Sound Advice

IMG_7716If there’s one thing we dogs know, it’s that loud noises ALWAYS mean danger.  And even though my parents adopted me from an animal shelter in Missouri, I’m originally from Louisiana, where flooding is common.  That means I know rain can also spell big trouble, and the only sensible thing to do when the rains come is to move to higher ground.  (It’s not my fault that the best “higher ground” in my house is the dining room table, but try telling Mom that.  She has a hissy fit every time I try to climb up there.  Luckily, she’s not always home when I feel the need to heighten.)

Anyway, it goes without saying that when you combine rain with thunder and lightening from a storm, what you get is a situation that strikes pure terror in the heart of your average dog.  Yes, I know that some dogs aren’t fazed by nasty weather, but all I can say to that is obviously, some dogs aren’t all that smart.  I don’t mean to speak ill of my own, but I think we all know that every species has a few members who were obviously not present when brains were being handed out, and why should dogs be any different?  Those of us who know better have a very healthy respect for the horrors that bad weather can bring.  And if you don’t believe me, just listen to the weather forecasters when they think a hurricane, tornado, or some other weather disaster is approaching.  They may not pant and try to hide, but they sure do panic and urge everyone else to do the same.

Which is why I, and every other sensible creature on this planet, hate rain and storms.  Unfortunately, here in the Midwest, they are very common in late Spring and early Summer and basically impossible to avoid.  In other words, this time of year is bad enough all by itself without adding anything else to the mix.  So what do humans do?  They have a little celebration called “The Fourth of July” every year on, you guessed it, July 4th.  And do you know how they celebrate it?  With fireworks, that’s how.  Loud, terrifying, relentless fireworks that begin sometime around July 1st and keep going until the people setting them off run out.

First of all, the only appropriate way to celebrate any holiday is with food.  And I mean lots of food, generously shared with the four-footed, furry members of the family.  There is no need for anything else, much less something as terrifying as fireworks.  I mean seriously, why would anyone deliberately try to make a noise that sounds like the loudest thunderbolt ever, and looks like the whole sky is lit up by deadly lightening?  And see what I mean about every species having a few members who come up a bit short in the brain department?  Fireworks are proof positive of that.

Thankfully, the fireworks are over for another year and the storm season should be winding down shortly.  That means I can get back to enjoying my life with my family and stop being so scared.  And who knows?  Maybe sometime in the coming months people will wise up and ban not only all fireworks, but rain and thunderstorms too.  A dog can hope…..

Love, Finn   

 

Fair Enough

IMG_6242Mom’s outside doing some yard work, so I’m taking the opportunity to write another blog post for her.  I’ve written a few already, and they’ve been very well received, if I do say so myself.  Still, it’s been a long time since she’s invited me to write a guest post.  I’d like to think that’s just because Mom is a bit forgetful, and not because she’s getting a little jealous that maybe my blog posts are a tiny bit better than hers.  But for whatever the reason, I got tired of waiting for an invitation and since Mom’s not exactly a fast worker, so I’ve got plenty of time to do it now.

Unless, of course, she happens to discover some of the “treasure” I’ve buried in the back yard, in which case I can think of one or two items that will probably bring her storming back into the house, looking for yours truly.  I’m not quite sure why she gets so upset why I sneak off with some of her granddaughter’s baby toys, because face it:  dog chew toys and baby chew toys look exactly the same and I can’t resist any of them.  That’s why I like to hide a few in the back yard, to play with when I’m outside.  But last week she was searching everywhere for the baby’s favorite teething toy, and then she began throwing suspicious glances my way.  Suffice it to say, if she unearths a certain rubber giraffe, I’m got some explaining to do.

4fpVgBptSf+s5gvff1HMRwWhich brings me to the point of this post.  As much as I like living with my human family, (and I really do love them), I can’t help but notice that there’s a certain unfairness in the way the different members of the family are treated.  Just because I happen to have fur and walk around on four legs, I often have to abide by a totally different set of rules.  Take the aforementioned toys, for instance.  I’m perfectly willing to share my toys with babies and children, and believe me, when the adults aren’t looking, they play with my toys.  But if I dare to pick up one of their toys, I’m immediately told to “drop it,” as if I’ve done something horrible.  And they insist on washing the toys before they return them to the child or baby in question, which is just plain insulting.

Also, the humans in my family never have to “relieve themselves” outside.  But I’m expected to do my business outside all the time, in all kinds of weather.  Once when it had been storming all day, I really had to go.  But I knew if I let my parents know that, they’d put me out in the yard.  So I went downstairs and took care of my problem there.  Just so you know:  no matter how badly you have to go, never, ever, pee on the leg of your dad’s pool table.  You wouldn’t believe how upset he’ll get, even though a pool table leg does look an awful lot like a tree trunk.

You see what I mean about unfairness?  It can be a tough pill to swallow sometimes, but luckily, we dogs are nothing if not forgiving.  And steady meals, a warm bed, and plentiful dog treats make up for a lot.  But mostly, I know they love me and I love them, and that’s all that really counts anyway. 

Love, Finn

A Dog’s Life

1V5A5533Sometimes it’s not easy being a dog.  Don’t get me wrong:  I love my family.  I really do.  And after living for months in an animal shelter, I’m really grateful to be in a house with my own dog bed, dog toys, and best of all, my own supper dish.  My human parents treat me very well most of the time.  They take me for walks, play with me, and give me lots of attention.  Plus, I’ve got them trained to be very generous with the dog treats.

But there are still times when it’s hard to be a dog living in a house that is run by humans.  Because sometimes humans say and do things that don’t make any sense at all.

For instance, our house has two beds, three couches, and five upholstered chairs.  Every single piece of that furniture is absolutely perfect for curling up and sleeping on.  I know, because I’ve done it.  They’re incredibly soft and comfortable, and obviously designed for a good nap.  But what happens whenever Mom or Dad finds me sleeping on them?  I get told to get down, that’s what.  And not too nicely, either.  Sometimes they even call me a bad dog.

Thunderstorms are another example.  Whenever I hear the rumble of thunder, or even sense the change in atmosphere that tells me a storm is coming, I do the only sensible thing and hide.  Everyone knows that when the end of the world is so obviously imminent, your only chance is to find a safe spot to ride it out.  But do my parents join me?  Nope.  They just go on about their business, acting as if nothing is wrong.  Sometimes (and I swear I’m not making this up), they even put on their raincoats and leave the house.  I can hear them driving off, leaving me all alone to face the danger.

But the weirdest stuff started a couple of months ago, when the vet told my Mom that I had tested positive for heart worm.  I didn’t think it was such a big deal, since worms are rather common in the dog world, but my parents freaked out.  No more walks for me, or games of fetch.  Dad even fenced off most of the yard so I didn’t have much room to run around.  Worst of all, they switched me to a low-calorie dog food.  It doesn’t taste nearly as good as my regular food, but I had to eat it anyway.

They made me go to the vet twice to get some injections, and I can tell you that dogs don’t like to get shots any more than people do.  The second time I even had to spend the night at the vet’s office.  Whatever was in that shot made me feel sore and tired for a long time, but gradually I began to feel better.  Still, I wondered if I’d ever get my normal life back.

Thankfully, my vet has decided that the heart worms are gone, and my parents have calmed down.  Dad even took down that ugly temporary fence, so now I can go behind the garage and hunt for varmits.  The rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks have gotten really bold during the time I’ve been on restrictions, but I’ll soon put an end to that.

So, I guess there’s hope for my parents after all.  If they can figure out that dogs are supposed to be able to go for walks and play in the back yard, they might figure out the other stuff too.  Maybe they’ll even join me under the chair the next time there’s a thunderstorm.  And if we don’t all fit under there, I’ve got some diet dog food I’d gladly share….

Love, Finn

Soldier On

When I had a molar pulled a few months ago, I understood that I’d be on a soft-food diet until I got my stitches out ten days after the extraction.  Ten days seemed like an awfully long time to go without any food that crunched, especially since so many of my favorite foods fall into that category.  Still, I got through it, and was really looking forward to a return to normal eating the day the stitches were removed.

But it turned out that I was wrong about that ten-day thing.  Because the morning I had my stitches removed, the dentist casually informed me that my soft food diet needed to continue for another ten days, until he removed the membrane that was protecting the new bone graft he put in my jaw.  Even worse, I’d be out of town the week I was supposed to come in for the procedure, so I’d actually be on soft foods for at least another two weeks.  So much for the celebratory dinner of all things crunchy, especially nachos, I’d planned for that night.

I can’t say that I enjoyed my three-plus weeks on a soft-food diet, but I did get used to it.  What had seemed like a horrible inconvenience soon became a minor annoyance, and I learned to get creative with my food.  (I found that I actually could eat nachos, as long as I stuck to the really soggy chips at the bottom of the pile.)  My most recent dental procedure has me on another ten days of soft foods, and this time it honestly feels like no big deal at all.  It’s amazing what we can get used to when we have no choice.

Last week our dog, Finn, tested positive for heart worms at his annual check up, and he’s already begun his four-month treatment program.  He’ll be on antibiotics for four weeks, and then four weeks after that he’ll get the first of three injections that will actually kill the worms that have taken up residence in his heart.  It will take almost four months to complete his treatment, and during that time we’re supposed to keep him calm and quiet.  Because if he gets too excited a chunk of worms could break off and cause a nasty, and most likely fatal, reaction.

fullsizeoutput_5988It’s going to be a real challenge to try to keep a two-year old terrier calm and quiet for four months, especially when he’s feeling just fine, which he will be except for the days immediately following the injections.  We’re talking about a dog we call “Bubbles” because of his bubbly personality, and who loves to spend his days running full speed around the yard and who goes berserk every time he sees his leash or he thinks it’s dinner-time.

The prospect seems daunting now, but all we can do is take it one day at a time.  We’re already realizing that some of the trips we had planned for this Spring and Summer might not happen, and we’ll make whatever other adjustments are needed to make sure we take the best possible care of our dog.  This wasn’t what any of us wanted, but it’s what we got.  Yet we’ll get used to it, and we’ll get through it.  Because as everyone who has ever dealt with a long-term issue, no matter how big or how small it may be, knows….sometimes we just have to “soldier on.”

A Dog’s Christmas

I already wrote a post about how much I loved Thanksgiving, but I have to tell you that I loved Christmas even more!  It began when Mom started baking Christmas cookies in early December, and I learned that if I sat and stared at her with big, pitiful eyes, she would usually let me have a little taste of one.  I also learned that Mom is a bit of klutz who often drops stuff on the floor when she’s cooking, and that if I move really fast, I can snatch it up and eat it before she stops me.  So one way or another, I got to sample every batch of cookies that came out of the kitchen.

M79Qb91dQvWsXuyBi9Lo%QEven better, I heard that if I was a really, really, good dog (and I am, because snarfing up cookies that are spilled on the floor doesn’t count as being bad), I could expect a gift or two from Santa Dog on Christmas morning.  I even got my very own stocking to hang on the mantle so that Santa Dog would be sure to remember me.

I also found out that Christmas isn’t celebrated on just one day.  My parents had lots of friends and family over all through December, and all of those visits meant delicious food was served.  The best part was that not all of the guests believed in my parents’ “no food for dogs at the table” rule,  so lots of them slipped me a little tidbit when they thought my parents weren’t looking.  And afterwards, I was always in the kitchen to lend a paw in cleaning up and dealing with the leftovers.

There was just one part of Christmas that I didn’t really care for.  About a week before Christmas day, Mom told me that I needed a bath because I smelled.  And she was right, I did have a distinct aroma…a blend of wet fur, all the things in the yard I found to roll in, and a general doggie odor.  In other words, I smelled great!  Why she thought I needed a bath, I’ll never know, but she hauled me to the nearest dog wash and plunked me right in the tub.   The less said about the actual bath, the better.  I’ve heard the mind has a way of blocking out traumatic experiences, and I’m hoping that is true.  Except for the part where Mom accidentally turned on the water when she had the nozzle pointed right at her face, because that was pretty funny.

The best part of Christmas, though, was the actual day.  I went to bed extra early the night before because I heard Santa Dog only comes if you’re asleep, and I didn’t even budge from my dog bed when Mom and Dad came home late from the Christmas Eve service. And it worked!  I had two toys under the tree and some dog biscuits in my stocking on Christmas morning.  We also had family over for opening presents and breakfast, which was delicious.   Later that afternoon, my two doggie cousins came over to play and we had a terrific time running all over the yard.

Getting together with friends and family, sharing delicious food and cookies, getting wonderful presents…..how could I possibly not love Christmas?  It’s my favorite holiday, and I can’t wait to do it all over again next year!!

Love, Finn

Happy Holidays

1V5A5417From the very minute that I was adopted from the animal shelter, I had  a feeling I was going to really, really like living with my new family.  And I was right.  I’ve got my own bed, my own crate, a basket full of dog toys and a big yard to run around in.  I have two doggie cousins, Frankie and Roxy, who sometimes come over to play with me.   Plus, I’ve got my parents trained to be very generous with the dog biscuits…they even use them to “bribe” me to go outside for a potty break when it’s raining.  All in all, I’ve been pretty darned happy with my new family and thought that things couldn’t possibly get any better.  But they did!

I didn’t know much about holidays before I came to live here, so I had no idea what I was missing.  Turns out, there’s a holiday called Thanksgiving, and we celebrated it yesterday.  I knew something good was going to happen when Mom put a big turkey in the oven to bake, and then spent the next few hours in the kitchen, making even more food.  The house smelled so good that I could hardly stand it!

But things got even better when the rest of the family showed up.  Because get this:  every single one of them showed up with some sort of food!  From what I can tell, Thanksgiving is a holiday that is all about food and sharing it with friends and family.  How cool is that?  We started in the afternoon with lots of appetizers (I made sure I got my share), and then everyone sat down at the big table that was loaded with all the rest of the food, including that fabulous turkey.  I sat right beside the little guy in the high chair, because I knew I could count on him to drop some tasty tidbits my way.   Finally, when everyone crowded in the kitchen to clean up, I helped dispose of anything that was left on their plates.  I know it’s my job to help whenever I can, but it’s especially nice to be able to combine business with pleasure.

Frankly, I’d be a little sad right now that it’s all over if I hadn’t discovered that there’s another holiday coming up in a few weeks.  It’s called Christmas, and I’ve heard it also involves a lot of extra food, especially cookies.  Of course I’m all in favor of that!

In addition to the food, Christmas seems to require putting up lots of lights and decorations, which is fine with me.  But I really got excited when I saw the big tree that Dad put up in the living room.  I know exactly what that’s for, and I can hardly believe my good luck.  They’ve given me my very own indoor bathroom!  No more going out in the cold and rain when I need to pee….how thoughtful is that?  And that’s not all.  They’re going to put all these shiny balls all over it, and I love balls! I can hardly wait to take them off and play with them.

It’s too early to compare, but it just might be that I’m going to love Christmas even more than I loved Thanksgiving!

Love,  Finn

 

Puppy Love

When my first child was born, I remember being surprised by how I instantly fell in love with her.  From the very second the doctor put my daughter in my arms, I was completely and totally in love.  The same thing happened two years later when I had my son, and then again many years later when I first laid eyes on my newborn grandson.  It surprised me because that’s not how I usually operate.  I may decide that I like someone very quickly, but it usually takes a while to actually fall in love.   For me, falling in love is a process that has to unfold in its own good time.

That was certainly the case with Finn, the dog we adopted from the animal shelter last February.  When I first saw him sitting in his run, looking at me with friendly interest, I was immediately attracted.  After spending some time with him at the shelter where he had to stay until he was neutered, I grew to like him very much.  And when we first brought him home, I liked him even more.  But I didn’t really love him, and he didn’t really feel like “my” dog.

It didn’t particularly worry me, because I know there’s always an adjustment period when we bring a new dog into our homes and that it takes time for us to get to know one another.  We learned that Finn is a sweet soul who is very affectionate, energetic and just a little bit more stubborn that we’d prefer.  (In Finn’s opinion, just because I’ve told him “no” forty-nine times when he tries to join me on the couch is no reason not to try for the fiftieth time.  He is the eternal optimist.)

Finn’s persistence can be annoying, especially on the days when I’m babysitting my grandson and Finn insists on trying to share his toys and lick his face.  I know that Finn would never intentionally hurt my grandson, but his attentions are sometimes overwhelming for a toddler and so I have to separate them a lot.  And remind my grandson that Finn’s toys are not for children and remind Finn that my grandson’s toys are not for dogs.  Over and over.  Those are the times when I wonder just exactly why I selected a young terrier as our next family dog, rather than say, a fourteen-year old Basset Hound.

But honestly, it doesn’t matter why I picked out Finn, or how many annoying habits he happens to have.  Because sometime in the past few months, it happened.  I fell in love with Finn and his pushy little self.  I still get annoyed with him from time to time, but he has definitely wormed his way into my heart and that’s where he’ll stay for the rest of his life.  He’s my dog now, absolutely and completely.

As an animal shelter volunteer, I see so many dogs that are returned by their new owners just a few days after their adoption.  I’m sure a few of those people have legitimate reasons for doing that, but I firmly believe that most of them are making a big mistake.  “Just give it time,” I want to tell them.  Because none of us are perfect, whether we walk on two legs or four paws.  And all worthwhile relationships require a certain amount of effort and patience.

But if you trust and believe, the love will come…..

1V5A5402

A Word From Finn

IMG_4873Mom and Dad recently came home from a long trip, and they’re still busy trying  catch up on all little chores that piled up in their absence.  That means I get another chance to write a post for Mom’s blog, and bring everyone up to date on how I’m settling into my new home.

I want to say up front that I love my new home and I love my new parents.  But that doesn’t mean they don’t have some funny ideas that I still don’t understand.  For instance, they are very big on something they call “house rules,” and they have a ton of them.  No climbing on the furniture, no chewing on shoes, no begging for food at the table, no jumping on visitors, and so on and so on.  I do my best, but sometimes I just can’t remember them all.  Especially since some of them seem so silly!  I mean, if they don’t want me to chew on shoes, why do they leave them unattended on the floor, where they are so darned tempting?  Because let’s face it, leather shoes are the best chew toys ever!

They even have rules for the yard.  I’m not supposed to bark at the big chocolate lab that lives behind us, even though she barks at me all the time.  And Dad is always telling me to “Get rid of those *#*# chipmunks and voles,” but I still get in trouble whenever I  go after them, just because it involves digging some rather large holes.  But chipmunks and voles live underground for goodness sake, so how am I supposed to catch them if I can’t dig?  Sometimes Mom and Dad just don’t think things through…..

I’m also learning that even though I was adopted from the animal shelter to be a part of the family, I don’t automatically get included in family vacations.  They may go gallivanting off to fun places, but I get shipped off to the nearest boarding kennel.  Still, it was a nice kennel, and Mom packed my favorite blanket and toys.  She also signed me up for a few hours of group play time each day, which meant I got to run around in a big yard and play with all kinds of other dogs.

That went really well, until the very last day when a new dog came into the yard and said some really mean things to me.  (I won’t repeat it word for word, because I’m way too classy to say such things.)  Still, I’m not the sort of dog to take an insult lying down, so I let that dog know he had better not mess with me.  Which explains why they told Mom that I’m still welcome to board at that kennel, but I don’t get to go to group play time anymore.  But Mom told me that’s okay, not all dogs do well in big groups and that I’m a good dog even so.  My parents may be awfully strict, but sometimes they say just the right things.

I’ve lived at two different animal shelters, so I know I’m lucky to have found a real home with people who love me.  And I love them too, so I’ll keep trying to follow the rules (at least the ones I can remember), because that makes them happy.  I’ve heard them brag about how well I’m doing adjusting to my new home, and that makes me very proud.  Because we’re a family now and nothing is more important than that.

Love,  Finn

Finn Speaks

fullsizeoutput_50fcMom’s been a little tired lately, so I thought I’d help out by writing this week’s blog post for her.  I’ve never written a blog post before (it’s kind of hard to type with paws), but I’m going give it my best shot.  Because that’s the sort of dog I am:  a helper.

I’ve been told that I’m really cute, and I suppose that’s true, since I have wiry black fur, long legs, perky ears and a big white patch on my chest.  People also say that I am very sweet, very energetic and really, really, persistent….I prefer to think of myself as focused and determined, but those aren’t the words that other people use.  Still, I know my main purpose in life is to help others.  And I’m really good at it, if I do say so myself.

I spend my days constantly looking for ways that I can help my family.  When Mom is preparing a meal, I’m always in the kitchen, laying right by her feet so I can keep an eye on what she’s doing and lend a helping paw if necessary.  Plus, I want to be able to immediately clean up any food that she happens to drop on the floor.  (Which she does almost every time she trips over me.) Mom likes to keep her house clean, and believe me, there will NEVER be any food on her floors when I’m around.

I also help Mom and Dad tie their shoes, especially if they’re in a hurry.  I shove my face right in, grabbing the laces to hold them in place since they seem to be having such a hard time performing this simple task.  Sometimes they get so flustered that they actually try to push me away!  Some dogs might get their feelings hurt by that sort of thing, but I know Mom and Dad are just embarrassed that it’s taking them so long to tie their shoes.  So I get right back in there and “help” until the job is done, no matter how long it takes.

Mom and Dad also spend a lot of time complaining about how out of shape they are, so I try to help by getting them to play tag with me.  When we are outside together, I’ll race around the yard, inviting them chase me.  Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked so far.  They just watch me run, and say things like, “I wish I had half his energy!”  But they just stand there, or sometimes even sit at the patio table, snacking and sipping wine.  I love my parents, but they can be a little slow on the uptake.  Still, I’ll keep on running and hope that some day they’ll figure it out and join me for a few laps around the yard.

There are lots of other ways that I help out, but I know that Mom tries to keep her blog posts kind of short, so I’ll do the same.  Besides, I’ll probably get the chance to write another guest post some day, when Mom’s too tired or too busy to do it herself and needs my assistance.  Because I’m a helper, and I’m REALLY good at it!

Love, Finn

Getting To Know You

All relationships have to go through a period of adjustment.  Sort of like the first year of my marriage, when I discovered that my husband not only snored in his sleep, but also had a habit of sleepwalking around the apartment in the middle of the night.  (I woke up to find him fast asleep under the dining room table more than once.)  Or when he realized that the number of meals I actually knew how to cook was rather limited, and had to tell me that even though he loved my beef stroganoff, he’d rather not have it for dinner three nights a week.  Learning to live with someone new always brings a few surprises.

fullsizeoutput_4ff5So it’s probably only natural that I’m still learning a few things about our new dog, Finn.  He’s a Patterdale Terrier mix, and like most terriers, he’s very loving, energetic and determined.  But I’m still waiting to see some sign of the usual terrier intelligence.  He’s not stupid, but if he was human, he’d be a solid “C” student, even with his very best effort.

I have a mental image of my little dog sitting at a school desk,  muttering to himself while working on his math assignment:  “Two plus two?  Okay, that must be four.  Yeah, four.  Now for two plus three.  That’s got to be six.  But what about two plus four?  What could that be?  This is so hard!  Is it time for recess yet?”

Luckily, Finn is a sweet guy who seems to want nothing more than to be with us.  We can usually hear him barking madly when we leave the house, but by the time we return, he’s always curled up in his crate, fast asleep.  He loves to chase the squirrels and rabbits in our back yard, and plays endlessly with his squeaky toys when he’s inside.  He’s slowly (very slowly) learning the ways of our household, and seems quite pleased with himself whenever he earns our praise.

fullsizeoutput_4ff3Finn adores our grandson and is very patient with him, even though our grandson is a toddler who is still learning how to be gentle with dogs.  It probably helps that our grandson is still learning to feed himself and about half of his food ends up on the floor around his high chair.  Finn has figured out that toddlers are an excellent source of extra food, and makes it a point to be nearby whenever the little guy is eating at our house.

I’m still in the process of discovering exactly who Finn is, and what he needs from me.  Sometimes I have to remind myself to be patient when he makes mistakes, such as the other morning when I came downstairs to find him sitting on the kitchen table, calmly looking out the window.  I have to remind myself of how long it took our other dogs to settle into our household routines and learn our household rules, and remember to cut Finn a little slack.

And I’m still keeping an open mind when it comes to Finn’s intelligence.  He does know “sit” and how to come when called, and he never potties inside.  He’s learned that good things come to those who sit underneath high chairs.  But most important of all, he’s figured out how to make us love him and forgive his occasional misdeeds.  Which probably means that he’s just as smart as he needs to be.