The Food Lady

Ka is a wheel whose only purpose is to turn. It is a destination. It is destiny.

I hope this little guy is my destiny. Meet Oy, the newest member of the WooTWoo Crew.

My whole adult life I have been rescuing dogs. I thought I would forever have rescues. But I also wanted a red and white smooth coat male and the years have come and gone and no smooth coat male puppies have come my way. I finally figured that I had to create my own destiny, so I took a really uncomfortable leap and started looking for the puppy that I wanted, wherever he may be.

As it turned out, where he may be was Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta. I actually looked at his brother first, because the puppy photos weren’t awesome and every time I showed someone this guy’s puppy photo, they said he was black and white. So I inquired about his brother but as we were chatting and the sire’s owner told me this guy was dark dark red, I knew I had found what I was looking for.

And so, meet Oy.

Oy gets his name from Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, which has the best opening line:

The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed.

In the series, Oy is a mythical creature called a Billy Bumbler who joins the ka-tet of protagonists, and he is a tiny, mysterious genius who understands human speech, can sometimes speak it, and is fiercely loyal to his best friend, and to his destiny, until the very bitter and sad end. I don’t want the bitter and sad end, but I am hoping for the fiercely loyal best friend.

My Oy is an ABCA registered working bred border collie. Currently he is kinda … ugly. Because he has a case of the 3 month old puppy uglies where he is all leg and sausage body. And his ears! I have no idea what they are trying to do in life, other than take over his whole face.

Because Oy was in Alberta, and I am not, I booked myself a return flight and went to collect him. This was also uncomfortable for me, because while I have flown lots of place I have always flown with other people and let them take care of all the “stuff” that goes along with flying, while I trailed along in a self-imposed haze of ignorance. But I got myself up at 3:45AM and took myself to the airport and got on a plane with, I think, cement seats, and went and got my boy. Here is where I thank Auntie Stef for coming to my house during the day to potty and love on my dogs, and Katie for lending me the travel carrier in which Oy would return with me on the plane.

That would be the carrier that he was WAY TOO BIG TO FIT INTO. I had a bad moment in Edmonton when I pulled him out of the breeder’s van and realized I might in fact be renting a car and driving all the way back to BC. I waved goodbye to the breeder, trying not to cry/panic, and then marched Oy (poor farm puppy, who’d never been anywhere in three months on this planet) back and forth through the airport until I thought (hoped) he was exhausted, stuffed him UPSIDE DOWN into the carrier like a dead body into a duffle bag, and lugged his heavy self to the check-in counter. I put on my happiest face and told the check-in agent that I had just gotten my dream border collie puppy and flew all the way to Edmonton by myself to get him and I was so excited. And the check-in agent whipped out her phone to show me photos of HER two border collies, said “Oh I wish I could snuggle him but he is probably asleep so I will leave him be” and just like that we were on our way through security and everything was fantastic and I realized I’d lost my phone.

Security escorted me back to the check-in desk where my phone was, and then I repeated the whole going through security process. Every time I went through security I had to take him out of his bag, and I was so sure somebody was going to yell “Hey! That dog is WAY TOO BIG for that tiny carrier.” But nobody did.

I then spent the next three hours walking him back and forth through the departures area and was pleased to see that despite never having worn a leash and collar, he wore them easily, and that he wanted to meet everyone he saw – tall, small, foreign, male, female, child, big hats, uniforms, big luggage, rolling carts. Big screen tv gave him momentary pause but he watched it for a bit and decided it was harmless. He peed in the relief area, after about ten minutes of suspiciously eyeballing the little fire hydrant in the peepee turf. He spent a long time inspecting my lunch of chicken strips and fries and finally played with a french fry and ate some chicken. He spent some time chewing on a beef stick. Then it was time to board, so I again upended him into his bag, where he curled into an impossibly tiny donut and the agent there said “Oh he’s so cute, have a nice flight.” The flight attendant whipped out her phone to show me photos of HER smooth coat border collie, lamented that I could not take him out of his bag to cuddle him, and then we were on our way home – more cement plane seats. Seriously WestJet, all of your people are lovely, but your seats need some serious padding! He slept the whole way and never made a peep.

So far he is quite the character. He has yet to pee in the house, and always waits until I take him outside. He woke me up at 6:30am complaining that he needed TO GO so we went outside and he pooped like three times and literally changed shape from an overstuffed sausage to a leanish adolescent. The garbage kibble he was eating went into the trash and he ate a bowl of raw like he was born for it, though he did not appreciate the greenbeans very much. There were 13 pups in the litter and the breeder is a Hutterite, so I wasn’t super surprised about his diet. Or the fact that he smelled like manure.

He also DOES NOT APPRECIATE being in his pen. The screaming and temper tantrums are epic and tomorrow when I have to go back to work, I am going to be extremely glad I do not have any neighbours.

Masie is annoyed and immediately recognized him for what he is – competition for her beloved ball. Winter says the puppy is a ghost and he doesn’t believe in ghosts, therefore he does not see him. Fae is – a bitch. Addy likes him and frequently invites him to play and then regrets it because while he is similar in size, he has big two by fours for legs and once again, she gets squashed.

Oy investigated Dexter and decided he was basically furniture and has ignored him since. Surprisingly, Neato is a FAN of Oy because if he runs, Oy will chase him and Neato has spent two and half years in my house trying to get someone to chase him. And even better (currently) Neato can outrun him so he gets the zoomies and thinks the whole thing is delightful. I have not yet broken the news to him that in another six months, when he figures out his legs, Oy is going to smoke him.

So here he is, my new buddy Oy.

I like a lot of things about him already and a few things I don’t love, but hoping to correct pdq. He currently is a bit of a snark with the other dogs, especially when it comes to The Resource (ie me). I put them all out in the yard today and shut the door to put on my boots and I watched him guard the door from Addy, which I did not like at all. He also plays keep away a bit when I walk up to him, so I have to let him come to me otherwise he tries to stay just out of reach, which frankly pisses me off even though I know it’s because probably he barely saw any people and when he did, they weren’t puppy-culturing him or anything. So the first thing we are going to learn is a nose-to-palm touch. Once I have him he is super happy to cuddle and he will happily fall asleep in my arms. Or the arms of anyone else holding him, as I discovered when I brought him to work today for a visit (boss said I had to, or I couldn’t take two vacation days haha).

The thing I like about him the least is that he doesn’t really respond to my voice in any way. Like high pitched “puppy puppy”ing, which makes most puppies turn themselves inside out, elicits zero response from him. When I talk to him excitedly about being a good boy peeing outside, he does not respond with even a glance. I know (or at least I am quite sure) he hears things, but he doesn’t ever startle at a noise at all. I can’t tell if he just hasn’t had anyone talk to him so human voice has no value for him, or if he actually can’t hear me, which will be FUCKING DEVESTATING. We have a vet appointment Saturday, so I’ll be getting her opinion.

I just want him to be a good, solid, healthy buddy and teammate. Fingers crossed!

And here is a photo of Dexter, because he is the goodest, solidest, bestest buddy ever.

(But poopin’ inside’s delightful)

There’s a warm (with blankies) place to go

So suck it snow, suck it snow, suck it snow.

(Addy probably)

First snowfall of the winter and Addy was having none of it. She complained for our entire walk and kept trying to turn around and head for home. I wasn’t too impressed either – I left for flyball practice this morning in the perfectly acceptable rain, emerged from the underground parking lot (where we practice) to a winter wonderland and horrible roads.

And speaking of flyball practice; I would like a less literal dog. When we started playing flyball our first problem was that Ball Is Life and in particular, only the FIRST ball we played with was life and the other balls were garbage. I spent some time convincing Maisie that she could play with all the balls, and that hurdle was overcome. The next hurdle was WHY RUN FAST when we already had the ball? So I spent a lot of time and effort convincing her that Tug Is Life. Then we had very fast run backs for the tug. But apparently we cannot love Ball and also love Tug both. So we can run really fast and get the ball and then take our sweet ass time coming back, or we can argue with The Food Lady about going to get the ball, finally go get it with reluctance and then come back real real fast and ferociously attack the tug. But we cannot do both in the same run. This dog needs to think less, play more!

ANYhoo … as unwelcome as the snow is (always) it’s also supposed to turn to rain shortly, so I thought I’d better get out there and play in it while we could. Also it was Neato’s first experience with snow. After an initial “WHAT THE ACTUAL EFF IS THIS” reaction, he took it in stride, though remained mystified (and enraptured with the fact) that it comes from the sky and falls to the earth in front of him, then effectively disappears into the collective snow. He spent a lot of time watching it happen.

He also spent a lot of time looking for snowflakes after they fell. I am pretty sure he thought that’s what Fae was doing as well (Fae was hunting snowmices though).

But after a while he decided snow was his life now, and he returned to business as usual. Business as usual is tormenting Addy until she loses her sh!t.

When we wake up tomorrow and it’s all washed away by rain, I wonder if he’ll wonder where it went?

He’s so flippin’ cute!

All of his jammies are too short for him lengthwise though and the next size up he just swims in. Why can I never get a normal shaped dog?

Springalingaling is doing well, now that we have sorted out her arsenal of medications. She is on a very minimal dose of prednisone and still perpetually hungry, but not so hungry that she will eat green beans in her breakfast (yes, green beans are our benchmark). Her kidney values have improved, although they are still not as good as they should be. And the gross thing on her bum still has to come off because it’s getting quite big and it might be cancerous. But she is happy, playful and behaving like her normal loveable self, and no more seizures. Also a big fan of hunting for snowmices. Has never caught one in 13 years of hunting, but she remains optimistic.

Peetie is also loveable, but as usual, also without thought.

Winter and Neato are MORTAL ENEMIES but only when no closer than about two feet apart. They sh!t talk each other terribly and argue about toys, but I also catch them snuggled up together in a chair when I am not home. It’s like having two perpetual adolescent brothers in the home. Also when I took this photo there was half a dog and half a turtle wading pool in the background and I asked AI to fix the background and it gave me this reasonable option. The other option was a sleigh and the third option was an overturned table, neither of which were reasonable or sensical for that matter.

And my beloved boy Dexter, he is just getting older and older. His arthritis is pretty bad, poor guy, and we are managing it as best we can with gabapentin and galliprant, but he does have some trouble walking normally, as any misstep and he face plants because his shoulders betray him, and long walks are behind him now. But he remains a snuggly bug and he still wants to play ball and disc, as long as I don’t throw them too far.

I did want to thank everyone for their lovely messages and condolences on the loss of my most precious and dearest Mr. Woo. I still can’t do a memorial blogpost for him, because it still hurts too much. He really was one in a million and if I could have had 17 more years with him, I would have been over the moon. I will never not miss him.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN?

If you’ve seen her, you call nine-wah-wah because she stole my border collie’s HAIR

hahahaha just kidding. Auntie Wendy came over to give Wootie another shave down, since he obstinately decided he needed to grow all his coat back, and we decided Dexter would probably be happier, cleaner and smell nicer without his too so we did a two-fer.

He looks a little funny maybe, but I am already used to it, and I think he probably feels a lot better too. I took him and the other old man dog both to the U Groom and scrubbed them up good first because Wootie looked like an old area rug that had not been vacuumed in a while, and Dexter smelled like I stash him in the dumpster every day when I go to work. His itches have returned with a vengeance and I don’t really want to put him back on the Apoquel, and the itchies make his coat all gross and stinky, so without it I can give him wipe downs every day with an anti itchy shampoo and also the underlying urine smell that travels with him can be more easily managed. Because of his inability to concentrate his urine he just leaks a little bit all the time and without hair he’ll be easier to clean up.

He was a very good boy and very patient while he got mowed. I miss his Man Mane, but I won’t miss the matts he gets all in his pants and neck hair and bathing suit area.

Wootie was also a good boy, though he sang the songs of his people at the U Groom when I blow dried him, and then for good measure pooped in the tub when we were done.

Although my old man is doing as well as can be expected in his very advanced age, he is starting to decline and it makes me sad. He has started pacing around in circles outside if we are not actively moving in a direction, and if we are actively moving in a direction he sometimes goes in a different direction because he is both mostly deaf and now going blind. He has started wearing a bear bell because I lose him at least once a walk in the tall grasses when he stumbles off trail and can’t get himself turned back around again. He mostly sleeps indoors and if we vary from our wake/sleep routine, he pees inside (ie if I sleep late). He also has not mastered the dog ramp my stepdad built for him; he is alright once he is on it, but can’t figure out how to get on it from the grass. He requires some navigation help from me.

It is tough to watch him grow so old and frail, but I am also so lucky and so grateful that he is still hanging around. And he still loves to eat – and he tried to steal a bully stick from the pet store today when we went for bathies.

What also makes me sad is this dog’s truly annoying bark.

She would be so much more awesome if she would just shut the hell up.

It’s a good thing she is fun to play stuff with. When she is not making god awful sounds from her face hole.

Add thinks it’s sad that we aren’t playing in her pool, because it’s too hot to do much else. Which is why there are no photos of anyone else – they were all hiding in the shade.

And I am posting this photo only because I like it, because it makes Addy look like she has long IG legs.

It was a busy busy summer for the Food Lady, who was either photographing an event and neglecting stuff at home, or catching up on the stuff she’d neglected at home while photographing stuff. And the winter arrived JUST LIKE THAT – no autumn at all. One day it was 28 degrees and then the next it was 5 degrees and dark at 2pm. Bah.

I took somewhere in the neighbourhood of 60,000 photos this summer sport season, so blogging was pretty low on the list of things to get around to, and I was pretty sick of photoshop. And today I loaded all my doggos in the van, but not the camera, because keeping track of all these hooligans and taking photos is sometimes just too much for my tired brain, and I drove the dogs to our favourite seasonal off leash park in a neighbouring city … and found it closed. WTAF. So we came back home and played in our own field for an hour or so and I didn’t have any real excuse not to bring the camera out.

I photographed an agility trial last weekend that had a Swap Box for dog stuff and I idly rifled through it at the end of the weekend to see what was left. In it I found a kinda beat up Jolly Ball that I thought my gang might enjoy, so I pilfered that and brought it home. I thought Wootie might enjoy it as a replacement Fifa. (I tried to link to that blog entry, with the original Fifa, but I can’t find it – can you?)

Apparently in his advanced years, Wootie does not appreciate the challenges that come with trying to pick up a Fifa, a fake Fifa, or anything larger than a tennis ball.

At first he was pretty enthusiastic

Then he was like, kinda annoyed with it.

And then he was like “meh, too hard” and just sat down.

In his own way, old Wootie is just as entertaining as young Wootie. I hope I have old Wootie for as long as I had young Wootie!

Now tiny Fae, on the other hand, decided to start a brawl with it. She can’t pick it up, obviously, being of Tiny Mouth, so she yelled at it a lot, and punched it with her paws a bunch of times, and then eventually headbutted it back to me accompanied by a lot of little ferocious growling. She is full of spunk!

Because Spring is a very good girl who always tries her best, Spring tried her best but the ball bested her.

Dexter just plain loves it, because Ball Is Life, no matter what size it comes in.

I can’t tell you what a joy it is to see him put something in his mouth after that terrifying abscess ordeal. He’s got no problem picking it up, because even for an older fella, he still has some serious jaw strength.

Oddly, the one dog who hates the blue ball is Maisie – for all her Labby-mouthedness, she cannot for the life of her figure out how to pick up the Big Blue Ball. Maisie excels at basically everything she tries her paw at, so the fact that a junk box Jolly Ball defeats her is probably really embarrassing for her.

Winter, Addy and Donut, obviously, do not play with the ball.

Buuut speaking of exceling, Maisie and I have to head off to Disc League in a few minutes, so this blog entry is a short one. I will leave you with this family photo, which perfectly depicts Life With A Very Old Dog.

I don’t think there are many more beautifully composed family photos in our future, not if Wootie has anything to say about it!

From this:

To this!

How did 13 years pass so quickly?

Happiest of birthdays to my precious baby boy, the Big 13 today!

Here at Wootube we are not just a bunch of pretty dogfaces. We also offer life hacks! Today we’re going to talk about the best way to Jimmy Hoffa your super old dog and get away with it.

First, pick a nice day to take your pack of incorrigible hooligans for a walk along the river. Don’t bring any human friends with you, because those are witnesses and they may testify against you later (although this life hack also works for getting rid of unwanted friends!). Now the timing of this walk is very important, so plan accordingly – choose a year following catastrophic floods in an area that was once upon a time under water but was unwisely drained by stupid humans 100 years ago for the purpose of creating farm land, and these waters that want very much to reclaim their homeland are kept at bay by some piddly little pumps that are way past their expiry date and too expensive to replace. A wet, cool Spring after this flooding event is ideal because it keeps the ground nice and moist, which is an integral part of your grand design. BUT pick the first really warm day of the year for this walk, and make sure you have not yet shaved down your super old dog, so he is all too-hot hair and yeti feet, and still a little achy with winter weather arthritis.

Drive this hairy-footed elder and his annoying, car-whining pals out to this river, and park as far away from where you’re going to Do The Deed as possible, to ensure he’s tired and thirsty when you arrive at your destination. Be sure to stop along the way and take a photo of a random blue heron that saw you all coming and went “well shit” and took off for dog-free waters.

Walk for a good 20 minutes at a decent clip and curse yourself for wearing a flannel hoodie in 18 degree weather LIKE AN IDIOT. Then when you finally reach the part of the river where you can walk right down to the water, half heartedly say “hey no don’t go down there silly” and then watch your 16.5 year old dog hobble down into the water to get a drink.

Now remember it’s been gross and rainy off and on for months, so all the extra silt and mud that got washed up onto the banks during the flood has had no time to dry out. This muck, which LOOKS dry to the casual observer, will be your friend in this dastardly endeavor. In reality, it’s actually basically quicksand and your old, thirsty dog is going to GET STUCK IN IT after wading into about 2 inches of river. It will look something like this:

At first he won’t notice, because he’s way too busy quenching his thirst and thinking evil thoughts about you for making him come on this walk in the first place. This is your opportunity to casually pull the Chuck-It out of your bag and start whipping balls around so MAISIE THE BALL-OBSESSED SUPER IRRITANT WITH THE SHRIEKY NON STOP BARK will stop bothering you, and walk away. Eventually, your ancient dog will decide he is damn good and ready to follow you and will attempt to escape the mud prison he is mired in up to this chest, only to discover his youth has abandoned him and he can’t move his legs.

This is where you must steel your resolve, for upon discovering the quicksand is going to suck him down into the depths of hell where he belongs, he will begin to WAIL. The wailing will echo around the mountains that border the river and sing his tale of woe to any and all passerby. This is a problem, because you picked a nice day and there are lots of cyclists up on the dyke behind you, and they’re going to stop and take a look to see what’s happening. Your plan is foiled, and you have no choice but to go back and retrieve your pitiful stuck-in-the-mud.

It’s a good thing I wore my Muck Boots, because those things are tall AND they hate to come off – like I have literally given myself a charlie horse more than once trying to disengage them from my legs. Because I walked down to the river to rescue Wootie and sunk right in almost to the top of my boots. I hauled him out by the collar (while he screamed at me) and sorta slid him across the mud to higher ground. Then through a combination of contortion, foul language and the assistance of a downed tree, I managed to eventually haul myself outta there too, though it was touch and go a couple of times, where I almost left my boots behind, even though they are are preternaturally fused to my calves. It was the best workout I’ve had in a long time. 2/10 do not recommend though. That muddy silt is like glue and even after we wandered over to the a more stable part of the river and I stood in it so deep a little water crept in the tops and made my feet all wet, that damn mud is still stuck to my boots.

Wootie was not too happy with the impromptu crossfit session.

But we went to the other river bank, which has sand and gravel instead of quicksand, and finally got his drink. That quicksand, incidentally, is still mostly adhered to his legs and stomach as well.

I know I say this often, but it really can’t be overstated – I feel so lucky every day of my life that at over 16 years of age, Mr. Woo can still get himself into predicaments like this, by virtue of being mostly immortal. I don’t know too many other dogs his age that can go on a two-hour excursion to the river, nearly get sucked into Middle Earth by demon-sand, and still muster up the energy to play a little fetch.

I should have named him Grit. He really is astonishing; he just keeps going and going. For his age, he is really remarkable. He is aging so slowly that sometimes I forget that, oh, 14 years ago THIS was the Wootie I lived with:

He just slows down at glacial speed – I simultaneously forget he was ever young, and forget that he is actually old.

My other old dog is having a tough time of it these days. He has what Dr. Tanya called “significant arthritis in spine and shoulders.” I guess going 110% for almost 13 years will do that to a dog. Poor old guy. He doesn’t run match faster for the ball than Wootie does and getting up and down is really hard for him these days.

The worst for him is getting in and out of the van – he’s my biggest dog, so he only fits in the big double crate in the back, but that’s the highest entry point and he has a hell of a time getting in. He has do this big nervous circle and then take a run at it (it’s kinda of funny at first, because it sorta looks like he’s trying to sneak up on the crate) and then he launches himself in, with varying degrees of success. Sometimes he misses and smashes his face into the bumper. Sometimes he crashes into the back of the crate because he overshoots. Today he launched himself in and his front half crumpled like a bag of potato chips and he whacked his back on the doorframe of the crate. It must have hurt because he was too sore to turn around and spent the whole ride home with his face crammed up against the back of the crate. I am thinking of giving the ole credit card a work out and installing a hitch and those twist hitch steps so he can climb in without braining himself. I can’t use a ramp because there is literally nowhere to put one in the van to carry it around.

At this rate, Wootie may outlast Dexter :(

I cannot explain this, and after all these years, I have given up trying.

I love my dogs, but they are NOT RELAXING to take places. Keeping track of them all is a full time job in and of itself, and half of them cannot resist running after things they deem interesting, which includes virtually all people and dogs they espy. And by half of them, I mean all the ones under 30 lbs. Like how come the smaller they are, the more annoying they have to be? Are they overcompensating for their diminutive statures? You would think after all this time, and all the places they have gone, they would have developed some chill, BUT THEY HAVE NOT. Sometimes their excitement and momentum carries empty-headed Peetie along with them, and Maisie might half heartedly join them, but if it weren’t for tiny, reactive little turdfaces, walks would be a lot more enjoyable. The constant scanning of the horizon I have to do so I can distract them before they try to metaphysically en masse engulf some more person out for a casual stroll with their dog means I can’t get as many photos on solo trips as I’d like.

But for the better part of our outing today, the river was other-dog-and-people-free and we managed a few cautious moments of serenity on a warm, sunny day off.

(Okay this one was not serenity, this was Winter knowing he was about to get in shit for shooting off after a dog that came down to the river, and then getting into a fight with that dog, who apparently is “weird about her little ball.” Because I already told him to leave her alone, and he decided to test her mettle anyway. Jerk)

Winter is doing great after his bum-bum bump beheading. I think I said this on facebook already, but the growth was called a perianal gland epithelioma, which is apparently low grade by malignant (<– that’s my basic personality, oddly) and is cured by removal. And since Dr. Tanya removed it all with nice clean margins, it won’t return and did not have the chance to spread. For a little porker, he is surprisingly bendy and he did some Cirque de Soleil level contortions to lick his booboo even with his cone on, so I put Peetie’s period panties on him, and that put an end (haha) to that. It didn’t take but a couple of days to heal up and he was good to go like nothing ever happened. Cheap at twice the price!*

(*Narrator: that was a lie. It was not cheap at even the original price)

After an hour and a half of swimming in the river and fighting the current, the Three Tweakers were still ready to rumble, arthritis not withstanding – they would have happily played for another three hours, I’m sure.

But Wootie was too tired to even remain upright for the obligatory (although kinda phoned in) group photo, so I made an executive decision to call it a day.

The rest of the evening calls for popcorn, which I may or may not share, and a movie I think. I did stop at the pet store on the way home and bought some dog shampoo, but I’m not feeling sufficiently motivated today to bathe Mr. Woo, so instead I am just going to be grateful that he is too old to haul his muddy self onto the furniture.