« December 2007 |
| February 2008 »
Want a recipe for stress?
Take a dollop of energetic 2-year old child and a pinch of curious 13-week old puppy. Combine.
I’ve worked in many a household where that potential oil and vinegar combination led to tears of frustration. From the parents. Happily, my new clients are successfully managing their toddler/puppy relations. Caroline, the human half of the equation, adores Lilly the puppy. Unfortunately, 2-year old adoration usually means squeals, chasing, and hugs, which are things that pups can only tolerate in small doses, if at all.
During our recent lesson Lilly took more than a few tweaks and ear tugs with the patience of a much older dog. I was impressed by her calm acceptance of the toddler worship. And I loved how fearless Caroline was with Lilly … nothing about the wiggling pup fazed her.
I was also impressed with Caroline’s parents … they kept an eagle eye on the pup/child interactions and were quick to step in when either party needed a break. Obviously neither Caroline nor Lilly can say, “My, you’re coming on a bit strong, and I’m feeling rather uncomfortable. Let’s take a knee, shall we?” No, instead you get a wail, a yelp or a nip to let you know that a line has been crossed. That’s why vigilant dog-child supervision is so important.
Lilly spends time in the mudroom right off the kitchen when things start to get hectic. While there, she observes the familial hubbub from a safe distance.
Sometimes, though, The Hubbub follows her.
I live in N. Texas and several dozen witnesses said they watched weird lights in the sky near Stephenville, long about dusk on January 8. One of the sightings even reported that the funny lights were chased by military jets. But the military officials denied over and over again that they had any planes in the vicinity on that night.
Low and behold, on January 23 the military reversed itself. Now they say a “mistake” was made and that yep, yessirree-bob, they had a training event going on that night at the time and in the air-space in question.
It was an internal communications error. Hmnnn.
According to some very off-the-record sources, there’s a perfectly good reason the cat’s got their tongue. A secret clowder of space-alien kittens let their laser toy get away from them (bad-bad-kitties!). In fact, I managed to get a picture of one before he scampered off.
All kidding aside, humans have such a difficult time communicating properly with each other, we shouldn’t be surprised that cat-to-human interaction sometimes gets mixed up. If understanding your cat frustrates you, just imagine how she feels? Remember that a cat’s sense of smell, sight, and hearing are so different from ours, that the cat may as well be from another planet.
Remember “senior superlatives” from high school? “Most likely to succeed” and all of that crap? (Can you guess who is still bitter about the yearbook committee getting rid of the “best smile” category post-voting, after she’d already clinched the title?) Anyway, my new clients, Italian Greyhounds Apollo and Gianna earned their superlatives during our lesson this morning.
“Most likely to Move While being Photographed”:
These two were so anti-pose that they nearly did me in. It wasn’t that they were afraid of my camera; they just didn’t want to let me photograph them. None of my tricks worked. And I was desperate to capture their gorgeousness!
I did manage to get one good shot:
They look a bit aloof in that photo, but that wasn’t the case at all. Superlative number two: “Most Outgoing Italian Greyhounds. Ever.” I was expecting them to be skittish about me -- not to be “breedist”, but I’ve met more than a few nervous Italian Greyhounds -- but they couldn’t have been more welcoming. Like, up on my lap and kissing me on the mouth welcoming. I loved it!
Oh, and how about one more superlative? “Most Expensive Chew Toy Pickers”:
Ouch!
What goes in your cat box? I’m not talking about Sheba’s “creative efforts” but the substrate she likes to dig.
Did you know that indoor cat toilets are a relatively recent innovation? Most cats spent time outside and did their business in the dirt. The inside felines might be accommodated with a box of sand or perhaps ashes. Can you imagine the sooty footprints?
Back in the winter of 1947 in Cassopolis, Michigan, a cat owner’s sand pile froze, and she got tired of using ashes for her pet. She visited the local hardware that sold industrial absorbents including sawdust and filler’s earth (a type of clay). Edward Lowe suggested using clay instead of sand for the cat--and it turned into a multi-billion dollar industry after his introduction of the original Kitty Litter, and later Tidy Cats and Scamp. Purina bought the brands much later and expanded the market even further.
From humble beginnings at 65-cents per 5-pound bag, today cat owners find a smorgasbord of litter choices. But what you like and what Sheba prefers may not agree. We’re all about odor control and convenience. Cats just want something soft to dig in, that doesn’t offend their noses. Strong perfumes and dust can turn them off. And we all know what happens when Sheba shuns the box--we have to change the carpet!
You can still find plain clay litter. Cats love the clumping clay litters because of their fine texture. Humans love ‘em for their ease of scooping waste. But clay litters get dusty--they’re dirt, after all. The finer stuff tracks more, too, especially if it catches in very furry cat feet. The most common additive to make it clump, called sodium bentonite, can pose a risk to mouthy kittens that taste everything or to d*gs intent on raiding the box.
To answer the demands of eco-friendly owners, you can find edible and biodegradable litters made from corn, wheat, paper, cedar chips, and even citrus. I’m a bit perplexed, frankly, by the citrus litters since most cats hate the smell and I recommend citrus as a feline deterrent. *shrug* Some of the corn and wheat products, like World’s Best Cat Litter (corn) and Swheat Scoop also clump, and may work in the automatic litter boxes.
Side-by-Side Kitty Litter Comparison
Newer kinds of litters include silica gel crystals that absorb moisture and odor as readily as many of the clumping litters. Some of these clump, others do not. The latest innovation, called Perfect Litter, is a flushable septic-tank safe granule made from vermiculite and perlite found with potting soil at garden shops. It includes a milk protein safe enough to lick for odor control--how about that?! Instead of bentonite, it uses a food-grade starch for clumping. Five pounds of this litter equals thirty-five pounds of traditional clay litters. I haven’t tried it yet, but sounds like a contender and there are free samples available at www.perfectlitter.com.
Bottom line--the best litter in the world ain’t worth spit if your kitten or cat won’t use it. Cats love routine, so if your cat’s happy with the facilities, don’t mess with success. Unless you want new carpets.
I deleted my entire desktop of files--including the best cat photos in the world. ACK!
After spending all day transcribing interviews and then writing about cat litter products (more about that later), it occurred to me I hadn’t backed up files in quite a while. I’ve never used one of those computer “sticks” (yes, I’m not all that tech-literate) but tried to download/copy to that and transfer over to the new laptop I got for Christmas.
It all disappeared into the ether, like creepy fog hiding little cat feet.
The next two hours spent fiddling with the “recycle bin” un-delete command, searching the Internet for instructions to rescue the material, and gnashing of teeth prompted a headache. I’d given up, resigned myself to recreate what I could from saved emails, when my sweet, purring Seren(dipity) appeared.
Cats always seemed to know when you’re having a bad day, don’t they?
After half a dozen gentle and purr-fectly delivered head-bonks something shook loose in my brain. I looked at the screen, at the incomplete list of “restored” files. One with an odd number name hadn’t been there before.
Inside, I found all the missing material, including the picture above. I’ve no idea what I did wrong--or did right. But I’m not surprised that Seren knows more about computers than I do. After all, she sleeps with the enemy.
One of the best parts of my job (aside from the dogs, of course) is getting to know my human clients. Ok, I’ve had more than a few clients who wrote the book on wacky, but the majority of them are delightful. Several of them have become true friends over the years. I’ve been invited to client weddings, baby showers, and even to the White House. (Yes, one of my former clients invited me to lunch at the exclusive White House Mess Executive dining room. An amazing experience!)
On Saturday I was reminded yet again that I work with cool folks during my final session with Olive and her people, Tom and Stephanie.
During Olive’s lessons we always ended up chatting (and laughing), and it came to light that Tom is a bit obsessive when mastering a new skill. His last total-immersion subject was coffee, and to prove the depths of his devotion to the bean he showed me his massive commercial grade espresso machine. I immediately put in an order for a mocha, only to find out that Tom didn’t know how to make them. He promised to learn how just for me.
Sure enough, when I showed up on Saturday morning for our final lesson I heard him clanging in the kitchen. Moments later he produced -- ta-da! – a gorgeous mocha.
Turns out that Tom and Stephanie had been experimenting with mocha recipes for the past several weeks, tweaking them until the found just the right combination of coffee and chocolate. And oh did they ever. It was SO good. Better than you-know-who-bucks. I was honored by their efforts to produce a perfect cup for me, and reluctant to move my butt off the couch until I’d finished their sweet gift.
Yes, I’ve got me some cool clients. Cheers to all of you – you know who you are!
I walked up to my new client’s home for our first lesson and I realized that I didn’t know what kind of dog I was about to meet. I knew it was a puppy, but I couldn’t remember what kind. Not that it matters, of course … bring me your labs, your Jack Russell Terriers, your pit bulls, your mixed breed dogs … I train ‘em all.
So who was behind Door Number One? My client let me in and there was…
Louie the five-month old Clumber Spaniel!
Clumbers are an uncommon breed around here, so I was dee-lighted to see his freckled face before me. The one Clumber I trained years ago was quite the comedian, but surprisingly clever as well.
Louie was true to my biased view of the breed, all silly and smart. He finished up lesson number one a few steps ahead of the average pup.
After the taxing introduction to basic training was over he couldn’t help but get very …
very …
sleepy.
Can’t wait to work with Mr. Clumberlicious next week … stay tuned, I think you’ll be seeing his sweet face in this space again soon.
We’ve all heard them, read them, maybe even believed them. Maybe you call them “old wive’s tales” and some of them may even have a basis in truth. This blog seems a great place to dispel some of the damaging myths about cats, or simply chuckle about the clueless ness of non-cat-people.
For instance, how about that myth that “all cats are aloof, independent creatures?” Mr. Kipling’s story about the cat who walked alone probably wasn’t the first, nor is it the last. But geeze-Louise, can anybody who has ever lived with a cat believe that load of detritus?
Uh-oh, I feel a rant coming on…
Cats are cats, and are individuals, just as each human is different. Some are smart, some are dumber than coal buckets, perhaps they’re stylish or frumps, gregarious or scaredy--well, you get the picture. We’d be accused of profiling or worse to paint all people with the same bland brush, now wouldn’t we? So don’t let others disrespect your cat, folks. I’ve a feeling this particular rant may recur from time to time.
Back to the topic, though, I wanted to lay to rest another common myth that even cat people may believe. Cats do NOT need to drink milk.
Cats DO require water. But once they’ve grown beyond the kitten stage, they truly do not need to drink milk for proper nutrition, and in fact, it could cause some (ahem) offensive digestive episodes reminiscent of volcanic eruptions. You see, kittens consume queen’s milk (that’s the name for a momma cat, by the way). Cow’s milk ain’t the same thing. And many adult cats lack the digestive enzyme that makes it possible for them to easily digest lactose, milk sugar.
Certainly, come cats drink milk with no problem and many relish the flavor. If you’re set on treating your cat, look into purchasing some of the lactose-free milk drinks available for humans. The pet products stores may have cat-specific varieties, too.
I have a lid to put on my beverage containers these days. Otherwise Seren dips her paw into the cup. And I know where her paw has been. (shudder)
How many of y’all work at home? If you do, are the cats allowed in the office? Are they helpful--or not?
As she’s grown older, Seren has mellowed a bit. During her kitten years, she ‘helped’ with everything, checking out my wastebasket, dipping a paw into my coffee mug (and then shaking it to shower everything), and even answering my phone. Oh yes, if I left the little dickens alone in my office and the phone happened to ring, she’d hook the receiver off with her paw. I’d come back to find clients trying to phone me, and lord-knows-what sort of cat-curses were hurled at them by my sedate, sweet kitty.
Most every page of every book written has at least one tooth-mangled page I nust replace. Seren still puts her paw-stamp on everything, and at least has stopped chasing the mouse-curser on the computer screen. But she’s resurrected her old habit of “playing” all the buttons on my fax machine by tap-dancing across the console--and taking it offline, of course. That’s a sure-fire way to get attention, and she knows it.
Cats have an instinct for knowing how to train owners to do what they want. Seren quickly learned that rattling the wooden blinds got a rise out of my husband, so he’d chase her (what fun!) while yelling, “Amy, come get your cat!” I tried to tell him that by chasing, he’d rewarded her behavior better than a fishy-treat-snack. And the longer you hold out and ignore such aggravating behavior, and THEN give in, the better the kitty learns not to give up.
I told him. After all, I’m supposed to be a cat behavior expert.
Did I mention cats are easier to train than husbands?
Fresh snow usually means canine giddiness in our house, but not yesterday. Maybe their seasonal affective disorder is kicking in.
I went out to the yard with Zeke and Sumner expecting to capture their joyful sprints through the virgin drifts, and instead got this grumpy face:
Would Monsieur prefer privacy? Je regrette!
Zeke usually makes a meal out of the giant pollution-flavored snow cone beneath his feet, but not this time. He’d take a bite:
Then do this:
All Sum wanted to do was gaze forlornly towards the horizon:
I feel like I’ve got two fuzzy candidates for Effexapro, or Cymlofto or whatever Big Pharma is pushing us to take these days. (“Side effects may include a loss of interest in chasing cats and fetch-aversion. Ask your vet if Gooddogtrin is right for you.”) I have noticed that overcast days tend to make them hunker down and sleep more, although a chance to play in the snow usually snaps them out of hibernation mode.
Are your dogs in tune with the weather? Do you notice a difference in temperament or energy level as the seasons change? Send your story to Stories@petside.com or comment at the bottom of the page!
Milly had her maiden voyage at the dog park yesterday. Her person was really nervous about it, as Milly gets reactive on the leash when she sees other dogs. I’ve gotten to know Milly pretty well over the past two months, and I wasn’t worried at all. I was confident that her “leash goofiness” around other dogs was just that – goofiness -- and not true aggression.
I gave Milly’s person an overview of what I thought was going to happen once we walked into the park, we took a deep breath and in we went.
Unfortunately, Milly didn’t get a warm welcome. Three yellow labs immediately zeroed in on her and bullied her mercilessly, nipping her neck and barking at her. (Reason #1 why I don’t love dog parks: inappropriate dogs.) The poor girl showed tons of appeasement gestures – lowering herself to the ground, lifting a paw, staying very still – but the three baddies wouldn’t back off. Finally, their owners intervened. Milly shook herself off and gave us a look that said, “Well. That was interesting.” I watched to see if Milly was suffering any ill effects from the inhospitable greeting, but she was still rarin’ to go.
This charmer came into the park and lightened the mood considerably:
Even though Milly was new to the dog park – and new to dog play – she was 100% appropriate with the other dogs. (I was actually amazed by her dog-dog skills. She was a natural!) I gave her person a play-by-play as Milly exhibited play bows and engaged in some chase with Mr. Handsome:
More dogs showed up. The play continued.
Milly’s play style ranged from “C’mon everybody, see if you can catch me!” to some light boxing and wrestling. I was happy to see her having such a great time, and I loved the perma-grin on her person’s face too.
Milly’s successful visit at the dog park doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s going to be a regular, though. I tell all of my clients that I’m ambivalent about dog parks … they’re great in theory, but not always in execution. I’ve seen too many rude, poorly trained dogs running roughshod on the dogs that are just there to play, and I’ve seen plenty of nutty, uninformed dog owners making matters worse for all parties. I wish dog parks could be the canine nirvana our pooches so desperately need, but the sad fact is they’re not.
How about you? Are you a dog park devotee? Or did you hear the one about the wolf hybrid who killed a Bichon at a dog park and decide to keep away? Tell me about your dog park stories by writing me at Stories@petside.com
In my work I attend at least a couple of cat shows a year. The past several years I’ve attended the Houston Cat Club Charity Show, and January 5-6 this year I signed books there again. One of the cat vendors sponsored a raffle for a gorgeous cat tree--that’s Tyler, a LaPerm kitty (has wavy fur) testing the prize and conferring with me before they had me draw the winner’s name.
If you’ve never done so, please don’t miss the opportunity to visit a show! I call it “cat juggling” because the longhair kitties like Persians get swooped through the air to show off their flowing tresses, while the sleek, svelte shorthair varieties are stretched out like some aerodynamic slingshot ready to be flung across the room. Not that any cat would ever stand for such a thing.
Even the cats in the show hall entertain passersby. While waiting to be judged, each cat stays in a private cage festooned with fancy trim, and often adorned with warning signs: “I don’t bite, but my OWNER does--do not touch!” That’s because too many pettings might spread illness. Here, a lovely Cornish Rex cat shows his trick when asked to beg.
Every cat show offers a wealth of prizes, including trophies and ribbons. There are categories for spayed and neutered felines (Premier class) as well as intact cats.
Some shows, such as the Houston venue, also include adoptable shelter cats.
Many cat shows boast the “Household Pet” category that include cat-next-door random bred felines like my Seren. I don’t show Seren, though. She already knows she’s beautiful and she has an aversion to strangers handling her. And I have an aversion to her head spinning around as she morphs into “devil cat” in public. I’m funny that way.
Aww, check out this cute picture. Looks like Zeke is giving my niece a sweet (slightly gross) kiss.
I see a completely different story when I look at that photo.
Zeke uses licking as a defensive maneuver. It’s his technique to get people to back off. Zeke has never been much of a cuddler, and when he’s getting more touching or attention than he can handle, he turns to licking to repel the person. The licking might look like kissing, but it’s Zeke’s way of saying “Enough, thank you. I’ll keep sliming you until you leave me alone”
On this day he was overtired and slightly freaked out by my niece’s relentless affection. When she crowded him and attempted to engage his tired old bones in yet another round of fetch he began licking her smack-dab in the middle of her face. I intervened and let the poor guy get some rest.
Sometimes a kiss is not just a kiss, just like a wag doesn’t always signify canine glee. (Ever heard someone say “He was wagging his tail then he bit me!”?) A tail wag can signify many different moods … you have to look at the entire scenario before you assign an emotion to a dog. Perhaps that tail-wagging biter was backed into a corner, had his hackles up and was giving the person a hard stare as well.
Dogs “talk”, but we don’t always listen.
So, did Santa Paws bring you the kitten-of-your-dreams? Congratulations! May y’all share many years of purrfect furry love and trill-ing adventure.
When my cat Seren(ipity) arrived almost a dozen years ago, she left her claw-marks everywhere: my furniture, my pant legs, and yes, my heart.
If you’re reading this blog, you’re already a cat lover and perhaps quite savvy about cat claw etiquette. For those who need to know, felines use their claws to mark territory with both visual and scented cues. Humans just don’t get it. We provide lovely soft tweed sofas and nubby newel posts, and then object when kitty does what comes naturally.
It becomes a battle of wills. When the new kitten tells you, “meowringinginging!” before dancing away from the Persian carpet and targets the divan, she’s cat-calling you names because humans don’t understand kitty scratch-graffiti.
Cats claw. Period. You won’t stop her.
I considered Seren scratching my pant leg to be a kitty compliment. She thought me important enough territory to mark me as owned. Cat people choose their battles and I’d rather apologize for tattered-looking upholstery than lose out on loving a cat. Besides, old pants survived, bare skin heals, and the undersides of my furniture at least didn’t bleed or show too much damage. You see, Seren liked to claw overhead, pulling herself along on her back beneath the sofa.
Several cat trees later--strategically placed near prime scratching routes--as well as weekly claw trims, and we’ve come to an understanding. She leaves my furniture (and bare legs) alone, and I let her practice hurling dirty cat-words at the @#$%^&*! d*g.
What does he care--he can’t speak felinese, either.
Have a cat scratch story to share? Tell me about it by emailing stories@petside.com
Greetings, salutations, and howdy (that’s Texan for “hello”). I’d like to extend some purrs, trills, and head-bonks to Petside.com cats and I’ll be generous and throw in some woofs and wags to the d*g-matic population, too. Hey, you know who you are, sneaking in to read the cat-side of the blog. I promise not to out you to your canine buddies. (nudge nudge, wink wink)
My colleague Allia set a wonderful example with this blog. We’re both members of the Cat Writers Association, and I wish her the best with the exciting new book projects and am sad to see her go. But I’m thrilled to carry on in her paw-steps and grateful to Petside.com for the opportunity.
I’m Amy Shojai (~waving to one and all~). I’m a certified animal behavior consultant, a pet journalist and columnist, pet book author, radio host, animal-owner advocate, and avid pet lover and owner (not necessarily in that order). Just call me Amy, or “hey you.” It took me three years to learn how to pronounce my last name! The beauty of the Internet means y’all don’t have to worry about it.
As an equal-opportunity pet lover, I share my home with a soon-to-be eleven-year-old Siamese wannabe named Serendipity; Magic, an eighteen-month-old adolescent German shepherd d*g; and seven Koi named Lucy-the-Redhead, Goldie, Bulldozer, Silverfish, Ghost, Pinto, and Tortie. The dog and cat are much more easily trained than the Koi. Or the husband. But that belongs to another blog.
My work typically focuses on empowering pet owners with the information they need to provide the best care possible for their furry charges. Name the topic, and I’ve probably covered it in my 20-(gasp!) year career. At the other end of the spectrum, I had the fun of co-editing two Chicken Soup titles. You can check out details about my books and other activities at www.shojai.com
This blog offers the chance to provide pet info-tainment and more--with lots of fun side trips tossed in. I hope readers won’t be shy about offering comments and suggestions along the way. Heck, I may meander some days, get “hissed off” on others with a rant, and then share something so downright insightful I scare myself--or make you spew coffee. Or both.
As with most pet lovers, my animals keep me grounded and help me focus on what’s important: Furry love. We love our cats, they love us. Period. We sometimes misunderstand each other just as with human family members, but at the end of the day, cats let us share their pillow. Our felines are catnip for our souls. By the purrs we hear, I expect the feeling is quite mutual.
Sumner is an epicure whose tastes go well beyond deer poop and kibble. He’s game to try any new food at least once. Lettuce? Sure, why not? Broccoli? We all need our roughage. Don’t even get him started on fruits … he adores apples, bananas, and strangely enough, even oranges and tangerines.
He took his penchant for unusual foodstuffs to a new level when he added wasabi to his “I’d like a lick” list. He had a taste of it off my plate after dinner a few weeks ago (yes, this dog trainer lets the pooches have few licks prior to loading the dish washer) and decided that the eye-watering, mouth-puckering tang was worthy of a second round.
Sumner says, “Wasabi. Hurts so good.”
What do dog trainers talk about when they get together?
You. You and your dogs are pretty close to the top of the list of discussion topics.
I just went to my monthly luncheon with five fellow trainer/writer/pet health professional friends, and, as always, challenging client cases were a major topic of conversation.
We tried to understand why a former client insisted on using a shock collar to train her dog (that’s a subject sure to rile up a group of dog-friendly trainers!), and nodded knowingly about the super-aroused Boston Terrier who needs some therapeutic “T-touch” body work to help him calm down. We discussed the potential benefits of Chinese medicine and acupuncture for a polydipsic dog, and debated the ethics of “outing” dog trainers who use old-school training methods. Our monthly lunches allow us to trade war stories, share successes and get advice on our hard to solve cases. Oh yes, and gossip about some of the ridiculous stuff we deal with, like the woman who calls and says, “I’m eight months pregnant and my dog hates babies. I guess I need to get him trained, right?”
We readily admit to the cliché “the cobbler’s children have no shoes.” Our dogs ain’t perfect, and during our lunches we often cop to our personal training shortcomings. Think all dog trainers have gold-standard dogs? Think again.
I’m honored to sit beside these women … if I were a name-dropper you’d be impressed by the company I’m keeping. Though we’re all very different people, we’re united by our admiration and affection for each other, our love of dogs, and our desire to help you and your canine companions live happily together.
And we’re also united by our love of fried green beans.
"Bye KittyLiterate. It's been fun."
Wow. I can't believe it's been almost five months since I took the persona of KittyLitterate to blog for Petside.com. And what a joyous ride it's been! (And I don't use exclamation points lightly.)
"At last...some peace," Sinead says. "No more cameras in our faces."
During this time, I've met some of the nicest cat people (oh, okay, and dog people) around, rubbed whiskers with countless lovable puddies, and had the pleasure of writing about all things cat...a promise I made at the outset and kept. There are about 80 blogs in the archives you can re-read when you need a laugh. I even donned a wig and red suit to play Santa Claws (and had my beard chewed on and my stomach stuffing gnawed and kneaded in the bargain.)
Still, I must say, I had the best time ever, and the blogs are proof.
"Can I open my eyes, yet?" asks Angela.
I also got to introduce Petside readers to three of the most adorable puddies in my world, to wit: the sweet and wise Angela, rough and tumble, McDuff, and Sineady-cat, the "fraidy" cat. I hope you enjoyed their stories as much as I enjoyed bringing them to you.
"I've gotten several calls from Hollywood already, thanks to Petside.com" says McDuff.
I know.... I know.... Quit the soft-soap, and get to the meat of it. Okay, so at the end of this year, I learned.... Oh, you don't really want do know...do you?
Okay, I'll quit the kibitzing. Some books KittyLiterate proposed have come through. So now I have to hang up my blogging hat and write them. There. I've said it. It's out.
"Finally," says Angela.
Still, you haven't heard the last of me. When time allows, I'll be writing features for Petside.com. And in May, when my new book, PURR MORE, HISS LESS, is released, I hope to preview it on the Petside.
So, that's a wrap. I want to thank the Petside group for the opportunity, my search engine, Dara Tyson, and all the people who offered their stories and their support, as well as everyone who read, commented on, and followed my blog. You guys are great.
All the best,
KittyLitterate, Angela, McDuff and Sinead signing off.
KittyLitterate signing off...."So long, and good knight."
*****Unmask KittyLiterate at http://www.hci-online.com/s-2306-allia-zobel-nolan.aspx
The older Sumner gets the more tatted up he becomes. At a year old his chest was pristine white:
Now, pushing nine, his chest resembles a Rorschach test:
The black freckles stop just below his collar in a straight line, almost as if they were inked there in a canine version of a 90’s hipster tribal tattoo.
The “aging boxer” spots we can deal with. The moles and skin tags that he’s accumulating as well? No thanks.
"Hello Kitty for Men? I'd buy it," announces this puddy.
Hello Kitty, a Fashion Statement...for Boys?
What's white, has whiskers, and is as ubiquitous as Hillary Clinton in the primaries? You got it: everyone's favorite feline this side of Morris...Hello Kitty.
So what's she up to now? Well, according to an MSNBC report, this cutesy cat, the product of Japan's Sanrio Co., which can be seen on little girls' fashions...from T-shirts to pocketbooks, watches to toys and pjs...is now being marketed to the opposite sex as well.
Yup, Hello Kitty for boys/men is scheduled to go on sale this month in Japan and will soon paw its way into the American fashion market soon after. Redesigned with the logo, Hello Kitty, in place of the nose and eyes, in cool colors (black, at the top of the list, natch!), this is one fashion statement sure to help men connect in single's bars. "Look" says one giggling friend to the other. "So what if he's not Brad Pitt. He's wearing Hello Kitty. How bad can he be?"
"I hope these tips help you make things warmer for ferals," says this puddy.
Ferals and Cold Weather
Unlike their fine feathered friends, puddies can't fly south for the winter. So many neighborhood strays and/or ferals have to brave the cold. Here are a few tips (from neighborhoodcats.org.) to help these poor puddies when the temperature plummets.
To avoid water freezing...try a heating element, like the kind used to keep cat shelters warm. Petsmart has something called Snuggle Safe that looks like a Frisbee. You can put it in the microwave for five minutes and it will stay hot for 12 hours. (Try using a low setting at first, as all microwaves are different and can melt the disc.) You can put the disc under the rim of water bowls. Or put a really thick plastic, thermal-type dish, (black bowls are better because they absorb sun and heat) inside a cut-out styrofoam cooler. The styrofoam's insulation slows down freezing. You can also download directions and/or info to make-your-own cat shelter at neighborhoodcats.org; spayandstay.org; and all-creatures.org.
Hint: mylar blankets are great insulators as they reflect the cats' body heat back to them.
"I'm the good luck, good fortune cat," says this puddy.
Hi-Five from Cats Brings Good Luck
I'm expecting a shipment of cash any day now. Or failing that, I expect my new book will hit the NYT bestseller's list at Number One very soon. That's because I'm overdue for good luck or good fortune.
The reason? My friend traveled to Asia a while ago, and brought me back (what else?) a portrait of a cat. Just recently, I've come to find out it's no ordinary cat....but one that's supposed to snap up good luck like a hungry cat does a passing mouse.
See, I didn't notice it at the time, but this three-dimensional puffy cat has his right paw raised and that, my friend, is thought by many (to mix linguistic metaphors) to attract mucho dinero and buena suerte. I'm ordering my Porsche this afternoon.
Hello, Ears.
Meet my new student Maple Sugar, the five-month-old Cardigan Welsh Corgi. I took a bunch of pictures of her this morning and managed to crop off the corner of one of her ears in nearly every single shot. I almost captured her full wingspan in this one, but not quite:
It’s hard to ignore Maple’s clownish ears, but take a closer look at her face. Those eyes. That brindle coat. She’s a stunner!
"Oh, great, Daddy bought us flowers," says Angela.
My husband surprises me often with flowers. He knows I love them. However, the puddies think those nice smelling, colorful things with the green juicy leaves are for THEM. I turn my back a minute, and the plundering begins.
"Hey, McDuff," Angela says, alerting her brother, and making a bee-line to the bouquet. "Daddy's bought us treats!"
"I'll just nibble these a bit and see if they're fresh," she says.
I grab them just in time. My goal is to keep the flowers intact at least a day. I don't mind the cats admiring my roses. But when they start smelling them, swatting them, tearing them apart, nibbling them, and then devouring them (after which they jump on the couch and purge), I have to put my foot down.
"Mommy keeps putting these flowers in different rooms. I wonder why?" asks Angela.
So I close them away (the flowers, not the cats)...in the bathroom, the sitting room, my work room.... (I feel like a woman who locks up her engagement ring instead of wearing it, because she doesn't want anyone to rob it.) But, always, eventually, no matter how fastidious I am about closing the doors, sooner or later I don't do a proper job, one of the darlings paws his/her way into the room, and CRASH!. I've lost two Waterford and Baleek vases that way.
"Gee, Angela ate all the good flowers," says McDuff. "There's hardly any left for me."
What's a mother to do? My husband and I have been giving this cat/flower problem some thought for a while now. And he's come up with a great solution. We're going to buy one of those glass showcases people put collectibles in but instead use it as a flower holder. This way I can have my flowers and my cats, too.
In the interim, he's still buying me flowers...but WE'RE eating them not the cats.
"Hey, McDuff. What kind of bouquet is this?" asks Angela. "Smells like a cantaloupe."
Does your cat eat your flowers? What do YOU do about it? Write me stories@Petside.com Subject:"Please Don't Eat the Flowers."
"Flowers? What flowers, Mommy? Angela, you didn't see any flowers, did you?"
I’m really impressed with my current crop of Saturday students … all three of them are masters at the “go to bed” cue, which is both a helpful household behavior as well as an awesome, impressive party trick!
Take my 8:00 student, Aggie. She struggled with the bed lesson for the first two weeks (“Huh? You want me to lay on this thing right here?”), but then something clicked and now she’s a pro. Her people say “Bed!” and she races to it, and better yet, waits on it patiently:
My next client, Milly, figured out the “bed” game immediately, and she’s now doing graduate-level work … her person can disappear into the kitchen, say “Bed!” and Milly dashes around the corner to it . When she really wants to prove that she’s On The Bed, she’ll drop her head between her paws as if to say “I’m SO on it!”
My final client of the day, little Rocky, still hangs out in his crate when his people aren’t home, so we taught him to go there when we ask. Rocky’s people can send him to his crate from the next room:
There’ such a “Ta-da” element to this behavior that I can’t help clapping every time one of my canine students nails it.
This puddy says "hands are for petting not hitting."
When I worked for a Connecticut Domestic Violence service shelter, I heard some pretty terrible stories of abuse...not only between men and women, but also involving children. Unfortunately, when many couples fight, innocents become pawns, get caught in the crossfire, and the results are often tragic.
Angela says, "Remember, never take your anger out on a puddy."
What's more, the innocents aren't always children. Sometimes they're pets. And I can't think of anything more horrendous than using either a child or a pet as a punching bag to get back at an offending partner. But sadly, with violence so prevelant (and in many cases glorified) in movies, TV, video games, and on the web, it's surprising there aren't more reports of such cruel episodes.
"We look to humans for love and protection. Please don't disappoint us," say these puddies.
Because of the overt brutality, one incident, in particular, reported recently by the ASPCA in their January 4 newsletter, really got to me. Seems a dispute between a man and his girlfriend got out of hand and both their animals paid the price of their anger. The woman, Sarah Favorite, was alledged to have beaten her boyfriend's 17-year-old cat, Yoda, over a two-day period, breaking the puddy's legs and slamming him into the floor, so much so that when the cat was finally taken to the hospital, he had to be euthanized.
What supposedly prompted this was that her boyfriend, Douglas Bolton, alledgedly punched and kicked Favorite's seven-year-old male miniature pinscher, requiring the dog to be treated for head and eye injuries.
Both Favorite and Bolton were subsequently arrested on separate charges of aggravated animal cruelty, which, if they are convicted, will result in a sentence of up to two years and a fine of $2,000.
"I get sad eyes and wrinkles when I think of pet abuse,"says this puddy.
How sad is this, when the animals who look to us for love and protection, wind up hopeless pawns in people's disputes with their mates?
"I'd rather be in a shelter with love, than a home with violence," says this puddy.
The good news is, (and I frankly didn't know about this, but glad I found out), the ASPCA is working with legislators to enact state laws which give judges the right to issue orders of protection for pets...as well as people.
To report animal abuse, go to the ASPCA's website and look under "Report Cruelty"at: http://www.aspca.org/site/PageServer?pagename=cruelty_report to find a number to call in your area.
Photo of two orange Tabbies by Maggie Swanson c copyright 2008
My “nephew” dog, Munson, is quite the canine athlete. Though his body is super-sized and his legs are stumpy, come human dinnertime the guy can get some air. His jump shot clears the edge of the kitchen table! How can a fat little hot dog-dog summon the power to leap upwards of three feet in the air? Clearly, he got game.
We’re not sure how the habit developed – no one has ever fed him from the table – but the repetitive jumping is now so deeply entrenched that he needs to be entertained with a bone or chew during the dinner hour to keep him from his engaging in his own version of “anorexia athletica.” Though Munson is agile and healthy, back problems abound in dachshunds.
Perhaps he’ll eventually ditch his jumpy begging technique and opt for the subtler “can’t you see that I’m dying of starvation” stare. Looks like he’s off to a great start:
I know it’s bath time when the guys’ normal corn chip smell begins to resemble the odor a full-on Frito factory. We hit that point a few days ago, so it was off to tub.
The misery of green tea bath soap! Of warm water trickled over backs, and gentle, suds inducing massage! When will it end?
Post-bath, joyful rolling and towel rubbing ensues. Then we do the obligatory dog-in-a-towel poses:
Rubdown complete, Sum contemplates how good it feels to be clean.
Zeke knows when it’s his turn, and gives me plenty of attitude.
Definitely in need of a bath:
The rubdown/roll/babushka-dog cycle repeats:
And the guys check out the strange matching stink they’ve acquired.
Angela knows what McDuff's birthday present is.... But she'll never tell.
It's McDuff's birthday next week. And after seeing some photos of shelter puddies, he's decided, as he and his sisters did this Christmas, to donate his gift money to the homeless kitties' shelter.
But that doesn't mean this selfless puddy will go toy-less on his special day. That's because McDuff's Mommy's friend, Maggie, reminded her of a tried-and-true present Mommy can get her birthday boy. It's a gift that is easily accessible, won't cost a fortune, and will keep the little darling...and come to think of it...his sisters (if he wants to share) busy for hours.
What am I getting him? Here's some hints: It's brown; makes a crinkling noise; and is perfect for playing hide-and-go-seek in.
Here is one of PAWS shelter cats demonstrating what fun McDuff will have.
"McDuff will love this. It's great for playing hide-and-seek."
"It's eco-friendly and has no lead!"
"And it never fails. Someone always takes your picture when you play with this toy."
"If McDuff doesn't like his toy, can I have it? You just never have enough paper bags."
Paws Photos by Maggie Swanson, c copyright 2008
If you pay close attention to this little blog you’ll notice a theme. Not the “Madam Biscuit is wrong a lot” theme, or the “Madam Biscuit seems to adore every single dog she encounters” theme (Didn’t I just write an ode to Tayzie the Border Terrier?) … no, this theme cuts to the very heart of who I am as a dog lover. It defines my canine preferences ... just take a look at my dogs and you’ll now what I’m talking about.
Yes, I love all dogs, but I’m a fool for …
You guessed it, pushed in faces and wrinkles.
The “brachycephalic” breeds get me every time. I’m not sure what it is about those so-ugly-they’re-cute faces, but I absolutely love them.
Hello, gorgeous.
I know I’m not alone in my love for all things squish-faced … raise your hand if you love ‘em too. (And let’s hear about the attendant snoring, drooling and snorting. Worth it, right?)
Angela says, "Worry less; stare out the window more."
In case you were wondering what I resolved for this year, it's very simple: Worry less; enjoy life more. But we're hardly into the New Year and I fear my resolution has gone by the wayside...Kerplunk!
See, unlike my puddies, who have never spent an anxious minute in their lives, I'm a consummate worrywart. (I even wrote a book about it, THE WORRYWART'S PRAYER BOOK.) And though, in the past, I've tried to overcome this problem, I was hoping 2008 was the year I'd kick the habit altogether.
"Why worry when you can sleep?" says Angela
So what am I anxious about? Everything. I worry about terrorism, earthquakes, tornadoes, global warming, meteorites, bridge collapses, aliens, bird flu. Then, of course, there's eclipses, food poisoning, lightning, airplanes, falling elevators, and the ongoing fears of breaking a nail, abandonment by the cats, and the return of polyester.
"I never worry," says Angela. "It gives you wrinkles."
Indeed, worrying is such a deleterious behavior, I made up my mind I'm going to stop. It wastes time; seldom achieves anything; and can interfere with relationships as we transfer our fears to others and try to manipulate them. But recognizing my addiction is the first step towards a cure. Right now, I'm a work-in-progress. But I'm getting better and with any luck, though I may fall off the wagon now and again, I am hoping to keep my anxieties under control this year. So I'm going to try again this week.
"Don't worry about McDuff, Mom," says Angela. "He says he's on a diet. HA!"
Still, does anyone think McDuff looks a little thinner around the whiskers? He didn't eat his usual five tins of tuna today, so I'm a bit concerned. Do you think I should take him to the vet? Maybe I'll just give him a full-body massage and see what happens....
My new client Olive likes to play …
…but she doesn’t necessarily like to share.
Once she gets control of a toy she opts to keep it all to herself, either by refusing to release it:
Or running off where she can’t be reached and trying to blend into the shadows:
In addition to teaching her regular basic training stuff, we’re also going to help her learn to retrieve and drop. And what’s the core of those two behaviors? Sharing. You ready for that Olive?
A little interloper popped over the fence to say hello during our lesson:
Olive said a quick hello, then went right back to toy hoarding:
I think Neighbor Puppy’s face says it all:
She’s skeptical about Olive’s sharing abilities, but I think Olive will be fetching and dropping in no time.
Angela, doing what she does best.
Remember when it was de rigueur to drink eight glasses of water a day or bust? Well, now if you don’t get your eight hours of sleep, you’re in for a rude awakening.
Yup, those who skimp on sleep, both Advertising Age and Reader's Digest tell us, could wind up stressed, depressed, unfocused, not to mention, they could get older faster and get fatter and stay that way due to an increased craving for food, especially high-carb and high-sugar foods. Who would have thunk it?
"Can you quit with the photos? Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"
No news to our savvy feline friends, though. Indeed, cats were light years ahead of the buzz on this one. They recognized both the physical and mental benefits of getting enough zzzs eons ago, so much so, that they increased their sleeping pattern from the paltry eight hours we humans partake of, to anywhere from 14 to 16 hours a day.
And contrary to cat-bashers everywhere, the increased sleeping pattern is a smart prophylactic measure to keep themselves in tip-top shape, and not because cats are inherently slothful or lazy.
Angela says, "The harder the surface, the deeper the sleep."
What’s more, despite the various sleeping disorders cats suffer from (mine puddies are plagued with “Wake-and-Walk-Syndrome,” which has them up dozens of times a night walking back and forth over my face), they have managed to survive—and even thrive—as a result of their ability to sleep on a dime—or a book, in the middle of a file, in a drawer, suitcase, on a shoulder, or anywhere for that matter—in short clusters of time known as cat naps.
"I always knew sleeping was good for you."
Could napping be the answer for us as well? I don't know about you, but I'm ready to try it.
Have an unusual photo of your cat sleeping? Want to share. Email me at stories@Petside.com Subject: "Sleeping Beauties."
My Mom has been raving about her neighbor’s little dog.
Me: “What kind of dog is it Mom?
Mom: “I don’t know … small and fluffy.”
Me: “What color is it? White? Black and tan?”
Mom: “I don’t remember.”
My Mom rarely raves about dogs, so I was determined to meet this adorable mystery dog for myself. What kind of pup could motivate my Mom to gush? (Aside from her granddogs, of course.)
Well, she was right to go on about neighbor-dog. Little Isabella, the seven-year-old long hair Chihuahua, is super-cute:
Her person is a former NYC costumer so you can imagine the getups Isabella wears … hair bows, top hats, a Dorothy costume (in a poetic turn, her person dressed as Toto). She opted for nakedness on the day I visited.
She was perfectly social until I started snapping pictures. I wasn’t surprised that my big, whining flash frightened her. She decided to hang out near an escape route for most of my visit.
Isabella has a lovely big brother named Jesse. He’s a rescued 10 – 12 year Old English Sheepdog. Jesse has a charming habit of leaning into people, not so much to demand petting but more as a friendly way of saying, “Hullo there. I like you and I’d like to be as close to you as possible.”
Jesse doesn’t get the costume treatment like his little sis, but he enjoys the spectacle from the sidelines.
"Trees are nice to look at. But I wouldn't want to get stuck in one."
Back in time, when things were less hectic, local municipalities' budgets weren't strained, and emergency workers didn't have to worry about things like terrorist bombs and anthrax scares, your local fire department might send out the brigade to save a puddy up a tree.
In the brave, new world that is today, though, there's not enough resources. And while many fire departments do respond to animals in extreme peril, many just don't have the resources to respond to cats in trees.
"Mommy bought us a nice, indoor cat tree. It's even got seats. Neat-o!"
What's more, rescuing a cat from a tree isn't really something just anybody can do. Animal shelters, both city and private, don't have the manpower or the knowledge to extract high climbing puddies.
Marc Matthews can, though. As owner of Connecticut Tree Care in New Haven, he obviously has the experience. Indeed, he's already rescued a bunch of cats from trees. Then, too, Matthews also has the heart. He doesn't charge for the service. He saves the puddies for free.
In an artcle in the New Haven Register, Matthews explained his reasoning.... He can't see leaving the cats in danger when he has the skill to rescue them.
"Trees are okay. But I'd rather look at life from the back of the couch."
The article reports one recent incident where Matthews not only saved the day, but also demonstrated his generosity. Seems a woman who saw a cat mewing in a tree called the local shelter, which, in turn, called Matthews. When he rescued the cat, the woman gave him $20. Matthew handed it over to a shelter worker who came to retrieve the cat.
Who says you can't find a nice guy these days?
If you're in the Connecticut area and have a cat-in-a-tree situation, feel free to call Matthews at 812-0555.
And if you've ever had a cat-in-the-tree scenario, and want to share, email me stories@Petside.com Subject: "Cat in a Tree."
“Vicious Puppy Syndrome” is a fairly typical new puppy parent concern. The worrying begins when that sweet little bundle of puff breaks out a piranha mouth that packs finger-crushing force.
“Is my puppy bad? Is there something wrong with her?”
Zoe’s person started off our first lesson today with that very question. Seems that 10-week old Zoe has been a little bite-y and grumbly, and it has her first-time puppy parents rather worried, particularly because Zoe lives with a 2-year old and a 5-year old.
In my eight years of dog training I can recall only a handful of puppies whose behavior truly concerned me (one young Cane Corso springs to mind immediately) … more often than not the behaviors exhibited by the seemingly “dominant” or “aggressive” puppies are typical, very normal developmental stages.
Zoe’s person did a fantastic job teaching her how to do “down” (belly on the ground) prior to our first lesson, but her person was concerned because every time Zoe assumed the position she barked and grumbled about it. Kind of like “Ok, ok, I’ll do it already!”
Was the barking surliness? Bossiness?
Nope. In this case it was commentary. Seems that when Zoe first learned to do “down”, she barked, so she now “superstitiously” assumes that barking is a part of the process. “They ask me to do a “down”, I bark, then I do it. Ta-dah.” We managed to get a few bark-free downs, and now she’s on the road to recovery.
Zoe’s a normal little pup, and her people have nothing to worry about. Except maybe their carpet, but that’s another story.
Special needs cat, Leggo, at 7 weeks old.
Cats come in all shapes and sizes. And many come with disabilities they’ve either been born with or have developed because of injury. My baby, Angela, contracted a virus from her mother at birth which affected her sight in one eye. But that only makes me love her more.
Leggo thrives despite his handicap.
My friend, Dusty Reinbolt agrees. “Truly, I get more than I give caring for special needs cats,” says Reinbolt, who in between fostering cats, writes books like Kittens for Dummies and Cat Wrangling Made Easy:Maintaining Peace and Sanity in Your Multicat Home. Right now, Reinbolt has four six-week old bottle baby fosters, a four-month old, one with a feeding tube, and Leggo, a five-month old puddy (a Snowshoe wannabe...minus one shoe) she took in after a car engine’s fan belt severed his leg. Oh yes, that’s in addition to her own five cats, one of which is visually challenged, one who has pins in her legs, and another, like Leggo, who has only three legs.
Things were touch and go for Leggo at the start, given his tender age and his extensive injury, says Reinbolt. But he’s managed to adjust, as have all her other special needs puddies. She says most kitties faced with physical challenges just get on with the business of getting by. She says they just figure out what works for them and what doesn’t, and then adjust accordingly.
Leggo's a cutie patootie. Anyone can see that.
Leggo (whose first name is Wherma…as in Wherma Leggo?), may have lost his leg, but he won Reinbolt’s heart. “We’re usually pretty good about sending our foster kittens on to their new homes,” she says. “But I can’t give him up.” One look at his photo and you can see why. Reinbolt says she just notified the rescue group she works with (Animal Allies of Texas) she wanted to adopt Leggo. The supervisor there responded, “Big surprise! NOT!”
Reinbolt got into fostering over twenty years ago when a friend asked her to take care of a pregnant cat she found in the snow.
With love and patience, Leggo has grown even handsomer. Is that possible????
As Hemingway said, "one cat leads to another," and before long the cat lady was raising about 30 foster kittens a year.
As for her special needs cats, Reinbolt says it's very inspiring to see how these cats get along, but she admits it does take a tremendous amount of patience as you have to "let each cat take things at his/her own speed." Oh, and the main ingredient in caring for special needs puddies, is obviously lots and lots of love. And it's obvious Reinbolt has more than enough to go around.
A discarded carrier thrown by the side of the building stands as a testament to a discarded pet.
My friend, Debra White, has a lot of stories to tell. She volunteers at the Maricopa County Animal Care and Control shelter in Arizona, and spends her days, trying to raise the consciousness of people who dump their cats with lame explanations, like, "He's not that playful," or "I don't like him anymore." Hello? These are reasons?
Abandoned dogs won't go for long walks on these leashes anymore.
Anyway, she wrote the following story which I just had to share.
"Fluffy, an apricot Poodle, was left at our shelter with her favorite chew toys, and other pet paraphernalia. For unknown reasons, Fluffy’s owner suddenly decided her three-year old dog was an inconvenience. The bewildered Poodle, like all incoming dogs and cats, was escorted into a cramped, cold cage. If she’s lucky, a volunteer will get the chance to walk her. If not, she’ll sit there. Finding a new home may not be possible despite Fluffy’s pedigree status. The county shelter takes in several hundred dogs and cats every day. Fluffy has a lot of competition.
Blankets animals came in with are stacked up in the back of the shelter.
Along with their unwanted animals, I've seen owners hand over everything the animal once used...as though making a clean sweep of it. I see lined crates and carriers that once transported pets on family vacations, food bowls pets ate regular meals out of, scratching posts that kept curious cats satisfied, comfy beds pets snuggled in, medicine to maintain pets' health, and leashes to walk dogs every morning. Shelters lack the manpower to dole out squeeze balls, fake mice, or see that Fluffy eats her morning meal. They are too busy trying to attend to the puzzled cats and dogs who were once adored, and now abandoned.
Fluffly won't be playing with this toy anymore.
For shelters, money is always a problem. Even private shelters scrape by for operating funds but municipal shelters, like Maricopa County Animal Care and Control, barely manage. A self-funded agency, it receives no taxpayer funds. Sometimes our canned supply of cat food is scarce because of our budget. (We rely on donations of that.) So during hard times, I limit the moist food to kittens, older cats, or cats who seem to be having a harder time than most. When donations are plentiful, though, everyone gets a scoop. I also supply the old, injured, and frightened dogs and cats with a blanket. I tell them I’m sorry we couldn’t do better, and their eyes tell me they understand.
These are some of the many crates and carriers people left behind.
I’ve done this since 1997 when I moved to Phoenix from upstate NY where a pedestrian car accident left me disabled. I could have easily died that night,but I didn’t. I believe that's because I have a three-fold mission: to cut down overpopulation among cats by spreading the spay/neuter message, to urge people who want a pet to adopt one from a shelter, and to get people to understand that animals are part of the earth's family. And they shouldn't be discarded on a whim...like a crate or a toy."
A great message, indeed. Thanks to Debra and shelter volunteers around the world for all you do. Visit http://www.maricopa.gov/pets/ to see how you can help.
All photos by Debra J. White, copyright c 2008
I was going through a stack of old pictures over the holiday break and came across this gem:
“That’s Bella!” my Dad exclaimed.
I’ve always heard tales (tails?) of the boxers my Dad had as a child and finally I had photographic proof of Sumner’s familial legacy. Perhaps I’ve always been drawn to boxers because it’s in my blood?
Dad explained that Bella had her own elaborate kennel, and she could let herself in and out of it. She had three puppies at the time these photos were taken, seen here:
While I’m charmed by the old-timey look of the shots, and fascinated by how the breed has changed over the past sixty-plus years, I’m a little saddened by a few aspects of the photos:
1. Bella’s choke chain. Thankfully choke chains aren’t as popular now that positive reinforcement training has all but replaced the outdated “correction” style of training. Unfortunately, back then training by force was the only option.
2. The doghouse. Again, the canine world was a very different place sixty years ago, and “backyard dogs” were the norm. Given a choice, though, any dog would opt for the family home over a fancy outdoor doghouse.
3. The puppies. Did the canine overpopulation problem exist in the 1940s? Probably not at the level that it does now. The concept of adopting dogs from the shelter is so ingrained within me that I found it mildly distasteful to discover that my grandparents bred Bella as well as a few other dogs over the years.
Sure, I just threw my ancestors under the bus, but it was with a nod to the different world they inhabited.
"I wonder if I could get a job at the Calico. See, I'm friendly."
It’s such a great idea; I wish I’d thought of it first. But I didn’t…a Japanese cat lover by the name of Takafumi Fukui from Tokyo, Japan did. Yup. He quit his job and opened a café. So what? Well, these are no ordinary cafes. These are sip-some-tea-and-pet-a-puddy-cafes.
"Hey, maybe I could disguise myself. I do a really good cat imitation. I'd LOVE to go to Japan.
An article in Reuters by Yoko Kubota explains that Fukui saw a need and filled it. Seems tight housing regulations forbid many renters to own pets; so Fukui figured he’d offer pet-less people the chance to hear a purr or get their leg rubbed up against by a host of puddies in a clean facility they could drop in at at anytime, and enjoy a cup of tea, to boot.
"I wouldn't mind being a Calico Cafe employee. Sign me up."
For about seven bucks an hour, cat lovers can go to Cat Café Calico in Tokyo, (one of three such purr-fect tea/cat houses) and…after a thorough hand scrubbing…visit, pet, and play with one of fourteen well-groomed, friendly, on-staff felines, who love the visitors almost as much as the visitors love them.
"Is it cold in Japan? Sounds great. But I can't go if it's cold...No coat...see?"
Visitors are ecstatic, and some spend as much as three hours, relaxing with their favorite puddy.
Does anyone know where I can get a cheap flight to Japan?
What do you think of the idea? Comment or write me at feedback@Petside.com Subject: Kitty Tea House.
Can't make it to Japan? Click to read about new Pet Rental Services in America.
My dogs don’t have much fur (hell, Zeke barely has any) but I’m constantly amazed at how much fur and hair ends up in our bagless vacuum each week. If I don’t stay on top of the cleaning we end up with fur tumbleweeds rolling around the halls. These are short hair dogs, for crying out loud -- I couldn’t imagine owing a big old Golden Retriever!
This collection was from today’s quickie drive-by vacuuming:
Am I weird because I really like checking out how much junk ends up in the canister? I take great joy in showing it to Master Biscuit. He’s always suitably disgusted.
Tonight I discovered the most amazing vacuum related occurrence ever. May I present, the perfect hair ball:
I was emptying the canister (what fun!) and I happened to glance at the “clear view” section above it. There it was, my precious, tucked beside the filtration system. I’ll say it again: it’s perfect. It’s about three inches wide, and is so round that it could double for one of Zeke’s organic wool balls (except it’s not nearly as sturdy.)
Now I know I’m not the only person who is:
a. flummoxed by the volume of hair shed by their short hair dogs
and
b. strangely fascinated by it once it hits the vacuum canister.
Don’t be embarrassed, fellow canister-peekers. Speak up, you’re among friends here.
Have you been reading this blog wondering, “Just who is this “Madam Biscuit”, and why should I listen to her dog training advice?”
Allow me to introduce myself. And prepare to learn more about Madam Biscuit than you ever wanted to.
My name is Victoria Schade and I’m a Certified Pet Dog Trainer. I’ve been helping families train their dogs in and around the Washington, DC area for nearly eight years.
Yup, I make my living training dogs.
I released a puppy training DVD last year, called “New Puppy! Now What?” geared to first-time puppy owners who are feeling a bit overwhelmed by their new best friend. My production team and I tried to make the DVD informative but also fun to watch, and according to The Bark Magazine, we succeeded … they called “New Puppy! Now What?” a “playful take on puppy raising” and called yours truly, “very personable.” Aww, thanks!
I’ve been lucky enough to work on a bunch of TV shows and specials, both in front of the camera and behind the scenes.
I was a judge on the adorable WE channel special “America’s Cutest Puppies.” Did I make an ass of myself on that show? You betcha … thankfully, most of the embarrassing stuff didn’t make it to air. One part that did: I arm-wrestled a fellow judge, a New England Patriots cheerleader, in an effort to get the little bulldog pictured below into the finals. Though I lost the match (that cheerleader was strong!), the bulldog made it to the finals anyway. Sadly, he didn’t win the big prize:
Last Christmas I was on the CBS Early Show with veteran newscaster Bill Plante in a segment about Barney the White House dog. They edited all of my silly off-color jokes out of the segment, so I appeared very milquetoast-y. Oh, and my friend told me that the sweater I wore gave me “back fat”. It wasn’t my finest hour:
In October I filmed a bunch of dog training tips for a new TV show called “Faithful Friends” … I loved every minute of that shoot, except for the fact that the cameras zooming in on my wrinkles were of the HD variety:
I’ve worked behind-the-scenes on Animal Planet’s annual Puppy Bowl show for the past two years (stay tuned for the full story as Superbowl Sunday approaches):
And finally, in between the various special projects, daily dog training and blogging I’m also working on a book.
"Mommy, am I a bad-luck cat?"
“Mommy,” McDuff asked me the other day, “am I really a bad-luck cat?”
“No, darling,” I answered immediately. “That’s just an old-wives’ tale. See a long time ago; when men went out to sea, their wives had nothing to do. So they sat around making up silly notions….
McDuff gets the scoop from Mommy about black cats.
“Now I can only imagine how this black cat tale began,” I continued, hyperbolizing just a teeny bit. “I don’t know for certain, but I’ll bet my haw it was probably devised by some woman who, as she was admiring a beautiful black kitty like you, wasn’t looking where she was walking, and fell down a well. Now some of the other wives must have observed what happened, and blamed it on the cat. So, put that idea out of your head. You’re not bad luck.”
“In fact, if you have a moment, I’ll tell you some really good things about being a black cat,” and with that, McDuff sat down, little yellow eyes wide open.
McDuff wasn't bothered enough by the "black cat mystique" not to eat.
“In some countries, like Scotland (so Wikipedia tells us), if a strange black cat lands on your porch, it’s a sign of upcoming prosperity. What’s more in Britain and Daddy and Mommy’s beautiful, Ireland, black cats are considered good, not bad, luck….especially if you let one in your house.
“Black cats have an easier time hunting at night, McDuff, because they blend in with the dark. And some scientists believe black cats may have genes that resisted deadly infections years ago, which led to their being so many of you.”
McDuff says, "I always knew black cats were way kewl."
By this time, McDuff was off to the kitchen for a snack. So I think he was mollified. Obviously, I did stretch the truth a bit. I didn’t want to scare him by telling him the bad parts….how some people think black cats are associated with evil, witches, and the devil. I mean, I’ve been called a “witch” before, but no one could call my McDuff anything but an angel.
"Look at this face....Huh? Huh? Do I look fat to you?"
A cat is a cat is a cat....except if he's Dakota...then he may resemble three cats in one. Actually, my good friend Rachel Warren's cat, Dakota, is a husky-looking puddie, if ever there were one. And that's just the way they both like it. I mean if you're going to have a cat, Warren says, you might as well have a substantial one.
"Right now, he's 29 pounds," says Warren. "But he's come down three pounds from his high of 32 last year." Warren says her precious 16-year-old farm cat has always been an all-around big-boned puddy, with not only a sizable girth, but also big paws and a huge schnoze to boot. "Sometimes when he sits," she says, "he looks like a bulldog." And while Dakota loves his regular dry cat food, he also loves, loves, loves delicacies like ice cream, spaghetti sauce, ham, and strained tuna water, among other things.
"I'm a full-bodied feline. Anyone can see that."
Though she likes her cats formidable, Warren was worried Dakota might have health problems because of his girth. So she took him to the vet who suggested an unusual diet. "He told me to put the food in a place where Dakota would have to exert himself to get at it. So I put it on my dryer." This method bombed, though, as poor Dakota couldn't jump that high, so he wasn't getting any food at all.
Next, Warren tried rationing, but Dakota was having none of it. "As soon as he could see even a fraction of the bottom of his bowl, he would find me, sit down next to me, and meow, and meow, and meow his brains out. He was angry. He thought I was trying to starve him." So, naturally, Warren gave in and filled his bowl with a little more. But when Dakota saw the bottom of the bowl again, he'd cry for more yet again, and she'd give it to him. "It got so that he really wasn't on a diet anymore. So I would just fill his bowl up like before and let him eat. Yes, I did feel guilty, like a bad mother who let her kids eat anything they wanted. But, I just couldn't stand his crying."
"A chubby cat is a happy cat."
Dakota's a happy camper once again, now that things are back to normal food-wise. So much so, that he's willing to share. "Sometimes, he takes a piece of food in his mouth, carries it over to me, and drops it. Then he stands there waiting for petting and praise. But then he does something strange. He lays down on top of the food and rolls around in it, smiling all the while." Warren says she hasn't a clue why. "It something a dog would do," she reasons. "But if I had to guess, I think he's just showing me how happy he is."
"I'd look pretty funny with tiny paws, now wouldn't I?"
In any event, Dakota seems a bit more energetic these days, and is getting his share of exercise running back and forth to scare the squirrels that parade around Warren's back deck. So with any luck, he might just shed a pound or two in the New Year. Not a biggie, though, 'cause Warren loves her puddy just the way he is.
"I love this blanket.... It's so slimming!"
"You know, I dated a guy once who was allergic to cats. But after a few dates, I realized it wasn't going to work. I knew he'd never be able to get to know Dakota, or grow to appreciate or love him as I do. And I just couldn't live my life that way...pet-free. Maybe that makes me another Crazy Cat Lady.... But I love my cat, what can I say?"
KittyLiterate knows....AMEN!
Have you ever put your cat on a diet? Share with me stories@Petside.com "kitty diets."
I don’t train my dogs as often as I should. (That’s Dog Trainer Confession #1. More to come.) Since they know all of their “good manners” stuff (sit, down, stay, come) when I work with them we usually focus on tricks. They love it, and get very excited when they realize that the hot dogs I’m chopping up are for them and not some strange dog that they smell all over me when I return home from work.
I’m running out of tricks to teach (Zeke has an impressive array of skilz), so Master Biscuit suggested that I teach them how to fetch the newspaper from the end of the driveway. What a great idea! That’ll keep me from showing the neighborhood my embarrassing assortment of dog-themed pajamas every morning.
We had our first session today and they did great. My goal was getting the guys to actually put the paper in their mouths, which turned out to be quite the challenge . Many of the tricks I’ve taught them involve their paws (waving, high five, basic targeting), so they bashed and batted the newspaper with their paws until they finally clued in that I wanted a mouth touch, not a paw touch.
Zeke caught on first, which was no surprise. The guy is scary-smart, and he loves training. Sum enjoys it too, but he tends to get more frustrated if he can’t figure out what I want right away, and winds up yodeling at me. “What? Why are you ignoring all of these wonderful paw touches? I’ve got perfect form!” He finally figured out what I wanted, and by the end of the session he was gingerly taking the paper in his mouth. As always, Zeke was miles ahead of him, already picking up the paper and dragging it a few steps.
The newspaper ended up in decent shape, but the bag took a beating:
My next step with Zeke will be out in the back yard, tapping into his innate love of retrieving. We’ll play a few rounds of fetch with the newspaper, then I’ll plant it somewhere in the yard and send him out with a “go get it,” a cue he already knows.
Poor Sum will be bringing up the rear with some very basic “take it” training.
Will Zeke’s newspaper-fetching skills save me from my daily pajama humiliation? Or will Sumner-the-slow-learner leap ahead and become my paper boy? Stay tuned …
Our fenced-in back yard can get a little boring, so every now and then I take my guys to a nearby tennis court to play. I’ve never seen a soul using it, so even though dogs on the court are verboten, I don’t think anyone really cares (or even knows) that we’re breaking the rules.
We play a little fetch, and chase the squirrels around the perimeter:
Granted, fetch on such an unforgiving surface ain’t great for old joints, so we only do a few tosses, then we just hang out.
Zeke revels in his rule-breaking status:
|
|
|