Foxy!

Holy crap, you guys! A fox just jumped our 6-foot fence and strolled through the back yard. Right in the middle of the day. I didn't get a picture because I was too busy grabbing the dog and falling on the floor, trying to keep her from running out and picking a fight. I don't think she'd come out on top of that battle.

It looked just like this. Cute, right? But foxes "feed on rodents, rabbits, birds, and other small game." I'm pretty sure Ripley would look like a rodent to a hungry fox.

She can tear up a sunbeam though.

It's National Dog Day!

And Ripley is jumping for joy!

National Dog Day is celebrated August 26 annually and serves to help galvanize the public to recognize the number of dogs that need to be rescued each year, and acknowledges family dogs and dogs that work selflessly each day to save lives, keep us safe and bring comfort.

Thanks to Mayzie for helping us remember the date!

Animal tales

My dear and talented friend Lisa over at Grandma's Briefs is sending her grandson a tortoise -- no not a real tortoise -- a very cute plastic tortoise. It's in honor of World Turtle Day and ... oh just go read her post (if you haven't already). Her post led her to ask: "Did you or anyone you know have a turtle when you were a kid?"

Which got me to thinking about the animals we did have as kids. Because with three boys in the house, it seemed someone was always bringing home some kind of orphaned animal (and by "someone" I mean "Joe.")

I have vague memories of baby rabbits and snapping turtles and squirrels, but the most memorable was JoJo the Raccoon. He was orphaned (don't ask me to tell you how he was "orphaned," please) at our friend's farm and came home with us. It was like something straight off Wild Kingdom. And he was the cutest damn thing. Look.

Yep. That's me -- cuddling a wild freaking animal. And before you think my parents were irresponsible, he was actually quite tame. We fed him grapes and scrambled eggs. And somewhere in my old photos, I have a picture of him inside my Barbie camper. (It was quite traumatic for Barbie and Ken. Ken lost an arm in the attack.)

Unfortunately, as raccoons reach sexual maturity, they become more and more aggressive. Knowing this, we took him to a local petting zoo well before that day came. Technically, it's a turn-of-the-century replica farm and it's still operating today. And technically, no one was actually allowed to pet JoJo or his buddy Ricky. But we were able to go and visit him a few more times before he was released into the wild.

Well, that's what I was told. And that's what I still choose to believe. If you have other theories about "released into the wild," I'd prefer you keep them to yourself.

Big Nap

Irrefutable proof that I am not -- as originally believed -- queen of my castle.

Big Fraidy Cat

Yesterday's weather produced nothing more than a small cloud burst and lots of rumbling. Ripley doesn't like thunder.As you can probably tell.

Big Picture

Happy Easter!

I took this photo -- and crafted the eggs in the basket -- back when I still wrote for a local parenting magazine. Ripley was mostly interested in the hard-boiled eggs in the basket. The other eggs were wooden.

Easter isn't really a big deal around here. We're not really religious and we don't have kids. And we're not pagan enough to celebrate the coming of spring. But it seemed like a good excuse to post this picture of Ripley -- like I need an excuse to post a picture of my dog.

Yeah, it's probably a little pathetic. Don't judge.

A Big Push

It's been a while since I've been out here blogging. Little updates on Facebook? Sure. But nothing big. So, when I got the e-mail from NaBloPoMo that April's theme is BIG, I thought I should go for it.

Last time I tried to blog every day for a month, I made it. That was back in November. Since then, you've gotten to read about my dog's run-in with a vicious wild feline and her recovery, but little else. Speaking of which, she's doing much better.You can see her wounds are healed and the hair is growing back. She's wearing her normal collar again. But still likes to lay as close to me as she can get. To paraphrase Groucho Marx, if she were any closer, she'd be in back of me.

For a few weeks after the incident, Ripley didn't want to go outside by herself. She was pretty gun shy -- or cat shy. But now, she's back to her old self, barking at the neighbors and the neighbors' dogs. She even managed to give me a big bruise while we played together. She grabbed for her toy but got my fleece-covered arm instead. Little dog has a big bite.

She's back to thinking she's a big dog again, and nothing can defeat her. And that's fine with me.

Yes, she's spoiled. Why do you ask?

My butt is almost on the seat here.

It's hard not to spoil her when she's been hurting. She's much better now but still not 100 percent.

You shoulda seen the other guy

Poor Ripley. She cornered a cat in the back yard this morning. For some reason effing little cat couldn't jump the fence. Which leads me to wonder, how the hell did it get in the yard in the first place.

A trip to our truly wonderful vet and $350 later, Ripley is home, resting, looking a bit like Frankenripley, with her stitches and drain tubes. A slightly, possibly disturbing picture below.

And just like that I'm no longer thinking I want another cat. Grrr.

Puppy went home

Ripley was never really sure what to make of the stubby-legged Corgi puppy. In the end, she tolerated him. And after he left, she seemed worried that we had gotten rid of another pet. There's just no reasoning with her.

"I'm going to pretend to not care, but when you're gone, I'll miss you!"
_

Final day

Today is the last day of NaBloPoMo, and I made it. Granted, I posted plenty of photos and random crap. But then, isn't that why you visit my blog?

Don't worry, today will be no exception.

It's also the last day of our adventures in puppy sitting, and I've reached a couple of conclusions. I am not cut out for puppies or babies. I'm too old and impatient. What do you mean you have to go outside at 2 a.m.? What do you mean you can't hold it as long as my 9-year-old dog? Ack! You had an accident! What is wrong with you? (Yes, I have unreasonable expectations. I also expect my own dog to be able to understand why she shouldn't bark at people outside on the street and to speak English.)

Just imagine how I'd be with a human baby. Don't you have a job yet? When do you start school so I can go back to blogging and chatting online?

Now, this isn't to make my dear friend feel bad, because I volunteered freely and with no pressure. I know it would have been easier if I hadn't felt so crappy off and on all weekend. Because despite the pooping and peeing -- and one pretty big (smelly) accident -- I have to admit. He's awfully damn cute.

And, puppy-sitting has not put me off the idea of getting a kitten. Go figure.

Two things

1. Thanksgiving dinner was wonderful. I highly recommend all three of the recipes I tried from EatingWell.com.

2. While Ripley still has no social graces and doesn't really appreciate the wee one visiting, both dogs enjoy our back yard. See? Pictures!

She might not notice if I stay way back here.

Oops! She noticed.

Please be my friend.

Ripley gets new food

I suppose it's an age thing, but Ripley has recently developed bad doggy gas. Sometimes, she'll run up the stairs and toot. It's kind of cute, because she'll stop and look around, as if to say, "What the heck was that." Not so cute is when she's curled up in my lap (as she is while I type this) and passes gas. At those times, she tries to play it off like nothing happened.

So, in the interest of her well-being and not having to smell dog farts, the S.O. and I took a trip to the pet store to look for a different food. She's been eating Iam's as long as I've had her, but lately it obviously isn't agreeing with her. The new food is a lamb and rice formula that contains no corn or soy. Apparently those two ingredients can mess with doggy digestion. We have to slowly introduce the new food, mixing it with the old, so it'll be at least a week before we know if the new food makes any difference. Let's hope it does.

While at the pet store, I replaced Ripley's old tag with a stylish new one. I usually try to go with more tough stuff, but this was so cute -- and the S.O. picked it out.
I know I've been posting about the dog a lot, but I don't have kids. This is all I have, people.

Ripley helps with laundry

Maybe that should be "helps" with laundry -- and maybe I should also say this isn't voluntary. But it's pretty darn cute.

It Takes a Village

The neighbor's gate malfunctioned yesterday, and her dog was wandering the street in front of my house. Knowing the dog's name, I went out and called to her. When I started toward her, she decided Chase is the funnest game in the whole world and ran from me -- right into the street, with cars coming from both directions. Thankfully, they saw her and stopped. I finally caught her and walked her to the neighbor's house. She wasn't home, so I brought the dog back to my house.

I put her in the back yard, then opened the back door and let her come inside. Ripley and she have met -- the neighbor's daughter has watched Ripley when we go out of town -- but dogs have short memories. So much sniffing and circling ensued. Finally, the neighbor dog decided things were cool and went into the classic Let's-Play stance. Let me pause here to mention the neighbor's dog is a full-grown Black Lab. Ripley, lacking social graces and being endowed with little dog syndrome, mistook Let's-Play for Let's-Fight and got all barky and snappy. It is her house after all.

Back outside went the neighbor's dog, none to happy about it. I spent the next few hours looking out the back window to make sure she didn't pull a Houdini on me and looking out the front window to see if the neighbor had come home. I left messages on her answering machine and a note in the door but I worried she'd see the open gate and panic.

About 4 p.m. the neighbor's next-door neighbor got home, so I talked to her about taking the dog. The S.O. was gone and I had to leave shortly. I just didn't feel comfortable leaving the dog in the back yard alone. This neighbor had watched the dog before so she took her to her house. Later in the evening, I got a phone call from the dog owner:

I understand you found my wayward dog. Thank you for finding her and keeping her. Like I told K, it takes a village. We're working on that gate.

I know I have a prejudice against Labs. They're sweet, beautiful dogs but they also have to be the goofiest creatures on God's green earth. I think it really does take a village with a dog like that.

My dog -- a rat terrier, you know -- is anti-social when it comes to other dogs. She's content to hang out in the sun and soak up the attention of one or two people. Huh. Maybe dogs and their owners really do come to resemble one another.

The culprit

I was all set to write a post about the scary vegetable peeler I bought a few weeks ago -- and will get to that in a minute -- then my dog created a new post for me with the same title. Somehow, she got into the bag of candy I have for my kids at tutoring. As I passed from the bedroom toward my office, I saw her holding something in her front paws and setting to work chewing on it. My first thought was that the S.O. had given her a rawhide bone to chew on so he could sleep in. But we never give her that bone in the morning. So my second thought was that the killer had caught a bird and brought it into the house to devour. Ew. Then I realized it was a Tootsie Pop miniature. She was holding it by the stick and trying to chew the wrapper off. And she'd chosen chocolate. It was pretty cute and I would have gotten a picture if I weren't more concerned about her health and safety.

Bad dog.

Mandatory Pet Pics

Ripley crashed out on a pillow in the sunshine, wearing her little doggy sweatshirt.

I obviously disturbed her by taking her picture, so she changed positions. Still cute.

She actually enjoys wearing the little sweatshirt when it's really cold out. And don't worry, she still looks tough in it.

Continuing the doggy theme

Now I get it.

Click comic to enlarge.

She's trying to rob me blind, not get yogurt!
__

Yogurt tastes good, part II

As I said yesterday, Ripley loves yogurt. And even when I don't have yogurt for breakfast, she expects to have some -- to the point of not leaving me alone until I prove to her there's no yogurt.

See?



I guess I understand. I get like that about my coffee. Mmmm, coffee.

Yogurt tastes good

Ripley is the creature of habit. If you do something once, she remembers it forever. The S.O. let her lick the bowl after he finished his morning yogurt one day. Now, she begs for it everyday. Days we don't eat yogurt for breakfast are like torture. She'll whine. It will take us a bit to figure out why she's whining.

Of course, we have to have a conversation with her to try to figure it out.

Ripley: Ehnnn. Ehnnnn.
Me or the S.O.: What? What's wrong?
Ripley: Ehnnnn. Eeeeehnnnnnnn.
Human: What? What is it Ripley?
Ripley: Rarf! Rarf!
Human: What's that? Timmy's in the well?!?
Ripley: RARF! RARF! RARF!
Human: Well, that's not even possible. We don't have a well.
Ripley: Ehn.

But when we do have yogurt for breakfast, it looks something like this:

T. Rex doggie closes in on its prey.

Nom. Nom. Nom. Yogurt tastes good.
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