The good thing about living in the country...

There are some very good things about living in the country. One is the space. I love living on 5 acres, but I love the "field" (i.e. the whippet ranch) that I purchased last winter even more.

"We" have been fencing. Today, I went up to look at the fencing which is nearly complete.

The above photo is taken from the ranch (or cow) side towards the whippet side which will be smaller.

We had a good time running around with the dogs being dogs. Look at the following and tell me that dogs don't smile:

Yes, we were well pleased with our fence:

The whippets seemed a little more "activated" and prone to wondering off than normal. I didn't make anything of it. I also didn't make anything of the large pile of excrement I found. The pile looked like a cow patty, but I figured the rancher or fencer had a horse out there when the fence was going up. There were tire tracks from a pick up on the perimeter. Don't ask me why....I assumed that they had brought a horse out.

All of a sudden, Gabi went running off to the tank at the south end of the property (for those not familiar with the lingo and "tank" is a pond). She would not come back when called. Once, again, I didn't think anything of it except that, perhaps, she was hunting. Gabi seems to be the keenest hunter in my bunch. I was only half way down the field. Charlie followed her, but Mati and Hudi stayed close.

Imagine my surprise when I met the cows....I guess the cow patty did belong to a cow. I did not see Gabi.

The "well-behaved" whippets (and that term is used VERY loosely in the context of this story) decided that they would go after the big bunnies. Although the rancher who owns the cows had told me that he had no problem with me running my dogs on the cow side, I was not intending to test this process with all my dogs at once. Packs of dogs will do things that one or two would not consider doing.

This whole set up was not my cup of tea. I managed to call Hudi, Mati and, eventually Charlie back to me, but Gabi was not wearing her listening ears. I decided to head back to the van, because I feared my ability to keep the dogs with me when there were such big bunnies in the neighborhood was probably limited. Unfortunately, the cows decided to cut me off at the pass, so to speak.

We zigged and zagged, but the cows seemed to KNOW. In the photo below, the position of the van is highlighted with the red arrow....see the problem?

Now, if anyone is a cow expert, please look at the above image and tell me if these are cows from the neighborhood Welcome Wagon, coming to bring me a basket of warm cow patties, or if these are cows from the 'hood, here to protect their turf and knock me and my skinny little dogs into the next county. I chose to assume the latter, thinking that would probably be best for my longevity. If the cows were friendly and now offended by my lack of hospitality, so be it.

In the end, the human managed to fake out the cows with her zigging and zagging eventually reaching the safety of the van. I kept telling myself what my realtor had commented when showing the land, "cows are really stupid", but underneath it, I also knew that they could probably smell my fear. Cows are BIG. There was no doubt in this city girl's mind who would win the battle of cow vs. city girl. I was all ready to give it to the cow.

Once to the van, I decided to drive across the field to "rescue" the errant Goober Girl. Picture this: the pearl white Toyota Sienna mini-van driving across a field of cows....not your usual ranch transportation. I was already feeling out of my element, and this only added to that feeling. I was also very worried about Gabi. I hadn't seen her since she had gone tearing for the pond. I feared that Gabi had listened to her collie side and was herding cows, perhaps being knocked senseless in the process. Thankfully, once I drove the van to the far side of the field she came running out of a tall clump of grass, ever so happy and looking quite pleased with herself (I have no clue what she was doing with the cows).

Do you think this city girl needs to go back to the city?

Weekend travels

Yesterday, I drove to the Big City. I haven't been there in....a LONG time. As I got closer, I realized how glad I am that I no longer live there. A cloud of smog was hanging over down town. I decided to drive by the old house. Unfortunately, it was the neighborhood garage sale so driving down the street took 10 minutes. I took a quick right at the corner, not really seeing much of the house (although what I did see didn't look changed). We drove to Wild Birds Unlimited. The parking lot was FULL (a shopping center with a grocery, bagel place, Starbucks and other small stores). ARGH! Was it always this congested? Where did all of the cars come from?

While in the store, the resident cat decided to play games with me. Quite fun....I miss the charm of a cat, sometimes, although I recognize that I no longer have a cat safe household. I also had a nice conversation with a gentleman who lives on the outskirts of the Big City. he has rescued dogs, and was extolling the virtues of living with animals. He was preaching to the choir on that one.

After that, I visited a friend. We met via the dogs. Her oldest dog and my oldest dog were puppy playmates. I think we started having play dates when the dogs were about 6 months old. Both of our dogs will be nine in a few months. They have both slowed down. In the olden day, they would meet and romp and do zoomies around the yard. Now, they were both content to lay on the deck, and after about 30 minutes, they were all interested in going back inside for a siesta.

How did all of that time pass? When I got Darby so many years ago, I didn't realize how having these dogs would change my life. I have made many friends in the dogs/whippet world. It has also changed my life. The main reason that I chose to move to Smalltown America was so that I could have more room for my dogs. I do believe that it has been one of the best decisions that I have ever made.
The flowers around my place are beginning to bloom. I discovered that whippets love to eat gladiolas, so last week, I put up some protective fencing.
Last year, I planted 4 butterfly bushes. One died (anointed by male dog urine a few too many times). However, the 3 remaining buses are growing like wildfire this spring. I am hoping that will mean lots of butterflies. The first has begun to bloom:

I hope everyone is having a good and relaxing weekend.

The best medicine

I often times feel that the world is becoming more chaotic. I am blessed to have a home that is a refuge from the chaos, and to share that home with my dogs. My dogs have proven to be the best stress buster and anti-depressant available.

Studies have shown that pets can be good for the health. Positive influences include a potential for improved cardiovascular health (though decrease in blood pressure), decrease in depression/social isolation, and an opportunity to be more active in general.

When my father was diagnosed with metastatic cancer, I worried about my mother. She and my father have been life partners in the true sense of the word. They have never had anyone but each other. I wished they had a dog. Something for them to both love but then to be there for my mother. Sometimes, wishes do come true.

A couple of months after my father's diagnosis, one of my dog's litter-mates was orphaned. Her owner, a single woman died unexpectedly of a massive MI. Emma is a special little whippet. Her first owner was a type I diabetic since childhood. As sometimes happens in long term diabetes, she lost autonomic nerve function. Although she tightly controlled her sugars with insulin pump, she didn't always sense that her sugars were low. (Symptoms of hypoglycemia include anxiety, palpitations, diaphoresis, nausea. When the autonimic nerves don't work, those symptoms may not be present). Emma was in tune, and would alert her owner to the hypoglycemia.

Emma is a small whippet. When I heard that she was orphaned, I thought she would be perfect for my parents. At first they said, "no." They worried about what they would do if Dad had to be hospitalized, they worried about not being able to exercise her enough, they worried about stepping on her in the middle of the night. After several extensive conversations, they agreed.

Unfortunately, after her owner's death, Emma became very ill. It's not clear to me what happened. She was in a foster home for about a month. She stopped eating and developed diarrhea. After a lot of dietary manipulations, she was deemed healthy enough to travel, but was a scary sight when she arrived in Texas. Whippets are skinny, but shouldn't be as thin as Emma was.

I kept her for a month. She gained weight, but still had horribly dry skin when I took her to my parents.

I was a little bit worried about her when I left. Since she could sense illness in her owner, I feared that she would not bond with my father. Initially, she bonded with my mother, but did seem reluctant to be around my father. However, he had also spent the first 2.5 years of her life with a single female. When her owner died, she had initially been taken to a shelter by animal control in a traumatic seizure that left her crate wary and also afraid of men.

Last weekend, I visited my parents. Emma is absolutely thriving. Her skin is no longer flaky. Her weight is good. She is still my mother's dog, but she obviously loves my father, too. I think she recognizes his problems. He has a painful neuropathy in her feet. She will jump in his lap, but avoids being underfoot. Saturday, when my father was sitting in his chair with his morning coffee, Emma sat at his feet and just stared at him, waiting for him to reach down to pet him. I wish I could have captured that on film.

Emma no longer fears the crate -- given their fears of stepping on her at night, they have crated her in their bedroom from the first day. Emma has crated beautifully in my parent's home. Now, she will crate herself when she thinks it is time for bed. Every time I call my parents, there is another delightful Emma story.

Emma has been the best medicine. She has brought laughter back to my parent's home.

Hug your hounds, love your humans.
Peace.

Those Special Kitties

I jog.

I jog for many reasons. Health, fitness, the fitness of my dogs, AND sanity maintenance . When I don't run, the world, which is pretty danged depressing at baseline becomes over-whelming. Sometimes, life in the "Bucket List Inducement Field" sucks. The jogging helps me process that frustration. When I don't run, I tend to succumb to viral illnesses....I have a theory for that effect, but that's for another post.

Now, I have a few dogs. ALL of them love these morning jogs except for the sick old man Darby. He prefers to stay at home under a blanket, and given his problems, he deserves it. I always have a hard time leaving one or two behind.....those brown eyes staring at me with their tails wagging (or in the case of Mati, helicoptering.....). How can one leave one behind (and when I do, I hear the howls of disappointment).

How to run with all these dogs? Well, having whippets apparently induces some sort of cognitive disorder in all of their servants....we come up with similar ideas. I decided, as so artfully told by Patience, that I would attach their leashes to a belt around my waist. That way, I could have hands free running. Tada!

Now, as Patience experience tells, this sort of a get up is prone to sudden changes in velocity on the part of the walker or, in my case, jogger. I have learned to scan the horizon, looking for squirrels and bunnies that my prompt this sudden change spatial orientation. During RoadKill season (early spring) I scout out all the recent kills on my way home so that I can navigate around them on the following morning run. Nothing like having a whippet scoop up fresh (or not so fresh) road kill. The whippets tend not to want to release it, and I have this absolute phobia about touching dead wildlife. I run early in the morning, before most of the creatures are stirring to try to minimize the chances that I will become air-borne (or roadside ditch decorations).

Recently, I have not been jogging. I injured my heel (likely during one of those sudden changes in velocity during which I try to put on the brakes before I assume the horizontal airborne position). This had all sorts of fall-out. I got sick. I became depressed (see paragraph 1). Once I am off the running circuit, it's hard to get back into it because the mornings are COLD right now (or at least cold for these parts).

This week has been a good week. I am getting my groove back. I ran every morning except for Tuesday. The viral haze is beginning to lift, although the allergic cloud still has a full grip (being in my head is not fun; I am praying that those allergy shots will soon start doing more than giving me big goose eggs on my extremities once a week).

Wednesday, I took out all five runners (Charlie, Reilly, Hudi, Mati and Gabi). Having read Patience's experience, I know better than to take out SEVEN dogs. I only take five! I was feeling good. (If I am really tired I take 4 dogs). Sometimes, in my running zone, I ponder....I ponder all sorts of things....the serious....the mundane....my mind goes lots of places....that's part of what helps my sanity maintenance. I think about work. I pound out the frustrations of work. I think about nothing, too. During that thinking period I have calculated that I have more whippet weight attached to my waist than I have body weight. The dogs outweigh me by about 40 pounds when all 5 run with me.

Anyone who owns whippets will also tell you (and this may be a reflection of the group cognitive disorder), that whippets DO NOT OBEY THE LAWS OF PHYSICS. Nope. They are a very special breed. Put a whippet in bed with you, , and this sweet 32 pound of flesh suddenly weighs 150 pounds. They can not be budged once they hit a human bed. If said whippet falls asleep on top of you, it weighs 250 pounds. Put a whippet on a leash attached to your belt, said whippet can drag at LEAST 3 times it's weight in dead weight. Not selling you a bridge across the dessert on that one. I have 170 pounds of whippet attached to my waist during my jog; therefore, I have a force capable of pulling 510 pounds of dry weight somewhat permanently attached to my waist. If you didn't go read the link at Patience's site, I do think you should be beginning to understand what my morning jobs are occasionally like: sudden changes in velocity to a speed much faster than I can run, which then induces the change in orientation (from vertical to horizontal), which then occasionally induces the change in my appearance.

Wednesday morning, I was having a good run. The heel that had sidelined me for 3 weeks wasn't hurting that much, the weather was cool but not cold, the dogs were behaving. Then, before I spotted it, one of those SPECIAL KITTIES wanders out of the field. Dang it all. Nope. I am not talking about kitties that ride the short bus....I'm talking about those special kitties.....you know, the black ones with the white stripe.

The dogs start pulling. Remember that calculation?? They can pull 500 pounds and I weigh...well, less than THAT. I dig in my heels, leaning back, feeling the jarring force crush my knees, and my heel that was hurting suddenly screams obscenities at the rest of my body. The danged "kitty", on being confronted with 5 suddenly insane whippets doesn't turn around. It danged well starts waddling towards us. Great. A special kitty with rabies! Why else would a "special kitty" (SK) come TOWARDS 5 insane whippets? I am screaming "back, back!" The SK(unk) keeps coming toward us. We are slowly creeping toward the SK as my less than 500 pound frame is being unwilling dragged towards the SK(unk) which is now "wagging" it's tail. I am suddenly wondering if using my pepper spray will have any sort of deterrent effect on the SK(unk). Probably not -- spraying noxious material on a noxious animal, just means noxious. Might cause it to run at me and bite me....I am now totally convinced that it is rabid.

I summon all of my alpha bitch authority and scream "BAD DAWGS". My crew is momentarily stunned (Gabi "jeez, I think mom is really mad; maybe I should pay attention for 10 seconds"; Hudi "I never heard her sound like that; Please, please don't be mad"; Mati "momma, I love you, I love you, I'm sorry"). In that stunned instant, I manage to pull the dogs towards the Elks lodge, which, unfortunately, is a path straight into a ditch.

Now, I would have chosen another path, but I had also looked up to see a large pick up truck heading straight for us. I think he had seen the "special kitty" and didn't want to hit that with his truck (stinks them up for days) so was going to hit the crazy woman with 5 whippets -- one trip to car wash would probably remove the blood from the grill work.

In the country, men are, if nothing else, helpful after forcing your off the road. The pick up slows down, "Ma'am, what are you doing in the ditch? Do you need help." I cheerfully call back, "oh, I'm fine -- just trying to avoid the skunk! (and your 2 ton truck)". No problem.

Oh, no problem....I'm standing in a ditch. The five whippets had somehow managed to a do a rapid macreme trick on the way into the ditch so I can't move because the leashes are knotted around my body. Think mummified by leashes. It had rained the previous weekend. The ditch had about 6 inches of 40 degree water standing in it.

However, I was a) still vertical and b) not sprayed with Ode' de Special Kitty. The two ton pick up had scared the kitty into the opposite ditch. Really, I was just fine!A Special Kitty (SKunk)

Can anyone tell me if pepper spray will work on skunks?