This is Murray (Slaughter) named after the Mary Tyler Moore Show character. Our other two dogs are named Baxter and Teddy, so it was inevitable. As it happened, it's a perfect name for him, because it rhymes with so many words: scurry, flurry, slurry, furry -- it's pretty awesome.

It's been 7 months since I took him home from the shelter, where he was traumatized, I think. He's come SO FAR from the terrified little dog he was. The people there, in the guise of "helping" him would put a thick rope around around his neck to get him out from the corner where he'd hide his head. They'd lift him up and he'd pee and shit from pure panic.

After I brought him home it took him about a two weeks or so to finally come out from hiding behind the couch or in the kennel travel box we have (with door open) or under whatever he could find. Fortunately, Teddy and Baxter were wonderful and never pushed him or tried to scare him or come on strong. They were truly truly the awesomest dogs ever.

Murray adopted Teddy, the more even-tempered guy, as his big brother. He follows Teddy around, shadows him, curls up with him, all that. And Teddy is a trooper. The Guy (husband) has called Murray "Teddy's dog" and I almost died from laughing so hard, because it's true!

He seems to have gotten over, or coming over, another behavioral hump. Like I said, it's been seven months, so I think it's finally sinking in that he can trust us - all of us - and he's letting the kids and the Guy pet him more often and more thoroughly, but I'm the one he seems to trust the most. He follows me around the house a lot. He gives me puppy dog eyes.

His back story is, a local woman living in the town next to ours is a part time/full time dog rescuer. A lot of dogs are found on the streets of the area (predominantly hispanic, they tend to let dogs loose, and it's also a big dumping area with large parks north of the town). My area was also a huge dumping ground a few years ago, but that stopped. So she tracked down two little dogs running wild - in a high coyote territory, mind you - skinny, underfed, terrified of people little dogs. She caught Murray, still don't know how exactly, it must have been difficult, and took him to the city shelter where he was given food - he was bone skinny - and was neutered.

About a week later I saw his pathetic, sorry looking face up on the website. Kept going back to it. He was SO SAD and in shock. Still skinny when I saw him at the shelter - I went specifically for him, too. He'd gained weight, but not enough. I got the Guy to agree to let me get him.

And here he is. Everyone likes him, he's getting more adorable as his personality comes out. He plays with Teddy and Baxter and we laugh at how happy he looks. His fur coat is now healthy instead of smelly and breaking from rubbing on it. His tail is spectacular and the fur on his ears has filled out. I think he was younger than they thought - the shelter estimated 2 years old from the teeth, but honestly, dogs don't get their full adult coat like Murray has until, well, they're fully adult. I think he was coming out of his puppy stage. Maybe 14 months old?

Anyway, he's a doll now. I'm waiting for the day he jumps up onto my lap.
Never a dull moment at our house. Oh no. It would be NICE to have a dull moment again.

Goldy (see icon) has been running into things more often recently. This afternoon I took a closer look at him when he came in from outside, squinting with both eyes. Looking closer, his right eye had been scratched-badly-and I had to take him into see the vet. He's got ulcerated eyeball. The vet prescribed antibiotic eyedrops, told me to put them in his eye twice a day for 10 days, and bring him back in five days (that would be Tuesday next week). His cataracs are getting worse, which is why he's banging into corners and walls-not so much the walls, but it happens-and door frames.

Poor guy. I'm sure it hurts like hell, but he's not really reacting much to it. I can't imagine what it feels like.
I just brushed another chihuahua sized clump of undercoat from Goldy's coat. I've been brushing him steadily for short stretches for about three weeks now, and holy hairball. I thought I was making sure he was brushed and declumped. But whoa, Goldy! He's got a whole pack of chihuahuas buried in there.  It's a slow process, and I don't want to ship him off to a groomers and risk making him paranoid about groomers because of his thick fur coat. I don't trust that the groomers I know of (low paid and generally students in Just a Job) are really going to treat him well. He's getting up there in age. His face is all white now compared to the icon photo.
There's a new show on TLC or Science Channel (one of those, I forget which) called Evolve. We DVRed the first two shows. The first was all about how the Digestive System/Process in animals' and humans' bodies helped us all become what we are.

Well, there was a total gross-out moment when in explaining how a ruminant's stomach worked to digest grass, they showed a cow at a veternarian school with a window in its side for viewing! And reaching into the cow's stomach and checking out the food inside! It was so gross! 

It reminded me of that heart-plug scene in the movie Dune, where the Baron takes the plug out of a young boy slave and screws him as the slave's life-blood spews out everywhere. (DeLaurentis, you have a twisted mind) Anyhow, it was the plug idea that was similiar. But holy cow, Batman. Had no idea they did this to living animals.

here's a story for you! Erm, the animal was dead at the time of the autopsy, so no animals were harmed in the "rip and stitch" as it was called in the article.

Argh!

Aug. 5th, 2008 02:46 pm
I can no longer go into one of my favorite forums now because it's awash with people begging for clicks on their dragon eggs. 

It's totally operant conditioning, and makes begging a typical thing, crowds the threads and ARGH! Why?
 

Yeah, roosters. Some of you may remember back a few months ago, I wrote about our neighbors who built a chicken coop and stocked it with three hens and one big cock. 

The Guy and I noticed about a week or so ago, a rooster crowing. It wasn't overly noisy; it sounded muffled, so we were able to just let it go. It wasn't particularly obvious, so live and let live, as they say.

However, yesterday, the Guy noticed that they have TWO roosters crowing away, and they aren't muffled anymore. TWO, people. There's one with a deep voice, and another who sounds like he should be singing for The Phantom of the Opera.

I'm going to have to call animal control again. Hopefully I won't get the same person as last time, who said to me, "You DO realize that roosters crow?"

No. Shit. Sherlock.

Although this isn't anywhere NEAR as bad and loud as that house next to a flock of geese  it's still annoying.





Okay, perhaps as a subgenre, it really isn't THAT new. After all, fictional dog stories have been around forever, since before Anubis or Cerebus poked their heads out of the collective human imagination.

I was in Target this morning, gathering Valentines Day treats and cards for the kids, the Guy, and one of the kids' classes, and wandered over to the book section. And I was amazed at the number of Dog Memoir books that were on the shelf. It's not as apparent to me in a Barnes and Noble because of the size of the store. But at Target? Wow. I counted at least nine books with dogs on the covers. They varied in focus from the dog being the main focus, or the dog being a featured part of someone's life, but still, more or less as part of their life. 

It's an interesting phenomenon. After all, I don't see reams of books centered on pet cats, lolling on their owner's laps and uplifting their lives. Could just be the nature of the beast (so to speak). Most of the books I've skimmed through center on the life, and then eventual death, of the family's dog, going into great detail of the grief process, and how the dog affected not only their, but other's lives, through their very existence.

I suppose Dog Memoir books help their readers get through or remember their OWN dog experiences, and the sadness of their pet's passing. Heck, I was tearing up at the description of the after effects of one memoir dog's death. It brought back the death of my own favorite dog. He died over twenty years ago. Did his life fit within the formula I see in these books? (after all, how different can all these dogs' lives be, except for their owners' lives?)  Most likely, yeah, his life did. Is it enough to write a memoir about? I've no idea. 

What about you? And your pets? Could you write a succesfull memoir featuring them?

Are their other subgenres that you know about, that others might not have realized are out there? Speak out!
Sunday was a real animal day at house.

Our Neighbors have a chicken. A brown, skinny, ugly chicken with a black beak and raw bony legs and beady black eyes with a cunning chicken intelligence hidden deep behind them. This bird is the replacement for another chicken of theirs that pecked away at their (now MIA) bitch, who then ripped the former birds' throat out. The chicken and her cock almost never leave their yard. I left at 11am to go the Science Museum on Sunday. Hubby left a short time later.

He had a surprise when he saw a tall skinny brown chicken parked on a part of our fence right next to our gate - only a few feet from our front door. Bwak! It just stood there, tilting its head at him with a "What the fuck you lookin' at? You lookin' at ME? You lookin' at me, you shit?" beady eye, and he left it alone, thinking, stupid bird will go home.

Two hours later, he drove back home to get some work going there, too - and the bird is on the same perch, right next to our front gate, cocking its head and giving him the bird version of a Fuck You Too, Buddy. After cleaning up Goldy's snacky from under Mermaid's bed, and having some lunch, the bird was still there. He ended up scaring it away.

I'm thinking, it's too bad Goldy was too full for the Joy of the Chase. We're thinking of getting them a goat for Xmas.
___________

Neighbor, who has seven puppies without a mother, that are eight weeks old now, is trying to ... I'm trying to figure out a way to say this nicely ... "convince" surrounding neighbors to take the babies in by letting their kids "borrow" the puppies to take home for a little when their parents are home.

Mermaid brought home her favored puppy, who I admit is adorable, like a teddy bear is adorable, BUT Goldy wasn't so thrilled, and after a short bit gave the little interloper his patented "Get away From ME!" growl. That finally convinced Mermaid that the dog we already have is not going to take another dog in the house gracefully or happily. Puppy went home, and I was not convinced, either. I don't want to end up taking care of a baby *again*.
Ah yes, another day dawns on Goldy, sweetest dog around, with bizarre tastes in snackfood.

On Sunday I took the kids to the Science Museum in LA, and hubby was going to work on the weekend (earning overtime for once, yay!). After we left, hubby drove off to work, then had to come home around 2:00 in the afternoon to load some animation into the computer. Then, he noticed the little trash can in the back bathroom was overturned and spilled out on the floor. And the dog, Goldy, was slinking around as he usually does when he knows he's done something wrong, and yet absolutely cannot resist temptation. Now onto the dog, Hubby sniffed the air, and went on a scavenger hunt for the source of the odor.

He finds two formerly sodden pull-ups under Mermaid's bed, snacked upon like a lemonade slushy you get at the fair.

I get home at 6:30pm, and Goldy is slinking around, looking guilty, but I have no idea why, since I wasn't there when his stash was found and cleaned out.

I've been reluctant to let Goldy lick me (his version of the Kiss) lately. Wonder why.

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