The Dog Thing, part III

Mirri's death, and Satchel's after, left me pining. For what, I didn't know. In the intervening years, I've come to understand that it was close animal friendship—the company of a "familiar," if you will—that I was missing; a special one-on-one relationship with an animal, a loving bond. I have this with Fenway Bartholomule, and while I don't fool myself into thinking he couldn't learn to love carrots from another master, I do feel that we have an extraordinary connection.

Between Mirri and Fenway, I only knew that something was missing. I tried, and failed, to find it in Satchel, and after him I tried, and failed, to find it in Story.

I adopted Story—a young red heeler—from the animal shelter with a less-than-full understanding of her background, but with the sense that she needed to come out of her shell. It was naive for me to assume that I, a mother of three and a busy, working housewife, was the one to help her with this process. Story's life had a bad beginning, a challenging middle (with us), and a happy ending that started with my placing a Craigslist ad after nearly two difficult years. "Tell me more about her," the fourth respondent answered. My reply? "She's a submissive urinator, she's afraid of strangers, dogs, livestock, and men, she poops when she's anxious, she bit my coworker, and she needs intensive and careful resocialization with a trained professional." The respondant's reply? "Sounds PERFECT." Story is now a beloved member of a new family, and the main priority for two dog-savvy adults with plenty of time, money, and energy for her very worrisome social gaps. She is getting the help she needs, and that she could not get in her several years with me. She is, as I like to think of it, someone's Fenway.

As for me, I've figured something out. I've learned that, as much as I like dogs—as much as I admire them, enjoy them, and understand them—I don't really want another. Not now, though maybe someday. For now, I'm enjoying Paisley more and more, and finally seeing him for the very good dog that he is, and I'm nurturing a great relationship with Fenway—my mule, who fits in Mirri's shoes.

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Here are the Cloud Dog's X-Rays

Here, for your edification, are the X-rays of dear Paisley's leg. There is, apparently, no new break (since his Monday siezure) but there is, of course, a great deal of abnormality caused by years of living with a shortened ulna. His pronounced lameness, the vet says, may temporarily improve. Unlike me, Fenway Bartholomule, poor cloud dog can't expect much in the way of a full recovery. Not having the $$$$ for surgery to fuse the joint, we are working on making some sort of rigid splint to support the limb and prevent further degeneration. That is, the humans (with their space-age material inventions and their opposable thumbs) are working on making a splint; I am working on giving cloud dog brayful looks of support and encouragement every time he totters into the yard to relieve himself. As always, he fears me (me?!) and keeps his distance. Ears to you, Fenway

Continued . . .

Vegan Spring Rolls

I, Fenway Bartholomule, am a vegan: of course I only eat plants, not people! My human is too, so I'm sharing my blog with her today so that she can participate in the 2014 Virtual Vegan Potluck ! When you're done perusing the recipe for these delicious spring rolls, click "back" or "forward" for the entire potluck experience! Virtual Vegan Potluck: Spring Roll Appetizers Beautiful? Check. Healthy? Check. Delicious? Check. Easy? Check. Fancy? Check. Quick to clean up after? Check. Vegan? OF COURSE! If you're looking for something portable, colorful, and crowd-pleasing for your next potluck, look no further than these simple vegan spring rolls! The best part? You can substitute ANYTHING. I never make these the same way twice, so play around with cilantro, kale, cabbage, scallions, or whatever you think sounds good! Ingredients Veggie mix: 2 carrots (grated) 4 oz mung bean sprouts 1/3 cup chopped peanuts (raw, or roasted and salted) or ...

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That Which Was Foretold Has Come To Pass

After some negotiation and exchange of words like "motheaten" and "raggedy", Farmwife talked me into enduring the roaching of my mane, which I had rubbed on the fence while reaching for delectable edibles at my previous home. We both agreed on four things: 1) it was essential to retain my forelock, which is a thing of splendor that adds greatly to my dashing good looks. I'll get a picture for you tomorrow. 2) once the cut has grown out a bit, she will give me those fancy castle turrets that she used to style for Fenway. 3) we owe our dear readers a better photo, when I have not just rolled in the mud. 4) there is no hairstyle capable of making me look anything but marvelous.

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The Scoop on Bird

Human here, to give you the scoop on Songbird. He is shiny, sweet, and wonderful . . . and a little bit broken hearted. (Fenway was once, too.) As I've gotten to know him more over the last month, I've come to understand that he associates humans with unpleasantness, at least, and suffering, at worst. He has some gnarly scars. He flinches away from touch, though he warms up quickly when treats are involved. He's quite a foodie. He's easily startled. He's alert, and vigilant. He doesn't always feel safe. He also really likes it at my mom's house, which has a slower pace than the wonderful boarding and lesson barn where he lived in June. He appreciates the predictable routine, the long quiet afternoons, and the retired horses who give him company. He has flattened the grass under the big cedar out back and created nests to rest in. The soft footing at my mom's is better for his newly bare feet. He is starting to believe he'll be ok. I have ridden him...

Continued . . .

BRAYS OF OUR LIVES

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