Sometimes our possessions become so familiar and old hat that we almost stop seeing them any more; the furniture and books and appliances are so much a part of the fabric of our lives that we take them for granted. If this ever happens for you and you want to see things anew again, just get a puppy. Fifty to sixty pounds of five-month-old black labrador mix, like our Edie, will do just fine.
For instance, I hadn’t really considered the configuration of our backstairs for a while. Our deck in back has stairs built along the outside, southern edge. You face east as you go down the stairs, with a tall trellis of geraniums on the right and the deck on your left. That is, you face east unless you’re Edie, and Ernie, our German Shepherd mix, has the jump on you hurtling down the stairs after a rawhide chew toy tossed into the backyard. Edie went under the railing headed due south, crossed the first tread in full stride and went straight out over the geraniums, leaping down a good nine feet to the ground as my heart jumped up a corresponding distance.
Off she sailed, as I watched in surprise. She landed and barely broke stride in pursuit of the chew toy and I thought, well, she doesn’t seem hurt, but I have noticed that she only took that route once.
She’s long enough to stand up on her hind legs for a higher vantage as she checks our her new home — so she can put her forepaws on our kitchen counter, looking to do better than dogfood. We’ve learned not to leave the butter dish uncovered; I caught her en flagrante, happily eating the last of a stick one evening. She wagged exuberantly as I rounded the corner, as if to say, “check this out! This stuff is great!”
It was hard to reprimand her. She looked so chagrined to be scolded for her delicious discovery. Imagine making the great find of your young life then getting reprimanded for it and told that, for you, supplies are limited. Welcome to the world, dearheart.
Roberta recently spent an evening trying a new pasta recipe involving butter, cheese, and vegetables which she inadvertently left out on the counter. The next morning she asked me, “Did you eat that pasta?”
“No.” (And odd question, for it had neither marinara sauce nor sausage, which keeps it safe from my poaching.)
We both realized who the culprit was. I’ll bet all those dairy ingredients were just what a growing girl needs. At least she left the empty bowl on the counter, rather than bringing it to the floor, as she has done with our cat Millicent’s food dishes.
Which is a big difference between her and Ernie. I’ve no idea whether Germans are intrinsically better mannered than Labradoreans, but if the pooches they bred are any indication, Teutonic etiquette beats the Canucks hands down–or bowls sloshed, food gulped, or burps belched. (She is not dainty.) Ernie is a polite boy–his prior owners having sternly trained him after their pizzabox-off-the-coffeetable incident, and he knows better than to get up on the counter. He is able to drink from his water bowl without spilling half the contents, and is so polite around the food bowl that he will step aside and let her eat. (A big surprise that–I expected him to assert himself, at over 90 lbs and three years old, but he only rarely reminds her that he is senior.)
But Edie wants to taste it all, and the world is Edie’s oyster. Cooked or raw hardly matters, it’s all worth gulping, and if it isn’t easily swallowed, a thorough chewing is merited. This includes Roberta’s cell phone charger, a wooden wine bottle puzzle, Rob’s straw hat, my slippers, a pair of clogs, three pillows, a pen, a plastic bottle, my research notes and all the business cards for an article I once wrote on the gaming industry in Las Vegas, the remote control (out of four to choose from, she selected the TV’s), a AAA guide to New England, an oversized hardback book of sensationalistic newspaper photographs called Strange Days/Dangerous Nights, and a paperback copy of Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch.
Poor Ivan had survived the Soviets only to meet his end with Edie. While he hardly seemed to mind I certainly did, and we’ve had numerous demonstrative educational seminars involving timeouts and repeating the word “No!” along with a few other stern invectives about all of these transgressions. (This doesn’t even include the thin cardboard, leaf-shaped car deodorizer in torn cellophane. I’ve left the dogs in the car several times, and that just disappeared. Even if I could ask her, I’m afraid to.)
Still, she’s making progress, and when she wags her entire body in submissive apology, it’s hard to stay angry long. She is still trying hard to sort it all out. I let the dogs follow me to the front landing the other morning as I watered the yard, and she bounced joyously down and straight out to the truck while Ernie waited for the okay. Edie was ready to go for a ride. (She is always ready to go for a ride, even when we’ve just gotten home. If the driver’s door is still open as I let her out of the backseat, she will leap out, U-turn, and joyously bound back in the front seat. Clever trick, eh? Now let’s go again! she wags.) Deterred momentarily when I didn’t open the truck door for her (preoccupied with the hose as I was) she opted to crawl under the truck and wait. Her tail thumped enthusiastically; I’m ready when you are, boss!
Getting under things is a recurring theme. She likes to crawl under the bed, for instance, and will commando crawl from one side to the other. When she can’t get under furniture, getting on top is just as good. Our furniture is now covered with folding chairs and boxes in an effort to train her not to clamber on things — we’re beginning to suspect the “mix” part of her ancestry might be mountain goat. And when she isn’t under things or on things she loves to lay down on our feet. Leaning against us and lying on our feet are very happy places to hang out for her, when she’s ready to take a break from exploring the world with her mouth.
Otherwise, she bounds joyously through life. She’s replaced Ernie as the household’s most enthusiastic energy-burner. He sat on his bed the other day and watched her race back and forth, the length of the house, holding her chew toy high in excitement. It’s almost worth buying a camcorder just to record her exuberance. Edie doesn’t just chase a thrown ball, she too bounces in pursuit. She’s so happy to be in front of Ernie she will bounce right past the ball, then turn to pick it up and bound toward us. Perceiving us waiting and ready to steal her prize, she turns and bounces back toward the fence, wagging merrily. Nowhere to go? Back I come! And she races past us.
Every day is a new adventure, and for now the only way our headwear will become old hat is if we keep it out of her reach.
(I wrote the above on July 28, 2005, in the first month we had our dear girl, and just today re-discovered it. It made me smile so much I had to share it. She’s now 2-1/2 and quite a well-behaved young lady — but still has quite the free spirit, when she sees her chance.)
OmbudsBen 
What a wonderful post! I can just picture Edie bouncing about the place in hot pursuit of a chew toy. I hope Ernie is still with you. too?
Nice to hear from you, Truce. Oh, yes, Ernie boy enjoyed his walk along the bay shore with us this morning, even as his owner stumbled around at the beginning, in the semi-dark.
When we first adopted Ernie from the shelter he was anxious about his place in our family/pack; he would glance back at me as we walked, making sure I was still there.
Now he tends to navigate a path between free-spirit Edie and me. He’s older and walks mostly, jogging a bit occasionally as he watches Edie run on up ahead, making sure I’m still close. But he is much more calm now; sometimes I have to call him when he’s distracted.
It so warms my heart to see he is secure now.
And they love him at the doggie day care where we take them both. (Ernie is true to his police dog roots.) You can see their pictures, at right, here:
http://www.happyhound.com/testimonials.html
I’m glad you shared it. Delightful.
Yep, mixed mountain goat or tigrrrr…. one of those two.
(loved the descriptions of Ernie, too.)
Oh gosh, this made me laugh out loud so much picturing the wonderful Edie experiencing all the new joys of finding herself living with loving and caring humans. A fabulous doggy tale.
I have two cats and one is actually a dog. And the dog I imagine him to be is a labrador – they are just so darned friendly and happy all the time. Sunny the dog/cat always greets people when they come over and makes sure they have plenty of opportunities to acknowledge him as the centre of the universe (that’s his cat side expressing itself).
I once had a student (I teach English classes at home) who had a total terror of cats, so much so that she couldn’t bear having mine (at that time I had three) in the same room as her. But you know, try closing the door on cats! They make such a fuss that it’s better to just let them in and flop about wherever they like. And so this student finally came to accept the cats in the room as long as they didn’t come near her.
Well, try telling Sunny that. Everytime Nati came over for a class he would come up to her, butt his massive Siamese/Burman head against her leg and expect to be adored. Finally it got so I would end every class with me picking Sunny up like a baby and I’d ask Nati to touch him. At first she refused, then little by little, class by class, she got to like stroking his belly or his head while I held him belly-up in my arms.
And about three months later I actually took a photo of Nati holding Sunny herself! It was amazing. Of course she said she was still terrified of cats, but Sunny was ‘her favourite boy’ so she made an exception with him. She still wouldn’t go near my other two.
Isn’t that a lovely story? And it was all down to Sunny just being his lovable doggy self. He’s now 14, his mother passed away three years ago (cancer) but I’ve still got my rescue cat Azar (who is also my avatar – cybercat, sitting behind Nog’s laptop) who is now 12. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel my life is enriched by sharing it with these two characters. And I’m sure you feel the same way about Edie and Ernie.
I love how animals can put your life into the ‘proper perspective’ at times, so that ripped furniture or eaten possessions are just what they are. Totally unimportant.
Thanks so much for the Edie story.
Amuirin, we hardly ever hear about your pup. Pictures? anecdotes? Wild tales of the Oregon coast?
Azahar, that’s a great story about Nati. Peope often think of fears and dislikes as some sort of on/off switch, it’s either toggled on or off and if it’s on there’s little to be done.
I traveled to Central America with a very bright but sometimes cynical and dark friend named Ken, a computer support technician I knew in the 80s.
Ken, for instance, would not eat anything white. He had a whole story involving his father and why, but he would not eat mayonaisse, white cheeses, cauliflower, whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, white cake — anything. The closest he got was certain breads, but he had an exception clause for that, and preferred wheat or brown, I think.
Ken also disliked photography. As we prepared for our trip, every time I mentioned cameras, he would talk about how he couldn’t take pictures. It happened a couple times. There were a few stories of blurriness or poor framing, and I realized that he was giving me a blanket exception — he envisoned taking this trip without ever tripping the shutter.
So I finally looked him square in the eye and said, “Ken there are going to be times on this trip when I am going to want you to take my picture with a beach or Mayan ruins or something in the background. I will take most of the pictures. I want to take most of the pictures. But a few times I’m going to set up a shot for you and show you where to stand and I don’t want to have to argue with you about whether you can simply hold still for a second and squeeze the shutter.”
Something clicked for him, and he said okay. We even agreed to take a walk in Golden Gate Park (we lived across the Panhandle from each other) and just play with the camera a bit. I showed him how the f stop and shutter speed measured how much and how long the light came in the camera and hit the film; the technician side of him got it.
By the time we flew to Belize and took a puddle jumper out to the cayes he wanted the camera, and was framing shots on his own. He had enough artist in him that he really got into it, calculating the angle of the light source, using shadow, etc.
We had to get duplicate prints of everything, divied up the negatives. We kept in touch for a few years, and I know he got so interested in photography that he considered trying to make a living at it.
But the last I heard he still wouldn’t eat cauliflower, white salad dressings, etc.
I’m so with you about how much richer pets make our lives. Our tortoiseshell cat Millicent passed away in February of 2006; she was 4 months shy of 21 years old. I miss her beyond words.
Isn’t that fabulous? That you got Ken to overcome a ‘fear’ of not doing something just because he was afraid of not doing it well. Some people do have a hard time doing things badly at first until they get it right … you were great at showing him what he could do with a bit of practice.
Hell, if we never try stuff we may as well lay down and die!
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to get Nog to eat cauliflower. He keeps saying he hates it. Though he also said the same thing about avocados until I made him my amazing guacamole – now he can’t get enough of it. Perhaps my cauli & cheese sauce would also win him over – must try it. Though I’m afraid nothing I could do would ever get him to eat brussel sprouts.
Oh, you give me much hope saying that Millicent lived until she was almost 21. I lost my Lua (Sunny’s mother) when she was 14. She had cancer. Sunny is now 14 and Azar is 12 and it’s impossible to imagine life without them.
I’m with Nog. Cauliflower is a bit like tree bark or sponges for me, or maybe a combination of both, in that I don’t understand how it got classified as food.
I have no real explanation for my love of broccoli, however, as I know they are both cruciferous and healthful, etc. It probably doesn’t help that, in looking at both of them perplexingly intermingled in a restaurant’s side dish as if they might co-habitat tastefully, I can’t help but look at the white cumulus shapes as if they were the same as the green cumulus shapes, but with all of the flavor leached out.
The longevity cats can enjoy is amazing, given how their “life arcs” have them going from kittens to maturity and seniority by the time they are in their teens. I know of a cat named Biscuit who lived to 25.
We’d have a cat or two again, even with our dogs, but having Millicent around the house did trigger a couple allergic episodes every year for me. They simply stopped after she was gone; I keep trying to think of how to keep another cat out of our bedroom/the upstairs, especially off that carpetting, but you know how it is. Give a cat any inkling that you want it to stay out and it will become most determined to get in …
Broccoli is just green cauliflower. Deal with it.
Urban legend has it that that James Bond director Albert (Cubby) Broccoli’s family were the first to create this hybrid.
But yeah, cauliflower has more of a ‘cabbagy’ taste to it. I love it either lightly steamed or raw in salads. Can’t eat broccoli raw though – it’s too sinewy.
Re: the longevity of cats. Oh, I just want my two boys around for many years to come. The hardiest of the two seems to be Azar, who is a rescue cat I took in from the street. He had some health issues very early on in life, due to his previous life in the street, but now seems to be very hale. I worry more about Sunny, Lua’s offspring who was born practically into my waiting hands. Well, that’s to say that Lua (the crankiest cat on four paws) finally let me pick up all her kittens after she’d cleaned them off. He’s had some kidney problems of late, so he’s on a daily natural supplement that we hope will help keep him healthy.
Yes, apparently cats cause some of the worst and most common allergic reactions (according to a friend of mine who is an allergist). Basically, and especially, if you have carpetting, you cannot have a cat if you are allergic. Because it’s the dander that causes the allergic reactions, not the hair. Though I’ve known of some people who get weekly shots just so they can keep their cats and just have to be careful never to rub their eyes.
Änd yeah right … try telling a cat they cannot go into this or that room. It then becomes a challenge.
Glad to hear Edie settled down a bit. Do you still ask yourself whether German Shephards are more mannered than Labs?
Azahar, are you in cahoots with my wife? (Actually, she’s pretty good about it, and simply offers the bounty of our botanically abundant kitchen.)
Re cats, if it offers any comfort, Millicent had surgery for a gastric ailment when she was around 8 or 9 and the vet told Rob (my wife) not to get her hopes up for longevity. And Millicent’s diet changed radically after that; she became immensely selective.
Yet she lived for many more years, as I say, almost to 21. The funny thing is, in her dotage she came to like certain brands of dog food. We got some canned food for our very sweet & old Vinnie before he went to his reward, and she would beg for the stuff.
When I met Rob I knew she had pets, so fortified myself with various allergy medications. I had numerous allergies as a kid (more annoying to my mom than me, as I tended to ignore and plow on) so had had severe reactions. The surprise was that I had none or little to her cat and dog!
I guess I out-grew them–or their severity, at any rate.
When we moved in together in spring time I did have a reaction, but medication and an air purifier got me through those episodes.
Millicent was a rescue cat, too. (Good for you, saving a lost or abandoned soul.) I’d tell you how Rob rescued her, but it’s a story for another time.
ybonesy, you have touched on perhaps the greatest conflict in our dear girl’s life. For she now knows the rules and, a la her species, she wants to be a good pack member.
But sometimes she is so conflicted. Those rabbits, possibly on the far side of the abandoned lot she is forbidden from racing across (because a car might some day show up) simply torment her with the potential for an aromatic trail and a sudden chase.
But she is now a good girl, and waits for the command. (Most of the time.)
I so understand how german shepherds ended up as “police dogs.” Ernie is a good pack citizen; he also monitors all the rules.
To wit, one evening, alone in the living room, I’d finished a bowl of something sweet. Immersed in a good movie plot line, I’d leaned forward to go to the kitchen, but stopped with the bowl in my hands. Without thinking, I absently went to lick the pooled remnants in the bowl.
Ernie had been watching me, knowing the bowl, before it went in the dishwasher, could be his (once it hits the floor, not before). And when I moved to lick it he whined, quickly got up and came right over, stuck his big head in my lap, and whined again, while wagging imploringly.
What I had done was wrong. It was against the rules as they had been enacted for him. We get to use the spoon, and to take all but the last lickings. But no fair licking! Once the spoon is done, the last delectable lickings are for dogs, and it was no fair denying him his just desserts. (Pun intended.)
p.s. and yes, Edie settled down. But not until after chewing the $300+ camera gift my wife bought me to replace the old one (a veteran of trips to 3 continents) that she accidentally dropped in a toilet. (Clean. Previously flushed, etc. Yet the camera’s electronics never recovered from the trauma of it.)
The newer $300+ camera is now a paperholder in my office. Edie tripped the shutter cover, so it opened and the lens emerged, and she chewed the lens cowling, breaking bits off. You can see teeth marks all over, she gave it a quite thorough chewing. I did save the roll of film however, including one last blurry, splotchy shot. I’m assuming it’s of her mouth. (I kind of hoped to be able to make out teeth, but no such luck.)
Okay, I shall look forward to it.
You can read about how I named my cats here.
Orange Blossom – great story (if a bit grim, in spots) and lovely photos! The moon and the sun is a nice touch, plus happenstance, too; your cats are lucky to have you — and I envy that you have been able to keep family members.
(What’s “hootoo”?)
Also, have to point out that you do very well in English for a Sevillian. Ok, maybe the BBC link to cat names is a hint … *looks at ceiling, whistling*
Also, your amusement with buccaneers doesn’t seem quite, err, Spanish.
As you’ve commented on my About, I think you should write one, too, so we can fill in the gaps.
ummm . . . about azahar
Nope, not Spanish, though I’ve lived here for 15 years.
‘Hootoo’ is the nickname for h2g2, which is a site originally started by Douglas Adams, intended to be a virtual guide to Life, The Universe and Everything. It’s now run by the BBC.
Sorry, this is what happens when I type too fast getting things done during my lunch hour. I’d even looked at your “About” before, but had forgotten that it included your prior abodes, including Bristol & Canada.
May I ask about Winnipeg? When were you there? A coworker is from there; it’s also not too far from Minnesota, where I grew up. The coworker liked it, but when I mentioned the small towns and countryside of Minnesota and guessed Manitoba was the same, she said no (here eyes even got kind of big) there’s nothing out there but farms, for miles and miles.
Excuses, excuses … 😉
As for Manitoba, yeah I guess there is plenty of nuthin there, but Winnipeg is quite a major city. Not as many farms in Manitoba as in Saskatchewan and Alberta though. But of course, USians tend to know absolutely nothing about Canada even though it’s just next door. And shame on them!
I was born in Winnipeg.
And hey – you need an avatar!
Need? Need?
My wife believes I need to pack for our upcoming six-day trip to Minnesota (off to the Twin Cities and Duluth).
My dogs believe I need to take them for a walk.
My doctor believes I need to lose 10 or 15 pounds.
I believe I need a beer with dinner tonight.
My garden needs tending.
My Minnesota Twins need a couple more quality hitters. (This is a big time need.)
My nation needs new leadership. (This is our biggest need.)
As for my need for an avatar … I’ve been pondering this for a while.
Earlier this spring I wanted to use the Twins’ TC logo, as I like it and punning off of it, but that brings up all those verdammt copyright issues. I thought of using one of our dogs. There is a good picture of Ernie, if I could figure out how to crop it. You can see it here:
http://www.tallthinhouse.com/ernie/index.html
Lately I’ve been admiring the pictures of blue-footed boobies I have up in my computer cockpit of an office, for inspiration for me to try to design a piece of stained glass for my wife to make for me. Perhaps I’ll try to commandeer the digital camera to take a picture I can use for this avatar … after I take care of some other needs, first.
What a lovely post to catch up on! I love the exuberance of Labs. They have no pride, so they just take life full on.
At the recent T-day Turkey Shoot in Point Richmond, in addition to the goats, there was a herd of Labradors. Their excitement at seeing all the new people, other dogs, and especially the goats gave me a bad case of the warm and fuzzies. The goats, however, weren’t as amused.
I can see the tails wagging.