Skipper the Fast

Here's a video from June of me ignoring my persistent daughter in favor of watching Skipper off leash.  This little dog is fast - I took this video after she'd been running around a while, so she's actually slowed down here. 

I've been doing a run/walk program with my friend Libbie in the mornings and bringing Skipper along.  I have to say this morning time in the park is probably the best thing we've done for Skipper.  For a while I was dragging her along and feeling like I was asking too much of her, but lately I've been letting her off leash and been amazed by her.  She tracks along, running circles around us.  She'll run to greet other dogs, but always comes back when called, without too much delay.  I definitely do not have full control over her, which makes me nervous in a city park, but she is far better than I ever would have expected, and she obviously recognizes that she is to listen to me.

This has given her a lot of confidence.  She still hides a fair bit, and is still frightened of Rich, but she'll actually come out when people are around.  She's just still so skittish and nervous, but she's made amazing progress in 10 months.  We seem to have turned the corner on housebreaking (I hope I haven't just jinxed it!).  She's just obviously my dog, and I'm excited to work more with her. 

But, like any dog, she's got her odd quirks.  Her great love is socks.  Socks that have been worn by me, or actually anyone.  She snags them out of the dirty clothes (we have to bury them under other clothes) and hides them in her bed, and occasionally snacks on them til they are ruined. 

And, the best news of all?  Finally, finally, finally, we have won the battle of the fleas.  Whew! 

hell week

I"ve long had last week circled in my calendar.  Hell week.  Every fall activity beginning, plus a birthday and a handful of other activities means we're all exhausted today.  But it was fun.

So here's our fall schedule, along with the extras from last week:

Monday- Elizabeth soccer practice
Tuesday - School Of Religion for Elizabeth, and the first week was a family mass followed by potluck.  But not potluck dinner.  As exhausting as that would have been, at least we'd have gotten fed.  No, it was potluck snacks at 5 pm.  This week it's the opening ceremony for SOR.  For the love of god (literally), can we just get this thing going?
Wednesday - morning, Andrew's music class, afternoon, Andrew's soccer class

Then, last week Thursday was parent association meeting in the morning at Elizabeth's school, and of course Elizabeth's birthday (post to come!).  Friday was the co-op sale that my friend TSM runs (post to come on AwwwClutter!).  Saturday is usually Elizabeth's soccer game, but it was mercifully cancelled because of wet fields, so we had more time to prep for our supposedly easy neighborhood happy hour / birthday party.  Saturday night Elizabeth hosted her first ever sleepover, as a special birthday treat, with a her friend who lives down the street.  The girls stayed up til midnight and woke up at 7 am.

Sunday the neighborhood was shut down because of the Latino festival that takes place one block from our house, and brings something insane like 30,000 people to our little neighborhood, shutting down all streets around us.

Oh, and let's not forget another parent snagged Rich one morning at school and asked if we could bring snacks for the week, then sent us a page-long rules of snacks (no artificial colors! no Nuts! no dairy!) that sent us off to two different stores and boiling 24 eggs and lugging three giant bags of snacks into school last week.

And then let's talk about our plague.  Of fleas.  Which meant a previously unscheduled, 2-hour, expensive trip to the vet during the week, and a full day Sunday of flea control measures.  Frontline, you ineffectual crap product, I hate you and your expensive price tag with a passion!  There was simply no time to go 100% on flea control before Sunday - when Rich did 7 loads of laundry (none of them clothes!) and bathed both pets and I read up on fleas and combed both pets and swept and swept and swept.  The only good news is we have a new product for Skipper and an entirely different new product for Harrison so maybe, just maybe, after an entire summer of battling fleas (I cannot believe I am admitting our flea problem, but let me just make it clear we have been AGGRESSIVELY battling fleas since mid-July, and none of measures worked because our main line of defense - Frontline - only managed to DO NOTHING, but we have been combing and bathing and washing and flea bombing and doing everything we are supposed to do to no avail) maybe we will finally turn the corner and gain mastery over them.  Or, it will finally get cold and no longer so humid and the cycle will end for the year.  One or the other.

So that's why we all struggled out of bed this morning bleary-eyed.  To start it all over again this week with the soccer and the religion and the soccer and so on.  But we made it through, a more regular schedule starts this week, and the humidity is finally scheduled to break, so maybe fall has really begun now.

presence

When we first lost Aggie, I was stunned mostly by how empty the house felt.  There was a presence missing, and the house was quiet.  Too quiet.  And so Skipper came to live here in January, a little over 4 months ago. 

Rich calls Skipper the Bizarro Aggie.  (for those not well versed in Seinfeld minutia, here's the wikipedia, though it doesn't focus on the hilarious Bizarro world interactions as much as the man hands and Kramer's job!).   Skipper is completely opposite Aggie in every way.  Aggie was 100% personality, coming directly at you, forcing you to deal with her.  Skipper would prefer very much to just be left alone, thank you very much. 

Quite honestly, Skipper appears devoid of any personality whatsoever, though that's not fair to her.  There are flashes of personality, but they are fleeting and quickly subdued. 

Here's Skipper's schedule:  Wake up when we do.  Get hauled out from under the bed, then picked up and taken downstairs when leash is put on.  Go for walk and hopefully take care of business.  Come inside, have leash hooked on a chair to keep her in one place, then have wet food set in front of her which she quickly eats as long as no one is watching.  Be unhooked from leash, make a mad dash for under the couch.  Wait til Rich and Elizabeth leave for school, then dash past Gee and Andrew and follow Susan upstairs.  Dash under bed.  Stay there.  At 5:30, get hauled out from under bed, leash hooked on, carried downstairs for afternoon walk, where hopefully business is taken care of.  Come inside, leash unhooked, and depending on mood dash under couch or dash upstairs and go under bed.  If stayed downstairs, wait until kid's bathtime and follow Susan upstairs, and dash under bed.  Get hauled out from under bed around 10 and carried downstairs for evening walk with Rich.  Come inside, have leash removed, and dash upstairs to under bed.  When it is completely quiet and dark, creep out from under bed and crunch dog food and lap up water.  Hide under bed til morning.  Repeat. 

To be honest, a terrarium with a couple of snails may have more personality. 

As Rich says, to counter my argument that at least she's an easy dog: I'd like to know I even have a dog in the house! 

I vacillate between two strategies.  Either we leave her alone completely to come out of her shell on her own, or we haul her out from under the bed and force her to interact.  If I had errands to run in the car on cool days I've taken her along.  We sometimes make her sit with us downstairs.  Harrison is jealous when we do this. 

She was great in Florida.  OK, well, sure, she spent her usual 22 hours of the day under the bed, but I was able to walk her off leash every day and she loved it.  So when we got back, I took E and A and Skipper to Rock Creek and we hit a short trail. 

She is a cute dag (Rich: cute is not enough!). 

And to be fair, she has some sort of intestinal issue that we cannot seem to fully resolve, and it clearly impacts her.  We deal with one thing and she's great, and then another thing pops up.  Perhaps she has IBS (irritable bowel syndrome), brought about by stress/nervousness.  She'll likely be at the vet again this week.  And she does sometimes break out a little bit - three out of the past four days she's come out from under the bed in the morning and followed me downstairs, without the hauling and carrying.  There is a playful, sweet pup in there, we just hope, with a little attention, patience, and more time we can bring it out. 

The From Left to Write Book Club consists of over 100 bloggers who read books and then write posts inspired by the book (not a review of the book). This month's post was inspired by The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, by Elisabeth Tova Bailey.  As a member of the book club, I was given a free copy of the book. This isn't remotely the post I wanted to write about this lovely, spare, lyrical, poetic book.  I don't actually read all that much natural history, even though I tend to love what I read (because of a lethal combination of "I give at the office" mixed with jealousy and bitterness that I don't write like this).  This is among the best natural history I've ever read.  I love, love love Victorian naturalists, but even more than their writing I love when someone else culls through their prose and pulls out the best bits.  And what I truly loved about the book is that it sits in many categories - I loved the natural history, but the woman who brought this book to the book club did so because of the long-term debilitating illness that is the other portion of the book.  This book came along at precisely the right and absolutely the wrong time in my professional life, as I face the reality of leaving behind the world of science and nature, even as tenuous as my connection had been the past few years.  I have a few posts in my head to write about that, so we shall see if they ever make it into pixels. 

another strike

Remember oh, when was it, over a year ago when I wrote about the offing of Mr M in the bedroom by the hero Harrison?  Well, the mystery continues.  Though this time, the victim was Ms Sparrow in the kitchen.  So perhaps our dear Harrison was more of a villain than hero this time around.  Let's call him our anti-hero.  You can't help but root for him though his heroic qualities are, shall we say, lacking. 

No photos in order not to offend any delicate sensibilities. 

Early in the afternoon yesterday I was working in the attic and heard Harrison meowing meowing meowing downstairs.  Quite loudly.  I decided to ignore him. 

Later, rushing around to get together all the t-ball equipment to drop off at practice, while simultaneously gathering all the ballet accoutrements together because we were due at dress rehearsal at the same time as practice, I passed by our anti-hero who was lounging in the middle of the kitchen (underfoot at precisely the wrong time is one of his specialities).  When suddenly, in my frenzy, what was beside Harrison clicked into my consciousness - a dear sweet Ms Sparrow casually discarded.  Yikes! 

I called Gee into the kitchen so we could compare notes.  Andrew was napping, so Gee had been doing other things in the house.  She told me she had heard Harrison, and had passed by the kitchen and noticed the throw rug was all tangled, and she thought he had been mock fighting with it and so straightened it out.

Here's the thing - neither of us has any recollection of Harrison having escaped the house and ventured outside during the day.  Our anti-hero has been on a tear lately, sneaking outside with his battle cry of "you shall not contain me!" despite our best efforts to continue his captivity in lockdown.  We're actually attempting to reach a civil compromise by extending his range onto our back patio, but his escape routes know no end.  He was out quite a bit the day before, so had poor Ms S been trapped in our house for a day? 

We'll never know.

The Newest Addition

Since losing Aggie last year to cancer, Elizabeth has been asking when we'd get a new dog. My standard answer was "someday." At the end of the summer, Elizabeth looked at me one day and said, "Mommy, you said we'd get a dog someday and It. Is. Some. Day!" So, I started looking around. Acquiring a dog - by adoption anyway - is different in the internet age than it was in the past. Before, you'd visit the shelter and a dog would catch your eye and that would be it. Or you'd pass by an adoption event at the store or community event, or maybe if you were particular about the kind of dog you wanted you'd visit a couple of shelters or talk to the volunteers and have someone on the lookout for the type of dog you'd like. There was a bit of serendipity involved. The internet makes a lot of life easier, but overall, I have to say it removes a lot of chances for serendipity.

So here's how you adopt a dog today - you look online. There are numerous rescue groups who remove dogs from shelters and place them in foster homes, so you look up dogs by characteristics and then send an e-mail inquiring about a particular dog, and often agree to adopt the dog before ever meeting it. It's weird, but I suppose more dogs are adopted this way.

I started looking online and found a couple of things right away. Aggie was a westie mix, and we liked her size and most of her personality. There are westie rescue groups, but, here's the kicker, they won't adopt to families with small children, or families with cats. Hmmm. Apparently, most westies are surrended to shelters because of poor child/pet interactions - westies are known nippers. And, since they were bred to attack and kill small animals, cats can turn into prey. Perhaps this might have dissuaded us, but Aggie was so good with kids, and we're good pet owners in terms of teaching children and pets to get along. Kids have to learn to deal with the pets. And as far as the cat interaction, at 15 pounds and a bruising personality, let's just say we weren't worried about Harrison.

But this meant a westie would be hard to find. So I started looking at other possibilities, showing Rich cute pictures of needy dogs or just talking through other possibilities. Everything I suggested was met with a no. A beagle? Too barky/too much howling. A sheltie? Too shy/too much energy/too much hair. A collie? Too much hair/too big. It had to be a small dog (less than 30 pounds), not require a large yard, and fit into our lifestyle. A pug? Too ugly. Boston terrier? No. A corgi? How could I desecrate Aggie's memory by getting a dog breed that Aggie despised? Etc. It became clear a Westie was the only answer.

I saw a few dogs that might fit the bill, and contacted a couple of rescue organizations. But each time the dog was already pending adoption. It became clear that we needed to be pre-approved to adopt before we could really start seriously looking. So, I filled out the paperwork and started the process. Meantime, I also set up a search on petfinder.com - looking for a Westie. I checked my search nearly every day, but without much luck, while being interviewed by a rescue group on our philosophy of dog behavior modification, opening our home for a home inspection, and providing info on our vet, on the life history of our pets, and every other thing you could imagine and a few you might not. Finally, we were pre-approved, and introduced to a pet matchmaker who would be on the look out for a dog that met our qualifications.

Two weeks ago, I refreshed my petfinder search and scanned the familar list of Westies, and then noticed two new ones, available in rural Virigina, south of Charlottesville. I quickly sent an e-mail asking about availability, and got a fast response. We set up a phone call for the next day, where I learned about this woman, Susie, who set up her own rescue organization and worked within her community rescuing poodles and Westies. She told me two other people had e-mailed first, but we sounded the best. I told her we were pre-approved by another agency and offered to send all the info, but she said after doing this for so long she went with her gut and we were the ones for this particular dog.

Over time, Susie has developed a relationship with a backyard breeder who at one time was a fairly decent guy. But he was older, and his wife had died a few years ago, and his property, and his ability to care for the dogs, had declined rapidly. Over the years Susie has been able to rescue many dogs from this man. He keeps them all in his backyard with little to no human interaction and lately, no real care. The little dog we were interested in was 9 months old, had never seen a vet or had any vet care, and was kept in a pen with her sister, who had just given birth to a litter of pups. The breeder/puppy mill owner had called Susie and said his daughters were getting on him about the number of dogs he had and so he was going to let her pick up the two girls. Susie rushed right out and grabbed the dogs and took them home for their first baths and care they had ever received. Susie reported the little dog was blossoming, was very gentle, and would be a perfect pet for us. She had rescued a brother pup from the man and that dog was doing very well. Overall, the dogs from this man - and this litter - had sweet dispositions and had proven to be fine with kids and pets. She was confident this was a good match. And so, without any rigamarole, we had a pending adoption.

We didn't want to get our hopes up too much, as it didn't entirely seem real (especially given the hoops other rescues made us go through). We had to wait a week for the dog to be neutered and get basic vet care. Meanwhile we started slowly talking about it with E&A, mostly focused on what we should call a new dog. We had a short list, but decided we liked Skipper, named after the lead penguin on The Penguins of Madagascar. If nothing else, it would always remind us of this time in our lives, and since Westies are generally such spunky dogs, it would be a good name.

Saturday I got up early and made the drive, leaving Rich to deal with the kids. Initially we were all going to go, but decided it made no sense - a three hour drive each way, in the bitter cold, and we'd only pick up the dog and then be right back on the road? Not worth it. So I took the Mini, and made great time. I decided to stop in Charlotteville for a break, since I was running early, and got out to stretch my legs. Got back in the car, and - nothing. Car would not start. We've had problems with this car and the battery, and while we love the Mini, the particular design quirks of the car make jumping it a nightmare. So I called AAA. An hour later, I was back on the road, but knowing I wouldn't risk turning the car off again until I was safely home! The pick up went fine, the dog was super cute, and Susie was great. So I turned around and made the trek back.

Skipper has now been with us 5 days. And she's still freaked out and scared to death, though we can see her calming down. Elizabeth has been great with her, very patient and loving. Andrew keeps calling her Aggie (he was 13 months old when Aggie died!). Right now, she's hiding under the couch as I sit and type. I pulled out an old training technique and now carry a bag of chopped hotdogs in my pocket, which makes me infinitely less frightening. But she still won't voluntarily come to any of us, nor will she use stairs. Our strategy right now is just to let her calm down and become comfortable with us. Sometimes doing nothing is the hardest thing. And housebreaking? Yeah, that's not happening. She is too freaked out that we have to catch her, put on the scary leash, take her outside, and put her down in the freezing cold. So far, we have a perfect record - take her out, stand around while she shivers for 10-15 minutes, bring her in, and have her go on the floor within a minute of being inside. Perhaps we have to lower our expectations in this area until she's decided we're not that scary. The good news is she has extreme bladder control!

And Harrison? Well, he's been much better than expected. He expressed his displeasure the first night by vomiting 7 times, but that stopped. He's swiped at Skipper twice, but it's not been too serious, more his way of telling the dog to back off. I've never typed the story of how Harrison terrorized Aggie the very first day we brought Harrison home, but let's just say we were a little worried for Skipper's life, but that worry was for naught. Skipper is actually pretty interested in Harrison, so maybe they might become friends. Stranger things have happened. Although the last thing we need is for Skipper to learn the ropes from Harrison!

So, wow, I've typed a novella. Here are the pictures from the first day. More pics to come, and I'm sure many more stories in the future. For now, we're looking for doggy playdates and just trying to take each day as it comes!

The $10K cat

So, I was talking about Harrison, our cat, with one of my friends and I think shocked her by referring to him as our $10K rescue cat. That is a freaking large amount of money to spend on a cat, but yet, over ten years, that's my estimate of what he's cost us. I said that to Rich once and he scoffed there was no way, but once we totaled it up....well, maybe we haven't hit $10K, but we're closing in on it.

Harrison was adopted from the Siamese Cat Rescue Center. My beloved cat Andre died in December 2000, so once we moved into this house in 2001 it was time. He came to us at a year old, a little beat up from a rough life on the streets. In fact, one of his rear legs had been broken somehow, and obviously not set as he still walks with a bit of limp, though once he really settled in it became barely noticeable. One of his ears is a bit ragged, so he definitely got into it a time or two during his time in the wild.

In 2004, when my family as visiting for my sister's college graduation, Harrison developed a urinary blockage, something that is not unusual in male cats. There was a stay in the animal hospital, surgery, and follow up care, including a special diet ($$) to reduce the chance of recurrence. Harrison specializes in crises during busy times. I'm not going to get these dates right because it was all too crazy, but in the weeks after Elizabeth was born, he developed what we could only call severe lethargy, so another emergency room visit determined he had developed some sort of heart problem. We were supposed to take him to a cardiologist, but couldn't ever get there in those first few weeks and by the time we had the time, he seemed to have recovered from whatever it was (we did take him for followups at the regular vet), though he does have a heart mumur.

And I can't remember when this happened, or what event he disrupted, but the biggest ticket item was the intestinal blockage, which resulted in another long hospital stay, surgery, and extended follow up care. Oh, and a DIFFERENT special diet. Nothing has been related to anything else, it's just been a series of unrelated, unlucky events. And, each thing has been something that was easily, if expensively, fixable.

Harrison and Aggie had a complicated relationship - well, not that complicated if you simply consider that Harrison moved in and on day 1 decided it was his mission in life to terrorize our dog. But I think he had a certain fondness for Aggie. So with Aggie gone, Harrison has been lonely, and more importantly, bored. He's been an exclusive indoor cat since he came to live with us, but this summer, at the height of his boredom, I started allowing him to go outside in our fenced back area. He quickly discovered how to escape, though he mostly spent time sunning himself in our yard. I'd let him out for an hour or so in the afternoons. Given our financial investment in this cat, I should have put a stop to it, but he was so happy just hanging around outside (and that's all he mostly did) I let it continue, even when I knew he was in standoffs with a stray in the alley. It wasn't every day, and never for long, but still, he shouldn't have been going out unsupervised. It didn't help that he's learned how to open our back screen door. If it's not latched properly, he can push it open, but even when it is latched, somehow he works at the door until he jiggles it enough the latch slips.

So, two weeks ago - Harrison worked on the door while we were eating dinner and made it out. A huge no no, but he was gone before we could grab him. We expected him to just come back fairly quickly, as usual, but at 11 Rich was outside calling and calling for him. Finally, at 11:30, just as we were going to bed, I looked out the back door and there he was. But, when he came in, he was dripping blood from a wound on his neck - he had gotten into it with something. So, we got him cleaned up and put antiseptic on all his wounds. He slept most of the next day - after all he had just gotten beat up - but seemed to recover. He's been on lockdown since.

Friday night, we noticed a tuft of fur coming off his head, and realized he had a scratch there we hadn't treated, but the tuft of hair coming off generally means the scab is healing so I didn't think too much of it. Then, Saturday morning, he started cleaning, cleaning, cleaning his head. Which, again, I did'nt think too much of, until we took a good look at it and realized he had a giant oozing wound on the top of his head.

Great. Rich's parents were on their way down to celebrate Rich's 40th b-day, and the cat had a giant absess on his head. So, loaded him in the carrier and made my way to the vet for a couple of hours in the waiting room.

$225 later, it was cleaned out, he had a half-shaved head, and we had antibiotics. We'll just add it to the total. He was not happy about the vet, but they managed to clean him up even with the deep belly yowling that was going on. And now we have ten days of pills to get through.

Oh, and I'm forgetting to write about his hernia. When he had the intestinal blockage, at the follow up visit the vet who did the surgery (not at our usual vet) said, oh, I think I sewed all his fat into one area, he's got a little fat pouch. We thought that was odd, but everything seemed to heal ok, except for this bulge in his belly. It was another vet at our usual practice who said, um, he has a hernia. So I had to epxlain that to this vet, who really strongly suggested we spend another couple of grand to get that hernia fixed. Another $2-3K. For a hernia operation. Well, if we haven't hit $10K yet, we certainly will before too long.

Moral of the story - pet insurance for our next pet

Unwelcome Visitors

Many posts to come on snowmaggedon and the follow-on snoverkill, not to mention the fun and games on hand in the house. But as I mentioned at the start of NaBloPoMo, there are lots of posts backed up in my memory banks and photodatabase that have to get out. And some recent excitment makes a missed post from October more pertinent.

One night in late October we had one of those nights. You know the night: Rich up with Andrew at midnight, me up with Elizabeth at 1, me up with Andrew at 1:30, Rich up with Elizabeth at 2. It was a night of shifting bedrooms and partners and if it our life was an english manor mystery, we would have woken with Mr. M dead in the parlor and a house full of suspects.

Oh, right, that's kind of what happened. (warning: graphic photos)

I was awakened at 6 am by Andrew crying in his crib. Rich had finally fallen asleep cuddling with Elizabeth in the wee hours of the morning. I stumbled out of bed, to find the picture above in our bedroom doorway. Unlike a weekend of mystery solving, in our case, the perpetrator made himself apparent very quickly, and received well deserved praise and support for offing the dastardly villian.

Really, I showed my appreciation as best as I could, without being too appreciative. On occasion, Harrison will make his way into bed in the middle of the night, which usually involves him jumping on our heads and sleeping on our pillows (really, there's another post someday about how my cat treats me as a booty call). Thank goodness that part didn't happen - I really prefer not to think of him dragging various mouse parts into our bed, nor cleaning off his paws.....anyway. As near as we could figure in our sleep addled state, Rich remembered hearing Harrison moving around downstairs and meowing around 2 or 3 am. I was up at 6 am, so he probably had a fine time entertaining himself then left us a present of his accomplishment to be found in the morning.

In 2007, he caught 3 mice in the house, all in the kitchen, all hidden behind Aggie's crate. The first time Elizabeth and I were home and I noticed Harrison staring intently at the crack between Aggie's crate and the wall. Not thinking too much of it, though he was totally focused, I just had a feeling and decided to check and see, and moved everything off the crate, positioned Harrison, and pulled the crate quickly away from the wall (Elizabeth, then 2, was safely contained in her booster seat). In a flash, Harrison darted behind the crate and came up with a mouse in his mouth, freaking me the hell out. I grabbed the broom and pushed Harrison out the back door onto the porch. Using the same broom, I encouraged Harrison to drop the mouse, where upon I promptly swept it off the porch. Not entirely smart, I know, but I just wanted it gone. It was probably that same mouse that showed back up two days later, but Rich was home and while the scenario mostly repeated itself, Rich handled the actual offing of the mouse. I think the next mouse showed up about a week later, but he was also promptly taken care of by Rich and Harrison. After each event, Harrison would spend a couple of days lurking by the site of the previous capture, which we chalked up to him looking for more excitement rather than any actual infestation. This all happened during a cold spell and we did some caulking and checking of possible entry points.

This fall we'd noticed Harrison staring intently at the base of the dishwasher, or along the baseboards in the kitchen, and whenever this happens we always praise and encourage him. With a dog and cat and two small kids, I've never been a big fan of poisons or traps, and have taken more of a you leave me alone or I'll get my cat to take care of you type of person when it came to pests. It's not don't ask don't tell - I explore and look around and trust me, if there were ever droppings or signs of infestation, Measures Would Be Taken. But an isolated event, caused by weather driving pests to look for shelter, quickly dispatched, and it's definitely just been a cause for a bit of excitement. So, this mouse demise happened in late October. Harrison skulked around the kitchen quite a lot after, leaving us suspicious that we might have an Issue. But no signs appeared.

Then we get 30+ inches of snow. And I walked into the kitchen from the front hallway yesterday, to find a mouse bold as you please in the corner by the basement. I'll admit I shrieked at the top of my lungs, causing the mouse to jump a foot straight up in the air, then do a double somersault before dashing to the gap between the cabinets and the fridge. The shriek brought Elizabeth running and she and I grabbed a flashlight and peered behind the fridge but no signs. Rich and Harrison appeared, but Harrison was completely disinterested. Rich moved the fridge out from the wall, and we all peered around and saw several possible escape routes. Harrison remained completely uninterested in the entire endeavor, which made me think our visitor was long gone. (It was a loud shriek.)

I've looked all around and there are no signs of mice. Harrison, despite a ton of encouragement, shows zero interest in the kitchen. Given his track record, we're sticking with him for now and remaining vigilant.

Aggie

In the summer of 1997, my friend Kristen and I were at my friends Avery and Kim's house. I don't remember why now, but we were there on a Saturday morning and Avery and Kim decided we should all go to the animal shelter to help them pick out a dog, so off we went. I spent some time with the cats, just checking things out, wandered out to the dogs, and checked in with Avery and Kim frequently, as they looked at various options. And I poked around some, and kept circling around one enclosure that held the cutest little white dog and its companion, a cocker spaniel. I pointed the bright eyed curious white pup - young, about a year old - out to Avery and Kim, but they dismissed her quickly without much of a glance. I pointed her out to Kristen, who agreed she was cute. A volunteer wandered over, and suggested I take her out of the cage into a grassy area and interact with her a bit. Oh, I'm not here for a dog, I protested, but the volunteer suggested it would help the dog to get out a bit and what was the harm. The label said Aja (which is a Steely Dan album pronounced kinda like Asia), and the volunteer told me she and the cocker spaniel had been dropped off a few days before. And honestly, the volunteer continued, I think the poor dogs were relieved they were left here, relieved to leave those previous owners behind.

So out to the grass Aja trotted. There were other people there with others dogs, trying them out. Aja stayed close to me, and when I knelt down she kept beside me, warily eyeing the other dogs and people, seeking shelter in my shadow. Kristen was delighted with her, and the volunteer smiled at how friendly she was. But no, I said firmly, not for me, I rent, I have housemates, I have a cat. We left that day with Eddie, a gorgeous shepherd for Avery and Kim. Don't you want to put your name in for the westie mix? the shelter volunteers asked. But I said I couldn't.

And yet I couldn't shake her from my mind. I checked the website and their phone hotline. The little westie was described as brighteyed and smiling all the time, and indeed she had been. Kristen phoned me and said I should think about it. I talked with my then-boyfriend Rich, and mentioned it to my housemate Ryan, who seemed agreeable. So I called our landlords, who said a dog was fine with them. And a couple of days later, I called the shelter, only to learn she had been adopted. Oh well, not to be. The volunteer on the phone said to me, I've never seen a dog bond with a person they way you two did and not have the person put a hold on her. It's too bad.

Life continued that week, and that weekend I went to pick up my mom, who was traveling up from Florida visiting my Aunt Betsy (Elizabeth's namesake). I picked her up at the airport, we drove down to the Shore, I dropped her off for the visit, and I was spending a day or two with them in Virginia before I headed home. The next weekend I was to do the reverse - picking my mom up and dropping her back at the airport. At some point I checked my messages (pre-cell phones, remember calling in to see what messages had been left?). First message was Avery - the animal shelter had called them, trying to track me down, and could I call them? The next message was the animal shelter. The adoption on the westie had fallen through - a home visit had nixed the adoption - and they had remembered someone else had been interested, so they looked back through records, found Eddie's adoption, and called Eddie's new owner to see if I might be interested. I flew downstairs - Mom! Aunt Betsy! I think I'm getting a dog!

After relaying the whole story, they agreed it was meant to be. The only thing left was to decide on a new name, because a Steely Dan album title was not going to cut it. I had a much-loved cat I had acquired at FSU. My housemate at the time had agreed I could get a cat only if he could name it. Matt was more than a little unusual, which mostly manifested in his obessive love of Andre Agassi. He cut his hair like Agassi, bought all the Agassi outfits from Nike, including the neon wristbands and headbands, and played tennis like Agassi. I believe he even had a Rebel camera. I intro'ed Matt to a friend in the oceanography department who started playing tennis with him, and said, Matt could actually be considered an idiot for the Agassi obsession, except he was so sincere about it, it was kind of charming. So, no big surprise the cat's name became Andre. My mom, Aunt, and I considered naming the dog Brooke, but probably a good decision to rule it out. My mom actually came up with Aggie - short for Agassi, kinda, and similar enough to Aja to not confuse the dog. So somehow, thanks to a random housemate from 1991, who I haven't seen or heard of since I don't know, 1993, probably, ended up with pets named for Andre Agassi. I don't even remember Matt's last name (and it took me a few minutes to even come up with his first name), so can't even look him up on Facebook. He was an undergrad I had found through the student housing office, since I moved kinda blindly from Maryland to FSU without even a visit before enrolling. I remember he was planning to go to law school, and had political ambitions. I wonder where he is now. Nice guy - I wonder what he thought of the crystal meth admission from Agassi? Anyway.

So I came back from the Eastern Shore and called the shelter. They told me the home visit had failed for the previous applicant because she had other pets that appeared uncared for. I eyeballed the 18-pound Andre and knew we'd pass that test. The home visit showed up a few days later. He said, yeah, I should tell you that the dog's companion had been adopted, leaving Aja in the cage by herself, and she had gone a little pound crazy by herself. The shelter was not a good atmosphere for her, and she was slated to be put down if I did not take her. He suggested she not be crated, since she was chewing the bars of the cage at the shelter. But he said it all looked good.

So I drove back to the Shore, picked up my mom, and stopped at the shelter, meeting Rich there, to pick up my cute new dog Aggie on our way back to my house. And my god, she looked terrible!! The shelter had NOT been good for her. She had slowly, over those roughly 2 weeks there, lost her little mind. She was gnawing through the cage, so much so she had worn sores on her snout. Her little smile was gone, replaced by a frenzied, panicked barking. Her bright eyes and shiny coat were dim and grimy. Rich's and my mom's look of alarm gave me pause, but it was me or the kill room, and so Aggie came home. It was a weekday, and we stopped by my office, who all knew the story, and buzzed them to come down and check it out. There I was driving, Aggie crazy in my mom's arms, and my colleagues gathered around the car. My friend DJ called her Bandit, and to this day refers to her by that name.

The home visit guy had suggested gating the small bathroom off my bedroom, so she would be contained but not crated and could see me. But she chewed on the doorframe, on the bathroom vanity, on the floor trying to get out. The shelter had described her as housebroken, but that appeared not to be the case.

Let's just say the first two weeks were pretty much a disaster. Rich and Ryan were in mutiny, and I wasn't exactly happy myself. I think it was Rich who said, let's try a crate, at this point what have we got to lose? And so we did, and presto - biggest problem solved. She slept in the crate just fine, and we could put her in the crate when she needed to calm down. This by no means solved everything. Thank goodness Comcast only charged $1 for replacement remote controls. She developed an obsession for stealing the remote control and chewing it to pieces. A vet later said it showed her love for us, as the remote was strongly scented by our hands. I don't think Ryan bought that explanation. I think we went through nearly a dozen, and once she chewed a remote in less than 20 seconds. Ryan was watching the news one morning, left the remote on the coffee table, and went back to his room. He and I passed in the hallway and said good morning, and by the time I made it to living room, mere seconds later, the remote was destroyed.

About a month or so after getting her, I took her to be professionally groomed, dropped her off and came home to an empty house. Ryan was out, new housemate Cynthia was gone, and the house was all mine and Andre's. We napped on the couch and just enjoyed the sounds of nothing. No chewing. No worrying. No wondering what the dog was into. Nothing. The grooming place called and told me she was ready and I replied, when do you close? How long can I leave her there?

There's more, so much more to the Aggie story. The failed clicker training. Ryan's dress shoes. The linoleum in the kitchen. The barking. The endless barking. The escapes. The energy. The shake can. A simple hush command. Ryan in a frenzy flipping the couch she would hide under, and then building a plexiglass barrier so she couldn't hide under that couch anymore. (It is a miracle Ryan still speaks to me). The pee that she couldn't control when she was excited.

It took many a year, but she did mellow. And she did try to be a good dog. Due to the barking and some unfriendly neighbors, she came to the office with me every single day for about a year and a half and made lots of friends (though despising John, the Fed Ex guy). Andre had a fairly high level of disdain for her, but she loved him - and even jumped in to defend him once during a tussle with a neighbor's cat. And she was fun to walk. And she was a whiz when hiking. She'd stick close enough, and turn back and look when she reached a fork in a path. I'd point the direction and she'd head that way. Early on, we had many a fun hike at Catoctin with Kristen. And she was amazing at the Billy Goat trail at Great Falls. I remember us hiking with Murph, who kind of rolled his eyes at her white fluffiness, but she could do that entire tough, rocky trail with just one assist at one high drop - she'd find a way up and down every other rocky area. She was depressed when Andre was gone in 2000, and I worried about another cat, but Harrison put her in her place quickly and she respected that. (OK, she was scared to death of Harrison.) And of course, when Elizabeth and then Andrew arrived, Aggie took that displacement in stride. One thing that Rich did not type in November, when we first thought something was wrong, was that she had bitten a neighbor child, and snapped twice at Andrew - a clear sign something was wrong and she was not feeling well. When Andrew had started crawling, we had watched him crawl over and over Aggie without her batting one of her long eyelashes. So something was up. We didn't know it would lead to this, and so quickly.

On Friday Rich and I said goodbye to our 12.5 year companion. She was woven tightly into our family story, and her loss leaves a hole. Her flaws and bits of crazy made her what she was, and we weren't ready to say goodbye. She loved a good snowstorm, though my former housemate Cynthia remembered another of her earlier quirks - she couldn't, or wouldn't, relieve herself on snow, so we had to dig down to the ground to allow her to go to the bathroom, or wait til she found an area with minimal snow out on walks. Just another quirk that made her her. And more practically, that dog was a vacuum cleaner - just the amount of sweeping we've had to do around the dinner table has amplified her absence. And living in the city, walking a dog twice a day plugs you into the neighborhood. We have to tell many of our neighbors - some whose names we don't know, though we know most of the dog's names, that she's now gone. I wonder if Edith, the corgi down the street and her arch enemy, will miss her.

And now, she and Andre are together again.

I just never expected to miss her this much.

Not quite

I know, we've been bad bloggers lately. Just sort of gave up on NaBloPoMo and never came back to it. We both were sick in Florida, and I never really got better and developed a nasty sinus infection that is only now clearing up. So it's been a bit of a break.

And we continue the break from regular programming. Sadly, we have learned that the little dog isn't exactly indestructable, at least when it comes to cancer. We just found out she has a particulary insidious form of cancer, one that is untreatable. We had hoped for more time, but it looks like that is not to be.

So a roundup of her greatest hits. She's always been a photogenic dog. In 2002, just before Ryan was leaving for New Zealand, we came up with a brilliant plan. Knowing how much Ryan would (not) miss Aggie (though Aggie desperately misses Ryan), we designed a way for Ryan to remember Aggie all year through.

(this remains one of my all time fav pics of her)

Why yes, yes we did used to have a lot of spare time, why do you ask?

(Ryan's wedding was in May, hence the bridal shot)

We had a bunch of copies made, and gave them to family as well. But giving it to Ryan - it was priceless.

Priceless! We laughed SOOO much. It makes me laugh now to remember.

We don't have pictures of anyone else receiving it except my parents. I also remember laughing hysterically as we hinted to my sister that we had something good for Christmas. She came close to guessing, but was surprised by the finished product.

Aggie has been many things over the years, but she's always been a good sport. And a cute dog, too.

Indestructible

I think it was Rich - or possibly Ryan - who first started calling Aggie indestructible. So, a hefty bill (ouch) later, we find out the dog has an UTI. A little medicine and she'll be fine.

At 13, anytime something seems a little off with her, I think, ok, this is the beginning of the end. So tonight I asked Rich what else the vet said, and he said, do you really want to know? Of course! Well, her bloodwork was perfect and the vet said she's in excellent shape.

This dog is going to live forever. Or maybe it will just feel like forever.

(I kid, I kid. But you try sleeping while she's yipping her fool head off for 40 minutes every night. She's still in lockdown for a few days - we hate to do it, as she is generally great at sleeping in E's room or ours, but you try stepping in a cold puddle of pee after you're awakened at 3 am by a crying child and see how you like it - seriously there's only so much we can handle, and we are maxed out right now.)

Poor Old Dog

We depart from the usual stories of our children for one about our poor old dog. This isn't an Ol' Yeller story. She's more or less fine - she goes to the vet tomorrow for a check up.

We've had Aggie since Susan adopted her as a 1 yr old pup from the DC animal shelter in 1997. She was not treated very well by her previous owners and kind of went "pound crazy" just before Susan rescued her. To say she was a challenge out of the gate was an understatement (about half a dozen cable remotes, a roommate's shoes, and the linoleum floor in the group rental house can attest to that) Over the years she's become a very loving, loyal dog. Overall, she's adjusted very well to the addition of Elizabeth and Andrew. It may be though that her age is catching up to her.

Ag is over 13 yrs old, and she's beginning to show her age. Even when she was 11 or 12, she could muster the energy of a 2 yr old pup. Not anymore. She has more and more difficulty getting up and down stairs and would rather saunter for walks than her former brisk pace.

Ag in snow (from 2005)

The past few weeks have been a real challenge with Ag. She's been doing her business in the house, particularly on the rugs in the living room, Andrew's room, and Elizabeth's room (we recently bought a steam cleaner which has come in handy). She wants/needs to go outside much more frequently that usual, so I'm thinking it might be a treatable condition. Still, it could just be a sign of her age. She's sneaky - she'll quietly slink off to a room, do her business, then go curl up somewhere until we find the mess. The last straw was the other night when I went into Elizabeth's room in the middle of the night to find 3 spots and a pile of poop. Unpleasant. She was still curled up in the dog bed in E's room acting as if nothing was wrong. Could be that she's sending a message. More than likely though she just needs to be checked out, thus the trip to the vet tomorrow.

We now have her overnight in her crate in the kitchen. She doesn't mind the crate but has really become accustomed to sleeping upstairs. She whimpers, whines, and yelps for about 40 mins each night. We feel bad, but we just can't trust her in the middle of the night in our room or anyone else's. Hopefully, we can give her some meds and get past this troublesome time.

And now back to your regularly scheduled escapades of Elizabeth and Andrew...

- Rich

(not quite) wordless wednesday

Does a caption make it not quite wordless? E got this pink satin chair last year for her birthday. It's been completely co-opted by Harrison.

The dog days of summer

Have arrived. Happy August!

Herbs

The basil is doing well.

Despite some interference from a pest.