The first trip I made to my husbands town home, three hours away from my home, I took Dallas, my sweet and innocent 7 y/o beagle with me. Dallas entered unaware of Jamocha because she was hiding somewhere in the house. So, Dallas found a nice out-of-the-way spot on the floor, backed in under a side table with just his head sticking out. While he was snoring away in bilssfull ignorance, Jamocha entered the room in stealth mode. She spotted Dallas right away but instead of going right over to him she took a circuitous route around the room that ended on top of the side table under which Dallas obliviously slept. My husband and I watched and then suddenly, and purposefully, the cat began to cough up a hairball aimed at Dallas's head! I grabbed Dallas and my husband grabbed Jamocha and we avoided the messy situation, but just barely.

I guess Jamocha was expressing her displeasure at having a dog invade her territory in the best way she could. Poor Dallas, just think what might have happened had we not been watching!

Writing is an Expression of the Mind and Soul---Sunni17
 

We had planned to name our new dog (with a golden retriever in mind) after a hockey goalie. I had always dreamed our dog would be a girl and had planned to name her after the Colorado Avalanche goalie (after Patrick Roy retired) David Aebischer. His nick name was Abby and I thought that would be a perfect name for a female golden. Well, that isn't how it turned out.

We, of course, adopted a male dog. I wanted to name him Ozzie after the Detroit Redwings goalie but my husband refused that right away. We decided on Marty, since there are more than a few good goalies with that name. My husband decided to take it one step further and named him Marty-Turco. The reasoning was that since our other dog was named Dallas and Marty Turco is the goalie for the Dallas Stars, well it seemed to fit and the name stuck. It was much more fitting than the name the shelter had given him, which was Brewster.

Since our beagle pretty much runs the show, we decided that it would be a good idea that we run the show with the new dog, seeing as it is much more difficult to make a 95 pound dog do what you want it to do than it is a 30 pound beagle (though a stubborn beagle can make himself weigh whatever he wishes). Here is where the arguments began. We each had our own method of training and our own ideas about dog rearing in general. I decided we needed to go to training classes so we signed up for intermediate training - Marty already knew some general commands so we didn't want to be too redundant.

We had hoped that the socialization of a small training class would be beneficial for Marty, but as it turned out the only other "student" was a miniature dacshund named LuLu who was so small that she didn't even register with Marty!

I took the lead for the first class while my husband stood on the sidelines. When we got home, Marty obeyed me, but refused to obey my husband - which made my husband angry. For the rest of the sessions my husband was in the ring and I took notes. Marty now obeys us both, though he will back talk my husband even while doing what he is told.

We learned a lot about the proper way to discipline, the reasons we needed to be the pack leaders, and Marty learned that doing tricks earns treats so he was happy to go to class. Since graduation we have taught him a few new tricks of our own, the most recent being what I call "scary face" - he does a silent snarl on command and it is truly scary looking!
 

How is it possible that I have missed an entire year of this blog? I guess I am truly not cut out for this, but I am cut out for adopting a dog after all...

Our beagle turned 16 in February of 2008 - and is still going strong I might add. Last year when he turned 15 we started trying to face the fact that dogs just don't live forever. I have expressed my feelings that this dog needs to live to be at least 40 to make up for all the medical expenses he accrued a few years back when he had a bout of meningitis and encephalitis (see "Beagle Pain Syndrome" ) So, we decided to look for a second dog to adopt to somewhat ease the pain for when Dallas goes to the Rainbow Bridge. With all the dogs needing to be rescued, you would think it would be a fairly simple task, but you would be wrong in our case.

I used to volunteer at a local no kill shelter when I was working part time so, since I knew how many wonderful dogs were there waiting for a forever home, we decided to go there to adopt. We looked at all the online profiles and found the dog that sounded perfect for us and were pleasantly surprised to find that "Sunshine" was still available. When we went to set up our meet and greet, that included Dallas of course, the file on Sunshine said he was not good with cats or other dogs! This was completely contrary to the online profile so we were pretty sad. We did, however, have a whole list of other possibilities that we had printed out and brought with us so we were still hopeful.

One by one we were shot down. It appeared that all of the online profiles were wrong and there was always some excuse for why we couldn't adopt "that particular dog". Finally we threw up our hands and asked "Well, why don't you just pick a dog for us then?". Turns out that out of the 200 plus dogs currently sheltered only one was good with other animals and would be appropriate in a home with a senior pet. This dog, though very cute and needing of a home, didn't have any interest in us or Dallas. We felt bad, but finally admitted defeat and left without a new family member.


My husband and I talked more seriously after this about what kind of dog we actually wanted. I had always wanted a Golden Retriever, my husband wanted either a Saint Bernard or a Newfoundland - both gigantic dogs that drool! We then decided to borrow our friend's Newfoundland for a weekend to see if this would be a good idea. Outside of my aversion for drool, which caused me to carry a towel with me the whole weekend, my other objection involved the fact that I am powerless to make a 200 pound dog go where it does not wish to go (the vet for example)! Back to square one...

One day my husband suggested that we try for a Golden Retriever ( I had not previously expressed my opinion to him about Goldens because he does better when he thinks something is his idea). Since we didn't have a friend to lend us one we decided to join
a Golden Retriever Rescue group and volunteer as foster parents. We paid our dues and requested the foster parent paper work so we could get started right away (the website said they were desperate for foster families!) then we waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. We sent e-mails and made phone calls and still no paperwork came. After a few months of this I decided to try Pet Finder dot com. We located a sister group of golden retriever rescue just over the state line and tried to adopt from them (they also claimed to be in desperate need), but it seemed they don't adopt out of state ( we are 5 minutes across the state line).

Eventually we found a canine rescue, also across the state line, that was truly desperate and willing to work with us. That same night we had our new dog! He is a 5 year old (now almost six!) golden retriever and collie mix (who was rejected by the golden retriever rescue) who is large for either breed (my husband's kind of dog) and he doesn't drool (yea for me!).

Next entry: Picking a name and parent training courses...

 

A few nights after I caught Jamocha with the vanishing mouse I was watching television with my husband in the living room and I saw Jamocha out of the corner of my eye as she dashed out of the kitchen, where she had been sitting watching a corner all evening. Then she sauntered back in again and was moving strangely. I also heard strange noises emanating from her.

"Quick, hit the mute button!" I whispered urgently to my husband. He looked at me like I had suddenly gone crazy but did as I asked.

"Do you hear that?" I asked, jumping up and sliding on stocking feet towards the kitchen. Jamocha was making strange little squeaking noises; I thought she was choking.

My husband did indeed hear it and he followed on my heels to see what was wrong. Jamocha turned away from me quickly when I entered the room and it took a minute for me to get a look at her face. When I did I did some squeaking of my own!

"Oh, my God! Don't let her eat it!" I squeaked. There, hanging out of Jamocha's mouth was the hindquarters and tail of a mouse! I was worried what disease she would contract if she ate the dirty little critter.

So the chase ensued around the kitchen table and snack bar until finally my husband cornered her and ordered her to drop the mouse. I, stupidly it turns out, assumed that the poor mouse was dead. "Drop it," my husband commanded her, and so she did, and the stunned mouse looked around, then ran half way up my leg before it once again escaped under the stove.

Jamocha looked up at her stuttering mother as if to say, well, you wanted me to drop it, why didn't you catch it???

Note to self: the cat does not eat mice; she merely plays with them. Set more mousetraps.

 

About a week or so ago I was awakened by a squeaky sound coming from our living room. It sounded like someone making "kissing" noises and being dumb with sleep I thought it was my husband making sounds at the cat. I rolled over, and there beside me, snoring away, is my husband.

Hmmm, the dog is lying over there on the floor, the Logan-the-good-cat is locked in her room...I sat up quickly, swinging my feet off the bed and stumbling towards the living room frantically whispering "Jamocha! What are you doing??"

She was sliding around on the throw rugs and scattering them over the wooden floor. While trying to adjust my eyes something small and furry ran across my bare feet and it was squeaking!!!

Now, if I was a normal woman I would have shrieked in response and jumped onto the nearest chair. But no, not me! I realize this mouse is running frantically for its life and I am going to save it (and then send it far away to live in another neighborhood).

I yell for my husband to get up, grab a box and come help me. This takes some time, as my husband has been known to sleep through tornados and earthquakes. When he finally arrives the mouse runs under the table in the corner of the living room where there are no known holes for escape. Jamocha stands by and swipes a paw under the table several times then sits back looking disappointed. My husband and I both get down on hands and knees to sneak a peek under the table and sure enough there is a little mouse huddled there. We poke at it with a shoe trying to get it to run into the box we plan to trap it in momentarily but the mouse doesn't move! "I think Jamocha scared it to death," I offer. Jamocha Meows as if she disagrees. We continue to poke and wait until finally Jamocha swipes one long forepaw under and out flies ...a green mouse with red tail, ears and nose decorated with sparkles. My husband and I fall over each other trying to get out of the way and the cat simply continues her play.

Now, my husband and I are both wondering if maybe I was not really awake when I saw this mouse running for its life, but I swear I saw the thing look up at me with pleading in it's beady bulging eyes before it turned and scurried away with Jamocha happily chasing behind it.

The next day Jamocha hid behind the snack bar in the kitchen and threw the green and red mouse at me as if she was making fun of me! I know what I saw and felt run across my foot that night. Later I was vindicated...

 

Early this morning Dallas had to leave to go be in a video shoot that my husband is doing for a client. It involved footage of a chevy impala driving down a road. Since Dallas usually goes to the office with my husband he had no choice but to take him to this video shoot on the way. I was worried that while my husband was shooting the video that Dallas would be roaming around unattended so I decided that Dallas should just ride in the car while the filming was going on.

I coached him this morning on how to look cool with his head sticking up in the window at the most opportune time and from what I hear he took my advice and will be in the final cut. I can't wait to see it, but it will be a while as there is much more to do with the video yet.

Just think, my little boy in the movies (I should have hid his sisters in the car too, that would have made it an action/adventure video for sure!)
 

If I say it once I say it a half a dozen times a day lately. This must be the season of fur balls and intestinal upsets! First thing this morning as I'm ambling to the kitchen with my eyes more closed than opened I felt a most unpleasant cold, but still wet, squishing under my bare right foot, "What did I step in?" I shout as I hope around on one foot, bouncing into the wall and trying to maintain my balance and not put my other foot into it too. I look down and see the longest grey fur ball I have ever seen! Well, good morning! I'm awake now. I decide to go for a cup of coffee before I go back to face the fur ball. What the heck, my husband isn't up yet so it can wait...

"Ooooh! What did I step in???" My pleasant coffee moment is destroyed and now I have to go make sure my husband doesn't add to the mess as he is very grossed out by the things that come out the our kitties on a somewhat regular basis.

After lunch I go into the den to sit at the computer. I sit in the chair then put my foot down to spin the chair around..."Ugh! What did I step in now?" It is a wet slimy puddle with pieces of...what is that?...oh, dog kibble. It appears Dallas has left me a present. He didn't want to be outdone by his sister Logan. Lucky me!

I get home after work, kick off my sandals and stretch my feet. Then I walk across the tiled floor into the living room. One minute I'm upright, the next minute I'm nearly doing the splits as..."What is this crap I stepped in???" And as I go down the smell hits me. Kitty poop, the consistency of whipped potatoes and gravy. If the fall didn't do me in, the smell just might. Then there is the way it squishes between my toes and won't come out no matter how much water you spray on it. You have to get right down in there and work it out by hand. Yuck!!!!

Well that is enough for now, I have to be going now..."Oh man, what did I step in?"
 

We have a raccoon problem this year in our yard. I love to feed the birds so we have three feeders in the back yard and one in the front. Apparently the raccoons think these are just for them because they have decided to honor (i.e. annoy) us with visits every night! It has gotten to the point where I have to bring in the feeders before dark or they are pulled down and emptied by morning.

Dallas, the ever friendly beagle, thinks that raccoons might be good playmates so we have to supervise him when he goes out at night on his chain to make sure that if one crosses his path he doesn't try to make friends by sniffing it's butt. Luckily we haven't had more than one encounter with any raccoons, but the one encounter we did have scared the crap out of me.

We had friends visiting and they had brought a cooler with drinks and spare ribs for a barbeque with them. We left the cooler on the screened porch overnight and at about one thirty in the morning (my husband and I were up watching t.v.) I heard a strange snuffling noise on the porch. We looked out but didn't seen anything or hear any other noises so we thought nothing more of it until it was time to let Dallas out. When I walked out onto the porch and bent over to attach Dallas to his chain I apparently came between a raccoon and his exit from our porch. The snarling, hissing, screaming noise behind me sent me running out the door but my husband heard it too and screamed for me to pull Dallas back into the house instead. I'm screaming and yanking on the dog's chain, but the dog? Is he at all concerned that there is a very angry beast trapped in the screened porch with us? Nooooo! He wags his little tail and turns to see where this new friend is hiding!!! Hissing doesn't mean anything to this dog. He is oblivious that the animal hissing is usually ready to attack. He is still shocked when our one cat attacks him after giving him the hissing warning. He just doesn't understand how any animal could be angry with him when he is so optimistically friendly.

Logan, our sweet cat, knows how oblivious Dallas is so she gives him the hiss, then a light tap, then a harder and harder tap before she resorts to a full out attack (usually she doesn't have to get that far). Poor, naive little Dallas. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Unfortunately the raccoon doesn't know this and sees him as a threat so for the next hour we cower in in our house waiting for the stupid animal to leave. When it is finally gone and Dallas goes out onto the porch, he sniffs around excitedly and then looks very disappointed to not find a new friend there. He shrugs, goes outside, then comes back in to bed to dream about the raccoon adventure that just wasn't to be.
 

It has been unbelievably hot here in Chicago for the past several days. The humidity soars right along with the temperatures and through it all Logan, our 4-year-old persian kitty, refuses to come in from her screened porch!

There is lots of shade and even a ceiling fan that we keep on high but I can hardly stand to be out there sitting under the fan and not moving other than to breath. It is so nice and cool in the house but when we drag her inside she only pesters us to let her back out again! Even with her fur coat (thick and fluffy mind you) she just seems to luxuriate in the heat. We of course leave her plenty of cold water and food and she seems to eat and drink as well as ever but I worry that she has lost her mind. Our other cat luxuriates in the cool air-conditioned living room with the rest of us not born on the planet Mercury.

Logan is also famous for staying out on the screened porch in the winter, when the temperature is as low as 25 degrees, and she seems equally happy...

 

It had to be done. We couldn't stand the stinky beagle smell any longer. It was coming from all parts of Dallas including his breath. Beagles like stinky things and they even track their way back home by smelling the stinky scents they have left to mark their trail.

Dallas likes to roll in things to better absorb their smells. Goose poop is a favorite, though duck poop runs a close second. I find goose poop to smell more earthy than duck poop but I prefer neither. Today it smells as if Dallas has been rolling in dead worms and fish!

As much as Dallas hates a bath - he avoids bathrooms at all costs even if they don't have a tub - it appeared that even he couldn't stand the smell anymore and he went almost willingly into the bathroom today.

Thank goodness for the wonderful smell of flea and tick shampoo! Before the shampoo was rubbed in the smell coming from his wetted coat was making us gag. Once the shampoo mixed in it was almost an immediate change of atmosphere. The light in the room seemed more sunny and the beagle less resigned to being bathed. "Hey guys, I smell good now so let me OUT OF HERE!" Oh, no. No way, not until you rinse and repeat.

My husband does the actual beagle bathing which leaves me to standby and keep the dog from putting his front paws outside of the tub. Then when he is all rinsed and dripping in water, I become the towel girl - which means I get showered unless I tackle the dog with a huge towel right away! Today was better than most and I only got a little wet. I didn't have to fight Dallas with the blow dryer since it was 95 degrees out and he was able to dry quickly in the sun (without rolling in anything smelly under threat of a second bath immediately).

Ah, nothing like a fresh smelling beagle...

Writing is an Expression of the Mind and Soul---Sunni17