Lives in a Shoe

Bovine Hussy

Margaret Thatcher (at right, with the Nike swoosh on her forehead) goes into heat every three weeks or so.  At these times she calls to the bull across the street -- he's a real hottie.  Her companion, big ol' steer Elmer Cudd (Bubba) retreats to the slope by the barn during those times, and grazes by himself.  No fool, he.

My girl Margaret is not subtle; playing hard to get isn't her game.  She bellows like an elephant, really -- the cow equivalent of "Hi, Handsome, wanna party?"  Before the bull came to live across the street she would stand in our pasture and call out to the llamas next door.  She does not call to the horses on the north side, though -- she has her standards, and cud chewing is a nonnegotiable. 

The whole neighborhood knows when Margaret is looking for love, and I have no doubt that folks in Idaho are aware of it as well.  Someday she will figure out that going through a three-strand barbed wire fence would not be difficult -- just one small barrier on the road to love. 

I don't want her to have a calf because I will name the calf and it will stay here forever.  Our little herd of two is nicely balanced -- Bub is so fond of Margaret that he suffered pangs of jealousy when we had a steer visitor -- put "Benjamin" (without quotes) in the Google search box on the upper right of this page and you'll see what I mean.  It's the November 14, 2005 post.

My problem has been to find a veterinarian who will spay Margaret.  It's an unusual request, apparently.

Me:  Hello.  I'd like to talk to the doctor about having my cow spayed.  She's a pet and she keeps going into heat.

Vet Office Person:  Is she a mini?

Me:  No.  She's a holstein cow, about six or seven years old, and she's had a calf.

Vet Office Person:  A pet holstein...

Me:  Yes.  And I'd like to have her spayed.

Vet Office Person:  Is this a joke?  Did Bob tell you to call?  Who IS this?

Me:  No, no -- not a joke.  My cow needs to be spayed.  She keeps going into heat.

Vet Office Person:  We don't do that, but, um -- you could either let her have a calf, or keep her away from the bull.

Well, duh.  The point isn't the possibility of pregnancy (as if she might get in trouble and need to stay at the home for wayward cows), the point is the agitation, the bellowing and pacing.  She is unhappy at those times and we are too.  Finally I found a veterinarian guy who does this -- apparently it is done to young beef cows to keep them from getting distracted by romantic longings while they are supposed to be packing on the pounds.  He says he will perform surgery on Margaret to remove her ovaries but will leave her uterus.  Good enough.  So we've scheduled it for October 4th.

Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc?

For years life has been good here at Casa Chaotic.  The cats took care of the rodents.  My dogs had no fleas.  I lived in harmony with wasps who nested only in the eaves of my outbuildings and flew search-and-destroy missions against cabbage moths.

Then Mary moved in across the driveway.  On Wednesday Edgar's groomer Germaine told me she had found "about eleven fleas".  Later that day Mary asked me to come over and check it out: Conspicuously energetic yellowjackets were massing around her eaves, increasing exponentially by the hour.  Then yesterday she informed me that the electricity had gone out in half her houselet.

I invested a fair part of the grocery money on enough Advantage to slather on 13 dogs and two cats.  I summoned an electrician who replaced a faulty outlet in the houselet, and an exterminator who gravely held his ear to Mary's living room wall for what seemed to me to be a very long time.  "Do you want a glass or something to hear better?" I asked him.  "Nope," he said, "I can hear them just fine."  There were lots of yellowjackets inside that wall, probably representatives of all building trades, maybe working in concert to erect a sports stadium or a union hall. 

Mary had to find a way to get all six of her cats away from the premises -- which she did by putting five of them in a dog kennel on the front porch and making the sixth cower under her bed.  The exterminator donned his hazmat suit, complete with gloves and face netting.  The battery is dead on the camera or I'd have taken a picture to show you.  It was wonderful to watch.  He carefully sprayed stuff and told us that if we still saw a lot of yellowjackets on Monday we should call him.  He said they would ingest this stuff and die on the spot, sort of like Jonestown and Kool-Aid.

Fleas, bum electricity, yellowjackets -- can we expect a plague of locusts next?  I don't really think Mary's causing all this stuff. 

But I intend to keep a sharp eye on my first-born son, just in case.

A is for ...

AH-OOOGA. 

George's new toy -- a Model A, shown here with George and neighbor Steve.  The 1931 Model A was part of the second run of A's made by Ford.  It runs well, too.

Brave New World

Sign in North Seattle, Washington -- Greenwood and North 125th.

Crossword Puzzles, Sharp Pens Next...

From UPI:

Knitting deemed dangerous at hospital

Congleton, England -- The rhythmic click-click of knitting needles at one British hospital has become a little less noticeable because officials said the needles may be too sharp.

Relatives and patients at Congleton War Memorial Hospital, a National Health Services Trust facility, used to be asked to knit squares that could be sewn into blankets and donated to local charities. Now, any knitter looking to purl away some time must ask permission at the hospital's reception desk before being handed the supposedly hazardous equipment, the Daily Mail reported Monday.

Michael Lambert, chairman of the hospital's league of friends, said a box was available to anyone who wanted to knit a blanket square while visiting.

"The idea was they would then be sent off to charities and be turned into blankets and clothes for the needy," Lambert said. "Then one day a health and safety guy came along and didn't like the look of the box of wool and needles."
Bernie Salisbury, director of nursing and operations at another NHS Trust hospital, said the measure was a "sensible and proactive measure will avoid preventable accidents."

Deaf Dog Picnic! ........Huh??

I said: Deaf. Dog. Picnic.  Look:

We're all giving it our best to make those puppers pose for the camera.

This is our fourth more-or-less, sorta-kinda annual picnic.  The problem is, we're spread out over the Pacific Northwest so it's hard to come up with a central location. 

I was pleased to host it here at Casa Chaotic for the second time and really appreciate the effort of those who came from far away, bearing goodies.

Jim is our guiding spirit -- he has great organizational ability and it's a darn good thing.  Without him, we'd still be sitting at our computers wondering why we can't decide on a date and a place.

His deaf cattle dog Rocket is an agility competitor, and hearing sidekick Toby goes with him.

On the right we have Maggie with deaf great Dane Oliver and his hearing sidekick Rufus.  These dogs are so gentle, so polite.  Loved and loving.

Marilyn with deaf cattle dog Echo and sidekick Libby.  Libby, who has only three legs, looks so much like our Babe -- and she runs like the wind.  Nobody told her she is handicapped, you see. 

On the right, Renee and Lucy.  We believe Lucy is channeling Grace Kelly -- we always expect her to show up wearing little white gloves -- she is the most ladylike dog.  And she knows how to party, too.

Trina with adorable deaf Dane puppy Whisper and semi-puppy Casper, along with their hearing sidekick Louie.  Whisper was born deaf and also has limited vision.  Doesn't slow her down a bit.  Not one bit.

Mary's dog Delilah Pearl (Catahoula Leopard Dog -- who knew?) isn't a deafie, but a gimpie, given Honorary Deaf Dog status for the day.  She was found on the freeway with smashed hind legs and is going to have some more months of surgery and rehab.

Here I am trying to make my blind pitbull Joyful and deaf cattle dog/Smurf Cookie look at the camera and say Cheese.

And -- the WINNER OF THE ENERGIZER BUNNY TROPHY FOR CONTINUOUS UNFLAGGING MOVEMENT:  Dalmation puppy Poppyseed, here with her people Lacia Lynn and Ben.  Believe me, this picture doesn't even come close to showing how darn cute this dog is.  She is busy and full of life, and the most adorable little thing.  That she is deaf adds a layer of challenge to her training, but she sure seems intelligent and observant.  By the next picnic she'll be all grown up -- Glad I got to meet her now.

Renee said it best, that all our dogs -- blindies, deafies, gimpies and normalies -- had a good time.  And their people did too.

We Will Never Forget

From Atlas Shrugs.

Happy Birthday Judi

We met when we were 12-going-on-13.  Her family had moved to our southern California neighborhood from Illinois.  She says I was wearing blue plaid capris that day, and I say no -- she was. I know her people; she knows mine.  I know her history; she knows mine -- even the embarrassing parts.

She has been my friend for lo, these many years.  I've ached for her in her griefs and she has been there for me in mine.  We've rejoiced for one another in times of jubilation.  No card from Hallmark could convey what she is to me -- as dear as a sister could be, all the dearer for having been chosen rather than born to it.

She is a week younger than I and during that one precious week she likes to call and treat me as an elder.  So -- happy birthday, Jude.  You've reached the big 6-0 along with me.  As your dad used to say, "Who would of thunk it?"

Three Cheers for Germaine

Germaine is a dog groomer extraordinaire.  Without her, Edgar the schnauzer looks like a scrungewort.  (Ask me how I know this.)  She sent this open letter around and I'm reproducing it here because I think it says all there is to say.  The guy's a criminal.

Respected NAACP leader,
   
    Please allow me to vent my frustration in the case concerning Michael Vick. I happen to be of African heritage. Also an avid animal lover. My stomach hurts to think that one of "my kind" could do something so incredibly horrific and inhumane to a living, breathing thing. An animal that breathes the same air as we all do.
    The fact that he lied, tells that he knew he was wrong and this "sport" is wrong. He is "the bad crowd". We should be ASHAMED of him, not protecting him because of his race. His bad character is what made him do this. He has  been a lying, cruel, arrogant human being throughout this uncovered mess. Now that he is caught, he wants to use what is only a "word" to him to get himself out. "God." He brought this upon himself as a role-model to at least thousands of kids (mostly black) and let down millions of fans and friends (mostly Black) who thought so highly of him a nd still not one sincere apology from his mouth. Not even an insincere apology to the animals that he tortured to death just for fun!
    I'm sure you will agree that we as a race DO need to make an example of him, and not discredit ourselves by supporting cruel acts because the person is of African descent. The fact that he is African American does not make him a better person. If anything, in his position, he should have been a person for ALL to look up to. The fact that he is a millionaire and an exquisite player, comes with a price that he did not want to pay. NAACP is very wrong to support ANY person whose heart and character would allow them to commit such torture. Whoopi, we all know loves attention, but what is your excuse for defending such a "person"? His race and fame? He was not concerned about that for the last seven years, so why are we so concerned about it now, NAACP? Why cry wolf for this man? He has no excuse for what he has done to those animals . He let the pitbull breed down as well as Black children who happen to love animals as well.  How are their parents to explain to them that their once hero has always been an animal torturer. That is what this is about. Not only gambling or "sport". Torture, for the FUN OF IT. These are the facts. How many more animals were tortured that we will never know about? Cats (his dad confesses), bait dogs, other "sweethearts" who would not turn mean after torture. He has no one to blame but himself. Not "White America", friends, relatives, mom or dad. HIMSELF! On top of everything, he let down Black children everywhere. They cannot see him get away with this and get support because of his race. That does the public a disservice. That is racism in itself...

Sincerely,
Germaine Kornegay
Proud African American Woman

EMail from Monte

A few years ago I had written a detailed ad to run in several local papers in an effort to find just the right home for a foster dog, a deaf dalmation mix.  It took some time.  There weren't a lot of calls, but enough to give me something to work with. 

One of the calls was from a guy named Bill who thought he might be interested.  He mentioned that he and his wife had one dog already, Rosie, a rescue who had been wandering in a campground when his daughter took her in.  He took the dog to work with him almost every day.  The more I talked to him the more I had a strong feeling that he should look at one of my other foster dogs -- Monte.  I hadn't planned to adopt Monte out just yet, but... 

Monte was a beautiful young border collie boy.  He had been in a home situation that wasn't the greatest and he was given up voluntarily.  I got the impression that the husband had let his heart overrule his brain, had brought the dog home on impulse, and the wife objected.  Also, the husband worked 12- to 16-hour days.  Monte had been alone day and night, pretty much, in an empty bare small backyard with a six-foot cedar fence, although he was gentle and loving with the people and with their four-year-old child.  He had been so lonely and bored that he'd chewed completely around the edge of the wooden deck.  I went there to pick him up and the lady of the house said that he was "wild" when she had let him inside once -- apparently he'd jumped up on the coffee table and scattered some magazines.  So that was it.  He lived outside all the time.  Alone. 

The man cared enough that a week or so after I brought Monte here he drove out with his little daughter to check out the place and to have his little girl say goodbye.  He meant well and had a kind heart.

Monte was an absolute gentleman, not to mention beautiful.  Smart, willing to please, calm -- especially for a border collie.  Got along well with all our dogs and with the cats, good with neighbor kids.  Was curious about the cows but didn't chase them.  He had super good manners and a sweetness of character.  I'd intended to find him the perfect home after I placed the deaf dog.

But there was something about my conversation with Bill that made me think this might be worth checking out.  Bill was hesitant, wondering if a border collie would be maybe too hyper for their household.  I knew that this border collie was mellow enough to fit in, that he was so special -- and something about Bill's conversation made me want to introduce them. I brought Monte out to Bill and Mary's house and while we were discussing what might be the best way to introduce Monte to lab mix Rosie, Monte let himself into the backyard and he and Rosie were capering around as if they'd known each other forever.  While we were sitting in the kitchen, Monte put his head on Mary's lap. 

I drove home with tears in my eyes -- I'd miss Monte but it was so clear that he was where he belonged, that he's with his Forever Family. 

The best part of it all is -- they've taught Monte to use email.  I told you he was smart.  Look:

         Hi Foster Mom Catherine,

I'm so sorry that I haven't written. I've been so busy with my forever
family. We just got back from a road trip to Disneyland. Rosie and I
actually went to Disneyland...well we went to the fabulous kennels at
Disneyland. We got to ride the tram from the parking garage and WOW was that
fun. Even better though, Forever Mom and Dad took us to the Dog Beach in
California. I have attached a few pictures to show you what fun we had. The
first one is a little fuzzy, it's me sleeping in the car on the way...I did
a lot of that. I am very, very good in the car...so is Rosie. The second one
is me playing with a "new friend" at the beach. The next one is, well me
again. And the next one is Rosie and me after the beach....boy we're we
tired. Next, Forever Mom said to send along the movie of Rosie and me at the
beach. I hope you can make it work on your computer. And Forever Mom thought
you might like to see our obedience school graduation pictures. Rosie only
made it through basics before she dropped out, but I did basic, advanced and
tricks and clicks. I love to do tricks. Did I ever tell you that I can open
the screen door to our deck to go out and back in? I also have a bell I ring
at the front door to be let in. Forever Mom says I'm very, very smart. She
says she'll take some pictures of me doing my tricks so we can send them to
you...

Thank you so much for taking care of me between my first home and my forever
home. You are such a kind and loving mom yourself.

Forever your foster son,
Love
Monte

I couldn't make the movie work, but here are some pictures:  Rosie, Monte, and Rosie and Monte all tired out from the beach.  Is this wonderful, or what?