Oh, my stars and garters!

New dog and a request

We adopted a dog a month ago through Austin Dog Rescue. He's a big, sweet, slightly clumsy guy who is calm, slow, and reserved--Willa's polar opposite--until you get him loosened up a little, and then he's this great, silly mutt who rolls around on his back and tries to lick the flesh of your face off and uses his rather alarming strength to to propel himself across the yard in pursuit of his red squeaky ball.

 

We named him Üter,* after this guy. We are in love already.

 

Nobody really knows where he came from, but we were told he was next in line, if you know what I mean, at the Bastrop shelter last summer. Austin Dog Rescue got hold of him, got him into a foster home, and paid for him to be treated for heartworms as well as a few situations he got into while in foster care, like the surgical removal of a sock from his stomach and stitches for a gash on his foot sustained while playing too vigorously around some metal landscape edging. (He has gotten into his share of scrapes** here as well--he's like the Anne of Green Gables of dogs.)

I am not so hot at fundraising myself, but Tyler, the lovely woman who fostered Üter before we adopted him, is raising money for Austin Dog Rescue to defray Üter's medical expenses through Amplify Austin, the 24-hour fundraiser for local nonprofits. Gifts made during March 5-6 are matched by corporate sponsors, and you can schedule your donation ahead of time so you don't forget.

You can read Tyler's story and donate on her sponsor page here.***

Please consider kicking something down to Austin Dog Rescue through her page; they do good work, and they got us this fantastic dog.

And of course there are tons of other worthy causes that could use support if you want to bop around the Amplify site and find something else you want to help out.

 

Now here is a picture of Willa, as awesome as ever.

 

Really, we're all doing pretty good over here.

*I am sort of regretting naming a dog something that requires an umlaut, especially since "Uter" looks kind of terrible. But I have the keyboard shortcut--Alt 154--memorized, so everything is going to be all right on the diacritical front.

**Just today he managed to get the top off a huge bottle of fish oil capsules; we figure he ate at least 150. On the plus side, his fur is gonna be so damn silky.

***Do not be alarmed! Üter was Rodger before he came to us and didn't have his new name by the deadline for the web page. And Rodger is a fine name. Dude is just such an...Üter, is all.

Probably secretly my fault.

Willa is very good on car rides.

You know we've spent a lot of time trying to get Willa to calm down, sit down, be cool. At two years old, she is almost completely mature and is pretty well behaved--she doesn't bark very much or chew, bite, or beg at all--but she simply cannot control her exuberance when she makes her greetings. She turns into a panting brown supernova of excitement when she sees any dog, cat, or human, stranger or no. It's frankly kind of frightening if you're not expecting it, so with the help of our friends and neighbors, we keep working with her, hoping she'll calm down with time and practice.

The flip side is that here's how I wake up most mornings these days: A second after the dog wakes up and opens her eyes, they go wide with surprise--I guess even though she's been sleeping at my feet all night, she hasn't actually seen me in almost eight hours. Her tail starts thumping and she rapturously wiggles across the bed to try to lick my face off. I cover my head with my arm and fend her off with pillows and think fuck it, dog, don't ever change. 

Everyone loves the Puppy Bowl.

Year of the dog

October 18, 2010:

October 14, 2011:

It's been a year since I rode home from the shelter with a wrinkly, nippy little puppy trembling on an old towel in my lap.

Now we seem to have a goofy, fuzzy-eared, charming but occasionally stubborn dog in her place. I think it's a satisfactory trade.

We took her to the beach over the weekend. Everyone except the tennis ball had a fine time.

Statistically unlikely

Thursday afternoon I printed out a copy of the dog's dumb DNA report, took a new black Sharpie and scrawled "REALLY?!?" over several recent pictures of the dog, wrote a polite letter asking for either a do-over or my money back, and mailed a fat envelope to the company in Maryland that makes the dog DNA tests.

Just after noon today I got a phone message from someone who works at the company. She is sorry I was disappointed with the test and she will review the results; she just needs to ask me a few things first. I called back a few hours later and left a message for her. I'm hoping she'll call back tomorrow.

E-mail and web forms are useful for lodging complaints, but I suspect it gives you a slight edge in the customer service game if you go full-bore crazy and start printing shit out and affixing stamps to it. We'll see what happens next.

We are the proud owners of a...

Ok, everybody! I got the results via e-mail today, about a week sooner than I was expecting. They're after the jump. Ready?

Pupdater

Willa the dog is a year old now. She is not a good dog, exactly, but she's an enormously sweet one, a springy, exuberant creature who enters snort-filled, unseemly paroxysms of joy every time she greets a person or another dog.

She does 11 different tricks and responds to our commands probably 80 percent of the time. We can leave her unsupervised for long periods of time, although I still can't entirely trust her. After being allowed on the bed for months without incident, she chewed a big hole in my down comforter last night. God, what a bitch!

But also last night, after many treats and much manipulation, she lay quietly and chewed on her bone while the cat dozed on the other side of the room, something I was starting to think would never happen.

She's still uneven. But she's steadily getting better, and I already think she's fantastic.

All this is to say that Eric and I are completely in love with this goddamn dog. And like people in love, we sometimes do stupid things. In this case, we bought and administered a doggie DNA test for her.

I know they have a reputation for being unreliable junk, but our curiosity got the better of us.

Every time we take her out we field guesses as to what her mix might be: the girls at the pet store are convinced she's got Shar-Pei in her; someone said (ridgeless) Rhodesian Ridgeback; we've heard Boxer (no way); pointer (well, she does kinda point at birds, but...nah); shepherd (ok, but what kind?); and many others that I can't remember right now.

The only thing we know for sure is that she's a mutt. So we did the cheek swab, and now we are waiting for the results.

If you would like to take stab in the comments as to what her mix might be, feel free; I will devise some sort of (probably dog-related) fabulous prize for the person who comes the closest to the test results. Sound like a plan?

Hoopty doo!

The dog at 10 months is much improved from the miserable, bratty, pants-tearing cur she was just a few months ago. She's still a puppy and therefore a pain in the ass: She chewed a bunch of holes in my favorite rug this week. She keeps the cat in a state of mortal terror. She growls at us disturbingly when she's chewing on the stupid bacon-flavored plastic log we got her.*

But she is also calmer, more obedient, and a lot more fun. We can actually kind of play fetch now, and every once in a while now, on a walk or as I'm patting her head while I watch TV, she'll look up at me and I'll get a glimpse of the sweet, steady companion I'm hoping she will be. It feels fantastic.

It helps that the bitch will do anything for a treat.

*HTF do they impart bacon flavor to plastic anyway? I probably don't want to know.

Willa the Dog demonstrates the importance of proper plant siting.

When we bought our house four years ago, I didn't know jackshit about plants and gardening. I still don't know much, but I have learned a few things, like how important it is to pick the right spot for a plant.

I planted three rosemary plants on the same day a couple of months after we moved in. Rosemary is very well adapted to the soil and climate of Central Texas; it loves the heat and the sun and, once established, can withstand both prolonged drought and freezing temperatures.

I don't remember what size they were when I planted them, but let's say they were the little quart ones because we had just spent all our money on buying a house and couldn't afford anything bigger. Anyway, same plant, same size, same day.

Now look where they're at three and a half years later, using the dog for scale:

This poor, pale thing is wedged behind the deck, where it gets maybe two hours of sun a day and some backsplash off the patio when it rains. It also frequently gets pelted with bottle caps since it's under the opener we mounted on the side of the deck. I only planted it there because it's close to the back door and we can easily snip off a few sprigs when we need some. I always feel a pang of guilt when I see it, but it's hanging in there in its own pathetic way.

This dude is doing just fine. It gets good light once the sun makes it over the fence in late morning and gets dappled sun in mid-afternoon. The sprinkler usually doesn't make it this far down the hill, but the rain it gets seems to be adequate. Although it's in clay soil, it gets decent drainage from its location on the slope.

And this is our super-duper queen supreme rosemary bush. Even if the dog tries to make herself look small, she cannot hide that it's four times as big as the medium one. Because it's up high and out in the open, this gorgeous dark-green guy enjoys full sun from first thing in the morning until mid-afternoon, when it gets plenty of dappled light through the trees. It has excellent drainage because of its location on the retaining wall, and it's close enough to the vegetable garden that it gets the occasional deep soaking from the sprinkler. It has lovely little light purple blooms and consequently hums with bees all spring. I really love this plant.

By watching these three grow over time, I've learned to be a lot more careful about what plants I put where. But even though garden planning is extremely important, it's best not to overthink things either. Because then you run the risk of getting daunted, and being daunted is the enemy of experimentation. If you notice a plant isn't doing well in one spot, you can always move it to another. And another. Or just dig it up and give it to a friend with a more suitable space.

For good measure, and because I think she's cute, please enjoy this close-up of our model. Thanks for your help today, Willa. You are the super-duper queen supreme rosemary bush of dogs in my book.

This poor guy is only here because it's close to the back door and we wanted to be able to run out and grab a sprig for cooking. Since it's wedged next to the deck it gets about two hours of sun a day and only gets some backsplash when it rains.

Do me a favor

I feel dumb admitting this, but I didn't realize puppyhood was going to be this intense for this long. At seven months, I thought Willa would be more dog than puppy. A little hyper and rough around the edges, sure, but I assumed that by now we'd be most of the way there.

That was a beautiful delusion. While in many ways she is fantastic--affectionate, smart, and cute as hell--she is in a particularly distracted and destructive phase right now, plus she's fast and really fucking strong.

I spend a lot of time chasing, correcting, redirecting, and sometimes simply throwing my hands up and walking away. Lately about the only time I feel like I am a good dog person in charge of a happy puppy is when we're running through her repertoire of tricks. We have sit, down, shake, high-five, and BANG! nailed down, and her crawl is almost there.

It's fun to work with the dog instead of against her. I can tell she likes it too; she's attentive and learns quickly. I figured this would be the perfect time to teach her the king daddy frat-boy trick of them all, one that would benefit Eric and me and our friends as well: I decided to teach the dog to fetch us a beer. 

All the advice I read says to break the trick down to its components, then bring them together under one command. I decided to use "Do me a favor" in honor of my dad, who got a kick out of saying that to get me to bring him cans of Old Milwaukee when I was a kid.

I started by plugging a can of sparkling water into a koozie and getting the dog to take it. That part went great. She picked it right up.

Then she went apeshit bananas, racing around the backyard until she freed the koozie and trotted over to her favorite chewing spot to maul it.

We finally got the koozie away from her, and I thought I would try with just the can. That was ok for a minute too. Then she got excited and repeated the performance, settled down with the can, chewed a hole in the top, and took a big spray of carbonated water in the face.

So for my trouble we now have a dog who has a taste for koozies and won't go anywhere near canned beverages.

This was a terrible idea. I'll have to shelve my dream of having a dog who brings me drinks until she's more reliable. In the meantime, if anyone knows any fun tricks that have absolutely nothing to do with 1) the dog's teeth or 2) liquid, please share.

Quiet-o

This perfectly ordinary month has been a fine palate cleanser after the bloated indulgence of the holidays.

I've been trying to do one fun thing and one productive thing every day before I go to work at four. Given my fairly generous interpretations of "fun" and "productive," it's been working out ok. Yesterday was warm and bright, so I combined the two by taking a bunch of photos on a brisk walk to the drugstore. 

The beets are doing a little better today; maybe they decided to try harder after I told everyone just how much they suck.

Willa the dog is both great and terrible. Eric has proposed a temporary renaming, but don't worry, we would only call her McShitty until she grows out of her hyperactive, willful, crotch-pounding, pen-stealing, lettuce-plant-destroying phase.

She is also fuzzy, affectionate, and totally willing to play dead when I say BANG. I always wanted a dog that would do that.

Oh, and since this post seems to have morphed into an update round-up, I should mention that both cats are doing just fine.

Dog day

St. Murse and Willa, November 6.

St. Murse and Willa, January 2.

With houseguests, visitors, parties, and general holiday busyness, the puppy has been given short shrift a little these past few weeks. (Of course, she could have spent considerably less time in her crate over the holidays if she had refrained from doing things like incessantly nipping Eric's dad and jumping up eagerly--and repeatedly--to slam right into my dad's crotch.)

Anyway, I feel like all I want right now is to have a great day with my dog, so I'm going to spend the afternoon before work with her, just as soon as I finish this post and put on some pants. 

Updata

So as not to leave you hanging, the pup got better and everything was great until the courses of medication and super dog yogurt ended. Then the poop factory cranked up again, albeit a little halfheartedly and hopefully temporarily because this is getting really stupid. But other than that, some annoying and persistent nipping, and an uneasy relationship with the cats, we are delighted to watch her grow larger and smarter and sweeter every day.

Also, I went to the Woodcraft store late last week to get a sharpening stone for my woodcutting tools. I like Woodcraft. It is full of grouchy, self-respecting old men, elegant hand tools, and gleaming, expensive machines. Also it smells wonderful, like spicy wood and varnish, and if you want to learn how to make furniture or cunning little boxes or whatever, they have a bunch of classes there.

Now that I have sharper tools I am very slowly learning how to turn splintery wood into splintery images. Nothing to show for it yet, but progress has been made. Speaking of progress, now I am going to comb my hair and walk over to a meeting about the new public swimming pool they're building a few miles away. I plan to agitate for lots and lots of lap lanes.

Needs to be sharper

I have started trying to make woodcuts, but so far the operative word is "trying." I'm not cutting the wood so much as shredding it.

I want to be able to do this. I can see the possibilities in the woodgrain as I tear and gouge, but so far all I have for my efforts is a small stack of spoiled wood and a sore wrist. We'll see what happens when I get the right stone to sharpen my tools. They seemed pretty blunt to begin with, so I'm hoping that's the problem.

Another, more serious source of frustration right now is Willa the dog. Every night for over a week, starting around seven o'clock, she starts crapping once an hour until sunrise. Eric and I--mostly Eric, since he stays up later--have been sleeping on the couch to let her out when she whines. Usually we get her outside in time, but not always.

This awful schedule is taking a toll on us and the dog. Willa is exhausted and completely without a routine, so she sleeps all day, and when she is up, it's hard for her to focus. She gets agitated and nippy far too easily, and the bit of puppy training we've been doing seems to take longer and longer to sink in.

Your suggestions are welcome. We've had the vet out once already and have been talking to him every couple of days. She tested negative for worms and parasites, and we have tried Immodium and every diet modification/supplement we can think of. I do know she is very enamored with chewing on sticks and leaves, which we try to keep her away from, but it's fall; there are sticks and leaves everywhere right now, and anyway, the vet doesn't think a little extra fiber would cause quite this big of a problem.

He's bringing us special doggie yogurt and ultra-bland food tomorrow to try before we start the tiers of expensive tests and procedures. I hope it doesn't come to that, but nothing so far has made a lick of difference.

It's kind of breaking my heart, because she is such a great little pup. During the day she's fine. Like I said, she's a little grouchy but otherwise sweet and lively and funny as hell. I just want us all to enjoy her puppyhood, but in addition to fetching and snuggles, we're spending way too much time wielding a box of disinfectant wipes and grimly hustling the poor thing out to the fence line in the chilly dark. Maybe she'll grow out of it?

Willa B.!

Or Wiggle Butt, if you prefer. She's already probably 50% bigger than she was a week ago. I think she is going to be smart and strong and so will require some decent training to make sure she's not Destructrodog 2010.

The wildly contradictory advice online and in books isn't going to help: Constantly give them treats to help them learn! Don't ever give them treats because it will disrupt the housetraining schedule and it will mean more if you do it the hard way! Say "NO" when they nip you! Don't ever say anything or even act like you're alive when they nip because even negative attention is still attention and if you're not careful they will grow up to EAT BABIES' FACES! Yep, eat them right off their little heads!

And so on, and so forth, and a bunch of dumb bullshit like that. It gets easier as we get to know her to understand what she needs. It'll take a while, but we'll figure it out.

In conclusion, Wiggle Butt!

Ridiculous

Still no name, but hopefully we'll come up with something soon.

The only bad thing so far is that I miss Sweetloaf. He seems to be on strike.

Adopted

It's true, what they say about the animal shelter. You wish you could take them all with you because even the well-run places are noisy and chaotic and smell like poop and desperation. Just unhook the cages--free! you're all free!--and lure them into the back of the car; drive them off to their new life with the bumper dragging on the ground, leaving nothing behind but a receding cacophony of barking and a hint of dog piss.

That's a terrible idea, so we chose just one, a two-month-old shepherd mix who seems sweet and playful and maybe pretty smart and, most importantly, has a black, boopable little nose. 

Now we have to wait until she's spayed in the next day or so before we can take her home. I guess that's good because it gives us some time to pull some supplies together and read up on training, but now that we've decided to bring her home it's so hard to wait.

We are filling the time by trying to guess how the cats will react and thinking up names. The shelter calls her "Ladybug," which is not terrible but not too great either. Edwina? Backhoe? Sweetloaf, Junior? I guess we will have to hang out with her for a few days to find out.