Archive for the ‘pets’ Category

Like most of the Southeast US we have been stuck in a rainy weather pattern for several weeks. We haven’t had rain every single day, but almost.   I hate to  complain because the alternative is drought and, heaven only knows, we’ve had plenty of that in the last few years.

Ginger, our ten-year old Beagle/Bassett mix, pants and pants during thunderstorms.  She hides under the desk or behind a chair — anywhere that she can find.  Annie, the young Terrier/Chow/Lab mix, will bark at each and every clap of thunder.  She chased the lightning flashes and barks at the thunder.  What pandemonium!  Bruce and I were exhausted dealing with the dogs on an almost daily basis.

I had seen the late night TV ads for the ThunderShirt, which claims to calm dogs from all that anxiety.  So I googled it.  Forty dollars??  Really?  For a dog shirt?  Come on. . . .

However, after weeks of storms, and all the drama, we got to the point where we’d probably pay more than that for some peace and quiet.  I ordered one.  We put it on Annie since she was the loud one.  It worked.  She was so relaxed she almost fell asleep wearing it!  We were amazed.  The only thing is to get it on her quickly as she hates to be “messed” with.  (Hence the muzzle at the vet’s office.)  But with two people and a handful of dog treats, we managed.  I don’t think she likes the ripping, tearing sound of the velcro if it has to be readjusted.

Old Ginger, on the other hand, now just rolls along.  She lets us put it on her since she is limp from nerves anyway.  So all is now well.  She is calm and Annie is silent.

Peace and quiet for us?  Priceless.


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RIP, Sweet Kitty

“Have you seen Raggs this morning?” asked Bruce. “No, not this morning,” I replied.  “I ask because there’s a dead cat in the street around the corner that looks like her.”

Sure enough.  Soon our next door neighbor was knocking on the door saying, “I have some bad news.”

We went to get her.  She had puncture wounds in the belly and had been dead awhile.  We have a very large hawk in the area and we suspect he was the culprit.  She was a small cat, easy to carry away.  We brought her home and Bruce buried her in the back woods where she wandered and explored many a day.

Eight years ago, Betty, Christine and I were downtown at the Saturday Market and sitting on a bench were a couple with a basket of free calico kittens.  She was such a cutie it didn’t take much to persuade me to bring her home.  Of course, any one who has adopted a pet knows that a free kitten soon becomes a $100 cat after the first few trips to the vet’s office.

She was worth every penny. Raggs was a flower-child-cat at heart, a real free spirit, sweet but fiercely independent.  She loved getting her fluffy fur brushed.  Raggs even befriended some of the scruffier cats in the neighborhood, sharing her food,  as long as they didn’t try to fight with her.  Then she became Tiger Raggs, a formidable opponent.  This was her house and her deck where from the upper corner she had a 180 degree view of the lower yard.  Her domain.

Now her sweet spirit reigns over the back woods.  We’ll miss her.

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After a period of unseasonably warm weather, Raggs, our calico, decided to find her own way to cool off.  She was out on the deck, on her back, all four paws in the air, letting the wind blow her belly fur.  She was quite comfy it appeared.

A new quilt, in patchwork calico, can certainly jazz up the bedroom decor.  Besides, it’s warm.  Ask Ginger, our dog.

Nothing satisfies a sweet tooth like warm brownies with vanilla ice cream melting down the sides.

Date night is extra special when you’ve not been on one in a good while.  Popcorn, diet cokes and an interesting movie.  Fun and relaxing.

Persuading other book club members to try massage therapy, my comment was, “the worst one I ever had, was wonderful.”

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Poor Puppy, part two

We finally caught him.  He spent the night inside a nice wooden crate after he had his supper.  Bruce even went out in the middle of the night to rig a piece of plastic so he wouldn’t get wet from the rain.  Three towels made him a soft warm bed.  I’m sure he slept like a lamb, or at least a small puppy.  Either way, it was better than under Bruce’s lawnmower where he has taken up residence.

After some breakfast of puppy chow the next morning, we took him out to the county animal shelter.  The fact that he’s young and a Rottweiler mix will make him quite adoptable said the attendant.  She thought he was about 4 months old.  Amen.  Thus ends the puppy saga.

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Ants Can’t Swim

Thank heavens they can’t.

Our dogs eat regularly — one older one inside, the young one outside, so they don’t fight over their food.

However, we feed Raggs, our outside cat, outside.  We also feed neighborhood cat(s) too.  After having a terrible time with ants getting into their food, minutes, and I do mean minutes, after putting it out, I was ready to throw up my hands.  The internet came to the rescue.  A site said to put their food dishes inside a larger pan/dish with water in the outer pan so to create a moat around the food dish.  It worked!  Now we can feed everyone bug free.

Sorry you nasty ants.  You’re out of luck.  No free lunch here.

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Poor Puppy

I’m afraid we’ve been adopted.

Two weeks ago a little Rottweiler mix puppy showed up.  Bruce did all he could to dissuade the pup from hanging around.  We even tried not feeding him until I could no longer bear to see his ribs showing.  He had taken up residence under the neighbor”s shed when we blocked him from squeezing through our fence and living under our garden shed.  During the day he hides under Bruce”s big lawnmower.  Annie, our Lab/Terrier mix decided she wanted to mother the little  fellow.  So they kissed and rubbed noses through the fence.   Ginger, the Corgi/beagle, our older dog, was not impressed.

Every time the dog chaser showed up he was nowhere to be found.  Twice.  Pretty street wise.

We are now on the list to get a trap/cage from Animal Control that will, hopefully, catch him so we can either take him to the shelter or the vet.  We’ll see.

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Our New Secretary

We babysat Abby yesterday.  While her daddy took Austin to a football game, she came to spend the day with us. Besides singing songs with her grandfather,  she was interested in the dogs, the cat and the fish and the doll house.

Ginger is called the “good dog” because she doesn’t bark at little girls; Annie doesn’t earn that title.  She wanted to know if that “other dog” was in “her room” where the doll house is kept. She was and, of course, promptly barked from her crate when we entered the room.

I said aloud in the car that I needed to feed Raggs, our calico cat, when we got home.  As soon as we got in the house, she reminded me.  Later, again back in the car, Bruce asked if I’d fed the fish.  No.  Little Missy reminded me again after we returned from seeing Lion King.

Also in the car (yes, we were in and out all day) I lamented that I wished we had cup holders in the back seat.  “In my daddy’s car, they are there,” she said, pointing to the folded up arm rest.   I pulled it down. Sure enough. There they were.  I’ve only owned that car for five years. . . . sigh.

Need sorting out?  Give the job to a four year old.

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