Today's 'Why I Hate Facebook' Moment

There are perhaps 13-19 legitimate reasons to hate Facebook, and most of them involve privacy. I have read them and I have essentially decided to ignore them with the vague hope they won't come 'round to bite me in the ass somewhere down the road.

One of the other reasons is the way Facebook chooses to populate our feeds. What I want is for every post from every friend to appear in strict chronological order, giving me the option to tell Facebook to stop showing me posts by people who annoy me but not to the point of unfriending them. How hard is that?

I've noticed that lately it seems to be dredging up old posts more than it used to. How that manifested itself today is I saw a post by a friend announcing that her dog died.

"Aww," I commented, "he was a good dog."

It turns out that this dog died weeks ago. Now why, Facebook, would you facilitate the opening of old wounds? And why would you so readily assist me is making such a gaffe? What monetary gains are there to be made by allowing random, past posts to bubble to the top as though they are new?

Let me join my voice with the millions who share my anger about this. Stop it, Facebook. Just stop it.

Forget Downton Abbey, I want a show about this place

If you're ever in Glasgow, Scotland, and you take the Erskine Bridge, head Westbound on the A82, and, approaching Milton, you stay in the right hand lane before you take the turn off that is opposite the Arnold Clark dealership, do not, I repeat, do not take your dog. Or at least make sure he's good and leashed.

For you will have arrived at Overtoun House

in West Dumbartonshire, hard on the river Clyde, a castle built in the later 1800's as a retreat for a wealthy industrialist named James White, then bequeathed to the burgh of Dumbarton on the eve of the war in 1939. And it is here, on a bridge over a steep ravine, where an unleashed dog may inexplicably jump to his death. Yikes.

So far there have been more than 50 reported such deaths and though there are many theories, no one has an explanation. Well, except for this guy (creepy video intro alert!) whose flimsy investigation leads him to believe it's the smell of mink.  Dude, it's called the scientific method. Go read about it.

The Story of Custard (part 1)

(Custard, the great orange kitty, left us on October 31 just short of his 19th birthday. I will post about him a few times this month.)

The Story of Custard (part1)

In 1995 a man named Joe boarded a cat with us. The cat, named Custer (like the Little Big Horn general), was a gift from his children to keep him company. But he traveled a lot and didn't really like the cat so he offered me $50 to find him a home. I got to liking him and so we took him, and the $50. We renamed him Custard.

He lived the first portion of his life upstairs, where Katie the Doberman wouldn't go. Katie wasn't a terror to all the cats, but for some reason Custard couldn't get comfortable with her. When Katie died, Custard thought his luck had changed but we got another Doberman, Kendall, who took over the role of Custard tormentor. 

Custard really wanted to come downstairs, and whenever we put the dog in her crate he would join us. When we began to crate Kendall less and less, she would sleep on the couch, and Custard would creep down the stairs, peek at Kendall on the couch, and sneak over to us, never failing to have an eye or an ear or a whisker tuned to the dog. Kendall knew the game too. Invariably she would pop open an eye, then leap off the couch just as Custard flew back up the stairs. 

Kendall lived a relatively short life and we got yet another Doberman, Titus (Ty), who didn't give off the same threatening vibe as the previous two. It didn't take Custard long to figure out that Ty was just a big loveable galoot, and Custard became a full time downstairs cat. This is when he really started to shine.

Custard loved people. He loved being held and he loved sleeping in laps. He also loved people food, often staring at us during dinner, begrudging our every bite. He was vocal, chirping whenever you entered a room, said his name, or woke him up with a pat on the head. And his purring machine started the moment you picked him up.

Titus also died young and I like to think that Custard was proud to have outlived three Dobermans. We stopped getting Dobermans, and maybe part of that was that we didn't want Custard to have to go back upstairs if it turned out to be like the first two. But even though we have two (very cat-friendly) dogs, and two other cats, this was Custard's house for a long time, and I'm glad he lived long enough to enjoy it.

 

Sarah Silverman and her 'Duck'

Like her or not, she wrote a nice little tribute to her canine companion of 14 years. It was part of a larger collection called The Last Lesson We Learn from Our Pets in a blog called The Dish. We all have these stories to tell and I always appreciate when someone can put it into well written words.

Since summer is here, let's talk about dogs dying in cars

I know everyone from Dick Goddard to your best friend, Sal,  talks about not leaving dogs in cars. Here's why.

I can barely stand how hot it is for the short time it takes for my A/C to ramp up. Imagine being a dog in the back seat for ten minutes. Or fifteen or twenty. Because you only meant to run in and pick up that one little half gallon of milk, but then you remembered you were out of cheese, then you met your old fifth grade teacher in the cookie aisle when you were reaching for that package of Double Stuf Oreos, and all of a sudden it's been 30 minutes.

Have a great, and safe summer.

8 Thanksgiving foods that can kill your dog

How's that for attention grabbing headlines? Well, we don't want to se your Turkey dAy ruined by a trip to the vet. Check it out.

In Memorium

June was not a good month for old friends. We lost two in the past few weeks, and they will be missed.

Molly G was a blonde mix, about 20 pounds. She was a hard puller and always wore a harness. We were warned early on that Molly had attitude, and while we were always careful when working with her, she never gave us a bit of trouble.

She always came with her own bed, a little plaid and tan mat, and her own food. The instructions were to feed a tiny bit in the morning and a cup in the afternoon. Well, my staff had trouble interpreting the meaning of 'tiny bit' and often Molly would get a half cup or more. It's an easy mistake to make; when you feed lots of big dogs a half cup looks tiny. I had to find a way to make sure they were careful so I made her official feeding instructions to read: "Nine pieces of food in the morning".  This seemed to work as I would see them counting nine pieces of kibble into a bowl.

I like to make up little things for some of the guests and I used to call Molly-olly-oxen-free when I let her in from outside.


Baxter P was a Shiba inu, which is a Japanese dog that looks like a tiny Akita. He had black, black eyes like a shark, and I was told he was a super jumper. He was.

He also was a non-stop shedder. We were instructed to bathe him after most every visit, and we would brush and brush him, yielding enough fur to assemble a whole other dog. After he left, pieces of Baxter floated in the corners for days.

When he first started staying with us, he was an NCI: no-come-in dog. Which means that we would open the back door to his stall, and he would go out, but he would not come back in. We had to go get him. So we would always put him in one of several places that are close to a people door and it worked out fine. Then one day, all of a sudden he came in, and he never stopped coming in after that. I think he decided he'd tormented us enough.

Baxter was 15 and Molly was 17. Fare thee well my friends.

My Cat is Trying to Kill Me

I have sleep apnea, and I use one of those CPAP machines at night. For those who do not know, the CPAP forces pressurized air into my nose via a mask I wear that makes me look like I have a monkey on my face (I stole that analogy--thanks LIE).

I have woken up with my machine turned off and I recently discovered why. My cat sits on it and pushes the off button. I think it's on purpose. He doesn't understand that the mask is designed to let me breath when the machine goes off, or else there'd be a rash of suffocation deaths every time someone crashed into a power pole. Every time he turns it off I eventually wake up and turn it back on, saying, 'Nice try, Custard.' He's undeterred. He must really have it out for me. And I'm not even the one who gives him sub Q fluids every other night.

On a Day When We Did a Thing We Did Not Want to Do

Some 14 years ago the first employees to arrive at the Aurora Veterinary Clinic were greeted in the parking lot by a cat, little more than a kitten. There was no sign of an owner, and when they opened the clinic door, the cat just moseyed in like he had no particular place to be and this place was as good as any. He needed a home and we had a cat shortage at our house so we took him.

After much discussion he ended up being named Mosey, aka Moseymoze, aka Mozambique, aka Beek, aka Schmosey, aka Fatty. His rap name was Mo Z.

His main goal in life was to get out of the house. He was the only cat we have ever made wear a collar, which had an ID tag. He was also microchipped. He would sit near the door waiting for someone to come in so he could slip out. And no matter where he was in the house he was ever vigilant for the slightest error on our part, and would exploit it unfailingly. We learned to be very good at thwarting him, even to the point of letting the door slam in the faces of people (teaching our children bad manners in the process) just so he would not get out, but that just made him more determined--and innovative.  He would go days without trying, lulling us into carelessness, then would watch out the window until we had our hands full of groceries or something, when he knew the door would be open a little wider and our attention would be on negotiating the doorway with eleven full bags, and out he'd slip. I cannot count the number of times a child cried, 'Mosey got out,' and we had to chase him across the yard and into the woods with a bag of treats, which he could not resist.

Once we had to lure him off the roof with a can of tuna. Another time he got out at 5 A.M. when I was on the way to have surgery. It was February and he climbed to the top of an evergreen.We left him and eventually he climbed down.

His other favorite thing was to lie in the sun.

He was handsome, with a brilliant white blaze under his neck, and he never started to look old until a few days ago, when he looked alarmingly so. We discovered a large mass in his belly. He had but days left.

Yesterday turned out to be the day.

"Mosey looks uncomfortable to me."

"Yeah."

Unfortunately we've had a lot of recent experience with the passing of pets. We're good at it, but that doesn't make it easier.

We pulled the cat carrier from the closet, put on our shoes, and got in the car. But before we left, Robin took Mosey outside and set him in the grass. The sun had come out as if just for this moment. In days past he would have bolted but this day he chewed on a piece of grass and purred. 


My wife didn't want to bother the other vets so she did it herself. We laid him on a comfortable bed on the exam table. I held him there while she gathered what she needed. She showed me how to hold him just so while she administered the drugs. He purred until his heart stopped.

For 14 years, when going into the house the ingrained thing to do has been to open the door, scan for Mosey, then shut the door quickly. In the 24 hours since he's been gone I have come to understand this habit will not fall away soon. I can think of no way to better remember him.

Gone but not forgotten

The dogs and cats who stay with us are often more than just business transactions. Admittedly, many pets visit us only once or twice, or maybe once every couple of years, and we don't have the chance to know these guys as well as many of our more frequent guests. But many, many dogs and cats have been coming here for years, and often they are the second or third in a family of pets we have cared for over the years. We know the people and we know their pets. They're like friends and we know just what they need.

For example one dog may need to be in an end run because he doesn't like to come in the doggie door; another can't have a blanket because he chews it; yet another doesn't like the platform beds we provide and always tried to sleep on the concrete so we remove the bed and fill the whole run with blankets. Some dogs need no-spill food bowls; others need no-spill food AND water bowls.We know which dogs like to play with balls, and which only want to walk around and sniff in the play area. We know which dogs always need baths before they go home, and which dogs hate baths more than anything in the world.

But familiarity has a downside. All of these dogs and cats eventually leave us, one way or the other, and this is about one such dog.


Wally was a briard--a large french herding dog, with furry Ewokian ears and hair down over his eyes. When Wally came to us a few years ago, he seemed to not like us. Whenever we put him into his run, he would turn and bark at us, sometimes including a growl for good measure. He never offered to bite but it was clear we needed to pay attention to Wally.

He ended up visiting us many times per year, and eventually stopped the barking and growling. Then something really neat happened. One day when he was being dropped off, and I was at the computer checking him in, he came over to me and nuzzled my arm. He wanted me to say hi to him. Most dogs stay at leash's length, just hoping their being here is a big misunderstanding and that their people won't leave without them, but Wally was glad to see me. I scruffed his head and said hi, and every time he checked in after that I always made sure to sure to greet him.

Wally had been sick for a few weeks and I got the call today that he was gone. He went peacefully, with his people right there with him. And when I think of Wally, I end up thinking of Theo and Abby and Kira and Murphy, and all the others who I considered friends, who I hoped considered me their friend, and who I hoped enjoyed knowing me as much as I enjoyed knowing them. And I remember how important it is to find that one thing that they like, and make sure I give it to them.