You know it.

Diesel, part II

Diesel and his people moved out of the building. How sad... I like Diesel. Anyway, while he was waiting patiently in the back of the truck, I went to pet him. At first he started to growl when I intruded in his home space, but he was wagging his tail at the same time. Strange. Anyway, he recognized me, then we socialized for a while and I got some better photos of him, thusly:



What a handsome devil!

Let's settle this once and for all!

See these?

They look like shibas, don't they?

Yes. Yes, they do. And you know why they look like shibas?

Because they're not foxes. They're Australian dingos. I got the photos from here.

So next time you see a shiba, you can sound erudite by saying "wow, your dog looks just like a little dingo!"

I keep telling you...

A fox looks nothing like a shiba.

I am not amused

A dog bit me.

Her Majesty and I were in the Community Garden. I was chatting with a friend, and Her Majesty was lying in the shadow of the car, keeping cool. Then, two people approached with a loose dog, and they came into the garden to look at something. The dog saw Her Majesty and approached her with an aggressive posture, so I went to intervene. Her Majesty didn't get up but was visibly tense and on her guard. I put my hand on her back and tried to push the other dog away. Instead it went around me to go sniff Tinky-Winky's butt.

Tinky-Winky got up and started growling while I kept pushing the dog and telling it to slag off. It continued to stand aggressively and refused to move away. Finally Tinky-Winky gave a warning snap and that ugly cur laid into her. Luckily (I guess), since they were right in my feet, I was able to pick up Her Majesty fairly quickly and get her out of the other dog's reach before she got bitten. But as I was doing that, the nasty creature turned and bit me on the leg. And even after that, it kept refusing to move away, but stood pushing back as I tried to push it away with my leg, and stared at me menacingly. While its idiot owner (who happens to be an offspring of the idiot boss of the job I just quit) simply called it a couple of times, making no effort whatsoever to come and control her mutt despite the fact that obviously it doesn't come when called and it just got into a fight. Bitch... and I don't mean the dog.

Seriously, what the fuck? Your dog started a fight and bit someone and you don't even bother to come over and control it? I know I've been guilty of letting my dog off-leash when she couldn't be trusted not to get into a fight, but a) my dog has never bitten a person and b) if a fight starts I run to break it up. What a rotten family...

The more I know people, the more I love my dog.

Tinky-Winky's new best friend

Ever since Carter died, I figured Otis would be Tinky-Winky's new best friend, since he was her second-best friend before. Otis lives in our building and is a really sweet, quite large dog. Everybody loves him... except, of course, Her Majesty. When we first met Otis, the Creature was in her snapping-at-noses phase, so she would snap at his nose. Otis would leap out of the way, and then try again. So over time, this became a game. Otis pokes his nose at her, she makes a show of snapping, he makes a show of leaping out of the way. They find this hilarious. Now that Tinky-Winky is in a new phase of saying hello like a polite dog, Otis is rather disappointed that she won't play his game anymore.

But as it turns out, Tinky-Winky's new favourite dog is not Otis, but this handsome fellow:


Too bad he looked away, but oh well. You can see he's a quite large male pitbull. Intact, at that. His name is Diesel.

Now if you're very obsessive about reading this blog, you may remember that the first time we met Diesel, he was being handled by a small girl who had no control over him, and I found the whole thing alarming. Since then, I've heard many anecdotes of Diesel being aggressive to other dogs in the building. Now I'm not saying that aggression is ok when a small dog like Tinky-Winky does it, but the redeeming quality of Her Majesty is that you can overpower her easily, and she has less capacity to inflict serious damage than a 100-lb dog. A dog like Diesel can't afford to be aggressive, or he's gonna meet an untimely demise. (For the record, there came a time in my early days with Tinky-Winky when I wondered whether she wasn't heading towards euthanasia herself.)

All this to say, when Her Majesty and I came face to face with Diesel and his human in the woods, I thought there might be trouble. The other human (the alpha male in Diesel's pack, who does in fact control him and does obedience work with him) and I each restrained our mutts, and then we let them have a look at each other.


This is not the first thing that happened. What happened first, of all things, is that Tinky-Winky wagged her tail and went to sniff Diesel's butt.

???????????

That has never happened. She's learned to tolerate being sniffed, and she's even taken, quite recently, to wagging her tail at other dogs, but I had never, ever, to that point, seen her make friendly overtures and take the initiative for butt-sniffing. And here, of course, Diesel returns the compliment.

Then:


They're perfectly friendly. No snapping took place at any point. No growling. No aggression. Somehow, the two fightingest dogs in the building immediately hit it off as Best Friends Forever. I tells ya, you could have knocked me down with a feather.

Hello, world!

I finally got the local newspaper to take a photo of Her Majesty. This is a crudely edited version since I don't have Photoshop. Maybe I can get someone to make it look really good... for free... One can hope.

So long, old friend

You may remember Carter, Tinky-Winky's best friend. Carter was born 17 February 2003 and only ever had one human. In 2006, his human's then-boyfriend was working with my then-boyfriend, and sometimes the two of them would bring "their" respective dogs to work. That's how Tinky-Winky and Carter met. Back then, she was still psychotically aggressive, but she got used to Carter. I don't think they ever had a real fight, although Tinky-Winky snapped at him a fair number of times.

On the other hand, the guys didn't introduce myself and Carter's human. We only met years later, when we had each broken up with the then-boyfriend. And we recognised each other by our dogs. Then we became friends. Recently, Carter's human had to be out of town a lot, and one time she couldn't get her usual dog-sitter, so she asked me. So Tinky-Winky and I spent a couple of days at Carter's house. Then we ended up dog-sitting him every time his human was out of time, because we all got along so well.

Finally, after we had spent many days as a pack of three, something amazing happened: Tinky-Winky played with Carter. They were running loose in the off-leash area (we have official off-leash areas in town, though you can't really tell the difference with the rest of town), and Carter ran up to Tinky-Winky and balled her over. I thought she'd freak and try to rip his throat out, but she just rolled over, got back up and ran after him.

Whoa.

I never thought I'd see the day when my dog would let another dog approach her casually, let alone participate in any kind of playful behaviour. And after that, she'd actually let him sniff her butt and not snap at him. Another thing she absolutely doesn't allow. Her second-best friend, Otis, who is almost as big as Carter and fascinated by Tinky-Winky, loves to get her to snap at him so he can make a big show of leaping out of reach. Then he does it again. They both seem to find this game hilarious. But anyway, even Otis does not get to sniff Her Majesty's butt. He has to do a kind of drive-by sniffing and get out of reach before she can turn on him.

So, that was Carter.

Was.

Carter saw the vet for his annual check-up on Monday, June 4. They said he was well enough though obviously declining, which seemed normal for his age. Of late he had been unable to jump into the car, but what can you do. Dogs age. His labs were a little off, but nothing serious.

Tuesday, Carter was his usual self.

Wednesday morning, Carter couldn't get up. He had to be carried out to relieve himself, then helped back up the steps, and then he lay down and didn't move all day. His human called the vet, who by then had left town. (The vet lives three hours away and comes here a few days a month with his portable clinic.) The vet was alarmed. Plans began to be made to transport Carter to Edmonton the next day.

In the evening, Carter started shaking, and then he started to have seizures. I wasn't there, but I hear it was very traumatic. The decision was made to put him down. Unfortunately, when the vet isn't here, we have no mainstream way of euthanising dogs, so we have the choice of shooting them or trying to overdose them on whatever prescription drugs are at hand. Yes, yes, it's barbaric. What can you do. That's the price we pay for the freedom our dogs get. I've often said the best part of this town is the dog-walking. But anyway, the problem is, it's very difficult to obtain any prescription drug in a quantity that can kill a 100-lb dog. Most drugs aren't even strong enough to kill a rat. So Carter was given something, which didn't kill him, but mercifully stopped the seizures.

After a while, his human, who had been holding his hand the whole time, left the room for some reason. Immediately his breathing shallowed. The other people who were there called the human back, but before she could get back to him he was gone. I guess he was holding on to her all that time. It was Thursday morning, June 7. The vet thinks it may have been a toxin, or a tumour in the spine (boxers are prone to them), or perhaps one small thing that precipitated a cascade of failure due to his age and declining condition.

We buried Carter that evening in one of his favourite spots. He got a four-car motorcade and five pall bearers. There were eight people at his funeral, plus Tinky-Winky. At first Her Majesty wanted to participate in the grave-digging, but she got aggravated with the five-year-old girl who kept chasing her everywhere. As you know, little girls love Her Majesty, and the feeling is extremely not mutual. So after a while she absconded, then the kid lost interest, then Her Majesty came back and lay on the beach watching us work with her smug shiba grin. She was clearly having a grand old time. I wasn't watching her when we took Carter out of the car and put him in the grave, so I don't know if she ever clued in. Certainly she was completely indifferent to the fact that half the humans, myself included, were crying. She's never been the kind of dog that "knows exactly what you're feeling".

After the family had left and I had captured Her Majesty, I carried her to the grave to say goodbye. She still had no reaction. I still don't know if she's aware that her best friend for the least six years has died.

Carter leaves behind his very sad human, her two daughters, and her two step-daughters. And a hard-hearted little shiba. And me. He wasn't always what you'd call a "good dog." He was insanely strong in his prime and would take off after squirrels on a regular basis. He'd escape and roam the town all night. He ate the family garbage, and the baby-proofing locks that were installed to keep him out of the garbage. He also made an annual tradition of eating the littlest girl's gingerbread house. He got into an awful lot of dog fights. He was famous for his drooling. But he was extremely devoted to his family and a staunch protector, and a genuinely good person. He liked people and wanted to be liked. He was affectionate and funny and had infinite patience with the children. He was even good to cats. He wasn't even my dog and I miss him terribly.

Goodbye, old friend. You did good.

Andiamo, Mama!

Sunday morning off-leash

Waiting for Godot

When it's nice, Her Majesty sits on the balcony. Then she can't hear me open the door, so she just keeps waiting for me.

How to find the centre of a rectangle

The easy way:

Intersection of the diagonals.


The hard way:

Plan to sleep on it. Then put a shiba in a corner. The shiba will find the centre for you.

How sexy is this dude?

This isn't my next dog, obviously. I'm pretty sure he belongs to someone already. But he sure reinforces my interest in borzois as possible next dog.

Pwnage: you're doing it wrong

Tinky-Winky and I went house-sitting last weekend. Technically we were "sitting" the dog, Carter, who is Tinky-Winky's oldest, dearest "friend". They've known each other since... almost since I first got Tinky-Winky in September 2005. The way they met is that my ex and Carter's owner's ex were friends. Carter's owner and I didn't even meet until 2009.

Carter is a nine-year-old boxer. As such, he drools. A lot. Also, he farts a lot. So I decided to go to their house rather than letting him come to ours. Therefore, Her Majesty went on a progress to Carter's house, and I, her faithful servant, brought her household goods.

Being best friends forever, Carter and Tinky-Winky completely ignored each other. And yes, that shows what good friends they are. Of course we know how Her Majesty is with other dogs. She hasn't been in a fight in nearly two years now, but she does snap at the nose of any dog that doesn't grovel before her. Carter isn't as consistently and masterfully ferocious as Her Majesty was in her day, but he weighs somewhere close to 100 lbs, and has been in quite a few fisticuffs. He's not a very good fighter, as far as I can tell, so he doesn't win, but he does instigate. So, having the two in the same house, ignoring each other completely, for 48 hours, shows that they're very dear friends, or possibly, that I'm the next Dog Whisperer.

The first evening, each dog lay on Her or his own bed. At bedtime, I put Her Majesty's bed next to the owner's bed, which is immensely wide and high. Her Majesty can't, or won't try, to jump that high, so I figured she'd sleep on her bed, and Carter would do... whatever. I didn't think he was allowed on the bed.

Ha.

Carter jumped up on the bed and tried to sit on me. Did I mention he's close to 100 lbs? I can control him on the leash, but I couldn't wrestle him off the bed, so I picked up Her Majesty and put her near me. At this point they had words, because if there is one thing Her Majesty absolutely will not suffer, it's another dog being closer to me than she is. So Carter backed off a few inches, and then all three of us had a nice pleasant night's sleep.

The second day, Her Majesty took over Carter's dog bed. Carter didn't say anything, but lay miserably on the floor. Also, Carter got unwell. He hardly ate all day. Seeing as he is on a diet and supposed to eat only two scoops a day, I thought I'd outwit him and give him a half-scoop four times a day, so I could feed him when he asked yet not over-feed him. But he didn't even eat what I gave him. He did drink a lot, though, with the obvious result that he loosened his bowel considerably and spent the evening pissing like a racehorse - the first time, unfortunately, in the house; the next six outside. After that he wasn't feeling all that cuddly, so he slept on the floor the second night, and Her Majesty and I had the bed to ourselves.

The third day, Carter decided to get cocky, thusly:


Hmmmm...

He's lying on Her Majesty's bed.

Amazingly, Tinky-Winky let him, and didn't even object to his smell being on it afterwards. Even though she won't even drink from the same dish he does, on account of the drooling. Still, Carter seems less than thrilled with this new bed. Maybe because he can't even fit completely on it, let alone sprawl out.

So the moral is twofold: first, nobody pwns Her Majesty; and second, if I get a borzoi, I'll need a much bigger dog bed.

The ten-dog race, again

Mmmm... Comfy...

Garden dog

I think Tinky-Winky dog is jealous of the garden. As soon as I spend any amount of time gardening, she tries to get in the middle of things. She is also fascinated by the smell of bone meal, so here she's trying to get into the bag. Once it was open, though, she wanted none of it. I think the smell of the whole mass is too strong for her. Bone meal is a natural product made from, obviously, crushed bones of animals such as chickens. This one in particular has no cow bones in it - I suppose they tell me that so I won't be worried about Mad Cow? So anyway, I doubt it would do the dog any harm. It smells and looks like fish food, mostly.

Doggy storm shelter: success!

Finally, the dog understands the purpose of the crate. She hadn't stepped inside yet, even though I put all her shredding blankets in there. Then Monday afternoon there was a thunderstorm, and she started freaking out as usual, so I put her in the cage. She shredded for a while and then came back out. But Tuesday, when the thunder started, she went into the cage of her own free will and lay down at the back.

Booya!

Well, that doesn't look very comfortable. I've been meaning to get her some bedding in there, but I really don't feel like spending money on a dog bed and a comforter just now. So, instead I'm lending her some of my crochet blankets, thusly:


The one inside the cage is a queen-size and makes a nice thick mattress. I hope she won't tear it. Crochet blankets are much more resistant than fabric, but you never know. The one draped over the cage is mostly to shut out more light and sound and make it more cave-like, but it also makes it more esthetically pleasing to me. Better feng-shui, hopefully. Also, both these blankets are hand-made by me and have been in the house for years, and were on my bed all winter, so they should be thoroughly permeated with my smell, and hopefully that's a comfort to her when I'm not home.

This morning, the dog went to look at the cage again, and at first did not approve of my modifications. So I grabbed her and put her inside forcibly, and she lay down at the back and made herself at home. I'm not sure she likes having a blanket over the cage, actually. It shuts out some light and noise, but on the other hand, she can't see me anymore, and that always annoys her. She likes to keep an eye on me.

That can't be comfortable

Her Majesty is lying on the bare concrete balcony with her head in a pot of pansies. There is NO WAY that's comfortable. Also, just before she picked the pansies as a pillow, she had her head in the baobabs. And if anything happens to my baobabs, this little dog is going to get rebuked like she's never been rebuked before.

You know why she's lying like that though? Because I was fussing with those plants. She doesn't like to sleep on the concrete with her head in the pansies; she's just an attention hog.

It's lucky she's her, because I wouldn't take this guff from any other dog.

Cats are evil

That's from October 7, 2006. My ex's cat, Emily, always figured shiba tails make the best cat toys. I named her Emily after The Exorcism of Emily Rose. She was the most psychopathic cat I've ever met.

But even though Emily was evil, she's not the reason Tinky-Winky is scared of cats. She was already scared of cats when she came to live with me.

Today she had another humorous cat adventure. We left the apartment to go for our evening walk, and while I was locking the door, Tinky-Winky was wrapping the leash around me in a state of great agitation. So I was like "what in the world are you doing?" Then I noticed that our neighbour's cat, Mackenzie, was reaching her evil little paw under the door, trying to grab Tinky-Winky. So I poked her paw and she retracted it, like some evil little clawy snail. But then she did it again! Tinky-Winky insisted that we make for the elevator post-haste. Then she zoomed through the lobby, and didn't slow down until we were well away from the building and into the oppressive heat.

A few minutes later, on the trail, we met a rottweiler. Tinky-Winky gave it the Stare of Death and it recoiled.

It always makes me laugh that she can terrorize large dogs but runs from little cats.