Wordless Wednesday - Dinner At My House

The Only Good Thing about Winter

There is only one good thing about cold weather as far as I'm concerned.

Oh, I may enjoy a good snow with the best of them, but face it here in the Sunny South we're more likely to be blessed with a cold rain or one of those awesome ice storms that have us huddled in the dark for long chilly hours.

No, winter doesn't bring a long series of picture postcard days. It brings mud and ice and chilly trips outside to tend to animals who have to eat anyway. It brings worries about relatives who have to travel. It brings the propane man and his bills, the early dark, the skeletal trees against the sky.

The one thing that it brings that I really appreciate is death to fleas.

A good cold snap will, in fact, bring death to pretty much any insect not equipped with a hibernation mechanism that allows them to hide and sleep through the cold. That means goodbye to the butterflies, crickets and honey bees, which is a less welcome farewell. But on the good side it brings an end to the brown marmorated stink bugs and Asian lady beetles who appear in droves and invade our home like so many bad Asian imports, hanging out until we kill or apprehend them. More importantly it spells death to mosquitoes, most flies, ticks, and, eventually, fleas.

That's not enough to make me like winter, but it is one point on the side of cold weather.

Face it, if you own a dog or cat who goes outside, or, as in my case work with a lot of dogs, you've battled fleas this year.

Lots of fleas.

Usually a good dose of flea drops or spray is enough to keep them at bay. I have gone whole summers and not had a flea on one of my house dogs or inside. I've usually been able to keep my two yard dogs free, and sometimes the neighbor's dog as well just because treating her helps keep cross contamination down.

This summer I may has well have sprayed them with water -- they would have appreciated it about as much and it would have done about as much good.

A good treatment with the top of the line, $60 a bottle flea killer, which was supposed to last a month, might have lasted two weeks if we were lucky.

At various points during the summer my house dogs were flea infested, the children (who also live with dogs) occasionally had suspicious looking bites on their legs, my husband complained that he thought there might be fleas in the bed. I'm one of those people who don't attract blood-sucking insects so I generally lucked out.

We flea shampooed, shaved Jack Russell's hair (to increase visibility), washed bedding, sprayed. Yet no matter what we did, it seemed in a week or so we'd see the telltale signs of scratching again.

The yard dogs, unfortunately, were worse off even though I treated them regularly as well. Poor Rebel, my lab, often looked to be having seizures in the driveway as he tried in vain to scratch places he couldn't reach. Macy for some reason was less troubled, but they were both suffering.

We fought the good fight on all fronts, but there were always more. No sooner had we beat them down for a few days than I would see someone scratching again.

And don't even get me started on dogs who came for grooming. I had older dogs who I bathed and the water literally ran pink off their backs they were so infested with old flea poop. One black dog's hair was even crusty, but you couldn't tell it because of his color and his arthritis meant he'd pretty much been suffering in silence. My scalp would be crawling by the time I finished with some of my clients and I was convinced I had to be as infested as they were.

So despite the death of my flowers and the end of summer, there was a small part of me that began to breathe a sigh of relief when that first killing freeze swept through. Fresh fleas, at least, would be in reduced numbers.

The outside dogs are now bedded down in cedar and although there are still some little friends in their hair, the next warm day I plan on either bathing or spraying or both and leaving them lonely for the rest of the winter. House dogs have been pretty much itch free since that first frosty morning.

Winter is coming and while I'm struggling to find things to be thankful for, the death of the fleas will have to head the list. I'll try to remind myself that every subfreezing day is killing fleas and maybe, just maybe, that will help get me through the winter.

Seeking the Sound of Silence

I live with three house dogs.

If you've ever lived with a dog, especially a small dog, then you know that means barking. Generally the smaller the dog, the more barking.

I've come to terms with that. I expect that the UPS truck pulling in the driveway will produce mass hysteria in the house; the mail carrier stopping at the mailbox will probably bring on a round of yips; the arrival of the grandbabies and their mom will be the canine equivalent of a pyschotic breakdown; and even a slow moving vehicle may cause barking, depending on whether or not anyone is on the back of the loveseat to see it and how the outside dogs react.

I know that when the house has been empty of humans for any amount of time, the dogs will have an explosive greeting for the returning people -- barking, wagging, jumping on and off the furniture. It's a little over the top sometimes, but they miss us and it is their way of welcoming us home.

I love my dogs and I know that's their communication, that they are welcoming me, or warning me, or warning off whatever it is they think might be a threat.

When it becomes a problem during the daylight hours, I have long ago devised ways of coping. During the girls' nap time, they are either on the enclosed front porch, in the fenced back yard, or in the kennel area where their barking won't bother little people. When my husband was working second shift, I made sure they were in the kennel early in the morning so dogs arriving early wouldn't trigger the doggy alarm and wake him too early. I'm considerate that way.

Yet it was during the five months he spent on second shift that the barking of my little terriers became a problem. Of course, it was a problem for me with no one else to tuck them out of sound's way.

Perhaps because they knew I was home alone at night, they became super vigilant. Hubby's return would darn near send them into convulsions -- at about 12:30 a.m. Then he started using the backdoor, which pretty much eliminated the barking for some reason. Apparently they thought boogers had to come from the road.

Then that stopped working in a new way. Not long after he began coming quietly in the back door, the terrier trio, deprived of their midnight reason for barking, began waiting until I'd been asleep for 20 or 30 minutes and barking their heads off anyway. At the back door.

Regardless of the fact that I work at home, I have to be up in the morning. In the summer I'm walking dogs before 7 a.m. and most days I have dogs arriving before 7:30 a.m. There's no sleeping in to make up for a midnight interruption. Spontaneous barking in the middle of the night, especially when the outside dogs are absolutely quiet, is not welcome.

The outside dogs are actually in charge of being an alarm system because if it moves at night, they bark at it. Even if it's me. And they saw me come out. If I go anywhere other than the kennel at night, I get barked at. I have a lot of fun with that sometimes and they may bite me for it. I have actually chased them down the road in the dark with them barking like I might be a bear. That is, until I die laughing at which they return with a sheepish look on their faces.

But back to the little dogs and their night terrors.

The first time they did it, I threatened them with untimely, violent deaths.

The second time, I put them in the back yard and went back to bed. I sent my husband a text so he would know why they were there and bring them in.

The third night, I put them out, then the next morning went on Ebay and ordered three anti-bark collars.

The description said the collars would beep when the dogs barked, then if they barked again within 30 seconds they would receive a shock. If the barking continued, the shock would become stronger. There was some slight risk of other noises causing it to go off as well, so I should be aware of beeps when the dogs weren't barking.

Well, I hated to do it, but it beat killing them.

I had tried other anti-bark ultrasonice devices with no luck, so I wasn't going that route again. I had bought the ultrasonic collars years ago for different dogs. I didn't hear anything but barking and apparently neither did they. I even tried one of those tabletop devices in the kennel. Same result. Maybe it was the devices, but I'm not sure the ultrasonic actually does anything.

Until the collars arrived, I continued to evict my housemates when they decided to bark. Then one day the package was in the mail box. A few adjustments and my three little friends were wearing uncomfortably large looking plastic boxes on their throats.

It was great. In just a few short minutes, I eliminated barking. A beep would have all three dogs laying their ears back and retreating quietly. No more interrupted nights, or naps, or mornings.

Yes, in short order I fell in love with the antibark collars.

But there were problems.

The most apparent problem was that I lost my driveway alarm. During daylight hours, my outside dogs don't always bark at arrivals, and with no one barking inside, people actually had to come to the door. That was a little disconcerting, so I started only using the collars when I wanted to keep the little ones quiet.

Then there was random beeping. Other dogs in the kennel would set them off, as would the girls if they got loud. Oops. I began taking the collars off to take them to the kennel and quieting the girls or letting the dogs out if the noise level triggered a beep.

The biggest problem to emerge was a short lifespan on the batteries. After about 10 days of peace, barking returned. There was no beep, no shock, and the dogs quickly recognized they could return to their old bad habits. The collars were not the training devices they promised to be once the beep went away.

Luckily the batteries weren't too expensive and readily available.

But about the time the second set were wearing out, circumstances changed and the second shift job changed to first shift. The anti-bark wasn't quite so important. I put the collars and spare batteries away.

Then, just the other night in some sort of terrier flashback, 30 minutes after I collapsed into bed, they exploded into a barking frenzy at the back door. Outside dogs weren't barking. Hubby was in bed and either sleeping really good or dead. Just me and the dogs, and I was once again contemplating peticide.

I put batteries in the collars without even turning on the lights. The dogs lost their enthusiasm for whatever imaginary fiend they were pursuing and we all went back to bed.

Now I'm looking ahead to future nights and wondering how to manage their apparent bad habit of midnight barking extravaganzas.

I'm thinking the collars are making a nighttime only comeback for all three of the little darlings. Whether they all have a battery or not remains to be seen. I hate that they look uncomfortable and that the collars must bother their rest at night, but wait a minute, they freaking sleep all the time. It's my rest at night that needs help. Sorry guys.

But I will admit, if I had it to over, I would change one thing. I'd buy a collar with rechargeable batteries.

The Crazy Dog Lady

I'm sure my neighbors all know me as the crazy dog lady.

Heck, strangers probably know me as the crazy dog lady. Not the crazy cat lady, someone else on my road has that title with her band of feral felines.

It's not a craziness that I keep hidden very well. While animal hoarders usually keep their numbers secret in fetid, smelly houses or buildings, I parade mine up and down the road every day.

It struck me the other morning how much of a crazy dog person I must seem to the occasional random drivers who pass me during my morning walk. A pickup I didn't recognize came along and I herded my pack to the side to wait and reflected on how I must appear.

There I was with three Jack Russell terriers, a fuzzy black Yorkie mix, a terribly obese dapple dachshund, and a larger mixed breed on leashes. In addition, three labs (two black and one fox red with suspiciously hound-like ears) and a black, border collie mix were trailing me at various distances off leash.

So basically, I was out walking 10 dogs. No wonder people stop to stare. Really. Strangers, the UPS driver, and my mail carrier who one day stopped and made my picture.

Yes, it's a wonder sometimes that we can navigate up and down the road without a major mishap.

In my defense, they weren't all mine. At the same time, I realized that out of that group of 10, six were.

So, most people would say I have too many dogs. Even if I had my ideal number of four, or at least the number I think is ideal, I might still have too many dogs for a lot of people.

But the simple fact is since the little stray dog we took had puppies under our old house and one of the litter of seven stayed on as mine, dogs have been part of my life. Hershey was my absolute best friend from that summer through my teens and into my young adulthood. Instead of missing the things other girls had, I took my dog and roamed the hills around the house -- usually with my grandparents' dogs as well and sometimes with a small pack of beagles I raised. He was the absolute best dog I have ever owned and obeyed me even when I was an irrational, emotional teen. When I went off to college, it was missing my dog that brought me home every weekend and away from the parties of college life. For 15 years he was there waiting for me and counting on me, and when it came time to say goodbye, I accompanied him into the vet's office, held him and talked to him, and cried as I said one of the most painful farewells of my life.

Since the time he became my dog, I have never been without one or more dogs and I should have used that same devotion as a measure of the men I let into my life. Most of my exes never would have passed muster, as I can think of very few (barring my current spouse) who looked at dogs as I did, as a lifelong companion and commitment.

In all the intervening years, there have been dogs -- sometimes special ones who were part of the family like Beau, Otis and Lucy (1), sometimes dogs I sought out like Abi, Sadie, Al and Willie, sometimes dogs who needed me more than I did them and somehow became part of my pack (pretty much everyone else living with me now). I'm my happiest in a career that surrounds me with dogs -- mine and those of other people, that I can fall in love with and enjoy for the wonderful creatures they are.

Each of them ultimately carve a unique place in my life and heart. Whether they are mine, or belong to someone else, they take up residence in my life and become my friends. When they are gone, I mourn their passing -- even when I'm not around to say goodbye or feel the vacancy left in their owners' lives.

I'll never be one of those people who says this is my last dog or that the loss of a dog is so painful that I don't want another.

As long as I'm able to care for a dog, or get someone to help me, I'll have a dog. Even knowing that someday they will break my heart, I'll have a dog for every smile they bring me, for every walk they encourage me to take, for every stinky kiss and warm snuggle, every bit of dirt, fleas and inconvenience they bring into my life. Because I know, in the big scale of what makes my life work, the good outweighs the bad every time.

And I'm proud to be a crazy dog lady.

Small Children and Dogs Really Aren't That Different

Most people probably don't look at it like I do, but then most people don't spend their days steeped in the similarities. When it comes right down to it, small children and dogs are a lot alike and, in a lot of ways, managing them requires the same skill set.

Before you get your panties in a bunch, no, that doesn't mean that everything that works for the two-legged creature works for the four-legged or vice versus, although both do respond to the bribery of a treat. And no, it doesn't mean I crate the grandchildren for time out. They do that themselves for fun.

Whatever the similarities early on, children, regardless of how they are raised, will outgrow living by instinct. Dogs left to their own devices will still be dogs.

If you look into the science, you'll find there are studies that support a lot of my conclusions. Babies and small children operate at an instinctive level, just like dogs, as their brain continues to develop. Both are chiefly concerned about their own needs, they react to stimulus at a level that doesn't have society's filters on it, they need house training (one of the toughest parts of dealing with either one), and no matter how well they listen at home, if you take them anywhere you may want a leash.

Seriously, whether you have children or dogs, you have to practice patience, you have to provide food and shelter, you have to protect them from the hazards of a world they don't completely understand (think dogs and streets), and above all you have to be the adult -- the part of the equation that keeps things balanced and doesn't forget that in most instances, no matter what you are dealing with, you are the biggest, scariest thing in the room.

Sometimes reminding myself of that helps me deal with both parts of my day.

For example, it is a waste of time and energy to ask either group why they did what they just did that has me ready to scream. Neither the Es nor the canines have any words to explain themselves, whether it is drawing on the walls (girls) or taking a whiz indoors when they've just been outside (dogs, in case you wonder). On those occasions, I have to work hard to remind myself I'm the only reasoning adult. I just need to breathe, tell them that was a bad choice in whatever language is appropriate for the audience, clean it up and move on. Really, 10 minutes later I'm likely to be the only one who remembers what happened.

Both will let you know when things aren't going well. With a dog it may be raised hackles, a low growl, cowering, snapping, or a determination to dominate another dog. When that happens, it's important for me to put a stop to it because it will only escalate. A bullied dog will fight back and someone could get hurt if I don't bring the aggressor under control. When a dog is getting out of control or needs a reminder of who is boss, like a child he may need a time out -- into the crate with you! For Pedro, the rescue pit bull I'm working with now whose social skills are pretty much non existent anyway, that means come to me and sit and let me throw my arm across your back. Dogs don't really like that position because it means you are the boss, which is why it works so well to ratchet him down a level. Then we play a game of fetch, which he loves, and move on.

For the girls, there can be less warning (no growls or hackles) before someone snaps and pushes someone else away from a toy. Sorting out who did what is harder, but the results are less likely to end in a visit to a medical professional, too. Usually the blame can be attached to the oldest sibling because, face it, she just has more to work with. And sometimes E1 is a lot like Pedro in that she has so much energy and needs something constructive to do and she begins to lose it. I know yelling at her would be as effective as shrieking at Pedro. Instead we've developed a breathe and count exercise -- take a deep breath, count to 10, take another deep breath -- that helps her reset. We stop whatever is sending her into overdrive and do the exercise together (honestly, sometimes it helps me, too). By the end she has usually regained control of herself and is ready to go on with something more positive.

And yes, sometimes spending time with one influences how I spend time with the other. But the lessons are more for me than they are for either the children or the dogs. How I manage my own behavior and emotions is the biggest factor in how either group learns and grows.

Whether working with children or dogs, seeing them cast aside a bad behavior for one you've helped them learn can be the sweetest victory. Hearing E1 stop and say she needed to count made me smile as I knew she was beginning to use that tool when she felt herself in danger of a bad outburst. Watching Pedro overcome his dog aggression even enough to walk confidently with a growing number of dogs makes me want to reward him with a whole bag of treats.

In both instances, making better choices myself leads to a better outcome for them and that's another area where dogs and children are alike. Whether we recognize the similarities or not, we are the ones in charge and, until our children enter the next phase of development somewhere around preschool, the ones most responsible for the outcome.

So take a deep breath and count to 10. Whatever you're dealing with, it's up to you to do it right.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

No matter what I tell people I do there's a good chance they'll think it's awesome. Maybe not because of what I do, exactly, but because of how they imagine it. Or because they think working for yourself means you have the easiest job in the world, no matter what you do.

Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but I'd like to set the record straight.

Working for yourself is no picnic. In fact, my boss is awful. She never gives me a day off, although I may get to start work an hour late on weekends. There are no sick days unless I'm unable to get out of bed and then, well, never mind, there are no sick days. Vacations, well, that's only if there is no work -- can't be assigning your duties to someone else. No holidays. No sympathy. No praise. Just get the job done.

The trade off is my wardrobe is whatever the heck I feel like wearing a lot of the time. I have been known to go out and meet a morning drop off in my pajamas, but only if they are regulars who won't think less of me for it. I do try to put on a clean outfit occasionally, but most mornings my wardrobe has been previously worn because dogs in the morning aren't necessarily really clean. They're so happy to see you and careless about where they put their feet. Makeup is not required, nor a spiffy hairdo, because dogs require no impressing and people who want you to take care of their dogs aren't looking for madam professional. Comfort and ease of cleanup are the rules.

Then there are the people who are just enamored by the fact that you take care of dogs. Wow! That sounds like so much fun. It's like having 20 dogs of your own! All that love and petting. You get to walk them and play with them. Awesome!

And all that is true, but it's like running a daycare with children who don't wear diapers and aren't potty trained. They are jealous for my attention. Some don't play well with others. Some are ok as long as they don't get too excited. Some just want to be held. Some are eager to pick a fight and show who's boss. A walk can be a smooth trip down the road, or it can be a literal trip. Lots of dogs don't know how to get along with other dogs or walk in a straight line.

Then there's the part you don't think about. Once in a while a dog gets a little stressed. When he or she does, the frequent result is diarrhea...in a closed area... Yep, cleanup and a good airing out for the kennel as well as apologies to everyone who had to smell it. And maybe a bath for the dog. And me.

Even when they go where they should, there's a lot of pooh to be picked up and disposed of on a regular basis. My shoes suffer a great deal and Crocs or knockoffs are the best, most washable option.

And that's just my regular job.

There's also the joy of keeping my three granddaughters, which I would not trade for anything. But the experience of being a "when I want them" grandma, versus a "when the parents are working" ma is two different things.

When you think about getting to spend a lot of time with your grandchildren (or even your children), it can be enveloped in a rosy haze of love and sweetness. There's baking and flowers and playing on the swings and reading.

And there may be all of that, but it's after dealing with part A of my day, so I may be tired. And they aren't always in the best of moods. And I do have to say no -- a lot. Because just like the dogs there is jealousy, getting too excited or tired, and poop in inappropriate places. If we all end the day on a positive note with good memories (and I know my memories will last longer than theirs) then it's been a good day.

Sometimes I don't quite achieve that and feel like a miserable failure. But there's always the next day to try and get it right.

So before you envy me my "stay at home grandma, dog lover" jobs, think about walking a mile in my shoes.

I was up at 7 a.m. Sunday cleaning up dog poop? What were you doing?