.  He could read relatively well by the age of seven, but it took a long, long time for him to get “wipe and flush every time” down.  

There are few things more disgusting than walking into the bathroom to find a huge corn-loaded turd floating in the toilet bowl, coiled up all alone, without any paper to keep him company.   The only thing worse than walking into that sensory gag-fest every time young Steve-o pinched a loaf was his “science” experiment involving Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.   I will comment a bit on this.  If you eat nothing but Flamin’ Hot Cheetos for three days straight, your feces will be exactly the same color as Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

I do have some standards.  If you want to see hot red-orange poo, go troll about on Rate My Poo for awhile.  Trust me, there you will find all things poo and then some.

We are working on the Holy Grail of parenting right now, which is: Gainful Employment and Independence from the Parental Units.

Steve-o did work at Taco Bell during his last two years of high school, but for some reason he either can’t seem to find a job or (my personal suspicion) doesn’t want to find a job while going to college.  This is vexing to me- and a major contributor to my constant state of poverty.  The only thing I can hope for is that when he graduates he finds gainful employment and becomes an independent, self-sustaining, meaningful contributor to society.

Some people hold lofty goals for their children, but I’m a realist.  So far Steve-o’s done pretty well, especially when one examines the lame track record of his age cohorts.  He’s stayed out of jail, and as far as I know he doesn’t have a horde of baby mamas after him, nor has he fathered any offspring that I know about, anyway.  I am not opposed to the whole grandmother thing- I’m old enough for it and I like kids well enough as long as they’re not mine and I can send them home- but he’s got to be able to pay for his own rugrats.  I’d also like to request that he be married to the potential baby mama, although these days that’s a lot to ask. 

In some ways Steve-o is better trained than Jerry is.  Jerry is gainfully employed which gives him the overall advantage, but Steve-o is getting close, and he has already surpassed Jerry in matters of etiquette.  While Jerry generally does wipe and flush, aiming is still a weak area for him, especially after a twelve pack or so of Natties.  Older men should sit and pee anyway, because it’s a long, long time and a far, far distance to have to keep that stream steady, and I’m getting too old to have to keep scrubbing dried up stale pee from the toilet and vicinity.

Jerry does reasonably well when he’s sober, considering he was raised by wolves.  When he’s wasted of course, all decorum goes right out the window and he has the potential to piss in the closet, moon the picture window, run outside in nothing but whitey tighties and a smile, and to play horrible old country music at obscenely loud volumes.   I’ve tried to socialize him somewhat, but in practical application, I’ve had better luck with Sheena.  Sheena has learned to sit and be polite if she wants a munchie, she will go to her crate on command, and she knows her name.  She is also very affectionate and sweet.  This is no small accomplishment for a dog who has only been with us for about 90 days.  Granted, Sheena is not the most intelligent dog I have ever encountered (Huskies can be a bit stubborn and dim-witted, and Sheena is no exception) and her physical coordination is abysmal, but she’s a lot easier to manage than Jerry when he’s 15 beers or so into it.

Dogs are easier than kids by a long shot- the worst thing a dog might do is to drop a deuce on the floor or knock something over.  Kids can get into all sorts of trouble, cost all kinds of money, and can end up in jail.  What really sort of sucks is that even after they turn 18 and you should technically be done with them they still cost a boat load of money, hence my anticipation of the day that Steve-o truly takes on his own adult responsibilities for himself. 

The main problem with breeding is the wrong people are doing it.  I was watching an episode of The First 48 (yeah, I love cop shows) last night and one of the murder suspects being interviewed admitted to, “well I have about five baby mamas and two on the way.”  The same scum bucket was found to be guilty of capital murder and received a life sentence.  Guess who’s paying for those seven kids?  Daddy certainly isn’t, that’s for sure.

I don’t believe in abortion or infanticide or anything Godless and evil like that- it’s not the kids’ faults their parents are scum.  I find it ironic that the same people who advocate mollycoddling violent criminals and murderers oppose the death penalty, but have no problem with abortion.  Isn’t that more than a little backward?

I do, however, believe in preventing ill-advised conceptions in the first place, and I have absolutely no problem with society carrying out its obligation to preserve public safety and to deter crime by executing violent criminals (murderers, rapists and child molesters) swiftly and publicly.

The Intellectual Superiority of Dogs, Ban Stupid People, and Other Utopian Impossibilities

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I had to take a picture of this yesterday when I saw it, as it mirrors my sentiments regarding both the dispatch of the stupid and those misdirected souls who would ban certain dog breeds.

Banning dog breeds or labeling particular breeds as “vicious” because some humans misuse them follows the same flawed logic and makes as little sense as banning the responsible ownership of firearms because some people misuse firearms.  I am particularly sensitive to such nonsense because I own dogs that have the potential to inflict grave injury if they are mishandled.   ALL dogs have some potential to be dangerous to humans if mishandled, though usually the larger and more assertive the breed there is little margin for error in handling the dog, and the potential for the dog to inflict harm, is greater.

Much has been said in the popular media condemning the Pit Bull breed (which is in reality a robust variant of the American Staffordshire Terrier.)  Irresponsible humans have done unspeakable cruelty to Pit Bulls by conditioning them to fight and training them to intentionally attack other dogs.  When properly conditioned and socialized, pitties (or as some owners prefer to refer to them- AmStaffs-) are some of the sweetest, most gentle and lovable dogs on Earth.  The difference between the lovable pittie who plays with children and lounges in the TV room and the deadly fighter who tears and rips other dogs to death is the human factor: are the humans responsible for the dog caring for it, socializing it, and handling it correctly?

I remember well that other breeds have been demonized in the media as being inherently “vicious” also- Dobermans, GSDs, Rottweilers, Chows, and Akitas to name a few.  However, in the rush to condemn a particular breed for being inherently prone to aggressive acts, the human factor was ignored.  Certain breeds do possess personality traits that can lead to aggressive acts if the human handler does not know how to deal with those traits.  A good example is our GSD/Chow mix, Lilo.

Lilo is a very territorial dog (typical of both Chows and GSDs) and always stands ready to defend what she believes is hers.  This personality trait can lead to aggression- and someone getting his/her face ripped off- if Lilo is improperly handled.  We understand that Lilo must be carefully introduced to both new people and other dogs so she doesn’t see the “interloper” as a threat.  We reward her when she is polite to new people and other dogs so she will associate being sociable with getting an extra something.   Lilo is heavily food motivated, so we encourage new visitors to pay tribute to Miss Lilo with a piece of cheese or meat.

Clara (Belgian Malinois/GSD) is every bit as territorial as Lilo, (pity be on any fool who would turn up in our house without proper introductions) but Clara is not nearly as demanding or headstrong as Lilo can be.  Clara is easier for me to handle than Lilo because she has an endearing and typically Malinois trait- her primary motivator is affection rather than food.  She won’t turn down food, but she lives for positive reinforcement.  She is very much a pleaser, but with one condition.  She will do virtually anything if she knows that’s what I want her to do.  If I am handling her she can be the gentlest and most docile dog imaginable no matter where we are.  She was a most welcome and sweet visitor to the nursing home my Grandma was in.   However, I am sure that the kids who tried to climb the fence saw a very different Clara- one with hair raised and teeth bared, charging at them full bore and ready to take a healthy chunk or two out of some miscreant butts should they land on the wrong side of the fence.  I am thankful that they made a wise choice when they saw her coming at them- they dropped and ran before they got over the fence and into Clara range.

Sheena (Husky/GSD) is rather harmless to people and could care less who walks in the house as long as they pay attention to her- she is not territorial at all, but she can be dog aggressive if she thinks she is not getting as much food or attention as the other two dogs.   She is a special case because we have only had her for about eight weeks and that’s the only socialization she has ever had.  She has gotten puppy obedience down and can obey simple commands.  Sheena is extremely food motivated and we are still struggling with some of her bad habits such as trash-digging and food-stealing.  She has that bullheadedness that is peculiar to Huskies- she makes Lilo’s “Chowtude” seem mild in comparison, and she is by far the most difficult of the three dogs to handle, at least right now.  She has made a great deal of improvement but needs to make a great deal more.  Especially when she gets the bright idea that uncoordinated large dogs can table dance.

For most people, Clara would be the more difficult of the three to handle simply because she is extremely perceptive and sensitive.   I can handle her with ease because her goal in life is to please me.  As long as I have had her (hard to believe it’s almost been six years) we sort of read each other’s minds, and she usually knows what I want before I give the command.   Now I know why the police and military love the Malinois breed.  As far as Clara obeying anyone else…well that’s a crap shoot.  Jerry can handle her to a degree.   I have to be with her for veterinary treatments.  If I am with her she will comply with any necessary procedure, but she freaks out if they take her in the back where she can’t see me.  Yelling at her only causes her to cower and hide, so any training method with her requires a lot of redirection and positive reinforcement as well as no loud commands or physical corrections.  I am glad Clara is an intuitive and quick learner.  Sheena is the exact opposite.  She’s not stupid, but extremely stubborn. She seems to do better when I’m brandishing the water bottle and she understands the threat of punishment should she fail to comply.   Lilo is a happy medium by comparison.  She’s not a pleaser but she will do what the humans want to get what she wants (food, and to a far lesser degree, attention.)

The bottom line is that it’s not about breed but in how the individual dog is socialized and handled.  Knowing that all three of my girls have very different learning styles as well as vastly different strengths and weaknesses gives me a guideline of how to help them be successful and well-adjusted.  I would not try to take Lilo to a dog park or to visit a nursing home.  She does not make (human or dog) friends easily.  Sheena would be wonderful in a meet-and-greet situation with humans (when her obedience skills are a bit more refined, she would be wonderful at the nursing home) but not so much with other dogs.  Other dogs have to be addressed with caution with both Sheena and Lilo.  (Oddly enough, Sheena and Lilo get along well- most of Sheena’s conflicts have been over being jealous of Clara.)  Clara is probably the most versatile of the three as in the proper context she gets along well with dogs and humans.

I get really disgusted with people who claim that dogs are not situational creatures, that they simply react on instinct or out of fear of punishment. I know this is NOT true.   Some dogs are more rational and sentient than a great deal of humanity is.  Dogs are situational creatures and can adapt their behavior accordingly.  They read human behavior better than other humans do.  It’s what they do to survive and thrive.

In some ways I get tired of people who continue to believe in spite of boat loads of evidence to the contrary that it is possible to create utopia on earth.  I think we can (sort of) create the dystopia we like the best, but there’s no getting back to the Garden, folks- not on human effort, anyway.

More “As Seen on TV” Dreck, Sheena the Table Dancing Dog, and Things to be Thankful For

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The last refuge of the insomniac- infomercials.  I don’t know exactly why, but most nights I  have to get up once or twice during the night to take a trip to the bathroom.  Sometimes I find it difficult to get that last three hours of sleep between 2AM (when my bladder routinely rudely awakens me) and 5AM when both the dogs and my bladder decide I need to get up for the rest of the day. 

Some of the worst dreck on TV is on between 2 and 5AM.  I have to say the prize winner for most hilarious infomercial is for the Post-T-Vac.  I insist that anyone who can get Medicare to pay for old men’s pecker pumps has got a racket going on.  I’m glad this one doesn’t air during the day.  I remember it was bad enough back in the ’80’s and 90’s when there would be douche commercials or hemorrhoid cream commercials during the Westerns on Sundays.  I don’t know if there is such a thing as an effective segue from John Wayne to Summer’s Eve.  It was interesting to find out that you can extinguish a match with a hemorrhoid cleaning pad though.

I like this product, as gross as it might seem- it’s a butt wipe holder.

 No more reaching around all that way to make the distance around one’s fat ass- and no more “brown finger blues!”  I should get this for Dad for his birthday.  He loves gag gifts.

Some of the worst things that end up in infomercial hell are exercise equipment.  My mother owns most of this dreck.  I am surprised Dad hasn’t cancelled cable just to keep her off of QVC, but then he enjoys TruTV and History Channel too much to do that.   She hasn’t lost an ounce, but then again to be fair the products have to at least be assembled to make an honest assessment of their efficacy.   She has an entire home gym in her basement- still in pieces, in the original boxes.  And as far as I can tell, her butt is still as big as ever.  So much for the Ass Master 5000 or whatever they’re calling it now. I’m just glad she didn’t order the Totally Nude Aerobics.  I’d give myself a concussion bouncing around like that without wearing a bra.  If I am going to bounce around like a banchee I can guarantee it is in everyone’s best interest that I cover all the important parts thoroughly when I do it.  I don’t want to burn the dogs’ retinas with that visual.

I look at it this way.  I’m cheap.  I certainly am not going to pay “three easy payments of $39.95” for what looks to be an artificial step and some straps.  I can run up and down the basement stairs until I can’t catch my breath for free.

The beauty enhancers are also hilarious, and Mom has quite a few of these scattered about her house in the original boxes also.  I think she still looks the same as she always did, plus or minus a few more white hairs.  She doesn’t look bad for sixty-four, but then again, I’m forty-one and really don’t care if anyone can see the scars and potholes on my legs.  I think of them as battle scars, because a lot of them are- results of my ongoing battle with poor coordination and falling and running into things.   If I’m that worried about it I can do one of two things very easily: wear pants, or wear opaque tights- which thankfully are back in style.

Sheena is not exactly a graceful dog.  In fact, Sheena has even worse coordination than I do, which I thought was impossible without the assistance of vast quantities of alcohol.  The dog’s not a drinker, she’s just an extreme klutz.  She also has a thing for getting up on the end table (Sheena is not a small dog- she is a GSD/Husky mix and at her last weigh-in was 65#) to look out the picture window in the living room, much as a cat would do.  I am surprised she hasn’t tipped it over or destroyed the blinds.  She’s tall enough to see out of the picture window without standing on anything, but for some reason she prefers her perch on the table.   I haven’t gotten a pic of her on the table-yet-but as you can tell from this pic, she’s a pretty good size.

Clara likes to look out the dining room window, but she has enough class to simply stand on her hind legs and rest her elbows on the sill.  She and Sheena are almost identical in size (Clara is slightly taller but not as long as Sheena) but Clara is deliberate and precise in her movement, almost graceful.  Sheena lumbers and stumbles.  I am not sure if this has to do with her previous neglect, or if it has to do with inbreeding, or if it is a combination of poor environment and shady genetics.   Clara (in the pic below) certainly didn’t have the greatest genetic luck of the draw either (she was born with an umbilical hernia, rear dew claws, and has no undercoat), but then again it is sad what we humans have done with certain dog breeds’ blood lines.  GSD’s in particular have some pretty horrible genetic diseases inherent to most bloodlines. 

I am thankful for many things today.  I am thankful that I have never considered Totally Nude Aerobics as an exercise alternative.  I am thankful that the PP Perfect is not a real product. 

I am really thankful that I don’t have to use a toilet that is attached to a trailer hitch.

I did it!  I can honestly say that I used the words “toilet” and “trailer hitch” together in a complete sentence!

Modern Etiquette, The Year in Review, and Just When You Think You’ve Reached the Bottom…

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I’m not against the Second Amendment by any means.  In fact, I believe there would be a lot less crime if it could be assumed everyone is packing heat.  I’ve told Steve-o many times to be careful flying the one finger salute when he’s road raging.  You never know who is out there with an M16 and an attitude.  The main problem with readily accessible firearms is that the people who seem to have them are exactly the people who shouldn’t have them.  I know better than to own a firearm because I know full well that I have a hair trigger temper, and I have a tendency toward depressive illness.   However, there are nutjobs out there -who make me look sane by comparison -who have an entire arsenal at their disposal.  I do tend to assume the worst about humanity.  It works for me.  If one observes human behavior for any length of time, one will quickly discover that a.) Murphy’s Law is alive and well.  What can go wrong does go wrong, and where more than one person is involved the failure is usually spectacular,  and b.) Human nature is such that the twin aims of life are to seek pleasure and avoid pain.  I don’t have high expectations for any of my fellow human beings.  I am pleasantly surprised when fellow human beings do perform well or achieve objectives, but  I don’t expect it.   The Bible even warns us: “put not your trust in princes, in mortal men who cannot save.”  (Psalm 146:3)  I am not trusting at all by nature so it’s not difficult for me to keep a wary eye. I tend to assume the worst until I have proof to the contrary.  The only one I can expect anything from is God Himself.  For everyone else, including myself, it’s “trust but verify.”

This year was sucky but not quite as sucky as last year.  There was a bit of improvement, but overall the gains and losses sort of evened out. 

Last January my 2008 Yaris was rear-ended and pretty well hosed.  But I ended up with a 2010 Yaris that has cruise and power, so that was sort of a wash.

I did get an actual vacation this year which kicked ass. 

I had to spend way too much money on taxes, insurances, scripts and Steve-o, all of which really bite.

On the positive side, I’ve managed to get through this year without too much serious physical injury.

Then again, Obama has yet to either be impeached or to resign.  Bummer.

I’ve also managed to get through this year without any deaths of family members or close friends- but I have to admit I’ve had a hard time with Grandma dying last year.  It still creeps me out that Dad is renting out her house although I couldn’t expect him to do anything else.  He needs the money, and renting it is better than selling it, even though it’s downright weird to have strange people living there. I still can’t even drive by there, which is a lot of what kept me from my Tacky Christmas foray into the west end of Marion.  I didn’t take any Tacky Christmas pics this year, not even in Cinci (and there were some outrageous displays down there, believe it.)  I hope I get back in the mood to do it next year.  It’s fun, but I have to admit I have not been too in tune with fun lately. 

I never want to assume that things are ever as bad as they can get.  They may be as good as they will ever get, but there is always the potential for things to get worse.  It is only by the grace of God that anything good happens- the default is disaster.  It may never get better, but it can always get worse.  Such is the condition of humanity since the Fall.  It’s NOT going uphill, trust me. 

I sincerely hope and pray that next year is better but I am not holding my breath.  Just when you think you’ve reached the bottom, there is always a lower level.  I should make it a point to read Dante’s Inferno again, if only to remind myself that hell has levels, and there is always a level of hell below the currently occupied one. 

I am not an optimist when my perspective is based on human nature and human activity. 

A good example of this is the current POTUS and his praise of Michael Vick.  Obama, of course, always does the polar opposite of what is moral and right, so I am not surprised.   I saw what Michael Vick did to those dogs.  It’s pretty hard to make restitution and redeem oneself for such atrocities, at least in this world.  He might not have personally pulled their teeth out or sic’d them on each other, but he sanctioned it.  He had to know what happens to the losers in a dog fight.  I am not a person who is squeamish or easily shocked, but the mutilation and suffering that goes on in dog fighting- a perfectly avoidable source of carnage- is appalling. As far as letting him own a dog, here’s the way I see it.  Do we let convicted child molesters get out of prison and then encourage them to become day care providers?  It is not unreasonable to restrict someone convicted of animal cruelty from having contact with animals.  Especially dogs.  It’s good the man is playing football. It’s better than drug dealing and other illicit pursuits, and is probably the only thing he can do to earn an honest living. Hopefully his football pursuits allow him to pay some sort of restitution to the shelters and foster homes who worked to rehab those poor dogs.  Even so, as far as I see it, letting this guy own a dog, ever, is on the same level as turning Chester the Molester out in the school playground.  

I know there are bleeding hearts out there who will defend this guy, and to a degree he has a right to a defense.  In the great scheme of things what we do is ultimately between us and God, and I freely admit I am just as bad if not a worse sinner than everyone else.  However, here on this earth, we have to suffer the temporal consequences of our actions.  Even if we repent, even if we make restitution, the consequences are still there. Child molesters should never be allowed in close proximity to children.  Those who have engaged in animal cruelty should be kept away from animals.  It’s not undue punishment, it’s common sense.

I sincerely hope that the new year brings some improvement in my life.  This is my prayer- that I will have enough to pay my way and keep my head above water (and that is a TALL order that WILL take an Act of God), but not so much that I forget to care about God and others.  As cynical as I can be about humanity, I still care about people.  I want to be useful.  I know I’m useful to my dogs, which is encouraging, but it can be so depressing worrying about where every dime is going to come from and how this and that are going to get done.  Only by the grace of God.

God Gave Us Neal Schon, Sanity is Relative, and We the Unwilling Doing the Impossible for the Ungrateful (Again)

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No, I did not mean my commentary on Neal Schon being God’s gift in a blaspheming sort of way.  The guy has an incredible gift, OK, and for some reason I mellow out pretty good when I’m listening to old Journey stuff.  I needed a LOT of mellowing out this week- so I’ve been zoning out to old faves such as “Now You’re On Your Own,” “Of a Lifetime,” “Karma,” and so on.  There is something way therapeutic about that grandiose funky fusion rock of the 70’s.  It’s one of those clandestine pleasures that rates up right there with showering in the middle of the day when you can- for no logical reason, but just because you can.

I am trying not to succumb to the yearly holiday depression that coincides with Jerry’s bleak holiday despair.  It hasn’t been easy this year, especially with money being so stinking tight.  That is depressing even without drunk and stupid meanderings, but add that into the mix and even I get lonely and truly start wondering why I am still being permitted to suck up valuable oxygen.  It’s been so long since I’ve had a meaningful conversation with another adult that it’s almost pitiful.  To make things even worse, now that it’s winter, Jerry doesn’t go to the campground on the weekends, so he gets drunk and stupid at home and I have to deal with him.  One would think that in my loneliness I would appreciate the company, but there are few things more dreary and lonely than catering to a drunk all weekend.  The only conversation that comes from Jerry most of the time is his whining about what I’ve done wrong,  what I haven’t done, or what I can’t afford to do.  I don’t want to fix him breakfast and serve it to him in bed only to hear his dissatisfaction with normal breakfast fare and his lingering desire for Porterhouse steak.  I might be able to get the Porterhouse from time to time if you cut back on the beer and smokes and quit blowing your money on bullshit, but I dare not bring that up.   Logic does not generally compute with Jerry unless he can conform it to his point of view.  In his mind I should (somehow??) make more money to pay for him.

Perhaps I have vestiges of normal female desires to feel cherished and wanted by a member of the opposite gender, even though I know that for me that doesn’t happen save in my own imagination.  I don’t have any illusions regarding my awkwardness and plainness and just plain lack of any sort of carnal appeal. I’m thankful to have three hots and a cot as it were, and to expect anything more than bare necessity and survival is asking too much.  I was taught from my earliest memory that I am only as loved as I am useful, and here lately I haven’t felt terribly useful. Even so there are times when I would so enjoy an evening with a friend, conversation that doesn’t focus on everything I’ve done wrong, or everything someone else expects me to do for him.  When Jerry does speak coherently, I usually can’t wait for him to shut up and stop whining.

This morning he was whining about Sheena.  Sheena knows when the girls are supposed to go out in the morning.  She gets excited and starts woofing and whining to be let out.  I’m grateful that she is good about letting us know when she needs out.  So Jerry starts in with, “Spray that dog so she shuts her mouth,” and so on, but I have to admit I ignored him after that.  I’m getting good at tuning out the whining.  After I let the dogs out, I wandered back in with the spray bottle, pointed it at him, and replied, “I want to see.  Maybe if I spray you, you’ll stop your whining.”

I can handle canine vocalizations, but Jerry’s incessant whining- mostly regarding things I have no ability to change or improve- has already gotten on my last nerve.  Sheena is a headstrong dog, but she’s infinitely more trainable than Jerry. Sheena also whines a lot less.  Sort of on the same subject are some old 70’s movies for “trainables.”  This one is long, but from today’s point of view horribly politically incorrect, and therefore, hilarious.  I almost forgot there were so many different slang terms for the male member.

We the unwilling, doing the impossible, for the ungrateful.  This is my life in synopsis, the extreme Cliff’s Notes version. If I were to opt for traditional burial I would insist this be inscribed on my tombstone, but since I am going to be cremated I guess it doesn’t matter. 

I am thankful for the Prozac, believe that.

I Need a Video Camera (if only for my own entertainment) and Why Dogs are Better Than Men

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I have a very rude pic of Jerry experiencing the aftermath of a particularly stupid drunk and stupid episode, but I have enough decency to keep that in my own private collection.  I thought about posting it for a moment, but that’s a little worse than my usual passive-aggressive revenge.  That borders on aggressive-aggressive revenge, which I’m a little too soft hearted to engage in even when I know there is little chance of getting caught. There is no actual nudity involved, but he is down to his whitey tighties, and I figure nobody needs that visual.  Nor do they need to see the reason why I spend so much time getting intimately acquainted with the rug shampooer.  Suffice to say that the dogs are housebroken, so unless they have an attack of Montezuma’s Revenge, it’s not the dogs.

I spend a lot of time among members of the species canis lupus familiaris, and even though I trust my dogs more than I trust any fellow humans, it’s good to remember that as far as taxonomy goes (the naming and classification of species) the domestic dog is a subspecies of canis lupus– the grey wolf.   Dogs can be dangerous if they are ill-treated and/or one fails to respect their strength (a 65# dog can easily take down a 250# man, for example) and the potential lethality of their bites.  More humans die as a result of dog attacks than from snake bites.  Even so, I believe the trust I have in my own dogs is warranted.  There is no love more sincere than the love of a good dog.

It’s fascinating that one species can have so many differences in its members.  I am not the reigning expert in scientific matters by a long shot, but the current theory is that dogs have such a high rate of mutations due to what are called tandem repeats– sequences of DNA that repeat themselves multiple times.  Of course we humans have made some genetic diseases in dogs worse by limiting the gene pools (i.e. line breeding.)  I don’t have any purebred dogs at this time- but both of our now departed purebred GSDs, Kayla and Heidi, ended up having to be put down due to rear limb ataxia that progressed to near paralysis due to probable degenerative myelopathy.  This is a genetic disease in GSDs and I am sure that it is more prevalent than is reported.  Since DM doesn’t show up until a dog is 7-14 years old, no one would know if a breeding pair are carriers until they have already reached the end of their reproductive life.  Today there is a genetic test, but not all individuals who carry the gene develop full blown DM.    Even Lilo and Sheena, who are crossbreeds, have hip dysplasia, which is primarily a genetic disease as well.  Most dogs, purebred or crossbreed, carry at least one genetic defect.  Lovely Clara, who is an ideal canine specimen in many ways- and actually has good hips- was born with an umbilical hernia, which would have automatically made her unsuitable for breeding (though she would have been unsuitable for breeding anyway as she is a crossbreed.)

Despite the capricious nature of canine inheritance, and the potential that dogs have to be dangerous if ill-handled, I prefer the company of dogs to humans.  Maybe that’s a bad thing to admit, but dogs are better than men for a number of reasons.

Dogs (generally) don’t drink beer.

Dogs don’t smoke.

Dogs generally don’t dirty up laundry.

Dogs will eat what they are served.

Dogs are always happy to see me.

Dogs don’t care what I look like.

Dogs are always great listeners.

After this morning I am tempted to embark on a bit of aggressive-aggressive revenge on Jerry.  I have threatened for years to video record his drunk and stupid incidents for his review (also for sharing with friends and pretty much most of the free world via You Tube) but I haven’t wanted to come off of the $$ for a video camera.  If I have any tax money left over (yeah right) I may contemplate planting a couple of Jerry-cams in strategic areas.  I will have to have audio too because the comments, as well as the thuds and crashes of drunk and stupid fallings down, are half of the fun.

I am not one of those people who buys the common wisdom of  “alcoholism is a disease.”  What a crock of shit.  I used to be a binge drinker myself.  Drunkenness is a decision.  You either decide to suck down those beers (or in my instance, liquor and/or wine- I never could stand beer) or you decide you are going to stay sober.  If habitual drunkenness is a “disease” then why isn’t smoking considered a “disease?”  Nobody feels sorry for smokers (nor should they- even though smoking is a LOT harder to get free of than drinking) and society makes no provision for the smoker to indulge his/her habit.  Why don’t we treat drunkenness like smoking and just stop tolerating it and making excuses for it?   In my world, as I was growing up, bad behavior carried consequences.  You make a bad choice you pay the consequences.  Get shitfaced and act stupid, then end up as a worldwide laughing stock on You Tube.  I’m thinking about it but will probably be too tender hearted to carry it out.

Ah, the Bouquet of a Fine Whine, Canine Conditioning, and Some Pragmatic Coping Strategies

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Ok, the illustration is in French, but even with my very limited knowledge of francais from high school, I get the Alcohol Tree just fine.  Excessive use of alcohol screws one up royally and does a good bit of collateral damage at the same time.   Yeah, here’s my public service announcement for the day.  I haven’t gotten shitfaced since that legendary episode in 1993 when I found myself in a motel room bathtub- alone-  immersed in freezing cold water with a half-eaten Domino’s Pizza on the ledge.  Something about realizing what a total loser I was and that I’d have to go to work in a few hours wearing no makeup and yesterday’s clothes really put the damper on my drinking excursions. That’s probably a good thing because I was always a “forget it all” drunk, as in “how the hell did I get home last night?” or worse, “did I sleep with so-and-so?”   To my knowledge my conquest record while drunk is pretty much as lame as when I’m sober, which reassures me that I didn’t get any action I don’t remember.  Good thing I’m consistently pathetic in that pursuit as I would hated to have missed anything.  My drinking these days is limited to maybe a glass of wine every six months or so.  It lost its charm for me years ago.

Jerry, on the other hand, drinks enough for a freaking army all by himself.  This was my plight Thursday night into Friday morning (when I had to go in to work at 6:30, of course) – listening to him bouncing off the walls (literally) and blaring the local death metal station until 1AM or thereabouts.  At least it wasn’t the old-time country station, or I’d had to have sneaked downstairs to cut the breaker.  As long as I left the breaker for the furnace blower on it would have been OK.   I can tolerate death metal a lot better than Hank Williams Jr. or Willie Nelson, believe that.  I need to rig a kill switch for the stereo which I will do one of these days.   Saturday night was a most unnecessary drunk and stupid encore, though I got lucky in that he got too drunk to remember how to turn the stereo on.  I wish his so-called buddies would stop buying him twelve packs of beer, because he sees it as a challenge if there is more than one twelve pack in the house. 

Dogs on the other hand are far easier to condition.  As much as I hate to take a hard line with Sheena the water bottle is most effective.  Usually just the sight of the water bottle is enough to help her remember to choose to be a good dog.  It works really well to keep her out of the kitchen when I’m fixing food.  I know she has to learn better- hence the constant douching-  because having a dog trying to get her snoot into everything just isn’t conducive to being able to prepare meals.  I wish I had something like that for Jerry.  Maybe I should try the spray bottle on him and douche him a good one every time he picks up a damned beer can.  It’s a thought. I think Jerry would need something a bit stronger than water though- say vinegar, or Dave’s Insanity Sauce.  Yes, the dogs learn faster and with less effort.

Most of my dealing with drunk and stupid would fit into the “avoidance” category.  Usually out of sight with Jerry means out of mind, so if I hide in the corner of my room with the door closed and the light off he usually won’t go out of his way to pester me.  If he persists in annoying me then I have to ramp it up to “passive aggressive” repercussions.  One I’ve been toying with trying lately involves duct taping his ankles together.  I hate it when I think he’s passed out only to have him jump up and start raving and wandering again.  He usually does this after a quiet lull – and just when I think it’s safe to go to the bathroom he starts in because he sees me and then something deep in the reptilian part of his brain remembers he’s not annoying me so he needs to start in again.  I don’t mind being around Jerry when he’s sober, but it seems he only wants to hang on me like some twisted clingy alien when he’s drunk.  I absolutely detest that which is probably why he does it.

In his defense, Jerry has his good points, but they are nowhere to be found or even imagined when he’s shitfaced.  I know I have my vices so I probably shouldn’t be so critical.  But a word of advice for the drinking set- if you drink to excess, be assured that when you’re drunk you’re a dumb ass, and no one wants to be around you when you’re shitfaced.  Take it from someone who knows.

Greetings from Whine Country, The White Death Returneth, and I Finally Put Up the Decorations

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No, this is NOT my house.   Not only is my house far more modest (this Griswoldian display is from my sister’s Cincinnati area suburb- where people consider my yearly income to be weekend pocket change) but Jerry does not permit me to do much in the way of decorating for Christmas.  Since he is terrified of fire I cannot have a live tree, outside lights, or anything that he perceives as remotely flammable.  This decree reeks of I don’t know what, especially after the legendary attempt at fireplace lighting with gasoline, but when you live in whine country, it’s easier and quieter to comply with irrational requests as far as reasonably possible.

I didn’t feel like putting up even my modest decorations this year.  My grandma died a year ago yesterday which was depressing enough, and I’m so damned broke it’s not funny, et cetera and so on. But something in the back of my head made me do it.  Grandma always enjoyed Christmas and always decorated lavishly until she wasn’t able to- and then I would go and do it for her.  Grandma would have been disappointed with me had I failed to at least put up the tree and the Nativity.   So the tree is up, the buzzard is in place (long story,) the Nativity is on the mantle and the wreath is in the window.  It was strangely comforting to put the stuff up. I’m glad I did as weird as that sounds.  I like Christmas decorations- especially when they are Griswoldian and tacky.

I would have been in the west end of Marion today trolling for tacky Christmas pictures except for the weather- there is a minor snowstorm coming through and I don’t want to be stuck up north or worse- trying to get through the White Death on the freeway.  So here I sit all broken hearted…the rest of the line is “paid my dime and only farted,” but a. I don’t have a dime, and b. even back in the day when the department stores had pay toilets, most of the chicks I knew simply slid under the stalls.  I’m in my bed but trapped under Lilo who is enjoying her REM sleep splayed across my chest.   That dog can sleep anywhere.  I have no idea where her dreams are taking her but she is the most dream-active of our dogs.  Her little head shakes and her legs move as if she’s running.  If she has a bad dream she wakes up and then she’s disoriented and clingy for awhile.  This dream doesn’t seem to be a bad one so I won’t disturb her if I can avoid it.  Let sleeping dogs lie- and dream.

Yes, look closely- Lilo is crosseyed.  I can also add bowlegged.  But she’s so sweet.  She’s being patient with Sheena which is amazing too.  Sheena is like a big awkward puppy right now but Lilo doesn’t seem to mind which is surprising me.

So whine country is fairly quiet at the moment- Jerry’s asleep which is nice.  I like that phrase, “whine country.”  If one doesn’t take account of the spelling of “whine” it could sound like I take high faluting vacations.  “I vacationed in whine country” sounds so much different that what it really is, as if I am hanging out with buff young studs and sampling the finest wines in the Napa Valley or something.  It really means I put up with Jerry’s incessant whining for a week straight instead of getting occasional breaks from it while I’m at work.   Going on vacation with Jerry is NO vacation for me! It’s even more work than when I’m at work.   The only way I get a real vacation is if I do what I did last June- I went on vacation to my sister’s in NC with Steve-o, while Jerry stayed home with the dogs.   Works for me, except I missed the dogs.

I have a hard time with the holidays for a number of reasons.  Mostly it’s hard because I never have the means to be as generous with others as I’d like.  This year I’ll be doing good to give cards.  Steve-o has always been cynical around the holidays even when he used to get all the useless crap that kids always want and then end up breaking, destroying or losing before New Year’s.  That’s what happened to the model airplane.  We still don’t know where that puppy ended up.  Probably on someone’s roof.

This was the only pic I could get of Steve-o last Christmas.  I’m so stinking proud of my illustrious offspring.  Perhaps it was fortuitous that he was an only child.

Now Lilo’s eyes are rolled back in her head and she’s snoring.  At least she’s not drooling.  Yet.

 

 

One Pathetic Dude, Puppy Class for Adults, and Technology Tards

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Granted, mug shots are not generally the most flattering photos out there, as the Smoking Gun will attest (gotta love that site) but this dude got my attention because 1. he’s local, and 2. there’s just something particularly tacky about having one’s prized pit bulls tattooed on one’s neck.  If he was into dog fighting, I hope his fellow prisoners have just as dim a view of dog fighting as they do of child molestation.   There are responsible owners of pit bulls, but when one sees pit bulls connected with criminal elements I know it gets my wheels turning in a bad way.  The only things lower than a person who arranges and participates in dog fighting (in my humble opinion) are child molesters, rapists and serial killers. 

Yes I own dogs that are considered to be protection breeds, (i.e German Shepherd, Belgian Malinois) so yes I am very sensitive to those who would condemn a dog because of its breed rather than to condemn the idiots who mistreat and misuse dogs.  Condemning a dog for the owner’s negligence or ignorance is akin to blaming a car for running off the road rather than blaming the drunk driver controlling the car.   Dogs were bred for thousands of years to fulfill certain human purposes- some dogs to guard, some to herd (often guarding and herding are functions of the same breeds) some for hunting, such as spaniels, hounds and retrievers, and so on.  Yet the ultimate usefulness of a dog is determined by a number of factors, most primarily what his human handlers condition him/her to do.  I don’t agree with all of the common wisdom in dog handling- there are some nut jobs out there- but the primary function of the human in the human-dog relationship is to be the leader, the one who calls the shots- to be the alpha in the pack formation- especially when dealing with multiple dogs. 

Right now Sheena is bouncing back splendidly from surgery, but is proving to be a a bit of a behavioral challenge because she’s basically having to go through “puppy class” or basic obedience, as an adult.  She is in the process of learning what one would normally be teaching to 8-16 week old puppies.   She knows her name and can sit on command at this point.  Getting her attention is the hard part as she is easily distracted.  It’s a lot easier to teach a more malleable and much smaller 12 week old than it is to condition a strong-willed three year old who has acquired some bad habits (trash-digging, climbing on things including the coffee table, inappropriately taking food, etc.) along the way.   One thing that Sheena does get very well is house training- no bathroom  mistakes and that amazes me, though house training usually is not much of a problem for protection breeds, and it does help that she has two dogs in the house who are already conditioned and know the routine.  Few methods of conditioning dogs are more effective than having access to other dogs who have already learned the required behaviors.   They learn more quickly, and perhaps with some peer pressure to conform to the norms of the rest of the pack, from other dogs.  Canine social structure can be used to our advantage.

Sheena is attempting some power struggles with Clara (to be expected as Clara is the reigning queen bee) and I am having to reinforce Clara’s position by making Sheena work for every privilege she gets. Clara already knows the drill but Sheena can be strong willed and pushy, especially where food is involved.   Clara can be rather laissez-faire regarding food unless of course, someone else wants it.  Then she will make it clear that it’s HER food, and she will eat it at her leisure- one daintily and thoroughly chewed bite at a time.  Clara does not eat like a normal dog.  Lilo is extremely food motivated (Lilo the Inhaler, or her more infamous alter ego- the Food Ho) but even she knows better than to infringe on the Clara bowl- she learned a long time ago to leave Clara’s food alone at least until Clara’s done with it- but Sheena is having to learn and sometimes she has to learn the hard way.  Clara has rolled her a couple of times, but hasn’t hurt her doing it.  I would rather correct Sheena than allow Clara do to it because Clara’s correction won’t be as gentle as mine.  Clara also knows that I am above her in the pack hierarchy and I should be responsible for dishing out discipline. Sheena particularly dislikes the water bottle- but it is redirecting her from undesired behaviors without physically hurting her (we do not use physical discipline on our dogs.)   A blast of water in the face is enough to get her attention.  I know, I’m a mean mommy, but Sheena will learn to adapt to the established norms for dog behavior in our house. It’s just a bit more of a process when a dog is an adult vs. a puppy.  It’s easier to redirect a 20# 16 week old pup than a 70# three year old, but certainly not impossible.  Dogs learn from the moment of birth until the moment of death.  Heidi did remarkably well for us in spite of little to no socialization or conditioning for nine years.  Even senior dogs can be socialized with a little patience.   I have to remember this when Sheena signals her desire to go out at 5AM by lustily barking her way all through the house until I make it to the door.  I’m glad she’s good about her toileting activities- cleaning up a 70# dog’s bathroom mistake is NOT pleasant by any means, and she’s dropped some pretty huge almost Clara-sized loads outside- but I’m not really thrilled with her waking Jerry up that early.  I have confidence Sheena will learn.  Jerry, now there I wonder.

Jerry managed to annihilate his phone last night. It was already most distressed to begin with, but his attempts to take the back of it off with a screwdriver were its death knell. I had ordered him another one- a very simple phone with a big keypad- but it will probably not arrive until tonight or tomorrow which means he is without a phone and without the means to transfer his contact list (guess what I get to reload… manually) until it arrives.  I tried to show him how to use my phone (LG Rumor Touch) but without success.  The touch screen confused the hell out of him, (I didn’t even attempt to show him how to use the keyboard) and frankly expecting him to be able to use it was sort of cruel to a dude with both tremor disorder and presbyopia. 

I am not the most technologically savvy person in the world, and I freely admit it, but even I can figure out a touch screen cell phone and even how to get on the Internet with it and check my e-mail and all that.  Maybe if I had more time and patience but Jerry is a bit of what I call a technology tard.  Even worse was the poor guy who called Jerry wanting to know why the convertor box Jerry sold him for his TV didn’t work.  I was trying to explain to Jerry that the box has no way to pick up signal unless it is connected with the coax for the antenna going in to the box, then the coax from the box going into the TV.  Connecting the TV into the box without connecting the antenna to anything wasn’t going to work no matter what the poor kid did. 

The only thing worse than the garden variety technology tard is the Darwin-award candidate technology tard- say the guy who goes up on the roof to adjust a TV antenna or satellite dish in a thunderstorm.  So far Jerry has managed to keep all his fingers and toes for 53 years which in and of itself is an amazing feat considering some of the dumb stuff he’s done with power tools.  I don’t claim to be good with any kind of tool but I know my limitations and I also learned the cardinal rule of power tools: “Don’t Drink and Drill.”  I remember the visual quite vividly from Matt Groening’s “Life is Hell” comics.  I think it’s from “Work is Hell” but I’d have to dig through it.  Jerry on the other hand seems to have to be drunk to get motivated to use the power tools and that scares the hell out of me.

I should hide the drill battery.  Note to self.

Nothing Keeps a Good Dog Down, and (According to Clara) Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Green

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I know, sort of gross, but not as bad as I’d anticipated.  Sheena had three incisions, one for the spay – that one is barely visible, one to remove one mammary gland and nipple (not terribly aesthetically pleasing, but since the mass was right below the nipple, it stood to reason that it should be removed) and another incision to remove part of another mammary gland.  For having what amounts to a hysterectomy and partial mastectomy all at once, Sheena is remarkably unfazed.  Wednesday night, the day of the surgery, she was a bit in pain but mostly still stoned from the anesthetic and all the pain meds.  Yesterday she was a bit slow and tired, but today she has pretty much been trying to act like her normal hyper self- in spite of still being on Tramadol.  When Clara was hit by a car last year and had to have surgery to repair her front leg she was pretty well zoned on the Tramadols but they don’t seem to phase Sheena nearly as much.  Then again Clara was seven years old when she got hit, and Sheena is about three, if that.  Age does make some difference.  What really surprised me is the Vets at the clinic said Sheena was in heat when she was spayed.  She showed absolutely no signs, but then some dogs don’t.  Spaying her now may likely have saved her life although there is a good chance the mammary tumors were benign.  Mammary tumors in dogs are fed by estrogen- so in theory removing the tumors and removing the source of estrogen should prevent their return.

I only have two more days of Tramadols for her.  She has several more days of Keflex (what a joy trying to cram those down a canine gullet- the capsules are huge, and heaven help you if the capsule breaks, because Keflex is one of the nastiest tasting antibiotics there is, and I should know because I’ve probably taken every antibiotic out there at one point in time or another) for which I hope I have sufficient peanut butter.  It sounds mean but the only way to get pills down most dogs is to bury them in a wad of peanut butter, then scrape the wad of peanut butter containing the pills on to the roof of the dog’s mouth.

Clara of course is jealous, so much so that I joke that her brown eyes are turning green.  Little Miss Green-Eyed Monster resents the attention Sheena is getting, although I am sure she doesn’t remember all the special attention she got when she had all those stitches and then that seroma that had to be drained every other day for a month.  I did not enjoy that at all but at least she recovered fully.  I think dogs bounce back a lot faster than we do.  Lilo has not been nearly as clingy but then she’s always preferred Jerry.

Clara at the pet blessing.  Her eyes are still brown, in spite of her occasional jealous tizzies.

Jerry is in there whining about trying to caulk bathroom tiles- he’s about 8 or 10 beers into it which means I’ll have a mess to clean up tomorrow. He’s already trying to wheedle me into farting around with it too but I refuse to enter in to his drunk and stupid inspired home improvement attempts.  If only he would do this stuff when he’s sober, and preferably when I’m not home to hear about it.