For years I have had this little bump in my belly that stayed smallish and never really bothered me, and I knew it wasn't anything serious but I didn't really know what it was. As it got bigger my son asked me what it was, and I told him it was my alien baby, and that one day he would have a little brother or sister with a long, skinny neck and and the ability to ride a bicycle up to the moon. He didn't laugh--he's never really appreciated my humor.
This year my bump had become bothersome and it really showed through my shirt, so I decided to have it looked at. The surgeon told me it was an umbilical hernia and that he would go in through my belly button with a scope and fix it by putting a patch on it. No big deal, according to him. But you'd be surprised that once you start telling people you're going to have this done, just how many people have had it done too. I think in my tiny circle of friends I counted five. And best part is how much they tell you it's going to hurt.
Now, I'm not scared of pain, but I have so many things I want to do this fall and I would be so disappointed if I couldn't to them. Plus, I also have to lift, push, pull, drag and be dragged by dogs all over the place as part of my job and much of the time I'm a staff of one. But it had to be done and yesterday was the day.
My surgeon gave me my choice of venues and I picked the new University Hospital Ahuja Medical center on Richmond Road in Beechwood, because the commercials on the radio make it sound so nice (and aren't radio ads the very best to select a hospital?). I gotta tell you, it really is! It's gorgeous, spacious, bright and open. They have very comfortable seating for all sized people. They have computers in the surgery waiting room for family to use, and you can use a cell phone any time you want. There is also a huge screen that has color coded updates on all surgery patients so people waiting can see at a glance if you're in pre-op, post op, etc. I think there was even a color for "He's just changed out of his clothes and into that little gown where the back flies open.."
By my count I had seven different nurses (not counting the ones who were there only when I was asleep) and they were all super nice. Anyway, it was all uneventful and I came home the same day. I'm on some pretty good drugs and I've slept a lot, but in between naps I'm watching 'Dexter' on DVD and re-reading Harry Potter.
As for the kennel. I have plenty of help for a couple more weeks, until Lauren goes back to school, and by then I'm supposed to be able to resume my normal activities according to my doctor. But the unknown is how much all the bending and lifting I have to do will hurt, and for how long.
The other unknown is that what if it really was an alien baby, and this has been a giant conspiracy to get me to the hospital so they could deliver it? What if somewhere out there is a creature with smooth gray skin, giant black eyes, four arms and an IQ of 792? And how awesome a drummer would a guy with four arms be?
What used to be one thing is now another.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Hair, hair, everywhere, and all the boarders did shrink
This has been a hairy year. I don't mean 'skidding through a snowy mountain pass' hairy but actually hairy. Dog hairy. I have to guess it's a combination of weather and, well, weather, that is causing dogs to leave large amounts of themselves with us after they leave.
Pippen, for example, has been here several times this summer and we can barely get rid of one batch of hair when she comes again and we have to start all over. We vacuum, we hose, we sweep, we think we've gotten it all, then a puff of breeze makes a little hair tumbleweed roll across the floor, and in our best Seinfeld imitation we say, "Pippen."
It just seems late to me for all this shedding. Why can't they have a week in spring and a week in fall when they drop all their hair. We're going to just finish the spring/summer shed and they'll start getting their coats ready for winter. When my parents got an Akita, the breeder told them they only blow coat twice a year. My mom says, "Yeah, twice a year: January to June and June to January."
One of our dogs, Comet, was a hairy black mix, and every few months we'd start to think he was looking like he'd gained weight. "Time to cut his food a little," we'd say. Then we'd give him a bath and brush out and he looked normal (and we would sheepishly increase his food again).
So the morals of the story are, brushing your dog regularly is a great idea. And use a scale before calling your dog fat.
Pippen, for example, has been here several times this summer and we can barely get rid of one batch of hair when she comes again and we have to start all over. We vacuum, we hose, we sweep, we think we've gotten it all, then a puff of breeze makes a little hair tumbleweed roll across the floor, and in our best Seinfeld imitation we say, "Pippen."
It just seems late to me for all this shedding. Why can't they have a week in spring and a week in fall when they drop all their hair. We're going to just finish the spring/summer shed and they'll start getting their coats ready for winter. When my parents got an Akita, the breeder told them they only blow coat twice a year. My mom says, "Yeah, twice a year: January to June and June to January."
One of our dogs, Comet, was a hairy black mix, and every few months we'd start to think he was looking like he'd gained weight. "Time to cut his food a little," we'd say. Then we'd give him a bath and brush out and he looked normal (and we would sheepishly increase his food again).
So the morals of the story are, brushing your dog regularly is a great idea. And use a scale before calling your dog fat.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Names, Part 2: Every Name is a Song Cue
Many years ago I had a kennel assistant named Ellie. One day I (unintentionally) snuck up on her while she was bathing a dog named Mickey. I caught her singing, "Hey Mickey you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, Hey Mickey." Then she saw me and said, sheepishly. "You weren't supposed to hear that." Maybe not, but she's not the only person to be inspired by dogs' names. With jillions of songs having been recorded it's hard to NOT have one that is brought to mind whenever a Lola or a Mandy visit. Here now are my top song cue names (this will keep you busy for a little while):
Layla
Patches
Harmony
Rocket (but ya gotta see this version too)
Angel
Blondie
O'Reilly
Sloopy
Brandy
Denver (apologies for the advertisement)
Duke
Jack
Jet
Koko but not Coco or Cocoa
Lady
And the one that sticks in my head for days AFTER she leaves Buttercup
Layla
Patches
Harmony
Rocket (but ya gotta see this version too)
Angel
Blondie
O'Reilly
Sloopy
Brandy
Denver (apologies for the advertisement)
Duke
Jack
Jet
Koko but not Coco or Cocoa
Lady
And the one that sticks in my head for days AFTER she leaves Buttercup
Monday, July 25, 2011
Friends Don't Let Best Friends Drive Without Heartworm Preventative
But don't take my word for it. Here's NFL running back LaDainian Tomlinson.
Pass this along to your friends.
Pass this along to your friends.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Names, Part 1
Some of us were talking about pet names the other day and I realized it had been a long time since I mined the database to see what pet names are the most popular here at The Aurora Kennel. I know that when you compare it to the newest studies that show the most popular dog name to be Bella (from Twilight movies/.books (which I have neither seen nor read (regular readers will remember that I love nesting parentheses))) Bella doesn't even crack the top 5.
1. Max
2. Maggie
3. Buddy
4. Bailey
5. Molly
If I bunched together all the Belle / Bella / Bela names it would be number 6.
Other popular names, in no particular order, are
Shadow
Buster
Abby
Casey
Chloe
Coco/Cocoa
Daisy
Jake
Murphy
Sam/Sammie/Sammy/Samantha would combine to be number 3
We have
2 Joes and 1 Joe Pretty
2 Hollies, 4 Hollys, and 1 Hollywood
46 Mollys and 1 Molly Tamale
1 Ed, 1 Eddie but no Edd
4 Bens, 2 Benjamins and 2 Bennies
3 Bobs, no Roberts
1 Butterscotch, 1 Buttercup
25 Charlies and 1 Charlie Brown
1 Buiddy, which I feel is a typing error
Some of our favorite names:
Aysia Sue
Baby Cat Madison
Barkley Duane
Biyatchi
Captain Jack Sparrow
Chamonix
Schwabid
Flash (a basset)
Tegelbachen
Darth Doodle
Faux Pas
Hercules (we have to shave him to keep him from breaking out)
Houdini (we are extra vigilant of dogs named Houdini for obvious reasons)
K2 (second tallest dog in the world)
Kieffer (who never stays more than 24 hours)
Moops
Pakanakas
McGuyver (see Houdini)
Root Beer
Diet Root Beer (just kidding)
a herding dog named Roundup--but he could also be a weed killing dog.
We love this trio of names:
Squeegee
Squishy
Squirtz
Ohio State related:
Brutus
Woody
Buckeye
Sloopy
And our favorite name:
Two Scoops
My personal pets have been named--
Comet --after the 'Full House' dog
Titus--from Shakespeare not the punk band
Custard--his original name was Custer but we changed it when we adopted him
Mosey--you can read about him in an April post
Lucky--because he was mangled by a car and my wife saved his life and we adopted him
Leo--not sure how this one came about. Not at all zodiac related.
Buzzworm--this was a completely random brain fart. Best name ever.
Riley--not sure
Herbie--named by the kids
Cosmo--the result of an informal contest at the clinic
Katie-- (from Taming of the Shrew (did you know there are precious few good female dog names in Shakespeare?))
If you have a favorite name you've heard put it in the comments.
Next post: pet names and song cues.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
A New Dog for the Price of a Haircut
Our newest dog, Leo, is a golden doodle. This means he's part poodle and part golden retriever. He's pretty much always had fluffy hair
and in our minds we've tilted him toward the golden retriever end of the scale, because that's what he seems like. Until now.
His hair is extremely prone to matting and requires faithful brushing. We are not faithful brushers. Nor even occasional brushers. By the time we decided he needed to be brushed it was too late. He was full of mats and there was only one solution: shaving him.
Now, in the kennel I have to be the one to break the bad news to people that their dog is beyond the de-matting stage and needs to be shaved. Many have already resigned themselves to the possibility, but some are simply unprepared. They drop off a fluffy, hairy, mat-beast, and pickup a smooth-shaved, skinny alien dog. Some people actually scream.
So it was with this in mind when I took Leo to the groomer.
"You know what he's going to look like, right" she said.
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
I thought I was but it turns out it's impossible to fully prepare for how different he's going to look. (My wife actually laughed for five minutes.) He actually looked better than I thought he would but that doesn't mean I was prepared. She was able to leave a little on top of the head, and half the tail had some poof. The rest was shaved all the way down. Pinkness shows through. He's got a skinny little head now. He's smooth and soft and he looks pretty darned good, but just not at all like Leo. He looks more like...a poodle.
Now I have this poodle-looking dog who acts like Leo. He lays in the same spots, and begs for ice cubes when I open the freezer, and turns in circles the exact same way when we go to let him out. But he just looks like an imposter, like someone trained a strange dog to pretend he's Leo. I keep waiting for the real Leo to show up.
The hair will grow back, and we vow to keep him brushed, but the reality is we'll just have to keep him short. Big ol' fluffy golden-y Leo is gone and we have to get used to poodle Leo.
His hair is extremely prone to matting and requires faithful brushing. We are not faithful brushers. Nor even occasional brushers. By the time we decided he needed to be brushed it was too late. He was full of mats and there was only one solution: shaving him.
Now, in the kennel I have to be the one to break the bad news to people that their dog is beyond the de-matting stage and needs to be shaved. Many have already resigned themselves to the possibility, but some are simply unprepared. They drop off a fluffy, hairy, mat-beast, and pickup a smooth-shaved, skinny alien dog. Some people actually scream.
So it was with this in mind when I took Leo to the groomer.
"You know what he's going to look like, right" she said.
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
I thought I was but it turns out it's impossible to fully prepare for how different he's going to look. (My wife actually laughed for five minutes.) He actually looked better than I thought he would but that doesn't mean I was prepared. She was able to leave a little on top of the head, and half the tail had some poof. The rest was shaved all the way down. Pinkness shows through. He's got a skinny little head now. He's smooth and soft and he looks pretty darned good, but just not at all like Leo. He looks more like...a poodle.
Now I have this poodle-looking dog who acts like Leo. He lays in the same spots, and begs for ice cubes when I open the freezer, and turns in circles the exact same way when we go to let him out. But he just looks like an imposter, like someone trained a strange dog to pretend he's Leo. I keep waiting for the real Leo to show up.
The hair will grow back, and we vow to keep him brushed, but the reality is we'll just have to keep him short. Big ol' fluffy golden-y Leo is gone and we have to get used to poodle Leo.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
8 People Foods That Are Toxic to Pets
We have already discussed onions and grapes, but here is a more comprehensive list of things your pets should not sink their teeth into.
The 8 People Foods That Are Toxic to Pets
The 8 People Foods That Are Toxic to Pets
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
The obligatory "Best of 2010" awards
As a blogger I'm required by law to produce an end of the year, 'Best of 2010' list. I had no idea about this until late yesterday afternoon I got an email from President Obama reminding me of my obligation. He said, "Mr. Sharp, I've been scanning all the blogs in the U.S. and it seems the only two blogs that have not completed their 'Best of 2010' posts are you and a tiny blog by a guy who can play the National Anthem entirely by cracking his knuckles. I'm in Hawaii right now but I've taken my laptop with me and am checking every couple of hours. Please complete your list as soon as possible so I may focus on making sure Dick Clark is ready for New Year's Eve."
I had no idea the president was such a micro-manager. So in order to keep the feds off my case, here goes.
Best of 2010
Best dog that isn't mine: Olive, the French bulldog
Best cat that isn't mine: none
Best TV show recommended to me by my daughter: 'Modern Family'
Best beer: Great Lakes Dortmunder Gold (that was the 2009 winner too)
Best vodka: Still Water made in a Canadian micro distillery by (shameless promotion alert) my daughter's boyfriend's father.
Best restaurant discovery: The Crossings in Aurora down by the tracks.
Best movie: Harry Potter 7-A
Best drum solo: 'Grandfather's Drum,' performed by me in the summer concert season of the Trinity Concert Band.
Best clarinet accompaniment on 'Grandfather's Drum': Barry Simpson.
Best wife: Mine, for 28 years running
Best kids: Not mine.
Best kids at tolerating dad's "humor": Mine
Best episode of 'Rescue Me': The one where Tommy gets drunk and really screws things up...wait, that's all of them.
Best blog: I cannot name it because it contains a word that is not in keeping with the family nature of this blog, plus it's pretty much defunct. It was a shooting star.
Best TV show that was on for a really long time and finally ended: 'At the Movies'
Best Second Best TV show that ended: '24'
Best outpatient surgery: I'm sorry but HIPA prevents me from disclosing.
Best 'Glee' moment: Do I seem like someone who watches 'Glee?'
Best confession: I AM someone who watches 'Glee.'
Best 'Glee' character: Brittany
Best Best Dressed Best Man to go into a Best Buy with his BFF: Unfortunately there were no entrants in this category
So Mr. President, I hope you're happy. And let me know if you need a place to board Bo. We do require all the shots be current, and we can allow up to three Secret Service personnel to sleep in the kennel with him. They would totally make my 2011 Best of list under the category Best Guys With Semi-Automatic Weapons to Sleep in the Corner on a Pile of Blankets.
I had no idea the president was such a micro-manager. So in order to keep the feds off my case, here goes.
Best of 2010
Best dog that isn't mine: Olive, the French bulldog
Best cat that isn't mine: none
Best TV show recommended to me by my daughter: 'Modern Family'
Best beer: Great Lakes Dortmunder Gold (that was the 2009 winner too)
Best vodka: Still Water made in a Canadian micro distillery by (shameless promotion alert) my daughter's boyfriend's father.
Best restaurant discovery: The Crossings in Aurora down by the tracks.
Best movie: Harry Potter 7-A
Best drum solo: 'Grandfather's Drum,' performed by me in the summer concert season of the Trinity Concert Band.
Best clarinet accompaniment on 'Grandfather's Drum': Barry Simpson.
Best wife: Mine, for 28 years running
Best kids: Not mine.
Best kids at tolerating dad's "humor": Mine
Best episode of 'Rescue Me': The one where Tommy gets drunk and really screws things up...wait, that's all of them.
Best blog: I cannot name it because it contains a word that is not in keeping with the family nature of this blog, plus it's pretty much defunct. It was a shooting star.
Best TV show that was on for a really long time and finally ended: 'At the Movies'
Best Second Best TV show that ended: '24'
Best outpatient surgery: I'm sorry but HIPA prevents me from disclosing.
Best 'Glee' moment: Do I seem like someone who watches 'Glee?'
Best confession: I AM someone who watches 'Glee.'
Best 'Glee' character: Brittany
Best Best Dressed Best Man to go into a Best Buy with his BFF: Unfortunately there were no entrants in this category
So Mr. President, I hope you're happy. And let me know if you need a place to board Bo. We do require all the shots be current, and we can allow up to three Secret Service personnel to sleep in the kennel with him. They would totally make my 2011 Best of list under the category Best Guys With Semi-Automatic Weapons to Sleep in the Corner on a Pile of Blankets.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Dogs are like the Ferengi
I get these daily emails with helpful tips about dogs and cats, some of which I've shared. I've also linked them over there on the right so you can get them too. Anyway, the other day one of them explained why dogs love having their ears stroked, and being the geek that I am, I immediately thought of the Ferengi. Now you Trekkers know what I'm talking about, but for those who do not I'm afraid that I'm not going to explain because, well, I've linked it, plus I feel that everyone should be well versed in Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG). If ever you ask me if you should do something and I say, "Make it so, Number One,' you should not look at me as though I'm from another planet, (like Betazed or Cardassia.) You should just immediately do that thing with the utmost efficiency, then report back to me wearing a form-fitting red uniform. And if there is the slightest problem you should call out, "Red alert, shields up" and we can brace for impact together.
The Ferengi love having their ears stroked, and while for Ferengi it's got a whole other wrinkle that we won't get into here, so do dogs. I discovered this with our dobe, Ty, about whom I already posted. Most dobes have their ears cropped, but we elected to leave his ears long, which detracted from the whole Killer Dobe Vibe were were kind of going for, and made him look...well, goofy. But endearing. And leaving them long didn't mean he just had regular ears, he had huge ears. You could cover both eyes with one ear. You could almost tie them into a knot above his head. And they were soft and often so very warm, and it was a pleasure stroking them.
He loved having them stroked. If you started on his ears he would stand there forever, or until one of the cats darted across the room, or there was something to bark at outside, or a wisp of air made his food bowl vibrate. But otherwise, forever. And one night while I was watching a Star Trek TNG re-run and petting his ears, there was a Ferengi scene where they were getting their ears stroked, and I decided that the Star Trek TNG writers must have had a floppy eared dobe, or a basset hound. And I recall actually calling him a Ferengi (yes I am THAT geeky).
So the next time you're petting your dog, check out his ears. And if it's for the first time., go ahead, explore new soft spots and new sources of pleasure; boldly pet where no one has petted before. But never, and I repeat, never get into a business deal with a Ferengi.
The Ferengi love having their ears stroked, and while for Ferengi it's got a whole other wrinkle that we won't get into here, so do dogs. I discovered this with our dobe, Ty, about whom I already posted. Most dobes have their ears cropped, but we elected to leave his ears long, which detracted from the whole Killer Dobe Vibe were were kind of going for, and made him look...well, goofy. But endearing. And leaving them long didn't mean he just had regular ears, he had huge ears. You could cover both eyes with one ear. You could almost tie them into a knot above his head. And they were soft and often so very warm, and it was a pleasure stroking them.
He loved having them stroked. If you started on his ears he would stand there forever, or until one of the cats darted across the room, or there was something to bark at outside, or a wisp of air made his food bowl vibrate. But otherwise, forever. And one night while I was watching a Star Trek TNG re-run and petting his ears, there was a Ferengi scene where they were getting their ears stroked, and I decided that the Star Trek TNG writers must have had a floppy eared dobe, or a basset hound. And I recall actually calling him a Ferengi (yes I am THAT geeky).
So the next time you're petting your dog, check out his ears. And if it's for the first time., go ahead, explore new soft spots and new sources of pleasure; boldly pet where no one has petted before. But never, and I repeat, never get into a business deal with a Ferengi.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Old Blue
Here is a wonderfully written little thing about a girl and her dog in a journal called McSweeney's.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love
Goodreads is a website where you can keep track of the books you've read, are reading, or intend to read, and also share in the book reading experiences of your friends and others. Each month they send a newsletter. Here is how their latest newsletter started out:
Dear John,
You started reading
The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love
857 days ago.
Update your progress.
Since you asked.
Dear Goodreads,
857 days ago I read the first couple of chapters, which were just fine, especially that section about the father and uncle being on the ‘I Love Lucy’ show, then the book got lost in a pile of old newspapers for a couple of weeks. By the time I found it, I’d already finished another book and was in the middle of yet another, so I set it on my To Read shelf for later.
A brief word about my To Read shelf: items that go onto the shelf seldom come off the shelf. I buy books I’m pretty sure I’ll never read. That’s not entirely true. At the time I’m certain I’ll get to all of them, just as I’m certain that one day I’ll finish cleaning out the garage, but sitting here now I can safely admit that the chances are slim. For the books that is; I still have hope for the garage.
One of my problems is that the library sells used book for 50 cents apiece, and I can’t help myself. Stay away from the library, you say? Clearly you’ve never met me. And even if I could, there are still Borders and the Learned Owl, and even WalMart for crying out loud. Books are everywhere. And many of them are on my To Read shelf, stacked in front of ‘The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love.’
Flash forward several months. I decided to clean my shelves in preparation for house guests. I picked up ‘Mambo Kings’ and said, “There you are,” and set it next to my chair. That night I started it again, and again I enjoyed the part where the father and the uncle went on the ‘I Love Lucy’ show. Then my wife gave me ‘The Book Thief’ and I decided to read it first because it’s Young Adult and I’m in the process of writing a YA novel. So between the time I started ‘The Book Thief’ and the time that our house guest arrived, ‘Mambo Kings’ was once again relegated to the To Read shelf. Or so I thought.
Your email reminder, Goodreads, is oddly timed. Just the other day I found ‘Mambo Kings’ in the kitchen on a shelf with recipe books. I have no idea how it got there but I will offer this conjecture: I had it in my hand, intending to put it on the To Read shelf, but in my hand were also several other items I was cleaning off my chair-side table, like an old sports section, a dirty fork, and a list of things I was supposed to remember to buy three months ago. I began carrying these things to other rooms for proper disposition, and then I got a text from my son. I set down the book, the sports section, the fork and the list, and replied. Then I left everything on the kitchen table and got myself something to drink. Later that day my wife threw away the list, put the fork in the dishwasher, and stuffed the book onto the first shelf she could find because she didn’t feel like tracking me down to ask where it should go.
So now ‘The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love’ is once again on my To Read shelf, because my glasses prescription is sadly out of date and the extra effort needed to read makes me sleepy. I have an appointment with the optometrist but that’s not for a couple of weeks. In the mean time I’m just going to rent the movie.
Yours,
John Sharp
Dear John,
You started reading
The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love
857 days ago.
Update your progress.
Since you asked.
Dear Goodreads,
857 days ago I read the first couple of chapters, which were just fine, especially that section about the father and uncle being on the ‘I Love Lucy’ show, then the book got lost in a pile of old newspapers for a couple of weeks. By the time I found it, I’d already finished another book and was in the middle of yet another, so I set it on my To Read shelf for later.
A brief word about my To Read shelf: items that go onto the shelf seldom come off the shelf. I buy books I’m pretty sure I’ll never read. That’s not entirely true. At the time I’m certain I’ll get to all of them, just as I’m certain that one day I’ll finish cleaning out the garage, but sitting here now I can safely admit that the chances are slim. For the books that is; I still have hope for the garage.
One of my problems is that the library sells used book for 50 cents apiece, and I can’t help myself. Stay away from the library, you say? Clearly you’ve never met me. And even if I could, there are still Borders and the Learned Owl, and even WalMart for crying out loud. Books are everywhere. And many of them are on my To Read shelf, stacked in front of ‘The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love.’
Flash forward several months. I decided to clean my shelves in preparation for house guests. I picked up ‘Mambo Kings’ and said, “There you are,” and set it next to my chair. That night I started it again, and again I enjoyed the part where the father and the uncle went on the ‘I Love Lucy’ show. Then my wife gave me ‘The Book Thief’ and I decided to read it first because it’s Young Adult and I’m in the process of writing a YA novel. So between the time I started ‘The Book Thief’ and the time that our house guest arrived, ‘Mambo Kings’ was once again relegated to the To Read shelf. Or so I thought.
Your email reminder, Goodreads, is oddly timed. Just the other day I found ‘Mambo Kings’ in the kitchen on a shelf with recipe books. I have no idea how it got there but I will offer this conjecture: I had it in my hand, intending to put it on the To Read shelf, but in my hand were also several other items I was cleaning off my chair-side table, like an old sports section, a dirty fork, and a list of things I was supposed to remember to buy three months ago. I began carrying these things to other rooms for proper disposition, and then I got a text from my son. I set down the book, the sports section, the fork and the list, and replied. Then I left everything on the kitchen table and got myself something to drink. Later that day my wife threw away the list, put the fork in the dishwasher, and stuffed the book onto the first shelf she could find because she didn’t feel like tracking me down to ask where it should go.
So now ‘The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love’ is once again on my To Read shelf, because my glasses prescription is sadly out of date and the extra effort needed to read makes me sleepy. I have an appointment with the optometrist but that’s not for a couple of weeks. In the mean time I’m just going to rent the movie.
Yours,
John Sharp
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
So hide the chocolate covered raisins.
We all know chocolate is bad for dogs. And did you know onions are bad too? So when you let your dog clean up the dinner plate make sure you didn't cook with onions. And then there is gum with xanthan.
Also, grapes. And raisins. You may have heard that too. Just so you know how seriously pet professionals take it, here's a little story.
Our new dog, Leo, a seven month old golden doodle, was table surfing on Sunday and got into some grapes that were left out. We figure he ate about a half dozen. My wife, the veterinarian, immediately fed him milk laced with hydrogen peroxide to make him vomit. After several minutes of waiting we decided it wasn't going to work so she took him to the clinic to give him an injection to make him vomit.
Within two minutes he started heaving up all the grapes, plus what remained of his breakfast and anything else he'd gotten into that morning. Poor little guy. The bad part was that he had obedience class later that day and was a little out of sorts for it. The good part is, after careful inspection, all the grapes were accounted for. (Inspection isn't as fun as it sounds).
The lesson here is that any grapes are bad. Even one. We don't know what element of grapes is the problem, but the result can be acute kidney failure.* And it's not dosage dependent. It's not like a big dog can eat one grape and be fine. It's more like a roll of the dice, where some dogs have a problem and some don't, like some people can die from a bee sting and some don't. And there's no way of telling.
* this link is to an article that requires registration to read. It's free and you can opt out of unwanted emails
Many years ago, before we knew about grapes, which have only been implicated for a few years, we fed our doberman grapes all the time. In fact any grape that has a bruise or blemish was called a Katie grape and fed to her. She never had a problem. And if she'd developed kidney failure at some point we'd have had no clue it was due to grapes.
One day well know what causes it, but that probably won't change the rule: No grapes for dogs. Or raisins, which are 4.5 times more concentrated. Save them for yourself.
.
Also, grapes. And raisins. You may have heard that too. Just so you know how seriously pet professionals take it, here's a little story.
Our new dog, Leo, a seven month old golden doodle, was table surfing on Sunday and got into some grapes that were left out. We figure he ate about a half dozen. My wife, the veterinarian, immediately fed him milk laced with hydrogen peroxide to make him vomit. After several minutes of waiting we decided it wasn't going to work so she took him to the clinic to give him an injection to make him vomit.
Within two minutes he started heaving up all the grapes, plus what remained of his breakfast and anything else he'd gotten into that morning. Poor little guy. The bad part was that he had obedience class later that day and was a little out of sorts for it. The good part is, after careful inspection, all the grapes were accounted for. (Inspection isn't as fun as it sounds).
The lesson here is that any grapes are bad. Even one. We don't know what element of grapes is the problem, but the result can be acute kidney failure.* And it's not dosage dependent. It's not like a big dog can eat one grape and be fine. It's more like a roll of the dice, where some dogs have a problem and some don't, like some people can die from a bee sting and some don't. And there's no way of telling.
* this link is to an article that requires registration to read. It's free and you can opt out of unwanted emails
Many years ago, before we knew about grapes, which have only been implicated for a few years, we fed our doberman grapes all the time. In fact any grape that has a bruise or blemish was called a Katie grape and fed to her. She never had a problem. And if she'd developed kidney failure at some point we'd have had no clue it was due to grapes.
One day well know what causes it, but that probably won't change the rule: No grapes for dogs. Or raisins, which are 4.5 times more concentrated. Save them for yourself.
.
Monday, September 27, 2010
On the saying of Goodbye
Our doberman, Titus, passed away last week. He was only 6. A few weeks ago he started coughing and tests revealed he had cardiomyopathy, which we knew meant he didn't have long. We tried several medications but it was like throwing a pillow in front of a car to get it to stop.
We've been through this before, the end days of a cherished pet, and we watched for the signs that it was time to help him along. But he never got there. Every day he seemed like he was still happy to be around, and that he could go another day or two. Even though he wouldn't eat his food, he did eat deli turkey, and we figured that was good enough for now. Good enough, considering. Every day we watched for a sign he was ready. It never came.
With our last dog, Comet, who died a year ago last February, we knew. He'd stopped eating and wouldn't get up. His looked at us with pleading eyes, reminding me of the day I whispered into his ear a promise to take care of him in the end. He'd trusted me all his life to do the right thing and he was going to hold me to it. My daughter came home from college and we took him to the vet, where they had an overstuffed bed waiting on the floor, and we gathered round him and sent him on his way. We were lucky to have that one, official goodbye.
With Titus--Ty for short--it went differently. The morning my daughter left for college she said her goodbyes. I knew it wasn't quite his time but I also knew he wouldn't make it to her next visit, and watching her pet him for the final time, not wanting each stroke to be her last, but having to finally break off and drive away, broke my heart. When we went puppy shopping those years ago, she was the one who hoisted him from the litter and declared he was the best. She is the one who has always claimed him as hers. And now she had to say goodbye first.
My goodbyes happened over a couple of days.One morning he visited me in the bathroom and I stroked and hugged him, and I asked him if he remembered when he was a puppy, and how we used to lock him in the kitchen, until he was potty trained, but sometimes he'd slip past the barrier and run around the house at full speed, and the kids would sing 'Freeeee-domm, freeeee-dommm," and we'd laugh and gather him up and bring him back to the kitchen. Or last year when we went on vacation and he barked at the kennel the whole time we were gone. When we came home he'd completely lost his voice, and when he tried to bark a pathetic little squeak came out which embarrassed him so much he wouldn't bark for a week.
The night before he passed, he stood my by chair while I was watching TV and I petted him for the longest. time. I found myself wondering if he was just feeling a little better or if he was trying to squeeze in one last visit. The next morning I heard him let out three wheezing gasps, and when I checked on him he was gone. My wife felt cheated out of her goodbyes, and my son maybe did too, though he never really said, but I feel that night Ty kind of knew and he gave me my chance. Or maybe he was asking me to help him. I'll never know.
We've been through this before, the end days of a cherished pet, and we watched for the signs that it was time to help him along. But he never got there. Every day he seemed like he was still happy to be around, and that he could go another day or two. Even though he wouldn't eat his food, he did eat deli turkey, and we figured that was good enough for now. Good enough, considering. Every day we watched for a sign he was ready. It never came.
With our last dog, Comet, who died a year ago last February, we knew. He'd stopped eating and wouldn't get up. His looked at us with pleading eyes, reminding me of the day I whispered into his ear a promise to take care of him in the end. He'd trusted me all his life to do the right thing and he was going to hold me to it. My daughter came home from college and we took him to the vet, where they had an overstuffed bed waiting on the floor, and we gathered round him and sent him on his way. We were lucky to have that one, official goodbye.
With Titus--Ty for short--it went differently. The morning my daughter left for college she said her goodbyes. I knew it wasn't quite his time but I also knew he wouldn't make it to her next visit, and watching her pet him for the final time, not wanting each stroke to be her last, but having to finally break off and drive away, broke my heart. When we went puppy shopping those years ago, she was the one who hoisted him from the litter and declared he was the best. She is the one who has always claimed him as hers. And now she had to say goodbye first.
My goodbyes happened over a couple of days.One morning he visited me in the bathroom and I stroked and hugged him, and I asked him if he remembered when he was a puppy, and how we used to lock him in the kitchen, until he was potty trained, but sometimes he'd slip past the barrier and run around the house at full speed, and the kids would sing 'Freeeee-domm, freeeee-dommm," and we'd laugh and gather him up and bring him back to the kitchen. Or last year when we went on vacation and he barked at the kennel the whole time we were gone. When we came home he'd completely lost his voice, and when he tried to bark a pathetic little squeak came out which embarrassed him so much he wouldn't bark for a week.
The night before he passed, he stood my by chair while I was watching TV and I petted him for the longest. time. I found myself wondering if he was just feeling a little better or if he was trying to squeeze in one last visit. The next morning I heard him let out three wheezing gasps, and when I checked on him he was gone. My wife felt cheated out of her goodbyes, and my son maybe did too, though he never really said, but I feel that night Ty kind of knew and he gave me my chance. Or maybe he was asking me to help him. I'll never know.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
This is not the duck in question
Someone sent me this to cheer me up Actually I apologize for alarming people. I'm not really broken up about it. I'd classify it more like being a teensy bummed, but then I went out for ice cream and everything is better.
Of Ducks and Men
Several days ago my son was mulching the beds next to the house, and when he tried to spread some behind a shrub, there was an explosion of feathers and quacking and a mallard duck rose up and flew away. We looked and there, in a little depression she'd dug right next to the foundation, were ten eggs. Naturally we all had to go back and have a look, then we worried whether we'd scared her away for good.
So I called my favorite optometrist/duck expert, Jim Tomko, who told me that she would indeed be back, and that it would take nearly three weeks for the eggs to hatch. He also said by walking to the nest we'd created a scent trail that predators could follow. Rats!
There's this big tom cat who roams the property and one day I saw him head toward the nest. I got outside in time to see the duck jumping out of the nest, flapping and squawking at the cat. She landed about ten feet away and continued quacking. The cat started checking out the nest. I chased away the cat with hissing sounds, but the duck stayed put. It took the duck about fifteen minutes to go back to the nest and I didn't see the cat again the rest of the day.
So then I felt responsible for the cat knowing where the duck is. I had no idea how much longer until the eggs hatched and there was no way I could watch for the cat 24/7. But my computer faced that window and for as many hours a day as I could I tried to be that duck's guardian angel, even though she probably thought I was just as worrisome as the cat.
A couple of days later I saw a broken shell. Then another. Every day there were one or two or three and the duck would look at me like, 'Guardian angel my tail feathers.' I'm not sure if the cat would eat an egg, but we have raccoons here, too. The last time I saw eggs in the nest there were three.
Now there are none and she is gone, probably off complaining to her friends about the crappy place she chose to nest and looking at the all other ducks' babies with a broken heart.
Now, I know this sort of thing takes place all the time, but it's usually out in the woods somewhere, or next to the pond. Ducks lay eggs. Egg eating creatures try to take those eggs. Ducks hope they've lain enough eggs to outlast the onslaught. If some manage to hatch, they're still lucky if even one makes it to adulthood. This is all fine and good, but not when it plays out right under my dining room window. All I wanted to do was help the duck and there wasn't a thing I could do.
The ducks seriously need to take lessons from the geese. Geese don't care what kind of thing you are, if you get next to the nest, they're coming after you. The male duck was nowhere to be found the entire time, like he was off with his buddies having fun. I hope mama duck found him next to some pond and gave him a piece of her mind.
And if she tries again next year I'm going to hire a sentry with a super soaker. .
So I called my favorite optometrist/duck expert, Jim Tomko, who told me that she would indeed be back, and that it would take nearly three weeks for the eggs to hatch. He also said by walking to the nest we'd created a scent trail that predators could follow. Rats!
There's this big tom cat who roams the property and one day I saw him head toward the nest. I got outside in time to see the duck jumping out of the nest, flapping and squawking at the cat. She landed about ten feet away and continued quacking. The cat started checking out the nest. I chased away the cat with hissing sounds, but the duck stayed put. It took the duck about fifteen minutes to go back to the nest and I didn't see the cat again the rest of the day.
So then I felt responsible for the cat knowing where the duck is. I had no idea how much longer until the eggs hatched and there was no way I could watch for the cat 24/7. But my computer faced that window and for as many hours a day as I could I tried to be that duck's guardian angel, even though she probably thought I was just as worrisome as the cat.
A couple of days later I saw a broken shell. Then another. Every day there were one or two or three and the duck would look at me like, 'Guardian angel my tail feathers.' I'm not sure if the cat would eat an egg, but we have raccoons here, too. The last time I saw eggs in the nest there were three.
Now there are none and she is gone, probably off complaining to her friends about the crappy place she chose to nest and looking at the all other ducks' babies with a broken heart.
Now, I know this sort of thing takes place all the time, but it's usually out in the woods somewhere, or next to the pond. Ducks lay eggs. Egg eating creatures try to take those eggs. Ducks hope they've lain enough eggs to outlast the onslaught. If some manage to hatch, they're still lucky if even one makes it to adulthood. This is all fine and good, but not when it plays out right under my dining room window. All I wanted to do was help the duck and there wasn't a thing I could do.
The ducks seriously need to take lessons from the geese. Geese don't care what kind of thing you are, if you get next to the nest, they're coming after you. The male duck was nowhere to be found the entire time, like he was off with his buddies having fun. I hope mama duck found him next to some pond and gave him a piece of her mind.
And if she tries again next year I'm going to hire a sentry with a super soaker. .
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
An Interview with Bogey
As I've posted before, the Akron Humane Society has lots of dogs and cats to adopt, and at Facebook I've friended them, so in my feed I get to see the featured pet of the day/week or whatever. I want to use this blog to help promote them and hopefully (yes I know hopefully is poor usage) help them get adopted. As such, I conduct interviews with selected pets. Some interviews don't get published because the subjects are boring, or barky, or run away to chase a mouse, but some I put here. So here is an interview with Bogey.
Aurora Boardealis: Hi Bogey
Bogey: (sniff) Hi (sniff).
AB: Where were you before you were here?
B: (sniff) I don't really know, but it smelled like wet newspapers and garlic. (sniff)
AB: Being a Beagle mix you go a lot by smell, don't you?
B: (sniff) (sniff) Now that I think of it, you smell a lot like wet newspaapers and garlic. (sniff) (sniff) (sniff)
AB: Okay, that's enough sniffing me.
B: Seriously? (sniff) There is never enough (sniff) sniffing.
AB: Let ask you what type of home you are hoping for.
B: I'd like it (sniff) to smell like (sniff) sausage.
AB: So a home hear a grocery store then?
B: Or (sniff) a pizzeria.
AB: That narrows down your options, doesn't it?
B: Not really (sniff). I can smell eighteen different pizza places right now. And a Chinese restaurant.
AB: We're nowhere near any restaurants.
B: Exactly (sniff).
AB: Well you are a very sweet little dog. I hope you find a forever home very soon.
B: (sniff) (sniff) (sniff) Orange cat.
AB: What?
B: You have (sniff) an orange cat, don't you?
AB: You can tell that by smelling?
B: (sniff) No, there's hair all over your pants.
AB: Thanks, Bogey, and good luck.
Aurora Boardealis: Hi Bogey
Bogey: (sniff) Hi (sniff).
AB: Where were you before you were here?
B: (sniff) I don't really know, but it smelled like wet newspapers and garlic. (sniff)
AB: Being a Beagle mix you go a lot by smell, don't you?
B: (sniff) (sniff) Now that I think of it, you smell a lot like wet newspaapers and garlic. (sniff) (sniff) (sniff)
AB: Okay, that's enough sniffing me.
B: Seriously? (sniff) There is never enough (sniff) sniffing.
AB: Let ask you what type of home you are hoping for.
B: I'd like it (sniff) to smell like (sniff) sausage.
AB: So a home hear a grocery store then?
B: Or (sniff) a pizzeria.
AB: That narrows down your options, doesn't it?
B: Not really (sniff). I can smell eighteen different pizza places right now. And a Chinese restaurant.
AB: We're nowhere near any restaurants.
B: Exactly (sniff).
AB: Well you are a very sweet little dog. I hope you find a forever home very soon.
B: (sniff) (sniff) (sniff) Orange cat.
AB: What?
B: You have (sniff) an orange cat, don't you?
AB: You can tell that by smelling?
B: (sniff) No, there's hair all over your pants.
AB: Thanks, Bogey, and good luck.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
A dog story to warm your heart.
There's a little blog where some writers post things they've written that aren't really literature, but more like conversations between themselves. Here is one such post about a really stupid Labrador and the people he loved.
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