Messing With Mia

Fun way to mess with your dog in the winter - throw snowballs for them to fetch. Not the yellow ones, they're too easy to find.

Maybe Her Name Was Cookie

Saturday Morning. Pure bedlam in the house. Mia and Bowser have already been out, as had Bambi and Lexie. But Mia and Bowser are in that state of mind that it's time to go outside again. No way.

If "going outside" gets them riled, one thing that really gets everyone in a tizzy, though, is to just say the word "cookie".

So we're watching HGTV - not intently, I suppose - when one of the designers is enlisted to make cookies. Cookies? We've had cookie fixin's on the counter for the last couple of weeks, and I say "Cookies?" in a little-boy voice. Marilee turns to me and in a stern voice says "No cookies."

Lexie's ears perk up.

Says Marilee "Maybe her name was Cookie!"

"COOKIE?"

Well, that was a smart thing to say.

Measurements

It's Sunday. Not just any Sunday It's the day of the last race in the NASCAR world, and the family is all abuzz with the hopes that Jimmie Johnson will have a five-peat.

It's also the day after the first MAJOR snowstorm of the season. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground this morning, and more is forecast. One of our trees did not fare at all well; we're counting the number of branches broken, not quite in the teens, but rather close, particularly if you include the branches in neighbors' yards.

but the more telling measurement was Bowser's first weigh-in.

OK, so it wasn't official, at least from a high-end veterinary scale. Nay, it was a bathroom scale in the dining room. Don't ask.

I'd just picked up Bowser, and Marilee's reaction was "You're gonna hurt your back!!"

I didn't do that, but it was then that Marilee grabbed the aforementioned scale. My weight was measured, then up I picked Bowser once again. The stats came up as follows: Bowser, 65 lbs. Then Mia at 55 lbs, Bambi at 15 lbs, and Lexie at a paltry 9 lbs.

Me? 227.

At the beginning of the race, Jimmie was just fifteen points behind Denny Hamlin. Though the tree is regaining some flexibility, there's still leaves to fall and likely a few more branches.

And another storm or three with expected snowfall in inches if not feet.

Am I That Predictable?

Morning Tuesday. I've just been out in the back yard throwing the "Circular Flying Device" (not a Frisbee®, but a look-a-like from PETsMART) for Mia.

Mia lives for these ® things.

That, and sticks. I'm sure she'd carry around a tree, if I could throw one.

But what got me wondering if I was predictable was that I'd just poured myself a cup of coffee, and was about to get up and go outside, when...

Yeah, I haven't posted much, if at all, recently. A fact that was made all too clear the other day when I posted a new high score in Three Towers Solitaire on Facebook. Someone commented on that post, saying:

"Pffft…now we know why there are no blog updates..."

Whack, right in the face. Thanks, PCJ.

Anyway, back to Mia.

Both she and Bowser were napping. Eyes closed. Guess the tinkling of the pot off the hotplate aroused her. Or the action of just getting up. I could see the thought bubble above her head - "Frisbee? Frisbee? Frisbee?"

Sorry - "®? ®? ®?"

"Yeah, come on."

And off we went.

Rake The Cat

Trouble keeping all that cat hair at bay? Use the new Cat Rake!

What Is He DOING?

Marilee just said that.

"Chewing on himself? At least that's what it sounds like."

Morning Wednesday. Marilee isn't feeling well to the point she's asked me not to leave.

Bowser, just out of my line of sight, is making "sounds." I really don't know what he's doing; Marilee has a more direct line of sight, but has Lexie and Bambi blocking her view.

So I say "...well, whatever the hell it is that he's doing, he's obviously enjoying it.

"...and being otherwise quiet about it."

Mia and Frisbee

Ever since we brought Mia home from CAWS, we knew immediately we had a winner on our hands. Having excellent house manners, coming when called, sitting on command, you know, all the basics, we were happy.

But then, finding out that she could also not only catch a Frisbee but also return it, well, we knew we couldn't pass her up. We officially adopted Mia as well.

Besides, she gives Bowser something to chew on.

Enjoy.

Digital Instant Gratification

Got this one of Bowser a few minutes ago on the patio:

New Family Member(s)

The parentheses are necessary - allow me to explain...

After losing Princess recently, I thought I'd never want another dog around; Bambi and Lexie would have to be it for quite a while.

THAT was before I met Bowser.

Bowser is a purebred mutt. Somewhere in that gene pool is Labrador Retriever. And - I couldn't believe this when I heard - he may have Shar Pei mixed in for good measure.

Yes, HE.

Marilee has said in the past that she only liked girl dogs; tummy rubs were always, uh, nicer, as there wasn't anything to "get in the way".

Since he's only still a puppy, that's not much of an issue. Honestly, I don't think it'll be an issue later, either. But maybe it's just a guy thing.

Oh, yeah... the parentheses issue...

When Marilee found out about Bowser, she also found out about the Mom Dog, Mia. She'd had ten puppies - yes, TEN. Most have been adopted, but as is the case with most puppies turned over to shelters and humane societies, the puppies are adopted first, with the Mom Dogs left for... OK, we don't talk about that. But it happens, folks. The harsh realities of the pet over-population explosion.

We thought it would be an excellent idea to adopt the puppy and foster the Mom Dog. That way, they could sleep together; the puppy would have that bond with his Mom, keeping him content, and QUIET.

In other words, no late-night whimpering.

Yeah, THAT happened. The first three nights, we had them in an upstairs bedroom in a crate, and for the most part it worked. Until, of course, the bond between the puppy, Mom Dog, and us developed.

Yes, the Mom Dog, too.

Mia, the Mom Dog, has become part of the family, though not officially - thus the parentheses. Bowser is used in the singular; the plural hasn't happened yet.

YET.

Edie Just Needed A Hug

Folks, there are far too many "Edie's" out there. Please make a difference and adopt the seemingly unadoptable. While the following video is difficult to watch at first, believe me, you'll be glad you watched at all:

The Dusty Sploosh

Birds just do not get the concept of “glass.”

So says a recent article in Mother Nature News. It says up to a billion birds are killed annually in the United States due to birds flying into windows of homes and businesses. That's a major statistic.

Still, there are those who say that windows aren't birds greatest enemies, rather, cats of the feral and outdoor house variety are birds' greatest fear, on the order of hundreds-of-millions.

Now, wait a minute. If that statistic is to be believed, that's almost TWO BILLION birds killed annually. Maybe there's more to this story.

After sending the link to that Mother Nature News story to a good friend who has seen her share of negative press about ferals and outdoor house cats, she wrote back with this choice piece of evidence:

"A couple weeks ago I saw a serious collection of feathers by the back laundry room door - outside. Was sad that my new feral had apparently reverted to his ways. But then I was talking with a friend and doing laundry on Saturday - and saw the dusty sploosh of where the bird had hit the window. Sad indeed, but at least the cats were only opportunistic, not homicidal..."

Indeed.

Free Lunches And Declawing

"The next cat I get is going to be declawed."

So said Marilee, at the beginning of a conversation we just had. The conversation lasted for all of 45 seconds or so.

"Can you imagine how wonderful they'd be if they didn't have claws?"

"Oh yeah. The doctor's bills would be astronomic."

"Is it expensive?"

"Not the vet bill, the doctor's bills."

"But they wouldn't scratch anymo..."

I cut her off.

"When a cat doesn't have their claws to defend themselves, what do you think they use?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

"Most people don't. They think they answer is to remove the claws to save their furniture, only come to find out the cat is now biting to defend itself. And off the cat goes to a shelter, a humane society, or an animal rescue group. And it scars the cat for life."

"So why is it that when you think of something that's the end-all do-all idea, that something comes up and scatters the idea to the winds?"

"Because there's no such thing as a free lunch."

And that was the end of the conversation. And the end of that whole idea.

Epitome Of The Dog

He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog.

You are his life, his love, his leader.

He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart.

You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotions.

--UNKNOWN

Why Pets Need Microchips

Out of Asheville, South Carolina is a heart-warming story about Sonny the cat being reunited with his owner TWELVE years later.

Read all about it at Citizen-Times' website.

It'll bring you to tears.

Just A Lil Bit

Meet Lil Bit:



Named by Taylor, loved by all, he is a lilac-point Siamese, though we suspect he's more Ragdoll. Judging by the photo, we're more for the latter.

Coconuts

As we all learned from Tom Hanks in Cast Away, the chemical makeup of coconuts combine to form a natural laxative.

Such is just one of the lowly coconut's many magical properties, or, more appropriately, coconut oil.

It is, quite honestly, a mirical cure for just about anything.

While the laxative properties are yet to be seen by yours truly, when consumed in excess, the reverse is true. In epic proportions.

We have a jar of coconit oil in the house. Or at least we did until last night. That's when we found it on the floor in the bedroom, its top mysteriously missing.

We'd just been discussing a peculiar fact that Bambi had gotten into something or other and was hurking all over the house. That's when Marilee spotted the jar.

Coconut oil, supplied in said jars, has a peculiar quality, in that it needs no refrigeration; there's no chance of the stuff going rancid. What's more, it has a waxy feel, until one either melts it in a pan for cooking, or when it's used as a moisturizer - this is why it was in the bedroom. Previously it had been atop the microwave, sitting ready for use.

That Bambi found the jar on Marilee's nightstand wasn't surprising, nor was her interest in the substance.

We wondered just how long it would take for her to get all that fat out of her system - at a quarter-to-four this morning and hurking sounds from under the covers the answer was at hand.

Not yet.

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch

Morning at the DeLong household. Very early.

Bambi and Lexie are wandering around the family room where I'm checking out what's new on the TiVo. It's still dark - outside as well as in; I don't turn the lights on this early since the glow can be disconcerting up in the bedroom where Marilee still is sleeping.

The two dogs have already been potty. So other than hanging out with me, there's nothing much for them to do. But then...

Crunch, Crunch, Crunch

It's not a sound I'm unfamiliar with, just that it's not heard that often in the early morning. Most often though, it's from morsels of dog food not eaten during the previous evening's meal. But it kept going, and going, and...

As I peered around the corner of the coffee table, where the sound was coming from, I didn't expect to see Lexie eating out of Bambi's bowl, but there she was. Bambi was sitting behind her with a look of "How did I miss that food" or maybe it was "I could bite your head off at any moment, you little sh!t". Not sure which.

What's peculiar, though, was that there was any food left in the bowl to begin with. Bambi would just as soon eat herself to the bursting point and beyond if we let her. And that Lexie found it before Bambi is the mysterious part.

This afternoon, I notice all the food is gone from Bambi's bowl. I'm guessing she's not going to let that happen again.

Little Man

Often in the course of looking for, and finding, pictures to post here on my blog, I'll get a grandiose idea to portray a multitude of photos of one subject. Sometimes ALL the pictures would not do justice to the subject matter.

But more often than not, just ONE photo is all that's necessary.

I'd planned on showing many, many, photos of Sebastian, the kitten we recently lost. But just this one will suffice:

You are sorely missed, Little Man.

Sebastian

We had a tragedy here at the house over the weekend. So severe was this that it has shook us to the core.

Sebastian, our dear lttle tuxedo kitten, whom Marilee had dubbed her Snickers replacement, was put to sleep last night, Sunday.


He had so much life in him, right to the end. But watching him grow into adulthood just was not to be.


Friday afternoon, he got into a fight with Lexie, our silky terrier mix. Lexie, likely just playing, did not realize how fragile a kitten can be. So much so, she must have shook him so violently that he suffered irreparable brain injury. Dr. Wilson, a saint in his own right, knew that the time was at hand, and Marilee and I knew it was, too.


So with heavy hearts, we asked Dr. Wilson to let him go.


His passing has left an empty hole in our lives. His little sister Scuttle is now that much more precious. Even now, though he may have picked on Scuttle, she now has no one to play with, and we are now, perhaps, spending a bit more time with her than we had previously as Sebastian was more outspoken in his demands. She has become more outspoken in her own right.

I'll have pictures of Sebastian to share in the next day or so, but for now, we're just taking a day at a time.

Rest In Peace, Sebastian.

The Furminator Revisited

It's that time of year again, and Princess is blowing her coat.

This year as last, I've been using the Furminator. Still doing a fine job of removing that overabundance of undercoat her breed develops.

I've got a few more "treatments" to give her, so this mass of hair will likely diminish:

At least it's not all over the floor.