Another Dog-Sitting Adventure

John was in his mid-eighties and spending a lot of time alone while Ginny was overseeing house repairs, yard-work, and finances. John's children from his first marriage worried their dad was spending too much time on the La-Z-Boy and suggested John and Ginny get a dog.

"Why don't you do a test run with our Oliver?" neighbor Barbara suggested. "We're going away and he would certainly enjoy having company. You've met him at our house, but I'll be happy to bring him over so you can reacquaint yourselves. He's already housebroken."

Barbara's dog was a four-month-old male Airedale Terrier with floppy ears, sad eyes, and insatiable curiosity. Ginny's recollection of Oliver when she'd stopped at their house was a demolition derby masquerading as a brown and black irresistible smarty-pants. Barbara brought him on a leash to Ginny's back yard to say "Hello."

"If you decide to dog-sit for us, you should keep him on the leash," Barbara advised. "Airedales were bred to hunt, so he'll take off after squirrels or birds or anything that moves." While Barbara was explaining this, Oliver had dug a hole in Barbara's impatiens about six inches deep. "And they love to dig...forgot to mention that. No, Oliver!" she said, yanking the dog's leash away from the flower bed  and onto the grass. "Sorry for the hole. Just keep him on the street when you walk. We should only be gone four days."

Ginny bent down to pet Oliver, who jumped up to meet her, covering the shoulders of her tee with dirt.  Barbara got him into a sitting position by tightening the collar and commanding, "Sit, Oliver!" Ginny shook the muddy paw, and was rewarded by a licking tongue on her face.

"He's got a nice personality, doesn't he? OK. Let me know what time you're leaving Sunday. I'm going inside to wash up. Please bring everything he'll need. Bye, Oliver!" Ginny detoured to the garage for a shovel to fill in the hole. "Those kids of John's better keep their mouths shut after this. I just hope it works out," Ginny said to herself.

On Sunday Barbara arrived with stuffed toys, a comfortable bed, a leash, and Oliver's menu, which consisted of designer dog food mixed with warm chicken broth for dinner (Barbara provided both). The breakfast menu was a special order: shredded chicken breast and cubed sweet potato (provided by Ginny, after John hit the supermarket).

Barbara also  provided a "reminder" list for Ginny:

     - Oliver sleeps in our bed at night.
     - You will need to remove any medications from end tables and night stands.
       Oliver is tall when he stands, and very curious.
     - Oliver is house-broken but will need a walk twice a day and before bed.

The first night Oliver had the run of the house, sleeping on the sofa and sharpening his little claws on the soft leather. That led Ginny to write her own "reminder" list for Barbara, when Barbara appeared to pick Oliver up AT 10 P.M. ON THE SEVENTH day:

     - Oliver did not sleep in our bed.
     - Oliver did not ingest John's meds, which stayed on his nightstand
       with our bedroom door closed.
     - Housebroken?? Not!! Even with walks (?) four times/day,
       he peed on the Oriental carpet in the living room.
     - John didn't have the strength to walk Oliver, so I tried,
       but on the leash Oliver refused to go in the direction I wanted.
       I ended up carrying him in and out of the house to the weed                   
       patch to do his "duty" with leash attached to my waist.
       My back will never be the same.
     - Interior doors will have to be refinished.
     - We will have to replace John's hearing aids,
       since Oliver mistook them for his bites of chicken!

Ginny and John did not get a dog and have not spoken to Barbara and her husband in two years.

   

   
     
     


   

Something Keeps Falling On My Head

...No, it's not raindrops!

In south Florida, if the temperature gets below forty degrees for four consecutive days, coldblooded green iguanas that have invaded the state go into dormancy. They begin to fall from the trees and rooftops, where they often perch. However, they are not dead - simply stunned - and may try to defend themselves when warmed.

The mild winter of 2019 and record-breaking heat that summer brought infestations that caused the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission to declare open season on the exotic reptiles. "Iguanas can be killed year-round on 22 public lands in south Florida without a permit," reported the Washington Post ("Iguanas Spread in Florida as Climate Warms: 'They're a Menace,'" Lori Rozsa, July 2, 2019).

Iguanas can cause problems such as erosion degradation of water control structures like canal banks, sea walls, and building foundations. They can destroy carefully cultivated ornamental plants, including endangered plants, leave messy brown piles of droppings on decks and patios, and can carry salmonella.

Native to Central America and parts of South American, the creatures are a food source on some islands in the eastern Caribbean, where they're dubbed, "chicken of the trees."

Green iguanas can grow up to five feet long and weigh up to seventeen pounds. They live ten years or more and the females can lay six dozen eggs at a time. They dig tunnels up to eighty feet and have no natural predators in south Florida. "They swim, they climb, they dig," an owner of Redline Iguana Removal Company, said.

Like Ghost-Busters, iguana removal businesses have sprung up and are thriving in south Florida.  It costs $50 to trap one, or a flat rate for a multi-iguana problem, which seems to be the dominant situation.

Although iguanas are herbivorous (plant-eating), traps are baited with mango and melon, their favorite foods.

When caught, the creatures are killed and cremated. "Their numbers are increasing and they're getting bigger," Jose Gonzalez, trapper for the Iguana Police Co., declared. "They're running out of space here, but the waterways in south Florida are perfect vehicles to move up and down the coast."

So, if a dormant iguana falls on your head during a cold snap in Florida, DO NOT put him in your car to take him home for your pet. He may awaken when the heat turns on and become downright nasty!

For the Birds

Monk Parakeet
Photo courtesy of Christopher L. Wood

Let's talk birds. I never had one for a pet, but I know people who have loved them, cooed to them, stroked them, and paraded them.  I recently learned some things about them.

First, according to an article by Marc Morrone in the Providence Journal (May 17, '15, Sec. H2), there is no way a bird can have any idea of the sex of a human, as we are just too far removed from their species on the evolutionary scale.  That means that although you may think a parrot squawks at you because he is a male and you are a male threatening his space, it "just ain't so, Joe."

A bird may prefer the company of men to women and vice versa, but the choice is based on the bird's interpretation of human actions, voice, or appearance.  Not whether it shares the same estrogen or testosterone.  Sounds like a good plan for humans!

If you are searching for the sex of a bird, you needn't peek "down under."  There is a test to determine that, and it's not the kind you think.  Pluck a few feathers from its breast (male and female) and mail them to a laboratory.  You will be charged a fee, but the lab can extract the DNA and within a few days answer your crushing question.  An example of a lab is Research Associates Laboratory at vetdna.com. Wouldn't want to have two female birds in a cat fight in the cage as you sip your morning coffee, would you?

White-headed woodpecker
Photo courtesy of Dick Tipton

Ladder-backed woodpecker
Photo courtesy of Gerrit Vyn

Here is an interesting fact about woodpeckers.  Woodpeckers sing.  Not with their throats, but by pecking on a piece of metal or anything that makes a ringing sound. This is again according to Marc Morrone, not me.  The noise makes a sound that's bigger and stronger than other male woodpeckers, who use mere trees made of wood. The bigger the sound, the prettier the mate and the better the nesting area.

If you have a woodpecker that's disturbing you during mating season, you'd better determine first whether it's causing damage to the wooden frame of your home.  If not, get on a ladder and cover the woodpecker's favorite pecking area with cloth secured by duct tape. Or Marc suggests taping a few children's pinwheels with long ribbons to the spot the woodpecker loves.  As the wind blows, the pinwheel ribbons in the wind will chase him off. Either that, or they'll chase your neighbors off!

The Dog in the MIddle

We had an Airedale terrier for ten years before she passed away.  Our sons grew up using her belly as a pillow while they watched television from the floor or scratching her belly while she used one of their thighs as a pillow.

Our Airedale Sandy

One thing we wouldn't let her do, though, was sleep in one of our beds. Charley and I tried it once and the only one who got any sleep was Sandy.  I got so hot I had to throw all the covers off.  Then I got cold, when she went down by Charley's feet.  I guess he had more comfortable toes!

Airedales are hunters, and if Sandy got out of the yard, she chased Canadian geese on a pond two streets away.  One winter she fell through the ice chasing them and a boy had to rescue her in his rowboat.

Even after we'd wrapped her in blankets and warmed her by the fire till she was sound asleep, we didn't bring her into one of our beds.  She had a bed of her own in the kitchen.

The practice of sharing a bed with a dog was documented as far back as the ancient Greeks.  Approximately 42 to 45 percent of American dog owners today say their dogs share their bed with them, according to a survey by the American Kennel Club.

"The dog will think, 'This is my bed,' if you don't create that invisible boundary...by claiming it as yours...If one partner resents the dog being on the bed, the dog is going to sense that, so the bed won't feel like a safe place to the dog.  It has got to be a mutual and unanimous decision," said Cesar Millan, star of "The Dog Whisperer" on TV.

According to Clive Wynne, an Arizona State University psychology professor who studies canine comportment, "it doesn't do a dog any harm to ban it from the bed."  In other words, dogs can sleep anywhere without being psychologically damaged!

Not so for humans.  If the dog is getting all the affection in bed, that becomes the more intense emotional relationship.  Dogs can become a substitution for intimacy and sex.  Jealous of a dog?  It happens frequently, according to Donna Pall, an L.A. psychotherapist specializing in couples counseling.  Especially if it's the guy's dog and the woman came later.

Another reason for not bring Sandy into our bed?  Studies show an increased rate of Pasteurella infection, ringworm, and even plague (transmitted by fleas), according to Dr. Bruno Chomel, professor of veterinary medicine at UCDavis.  Sandy wore flea/tick collars and was bathed regularly, but did I want even one flea in our bed?  The Pasteurella bacteria exist in domestic dogs' and cats' respiratory tracts, so a scratch or bite might cause transmission, even a lick  And a lick would have been probable, if Sandy had had her head on our pillow.

All quotes and statistics used in this post are from an article by Dan Crane in The NY Times, May 3, 2015, Sunday Styles, p. 12.

A Twelve-Year-Old's Decision

I was standing in line at the lighting store behind a white-haired gentleman who was waiting for a cord replacement on his lamp.

"How long you been down here?" the salesman said, cutting off the old lamp cord.

"Thirty years in Florida," the gentleman said.  "And every day's a gift."

"Every day we wake up is a gift!" said the salesman.

"Speaking of gifts, I'm old enough to remember when there was one gift under the Christmas tree for each of us.  It was right after the Depression, and we were happy to get it, believe me!

"I still remember when I was twelve years old - the best Christmas of my life. My parents gave me the choice - either a new bike or a puppy.  I chose the bike.

"I got a shiny red Schwinn with a banana seat, a big bulb horn, and balloon tires.  I was THE MAN!

"I'd hop on that bike and honk that bulb every time I reached a buddy's house.  We went 'cross town in a pack, with me out front.  Nobody had a bike like mine, and they were all jealous.  Heck, we didn't come home till supper.  Best decision I ever made, except for marrying my wife.

"Course, after I had a family, my wife wanted pets for the kids.  We ended up with two dogs and three cats and nobody took care of them but me.

"Should have given the kids bikes!"

A Friend's Fish Tank Tale

When I was a teen, I remember Dad getting into his new BMW to drive into town for an errand. Later he told us that when he opened the driver's door to get out, a big truck swiped it right off.  While he waited for the police and insurance man to come, he went into a tropical fish place right next to the car. He bought a 75-gallon aquarium and loaded it into the trunk.  After completing the paperwork, he bungee-corded his driver's door so he could get home.

He set up the aquarium with colored pebbles, a fake cave/rock, a plastic sponge diver, a few fake ferns, a bubbler, and a filter.  He stocked it with angel fish and gold fish and set it up in the front hall on an open shelf.

Things went well for a while and then the fish started dying.  Dad would take them out and lay them on a white plastic bread board to take their pictures.  Then he'd dispose of them.  I never asked where.

After all the fish died, the aquarium still had the rest of the stuff in it - the colored pebbles, the cave/rock, the plastic sponge diver, the fake ferns, the bubbler, the filter and water.  People coming to the house would look at the tank and tap on the glass to coax the very shy fish out of hiding.  Most of the visitors were convinced they actually saw fish dart in and out of the cave.  For 23 years the aquarium remained empty of fish, but the water continued to bubble and the diver continued his quest for sponges. I never asked why.

At age 36, I went into the freezer at my parents' house looking for something to eat and came across a flat foil brick.  I thought it might contain a block of cheese. When I opened it, I found the dead angel fish. I asked Dad why there were dead angel fish in the freezer and he said,
"I wanted to take a picture of the last one after it died, but I ran out of film.  Guess I forgot I'd stored them there."

I never asked him what had happened to the gold fish.


Suzanne Lynch
December 2003

FishbowlTales

Emma found her pet fish, Sunshine, floating in the murky bowl on her dresser.

The wailing went on for a couple of days.  "Please don't take her away, Momma, please!  Why didn't Hannah's fish die?  Her fish is older and the water was dirtier.  I just changed mine."

"Are you sure it wasn't last week, Emma?" her mother said.  Our daughter-in-law explained that no living thing can last forever, and she was proud of the way Emma had taken care of Sunshine.  "We can't keep her in your room any longer.  The water's starting to smell."

"OK, let's bury her."

"We can't do that right now.  The ground's frozen and we can't dig."

"Well, let's put her in the freezer till we can bury her."

"Not with our food, Emma."

"Then I'll wrap her up and put her in a box in the basement."

"No, the box would begin to stink up the basement."

"Well, I'm not going to flush her down the toilet!"

After another day, even Emma couldn't stand the smell in her room.  She said a few sentences over the toilet bowl and Sunshine was on her way to sewer heaven.

***********************************************************************************

Little Maria was in the bathtub before her bedtime story.  When her mother went into Maria's room to grab her pajamas, something shiny caught her eye.

"Oh good heavens," Julia said to herself, poking the floating tail with a pencil .  "Looks like Hubert bit the dust!  I'd better ask John what to do."

With Maria still in the bathtub, the parents conferred outside the bathroom door. They decided to put a towel over the fishbowl.  "It has to be totally dark for Hubert to get to sleep," Maria's mother told her. "And you should be in bed now, too."

While Julia read to her daughter, John was on a mission to Petco.  He returned with a fish the same size as Hubert in a baggie.  After Maria had fallen asleep, her parents waited two hours. Then John removed the bowl from her room, changed the water, and flushed Hubert, Sr., down the toilet. Hubert, Jr., had found a new home.

***********************************************************************************

In his pre-teen years our son Todd used all his allowance money to buy a tank, water pump, and accessories for an exotic fish.  He could only afford one fish, since they ran $20 or more apiece and it took him a while to save the money.  The plan was to have a collection.

Despite the good care he gave the dazzling blue specimen, Todd found it floating on top of the tank one day.  He replaced it with another exotic, after he'd saved another $20.  This one was yellow with black stripes.

Eventually it, too, was floating on top of the tank.  Charley and I consulted the pet store people and chipped in for water purifiers.  When Todd had saved another $20, he bought a bright green specimen that looked more like a frog.

It, too, followed its predecessors down the toilet.

At which point we bought an Airedale.

Grandma's Gifts

     When Jen's son, Sean, turned three, Jen's parents bought the toddler a Betta fish.  It looked like an ordinary fish but had beautiful fins and could breathe air from the water's surface. 
     "I know your schedule is hectic with Sean and work," Jen's mother said, "but you won't have to worry about taking care of it, as long as the dog can't reach it.  Just an occasional sprinkle of freeze dried shrimp in this little fish bowl.  It doesn't need filtration or a pump.  Besides, Sean will love watching it in his room."
     It was the kind of bowl Jen used when she made strawberry trifle.  "He can watch his dog in his room."
     Jen's mother found a beautiful tank for Sean's fish, now named Goldie.  "This tank goes perfectly with your living room!  Look at the chrome trim and the lovely waterfall."
     "Mom, I need a light for this and a pad and some rocks and stuff in there and a pump for the waterfall.  Besides, it's too big for Goldie."
     "So, we'll get her some company."
     "This is a Betta fish, Mom.  It's not an exotic $20 fish.  Goldie doesn't need a palace."
     Along with a supply of Amquel, Novaqua, aquarium salt, and a PH kit for the new tank, Jen's mother found a sucker fish to keep Goldie company.  "It's really a small catfish," she said, "but it will keep the tank clean.  I couldn't get a male Betta, because they're very aggressive toward their females.  I didn't think Sean would want to see that."
     Within two weeks, the sucker fish passed away.  So did the next sucker fish.  Goldie thrived.
     For Sean's fifth birthday, he received a lizard from Jen's parents.  The lizard came with its own tank, a heat lamp, a tank lamp, a tank pad, and a supply of wax worms and crickets.  "Oh my God!  My electric bill!" Jen said.  "Not to mention that crickets are going to be jumping all over the place."
     Sean hid in a closet and wouldn't come out till the lizard and his house were back in grandma's car.
                                                                

A Restaurant Encounter

We met a friend for drinks at a popular south Florida restaurant last week.  Maria had half a martini left when we arrived.  "Good thing I got here early," she said.  "It's Happy Hour!  I'm going to try to hold this seat for Steve, but I think Derek might come, too." 

Charley and I perched on high stools across from Maria in the middle of the room.  The bartender was hustling along the length of a granite slab behind us.  Two women sat across from each other on the right end of our island.  Someone whose head was barely visible over the granite top stood waiting next to them, with her husband.  Those end stools would be vacant for maybe thirty seconds after the two women had licked their last drops.

A couple nursed Margaritas to our left and another couple cut into their appetizers across from us, next to Maria.

Steve came in, leaned in to give Maria a peck, and claimed the empty chair she'd saved.

Derek came in, cradling his pekingese against him like a babe.  The two women at the end got up to leave and Derek moved in. 

"Oh no,"  said Bobblehead from somewhere near the floor.  "We've been waiting for these seats."

"But I'm with this group," Derek said.

"Too bad," Bobblehead said, raising her haunches toward the bottom rung of the stool.

Derek came behind us. "Guess they're in a rush," he said, while I searched Lily's long hair tied into  bows, trying to find ears to scratch.   She was swaddled in a green jacket.

"Oh my God, it's a dog!  Dogs aren't allowed in restaurants," the woman next to Maria yelled, spitting some of her appetizer toward us.

"Yes they are, if they're service dogs," Derek said.

"I'm allergic!  You've got to get that dog out of here," the Spitter said.

"I don't have to do any such thing!  It's a service dog.  See the green jacket?"

"What kind of service could that pipsqueak perform?" Spitter asked Maria.

"I really don't know.  But they're allowed.  If you don't like it, write the Governor."

Maria turned to speak to us but didn't get a word out.  "Get that f______ dog out of here!" yelled the Spitter's husband from the left end.

"There's no need for that kind of language," I said.

"Everyone calm down," Charley said, pushing his palms downward in slow motion.

"I'll go outside and see if there are any tables where we can finish our drinks," I said in an attempt at peacemaker.  I still had half a Bloody Mary to finish.  No seats outside.

Mr. Foul Mouth wasn't finished.  "My wife is allergic!  Get that f______ dog out of here!"

Steve found his way to the hostess.  He and Derek had a dinner reservation, and Steve motioned to Derek the table was ready. 

Lily went along for the ride, and maybe for leftovers.   Maria, Charley, and I drained our drinks and found a quieter place to eat, as three women jumped in to take our stools.

Airedale Mixup

     Our sons grew up with a docile female Airedale named Sandy.  She was small, so they'd often wrestle on the floor together till Sandy fell asleep with her head in one of their laps.  Airedales were bred for hunting, and she chased Canadian geese, among other things.  One winter she fell through the ice and had to be rescued in a rowboat.  After that we confined her to a very large area in the backyard, where she dug up every inch of the flower beds while chasing rodents and vermin.

     When we travelled, we took her to a boarding kennel closeby.  For a reason we couldn't fathom, she couldn't wait to get there.  She would actually wedge herself in the cracked car window when we pulled into the driveway.  The owner of the kennel was always there to greet us, and she practically jumped into his arms.

     This guy was W-E-I-R-D.  With long shaggy hair pulled into a pony tail, he was a throwback to the 60's.  In fact, he often left his sentences undone and our questions unanswered.  But he loved our Sandy, and she loved him.

     We joked that the owner's pupils weren't focusing and wondered what kind of brownies he'd been munching.  Or whether he'd made doggie treats for his boarders, which might explain why Sandy was always so excited to get there.

     She was certainly well cared for and never came home sick.  When she came home to us, that is!   After one trip we talked to a neighbor who also had a small female Airedale.  He told us that both dogs had been boarding at the kennel at the same time.  When he picked up his dog and took her home, she didn't respond to her name.  "I thought that was strange, and she certainly was playful," he said.  "Then I looked at her tag.  I'd been given your dog."

     We found another kennel after that.  Sandy hid on the floor of the car all the way over.

Pet Peeves

One of the women on my tennis team was recently called off the court during a match.  The message from the pro shop was to call home immediately.  Naturally, my teammate feared the worst, dropped her racket before her opponent could serve the ball, and sprinted to the pro shop.  The other ladies were concerned and waited for news upon her return.

"What happened?  Is someone going to the hospital?" they asked her.

"No!  It's been four days and my dog, Bitsy, finally pooped!


Which leads to my story................

Coronado, California, (also known as Coronado Island) is an affluent resort town 5.2 miles outside San Diego.  It is surrounded by San Diego Bay and the Pacific Ocean,  home to the famous Hotel Del Coronado, and training ground for the Navy Seals.  Recently, something new has appeared on the scene, and it's not dolphins.

It's dog poop!

On a blustery day in March, a resident friend of mine took her dog for a walk on the beach.  She was prepared with latex gloves and a supply of plastic bags.  The walk became a minefield.  "Hold on, Barney, I have to pick up another cow pile!  Oops, there's another one.  Come this way!"  At that point Barney, driven by power of suggestion, had to poop himself.   Kathie bent down seven times to clean up the messes.  I have an image of the Navy Seals resembling a caterpiller whose humps move up and down, as they jump in the air over the piles, carrying telephone poles on their shoulders.

By this time Kathie had used her supply of plastic bags, so she and Barney approached a 7-11 for more.  A customer relations nightmare sat on the sidewalk in front of the store - another pile.  Two of Barney's paws landed right in the middle. Kathie prevailed on a customer who had tried to step around her, holding his nose.  "Please, would you mind asking inside if they have an old rag?  It's unbelievable that owners don't clean up after their pets!"  We can only conclude the people of Coronado had never changed diapers.

Kathie, a dog walker for an Animal Control Facility, was fuming.  After Barney's clean-up and a new supply of bags, they headed for Vetter Park (a popular play-date area for local dogs).  There surely would be no piles there, since PAWS (Pet Animal Welfare Society) provided plastic bag dispensers about thirty-five paces apart.  "Unbelievable!  Here are more!"  What can we conclude at this point?  That the people of Coronado have never walked thirty-five paces?  Or worse - that they are just plain lazy?

Kathie had had enough!  She was determined to write a letter to the editor of the local paper.  She and Barney headed out of the park and up the street.  In front of  Sharp Coronado Hospital's emergency entrance, an ambulance careened in.  Kathy and Barney jumped up onto the curb into....you guessed it!

Kathie has had many responses to her "Who Are You People?" letter to the editor.  Among the most practical, I thought, was the suggestion she purchase a three-wheeler with a jumpseat for Barney.