Dog-net

On Sunday, I was out working in the yard on one of those half and half days. Partly rainy and partly dry. Partly clear and partly cloudy. Cool, pushy breeze tempered by a warm blush of sun. The air, scrubbed clean by a morning shower, was infused, by mid-day, with a warm, rose sachet. The adulation of last night's thunderstorm, a distant, clapping memory.

Tweety birds trilled. Lady Bugs flew. My fluffy, furry trio of dogs, muddy and happy, romped. One buried her snout in the tiny, lavender, lantern-shaped flowers of the newly emerging Comfrey plant. Then engaged, eye to eye, in a Humming bird stare down. The oldest one taught the youngest to flip rocks over with his nose, flushing out sun bathing lizards.

Shadows and scents...chased on the ground.

Ears pricked and cocked and rotating...collected sounds I could not hear. Noses, wet and working, raised in the air, collected smells I could not detect. Eyes, bright and fixed, scanned images I could not see. Picking up bits of code from the ethers I could not imagine.

Shadows and scents...caught out of the air.

Long before the Internet, there was Dog-Net.

I am completely in awe of the animal kingdom.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Stinky

It's about 11 p.m. on a weeknight. I'm sitting, here, at the computer reading a few blogs. I hear the laundry porch door slap its closing. The husband must be done working on his car. Footsteps. Footsteps stop. I wait for the familiar sound of the fridge door closing and a glass of milk being poured. Or the plink of the remote control as he tunes into the poker tour, the golf channel or the Giant's baseball game. Silence. A big, fat, loud silence follows his footsteps. His sharp and jagged presence pierce my calm. I'm trying not to show annoyance--he's harshing my mellow.

I turn toward him.

He gives me "the look."

No, not the late night, boudoir look that is usually paired with a coaxing pat to my rump roast!

The other one. The one that says stop what you are doing. I need your help now!

Doing my wifely duty, I ask him what is wrong.

He tells me that Maaco just got sprayed by a skunk in the back yard. Maaco the Thunder Dog has been on a roll lately--and not a good one.


Every so many summers, the skunks decide that the best way to get to the field across the street from our house is through our back yard. They are headed for the neighborhood run-off water that is captured in a culvert. My older dogs tangoed many a losing dance with the skunks when they were pups. They got sprayed so frequently in a short span of time, that the dog groomer gave me the recipe to her secret de-skunking potion. I like to think she took pity on my finances, but it was probably out of self-defense. I can only imagine what her clients thought when I towed my two protesting, malodorous canines into her shop. Bless her, she was a patient woman.

They finally learned not to mess with critters that looked like large black and white kitties with big tails. But not Thunder Dog. He came to us a couple of years later. Until tonight, he's never seen a skunk. His tailgating the south end of this one ended in a skunk-cident. So at midnight, I gathered up the three magic ingredients and we set about washing one putrid four-legged in the garden. Skunk spray is so toxic at close range that it makes your eyes and mouth water. It is nauseatingly noxious. They should use the stuff for chemical warfare. Skirmishes would end quickly. Saddam would wave the white flag.


As we were drying Thunder Dog off, B.B., one of our other dogs, commenced with a barking and pouncing fit. The husband went to quiet her down and discovered that the skunk was still in the yard. We couldn't tell if he was dead, injured or just playing possum so the dogs would leave him alone. We weren't about to go close enough to find out. After getting the dog and ourselves clean, we snuggle into bed for the evening. Still worrying about the fate of poor skunky, I decide to perform a coning.


Coning is a raising, concentrating and directing of psychic energy. On Thursday, I will go into the process of coning but for today, you have enough information. The technique I choose to use this night also employs the help of nature in the healing. Before going to sleep, I visualize the skunk and get into a meditative state. I appeal to the appropriate guides to help with that which is for the highest and best good for the animal. How long I linger in that state, I do not know. I just keep focusing on the well being of skunky. After several hours I experience something new--even to me.

I notice that I have become very expanded. Thin. I don't mean body weight wise. I mean thin as in substance.

Like atmosphere or steam. I am not a liquid or a solid so I must be a gas.

Oh, stop! I wrote "be a gas" not have gas.

I'm serious. I become the space between the cells. The stillness between the breaths. The quiet between thoughts.

No body. Pure space.

I feel like I still have eyes and can see. At one point, I go quite a distance out from my center, turn back and look at myself. I see that I am as thin as vapor--with stars, planets, and galaxies for eyes. Universes are my face. I stay in that cosmic, stretched state. I feel calm. I feel comforted.

Eternal.

Without Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, I disappear into myself.


In the early hours of morning, I venture outside. Skunky has gone. I hope that when we left and all settled down, that with our help, he got his bearings and, uninjured, headed back to his family. I honor all of the helpful guides, Devas, and the animal's higher self and ask them to end the coning by disconnecting one by one. The coning ends. So does my evening in the garden of good and stinky.

In the Moment

Our family will soon arrive from Minnesota. It has been nine years since my husband's older brother visited the left coast. Oh, we've been back to see them a number of times. We went to graduations. Attended the three weddings of my nieces. Celebrated the subsequent births of four nieces and nephews. All wonderful, happy events.

What caused my brother-in-law's lapse in return trips? I think it was the death of his mother. He hasn't been here since her funeral in the spring of 2000. It is easier to deny endings when you are not present.

What pushed the button for return to the homeland after 10 years? Perhaps the need to face the reality of death, the demise of the physical body. An older brother diagnosed and, successfully, treated for prostate cancer. A younger brother struck with a heart attack at 57. Both illnesses occurring within a couple of months of each other. A time for healing family scars.

I often admire animals. They have a brain. We have minds. There is a difference. We know what it means to our mortality when we are told that we have a fatal disease. All they know is the smell of a scent on the wind. Water to drink. Food to eat. They are in the moment with total unconcern for what is coming, good or bad. All in all, not such a bad existence, I think.

I'm looking forward to being in the moment with my family.

Thunder Dog, Ho!

Maaco the Thunder Dog

Thunder storms. All week long, wet and wild, they unfurled across the states. They are wrecking havoc in our dog's life. They are wrecking havoc in our life. You see, we have a dog that is scared by thunder and lightning. TERRIFIED is a better word. After hours of storms each day, he is living on the edge, just one loud slam of a car door or backfire away from a trip to Crazy Town. And guess what? He's taking us with him. He spends most of the end of the day with ears pricked, edgy and on guard, for any sound of thunder or sight of a shank of light. He hasn't had a carefree, uninterrupted snooze in days.


We have three dogs--a white one, a black one, and a black and white one. It is interesting how they each react to the ripping, sizzling storms. B.B., the white one, could care less about all the booming and percussion. Yin, the black and white dog, gets clingy, needy and anxiously paces. Then there's Maaco. He's always in a class by himself. A Shar-Pei and Lab cross breed, he has anxiety issues in general and separation anxiety in specific. When the thunder and lightning start throwing tantrums, he begins panting and trembling. His eyes get large, round and glassy. He drools uncontrollably and the corners of his mouth pull back with stress. He won't eat. He can't eat. Which says a lot because this dog lives for food. He turns into a black, fuzzy mass of quivering jello.

On Friday night, the storm, directly over our house, streams fire bolts down from the heavens. Thunder cracks our world. Maaco heads for cover, running under the computer desk for safety. With legs and paws entangled in cords and wires, he continues his headlong assault into the deepest angle of the corner. Pushing to go beyond the wall. Scratching to go through the floor. With a huge show of strength, we drag him, clawing, out from under the desk barely keeping the computer tower and connections intact. Once we had him out, we leashed him and kept him close. If he were outside, he would rip boards off the fence, run blindly for miles, and we might see him in a couple of days, if ever. It has happened before.

He's still frantic. We take him to his safe place in our bedroom, a small space between the wall and the bed. The thunder fires off a barrage of detonations. Panicked, he tries to burrow under a night stand that is only two inches off the ground. Knocking the nightstand over, he breaks the lamp and pulls the phone down on to the floor. It is not a fun night. None of us get much sleep until the storm abates early in the morning. If we had known the storm was going to be this bad, we would have given him tranquilizers. My sympathetic vet has deemed him fit for his own prescription. And, although I don't like the idea of drugging two-leggeds or four-leggeds, there is a time and place for everything. I wonder, what is the DSM code, from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, for Crazy Freakin' Dog?


He truly believes he is in mortal danger. That death is imminent. I can't tell him he is wrong as I know, for a fact, that lighting can and will kill. I have read it and seen it. But how do dogs know this? Why are some dogs terrified and others unaffected? Are the dogs that have intense fear descendants of a lineage that existed in a region where thunder and lighting occurred regularly? Were so many of their far removed, ancient, Wolverine ancestors killed that their DNA was coded with this knowledge? Does the sound of thunder and flash of light signal their primitive, limbic brain to send the message of flight for life? Do the unaffected canines come from regions without such danger? Or is just a personality disorder? I guess it could be, but the fear seems so deeply ingrained that maybe there is a real and practical purpose for its existence.

Thor, God of Thunder

Photo: Marvel Comics

I don't have any answers. All I know is that I am hoping that Thor, God of Thunder, has tired of riding the heavens in his chariot and smashing the heads of giants with his mighty, lighting producing hammer, Mjollnir. In the words of Jack Nicholson in As Good as It Gets, "Sell crazy someplace else, we're all stocked up here."

Cougar, the Other "C" Word!

Photo: danger515 Photobucket. com

The word Cougar has been splashed around the media lately. A cougar is an older women who dates a younger man. While older men are lauded and revered--mainly by other men--for dating younger partners, females are often subjected to ridicule for the same. The word cougar invokes the image of a predatory female stalking its prey. Conversely, men, often called silver foxes, are portrayed as wise and handsome rather than cold and predatory. Cougar has a cacophonous, harsh sound to it just like the other word for a strong female that starts with a "C" and rhymes with bunt. This other "C" word has been unacceptable in public speech since the 1500's.

Photo: callinradio Photobucket.com

I am not, nor have ever been, a Cougar but I did drive one for a long time. I loved her. She was very sleek and fast. When I slammed her accelerator to the floor, her four-barrel carburetor would give quick response. When she kicked in, yeah, that cat would run. She ate pavement and spat it out for miles behind her. She was worth every penny I paid over the years for speeding tickets. Miss Cougar always commanded respect, even from the ticket writing officers. They would walk around her admiring her long, low, lean lines, pin stripes, glossy black tires and sequential tail lights. They already new how fast she ran, they'd given her chase for miles. They would tell me of the best girls they had left at home--their Mustang's, Camaro's, and Chevy's. And when I asked them if they drove them fast, they would shake their head no, but a knowing twinkle would spark in their eyes. Yeah, she got respect...like a good Cougar should.


But alas, in a speed-lust frenzy, I decided to sell her for a newer, faster model. I had my eye on a Mitsubishi 3000 GT Twin Turbo VR4. Miss Cougar's rear end had a tendency to chatter and break loose a bit when taking corners at over 90 MPH. The 3000 would just lay down, hug the road tighter, beg for more and I would give it to her. So we looked for a new home for the cat. A young man in his mid-20's fell in love with her. He said he would take care of her. He said he would respect her. He said he would give her a good home. We wanted to believe him.


A few months ago, when my husband came home from work, he was very sad. He told me that while he had been out at the wrecking yard that morning, he had run into an old friend. Worriedly, I asked him what was wrong. He said he'd seen a horrible sight. As he walked to the back of the yard, he passed a twisted, crumpled mass of metal. He thought, what a waste, nothing salvageable in that heaping knot. Then he saw it. A of flash of paint...her paint. Miss Cougar, hardly recognizable and broken beyond repair, had not even one part left worthy of harvest and transplant. She'd rolled to the end of the road, worth nothing but the flat rate paid for scrap iron. We spoke of how we should never have let her go. We lit a candle.


I do not like this word Cougar as a term for females. It is used derogatorily and does not infer respect. From this moment on, I will use the word swan to denote a woman in such a relationship. In my opinion, any woman who undertakes the precarious nature of such a relationship, walks in grace. But this is a cautionary tale. A warning to the swans I so admire. Be careful in your involvement with these young men. They are full of promises, hopes and dreams, and high-energy. But in their passion and over eagerness, they can, all too easily, loose control of a fast, high revving, hot engine. Take heed that your front end doesn't end up mangled and your rear end wrapped around a telephone pole. Take a lesson from Miss Cougar.

Photo: mikeja.com Photobucket.com

Theme Thursday...Water (Water Works)

I live in an area that gets hot, hot, hot! Most of the summer, the temperature ranges from the upper 90s to 120 plus degrees. The old timers say that following the completion of Shasta Dam in the 1940s, the over all temperature was cooled by 10 degrees. I am talking about fry-an-egg-on-the-pavement kind of hot. Here, hydration of everything is important.

There are many bonds between humans and other living creatures. But the most powerful bond of commonality is water. Life is sustained by water. Animals and humans need it to survive. Like humans, animals use it for cleansing and drinking. Amphibians, fish, reptiles, and some insects need it for reproduction.

Wild animals can get water from puddles, dew on grass, raindrops on leaves, and from the food they eat. They need a habitat that includes a plentiful supply of fresh, clean, accessible water. If the canals or lakes are steeply angled, they are near useless to many animals. And to butterflies, free-standing water is undrinkable.

During the blasting heat of summer, a good water source is critical for wildlife. Since we are rapidly approaching that time of year, I thought I would share some of my summer projects with you. I set up water habitats in my yard. It is quite simple and fun to do. Children love taking an active role in making the habitats that will soon give life to many different species.

Birds

Photo: krukus Photobucket.com

Dehydration becomes a life or death issue. Especially for small birds. Birdbaths are a great way to provide water for animals. Additionally, they provide focal points for landscape designs and endless hours of viewing entertainment. Birdbaths are easy and popular for providing water sources. They can be purchased or made at home. You can even look around for naturally formed baths. Hollowed-out stumps of trees or rocks with wells in them can trap sprinkler and rainwater.

As you look for a location for your water station, consider the presence of predators. Placement should allow the bathers safe haven from sneak attacks. Bushes nearby offer bird perches for preening as well as protection. But take care to make sure the shrubbery is not low and close enough to turn the bath into a birdie smorgasbord for the neighborhood cats. That really isn't a Kodak moment you want young minds to capture. The lower the bath, the more open space around it is needed.

Photo: kariccio Photobucket.com

A distance of 15 feet away from heavy shrubs is good for ground-level baths, but taller baths can be located closer. Baths with textured bottoms allow the birds firm footing. A simple way to provide this is to layer a smooth bottom with sand or pebbles. Keep the water in the bath shallow, no more than two to three inches deep in the middle with gently sloping sides. Contrary to popular belief, size is not important. But if they are less than a foot in diameter, they will be primarily used for drinking only. Baths that are 24 to 36 inches in diameter will encourage a number of birds to bathe and drink simultaneously and party sumptuously.

Be imaginative. You can use simple things like tin or foil plates, ceramic or plastic saucers, or a garbage can lid. Birds are attracted by the sound of running water. You can purchase kits or make your own device. Punch a hole in the side--not bottom--of a bucket or large can, fill with water and hang it above the birdbath. The size of hole should let 10 to 20 drops a minute dribble into the bath. Covering the bucket will keep out debris and slow evaporation. Freshen and replenish the water on a consistent basis. Scrub away algae when you see it begin to accumulate. Algae just loves bird-fertilized water.

Butterflies

These beautiful, winged creatures can not drink the standing water that a birdbath would provide. Fluids are acquired via their proboscis, the long, tube that resembles a hollow tongue. The butterflies often "puddle" by sunny, damp areas and draw moisture from the sand or mud. You can create a watering hole for these insects with an inexpensive coffee can or like container. Using earth or sand, fill the container, dig it into the ground and add water. Rocks can be added to the sides and middle of container to serve as landing pads.

Frogs, turtles, birds, lizards, snakes, and raccoons

fallingstarz1 Photobucket.com

If you are particularly skilled and have the finances, a garden pond with aquatic plants and vegetation around its edges is ideal for attracting animals that use ponds. Irregular shaped ponds provide extra fingers of space for greater variance of habitat and are attractive to a number of species. When planting a pond, you want to offer four layers of vegetation from completely submerged to completely exposed.

You can create a man-made pond or purchase any number of structures at retail stores. Be wary of pre-made ponds that are steep. They were designed for fish but can be customized for birds by adding rocks that sit above the surface serving as landing pads. Stones can also be added below the surface. And a nearby tree with overhanging branches will serve as perches.

Your water work project will give you pleasure all summer long as you dance with nature in her infinite cycle of ebb and flow. A healthy yard attracts healthy wildlife. Healthy wildlife will yield a healthy yard. Ah, water, the gift of life.

Happy Barkday to Me, the Sweetiest!

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Well, hello my darling two-leggeds. I am Miss B.B. La La. Today is my Barkday! I sent my human, Ronda, out across the field to look for the Frisbee she threw for me. Shnuff! Shnuff! She thinks I didn't see where it landed but I'm really just ignoring her so that I could paw the computer away from her for a little while. Shnuff! I am nine years old. That's 63 in dog years. But as I always say, dog years, shmog years. Who ever invented that system had their foot in a pile of stinky ol' poo! I think I am holding up well and don't look a day over six. I have work done, you know. A little nip here. A tuck there. A little Puptox and Collie-gen will take years off in a swag of the tail.


Since I'm still as active as a pup, I do a lot of charity work. I need as many two-leggeds as possible to help animals that aren't as lucky as me. Many shelters are old and in danger of being shut down. In our region, the Butte Humane Society shelter has problems with heating, drainage, broken pipes, and ventilation among other problems. They don't have enough kibble to afford the repairs.

The shelter entered an online contest called Shelter Makeover II on Zootoo.com. Butte Humane Society is currently ranked 5Th out of more than 2,000 shelters across the nation. Points are earned every time someone new joins the website or if current members post pictures or comments. March 13, 2009 is the deadline for points accumulation.

Judges will visit the top 20 shelters and select ten which will be voted on by the public in April. Please help the Butte Humane Society earn points to win the contest by going to: http://www.zootoo.com/. When you get to their home page, scroll down to the bottom of the page and you will see the link to Shelter Makeover II. Maybe a shelter in your region needs some help too. There are many listed to choose from.

Like most everyone, us critters are also facing tough times during this economic down turn. One of Frisbee girl's friends works at the Haven Humane animal shelter. She said that she is seeing so many really, really nice animals being surrendered because their humans can no longer afford to house or care from them. They have implemented a program where they accept food and supply donations to assist owners in keeping their animals at home. It is far better to help families care for us in our own home than to leave us at the shelter. I am sure that shelters everywhere are in need of such assistance.

So, when you think about donating to a food bank, think also about donating to animal food banks. Join us today in helping! After all, it's my Barkday. Pretty please, with chocolate chip cookies on it? Even though I'm not supposed to have them, they're my slurppiest. I've been known to pull a full cookie sheet of them off of the counter and pretend I didn't know it was wrong. Well, gotta go. Here comes Frisbee girl. I'll see if I can get her to go fetch it again. Shnuff!

Wiff luv,
Sweet Miss B.B. La La

For your catvenience, I have included a list of shelter necessities:

For Our Animal Friends
Dog food, Cat food, Puppy formula, Kitten formula, Bottles with nipples, Items for rabbits, guinea pigs and hamsters, Blankets, Dog toys, Kong toys, Newspaper, Towels, Animal crates, Cat carriers, Cat litter, Collars and leashes.

For Our Staff
Copy machine paper, Oust Air Freshener (anti-bacterial type), Hand sanitizer, Office supplies, Paper towels
Hand dolly.

For Our Facility
Storage shed (20x20 wood, double doors), Commercial grade washer/dryer, Metal awning (13x14), Lumber for outdoor animal pen (2x4-2x6-4x4), plywood, roofing, cement, nails, New gutters for Haven's shelter roof
Parking lot resurface, Anesthesia monitor, Ultrasonic cleaner, Digital X-ray, IV stand, Exam light, electrosurgical unit, Lift table, Cat scale, Ultrasound machine , Microscope, IV fluid pump.

Happy Barkday, to me.
Happy Barkday, to me.
Happy Barkday, Happy Barkday,
Happy Barkday, to me!