red dog

This Is The End, My Friend

January 13, 2017 By The Food Lady 7 Comments

Yesterday marked ninth anniversary of the day that my Briggsy Bubba Border Collie was recycled back into the Universe.

That means almost 20 years ago my adventures in red doggedness began. It’s strange to look at the pack now and see no red border collies gazing back at me (I’m really going to have to do something about that one of these days). There’s just Woo, who in his orangeness is not quite red … and not quite a border collie.

I volunteer as tribute.

I was feeling a bit melancholy about the anniversary of his passing, and missing Tweedles too, and had planned to a little post honouring his memory. But yesterday became a very sad day in its own right.

Yesterday, the gates of Hell opened up and swallowed back one of its minions when the legendary Tempus Fugit passed away suddenly. He developed a blood clot at the diverticula where the aortic vessels branches off into the two femoral arteries. His hind quarters stopped receiving blood flow and he was paralyzed. His kidneys stopped receiving blood flow and were shutting down. And his body was not able to dissolve the clot. And after 24 hours of hoping for progress, his humans made the kindest decision and released him from his pain.

Right now, Tempus is looking up at us (because he surely went to Hell) and smugly gloating that he didn’t give up his fatal blood clot and managed to resource guard it bitterly to the end, and he won. For this is the only way that a dog like Tempus could go out; he would get something fatally strange, and he’d keep it because damn it, it’s his and he’d bite anyone who tried to take it away.

Does it sound like I’m making light of the passing of a dog I loved very much, and who was loved very much by my best friend? I’m sure it does, but I’m really not. Tempus was an extremely disturbed little dog with a myriad of behavioural issues that would have worn down most owners – I certainly could not have lived with him. He was a Terrier with a Capital T. He was a consummate resource guarder, he had severe barrier frustration, he had all kinds of intensely bizarre quirks and you’d need a really big sack in which to stuff all the triggers that would send him into FURY. He’d bite you as soon as look at you if you rubbed him the wrong way, and his entire life he tried to bite (and sometimes was successful) Fiona when she put him in a crate in the car. And he *loved* Fiona – but was an equal opportunity biter. He could hold a grudge like you wouldn’t believe – way back in the day when we all played flyball, one time Tweed got all excited and nipped Tempus when he passed him in the lane. Tem waited for A WHOLE OTHER TOURNAMENT to get his revenge; he sped toward the first hurdle, stopped and turned around, came racing back and bit ME in the ankle, then resumed his run. Because I belonged to Tweed and by doG, someone was going to pay for that nip A MONTH AGO. He was truly a terrible, vindictive little animal.

He was also an amazing flyball dog, and a successful agility dog. And he could be freakin’ adorable when the mood struck him. He could be amazingly cuddly. He loved puppies. He head humped Peetie with gusto. And he was always so happy to see his friends. He lived his life hard and he was hard to live with. He also lived an AMAZING life, because his human accepted him for who and what he was (demon spawn) and worked not against him but rather around him. I don’t think she and her hubby have been on more than one vacation in 13 years because you certainly couldn’t leave Temmy with someone else; you’d have come home to a dead dog sitter and Tem resource guarding the corpse. They worked with him on what they could, and accepted what they couldn’t, and gave him a life that 99% of people in this world could never have offered the shifty little bastard. They saved him from himself countless times and set him up for safety and success over and over and over. He was possibly the luckiest dog in the world.

It’s the truly stand out dogs that make the deepest impressions on our soul (though Tempus probably stole some of our souls and ate them). Every one of our dogs leaves their mark and leaves sadness in their place when they go. But it’s the truly remarkable dogs, the really good ones, and the REALLY bad ones, that depart this mortal coil as legends. And Tempus was nothing if not legendary.

I went to see him yesterday at critical care and said my goodbyes to that fine little shithead of a dog. My world is a little emptier without him. Fiona’s is a whole lot emptier. But he’s still with us, because there are dozen, thousands, countless tales of his veracity, his antics and his temper. There will never be another Tempus, which is a good thing – but there will never be an end to the stories about him we could tell, and will tell, over and over again.

So raise a glass tonight in his honour, and tell someone you love a tale of a dog that you loved deeply, in Temmy’s honour.

The Terrier Minions compel you.

RIP Tempus.

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One year ago

June 9, 2016 By The Food Lady 5 Comments

yesterday, I lost my bestest boy Tweedles. I miss him all the time.

He’s with Briggsy Bubba Border Collie, and I hope the Red Boys are having a blast. I hope they know how much I miss them. I look forward to the day when I get to see them again.

Part1: On why I am a frickin’ GENIUS

January 12, 2013 By The Food Lady 5 Comments

As I continue to save my Pennies for Piper, I remain faced with another pressing problem (too much alliteration maybe?). Miss P is of course on leash at all times when I exercise the rest of the crew. And since it’s dark in the morning when we go out, and dark in the evening when we go out, their exercise is primarily chasing the Dumbball (the light up one) as walks along the dykes and in the blueberry fields are treacherous and impossible. They will all of course be much stupider come Spring as a result, but such is life. (insert eyeroll here)

The problem is not Dumbball, but rather that Piper wishes very much to chase the Dumbball, and can’t, because she’s leashed. But Piper is a creature of muscle memory, and all her muscles remember is the following sequence:

Food Lady raises Chuck-It. Piper tenses.

Food Lady releases ball from Chuck-It. Piper does crazy insane demon summoning spins in place, like a pissed off yo-yo at the end of the leash.

Food Lady yells “STOP THAT!” Piper falls down at tail end of spins, because three legs can’t support her insanity.

This freaks me out, because every single time she does it, my brain can hear the ACL in her other leg tearing apart. But yelling “STOP THAT” is not only very unhelpful, but also pointless because Piper just can’t help herself. Doing crazy mad spins before bolting after the ball is both the reason she NEVER gets the ball first, but also just what she has been doing for ten long years. She can’t stop doing it. And I can’t stop her, short of leaving her at home, which I don’t want to do.

Several weeks of doing this over and over twice a day have left me an emotional wreck! As I was laying in bed the other night (in a fetal position, rocking back and forth and muttering to myself) I had an AHA! moment. I remembered that somewhere, in my stash of dog accessories that I like to ~~hoard~~ SAVE IN CASE OF AN EMERGENCY, I had just the ticket for solving this problem.

About a year ago, I acquired a dog climbing harness made by Ruff Wear. It was brand new, and was donated to someone who could not use it, so I called dibs, cackled madly, rubbed my hands together gleefully and brought it home. Then I remembered that I never, EVER, intend to climb anything more strenuous than a flight of stairs, and that this was a pointless addition to my ~~already significant hoarding problem~~ COLLECTION OF PERFECTLY REASONABLE DOG ACCESSORIES.

BUT! – if the harness is designed to haul a dog bodily up a sheer rock cliff with a rope, surely it could be used to hoist Piper a foot or so off the ground every time I throw the ball so she can’t fling herself around like St. Vitus. So I dug it out of storage.

Tah DAH!

My muscles don’t retain memory as well as Miss P’s (just ask The Sadist – he’s always complaining that he can’t teach me nuthin’!) so it’s taking a bit to get into our new routine. Sometimes I haul her up in the air, then I put her down and throw the ball, and then I get mad and yell “STOP THAT!” because she devil spins. Other times I hoist her in the air and then forget to put her down until my shoulder starts moaning in pain. But for the most part, it’s working out really well; I pick her up by her new handle with my left hand and chuck the ball with my right … she writhes around in the air doing her spins with no earthly contact … when the ball is out of sight and she has stopped wiggling, I place her gently back down.

It’s kind of like doing bicep curls with a 30lb really hairy weight. I’m gonna be so buff!

Part 2: On why I am NOT a frickin’ genius

The weather has been absolutely stunning the last two days. Sunshine! Bright, sunny, frosty and cold, but dry and happy looking outside! Perfect photo taking weather! If only I had not been DYING FROM THE FLU since early in the week. Actually, I wasn’t dying, it just sometimes felt that way. And I didn’t have the flu, just a cold. But a really nasty cold that just knocked me flat. I felt as crappy on Friday as I did on Tuesday, the first day I went home sick, so when the nice weather burst onto the scene tap dancing on Friday, it was all I could do to drag my ass off the sofa and give the dogs any exercise at all, much less get creative with the camera. I hardly took any photos at all :(

Say whhuuUUUUTTT?

Pfeifer couldn’t believe it. And I can’t believe I still have Pfeifer! A dog this nice, and this easy, and I have had her for like 4 months. How come nobody wants to adopt my squirrelly girlie? I mean, lots of people have wanted to adopt her, but none of them have other dogs and Pfeif needs another dog at home. I think she would be miserable as an only dog, with nobody to torment, wrassle with or chase around. And she would make her person miserable, because she would probably pace around whining all the time if she was a single dog. Isn’t there anyone out there who needs a buddy for their buddy?

Anyway, in between crouching to the ground while all the snot IN THE ENTIRE WORLD pooled in my sinus cavities, temporarily blinding me, I managed to snap a few photos, just to preserve in pictoral format the memory of sunshine. We see it so rarely these days.

Part 3: On why Dexter is an EVIL GENIUS

Despite the fact that I was on the verge of death, I dragged myself to class on Thursday night. It might have been because I brought a mini poodle to a friend who was adopting her from my shelter. Or might have been because I am a martyr, or hopped up on cold medication and too doped out to realize what I was doing, or scared of The Sadist who is ALREADY PREPPING US FOR REGIONALS AND WILL NOT TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER, SO GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME, SHEENA!!!

The whole drive over (one had on the wheel, one with tissues pressed to the faucet that used to be my nose) I begged silently “please let it be a Gamble class.” That would involve me mostly standing in one place and watching Dexter rocket around equipment without any kind of real direction.

Instead, to my horror, it was a Jumpers class. Ie – all running, all the time. C’est impossible, in my greatly diminished condition. Dexter and I can’t get a Jumpers run together at the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

Of course, because Dexter is Dexter, HE WAS PICTURE PERFECT THE ENTIRE CLASS. Precise, accurate, in tune, going everywhere I suggested he go, executing difficult sequences with flawless grace. There was actual applause from my classmates. Why? WHY DOES HE DO THIS TO ME?!?!

Because I can. HAI!

It may have been suggested that I try to catch malaria, or something terminal, just in time for Regionals, since clearly I handle better when I am knock knock knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Stupid evil genius dog.

Part 4: On why I invite EVIL into my home.

So speaking of evil, I recently acquired an evil monkey that lives in my closet. Except he’s not a monkey, and I don’t have any closets in my house. But close enough. I guess I didn’t learn my lesson with the Malinois puppy, because this guy is kind of like a mini Malinois, if you squint.

Meet Carlos. He’s the pointy little thing in the background lasciviously pumping away at Spring’s hindquarters for all he’s worth.

Carlos is a Chihuahua Somethin’ Somethin’ mix that was surrendered to my shelter a while back. Unlike most little dogs that end up in the shelter, he didn’t even spend a couple of days turning into a tiny snarling demon dog in his kennel before settling in. He just made himself at home in his kennel and was bright and sunny and happy with everyone. Carlos liked everyone. Everyone liked Carlos. He was a no-brainer, and I adopted him out to a family of three adults pretty quickly.

Just as quickly, they brought him back. “He bites,” they said, “And we are terrified of him.”

*blink*

Apparently, he is a resource guarder and he bit them if they tried to get him off the sofa. And he bit them if they tried to get him off the bed. And he bit them if he found a piece of paper on the floor and they tried to take it away from him. And they were tired of him biting them.

*blink* *blink*

I’m pretty good at my job, the bulk of which involves evaluating dogs and matching them up with people who will make them happy. So I was pretty surprised to learn this about Carlos, who demonstrated no behaviour of that kind at the shelter. Then again, there are no beds, sofas or scraps of paper in the kennel.

So I brought Evil Monkey home last weekend and have been trying, unsuccessfully, ever since to get him to take a chunk out of me. No dice. He rarely gets on my sofa and when he does, he just wants to curl up in my lap. He’s not allowed in the bedroom at all, but no problem there – he puts himself to bed in his designated crate when he’s tired and sleeps there without a peep all night. I have taken everything under the sun out of his mouth, including EXTRA TASTY PAPER WITH PEANUT BUTTER CUP REMNANTS on it (my ‘eating healthier in 2013’ resolve has only been kind of successful) and he hasn’t so much as lifted a lip at me. I idly taught him a trading game ONCE and since then anytime I ask him if “I can have that?” he spits out whatever he has and waits for a cookie.

He also wrestles with Spring and Pfeifer, plays fetch with the big dogs, and comes when he is called (and, awesomely, he comes to both “Carlos” and “Evil Monkey.” Confusing, Pfeifer ALSO comes to “Evil Monkey). He is pretty damn awesome.

So … anyone looking for a 10 lbs Malinois?

I have to find him a home before he becomes a forever foster like Pfeifer!

Part 5: On why today will BLOW YOUR MIND

Five years ago today, my Big Red Dog went to the big sheep farm in the sky. Five years. Wow.

Three weeks before he died – with Horner’s Syndrome, so he’s all droopy and saggy in the face. But still so beautiful to me.

Five years ago I lived in a shoebox in the sky in downtown Vancouver. I didn’t know how I was going to get up in the morning and look at his empty food dish, or the Briggs shaped faded spot on the hardwood floor where he used to sleep all day. I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t going to ever again be able to tousle his curly head and say “Who’s my Briggsy Bubba Border Collie?”

Briggs’ passing made room for other dogs who have become important in my life. I owe him a debt of gratitude I can never repay. I only wish I could have brought him out here with me, to our quiet home out in the Stix, so for once in his life he could have had his own Kingdom; a giant backyard to call his own, a sunny lawn to lay on while he watched the chickens. I wish I could have given it to him before he died. I am so glad I could give it to the dogs I have now.

On the other hand, Briggs and TWooie would have KILLED each other!

I raise a glass to your memory, Red Dog. The coolest dog I ever knew.

Release The Hounds!

January 12, 2012 By The Food Lady 18 Comments

Hahahahaha!

^^This is what happens after I say “okay” when we’ve been doing this:

I don’t have many photos today, but what I do have is a bath tub full of meat.

I am defrosting my dog freezer today so I can fit all the meat in it. And there is so much meat! Cariboo and elk and deer and lamb and … oh my!

The reason I have so much meat is because I have so many fewer chickens. But let me explain.

Last week whilst cleaning out the eatin’ chickens, I picked one up for fun (yes, our definition of “fun” is a little different out here in the stix) and was startled to learn that it weighed about as much as Springaling. Mutant chickens! I did some on the spot math and realized that I have been threatening to eat these things for about 5 months, which is 4 months longer than I should have been squawking about it. Ridiculous.

So I marched back into the house and put an advert on Craigslist that basically said “come get 4 giant mutant roosters for X amount of money, or come slaughter and dress them and leave with 2 of them for yourself. But I’m keeping the feet.”

I got a surprising amount of replies. Several people offered to come and get them, though all of them tried to lowball me. And then I got an email from a woman who said “We have been killing chickens all our lives. We will come out and slaughter them and dress them for you, and take two home. And if you let us have all the feet, we will bring you some other meats for your dogs.”

*shrug* Okay.

So this wonderful couple came out to my farm and showed me how to slaughter and defeather and cut up chickens for eating. They were super nice people who had emigrated here from South America about 40 years ago, and had obviously done this many times, as they had a whole little set up with a propane stove to heat the water to dunk the chickens in for defeathering, and a little blowtorch to burn off the pin feathers and even a machete for the, umm, deheading. They really DO run around with their heads cut off you know. One of them even chased me, which skeeved me out more than a little … how did it know where I was if it had no head? *shudder*

It was a really interesting thing to watch, and now I wish I had photographed it for you all and blogged it (okay, not for *all* of you, as I am sure several of you are making this face right now:

It’s definitely the face my mum was making back up at the house, as she didn’t want to see the chicken slaughter). Alas, it was getting dark when they came over. You know a dude has mad skillz when he can accurately cut off chicken feet at the correct joint in the dark.

So anyway, not only do I have two HUGE chickens’ worth of meat in my people freezer (they dressed out bigger than the TURKEY I was cooking for dinner that same day. It was my belated Christmas dinner, since my parents are back from their tropical Hawaiian holiday), these nice folks also brought my dogs a ton of meat. They also hunt, and have agreed to become my regular supply of deer and moose bones for the dogs. Score!

Mmmm …. meat.

I love the barter system – I really think we as a society should engage it in more often. I didn’t mind raising these chickens, and then for a little bit of work, two families have lots of meat to eat. And I got an education in how to process meat chickens, and I am thinking of raising some more later this year.

But later this week we are trialing in agility. It’s Dexter’s last trial before his Big Operation on Tuesday. I am quite nervous about the whole thing. I have a great vet, but those testicles are really MIA and who knows how long he’ll be under with vet hands poking around his insides looking for them?

YOU’RE nervous?!?! Run away! Run away!

Quick! Get him! His testicles are running away!

Today is a little bit of a sad day for me. It’s four years ago today that my Briggsy Bubba left on his journey to the otherworld. Sometimes it feels like I can scarcely remember him; my dog family has changed so much in the last four years. Other times it feels like just yesterday he and babyTweed were wrasslin’ in my living room:

Tweed has now been alive longer than I ever knew Briggs.

I’m going to live FOREVER.

He just might too. In a few short months Tweed will be 12 years old. You’d never know it to look at him, he still runs and plays like a five year old.

I’m a little kid at heart!

So in honour of my big Red Dog, today is International Extra Hug For Your Bestest Dog Day.

Briggs. Bah. I coulda taken him.

Have a fantastic weekend everyone. Hopefully I’ll have some agility video for you by Sunday.

Three Years Ago Today

January 12, 2011 By The Food Lady 23 Comments

Today marks the passing of my Big Red Dog. Three years have passed since I lost the border collie that changed my life. He was not quite 11 years old. And while my life and heart are full (very full!) of other wonderful, comical, devoted four legged friends, there’s still a space that only Briggs can occupy, and always will.

One of Briggs’ first friends was another Big Red Dog – the original Big Red Dog. I called him Clifford, but his real name was Kona. Kona was a Chesapeake Bay Retriever who belonged to some friends I met in my very first agility class, and they remain friends today. Kona was of an age with Briggs and I know Marty and Tracy mourned his passing when he died. As today I mourn the passing of 14 year old Kona, who left us yesterday for Bigger Waters.

RIP, Clifford. Now you and Briggs can argue over the big sticks, and rule the Otherworld as only red dogs can.

Cliiiiimb every mountain

March 21, 2010 By The Food Lady 6 Comments

I’ve been trying to get around to this post for a long time, but in order to do so, I needed a mountain, or a reasonable facsimile. Can’t find one, so we’ll have to make do with this A-Frame as a substitute. If you love me, you’ll just let that slide right on by. XOXO.

My friend Robyn, woman-servant to Lovely Luna and her nefarious sidekick, Jenn “Snowbeard,” is going to climb Mount Kilamanjaro. I mean, Kilimonjeero. I mean … oh screw it, she’s climbing a really tall mountain in Africa for charity. Read about it for yourself here.

Of course, this is not dog related, but Robyn is a good egg. And let’s be honest – you’re going to get real old some day too. You might be lucky enough to do it gracefully, or it might happen a different way and hospice care could figure big in your life at some point too. So it’s good to support this kind of thing. And Robyn introduced me to one of my favourite written phrases ever.

DOITDOITDOITDOITDOIT!!!

I AM doing it, as fast as I can too. Chill out, Food Lady!

Yesterday, somehow, I went to Auntie Cheryl’s Farm Of Evil Critters and I got suckered into vaccinating a bunch of sheep and two very cranky llamas. Cheryl said “I don’t like to poke my animals” which I thought was so tender of her. But your Food Lady is very, very gullible. I know Cheryl, and have for years. She’s the one who took this photo of Briggs like 11 years ago. So given this long history between us, I should know better.

What she really meant was “My animals hate it when they get needles, and hold deep, long standing grudges against the poker-wielder.” Why didn’t I realize this??

Angry Llamas are scary as hell. And you’ll know they are angry when their ears disappear.

Stupid llamas.

After they threatened to kick me, and I after I made Cheryl promise in writing (in blood) that they would not spit on me, I finally went in and vaccinated some angry llamas. Some angry, stinky, jumpy, tall, mean llamas.

After causing “brief but intense pain” (it actually says that on the label!!) to her sheep and nearly killing the oldest whether, Isakk, I had to hightail it out of the critter yard because they were all standing in a corner plotting their revenge.

I didn’t have to vaccinate the mini horses, but they watched the whole thing, and they hate me now too.

We were going to try Dexter on Cheryl’s sheep afterward, but again they were experiencing “brief but intense pain” and I didn’t think that was very nice to do to them. Also, I didn’t want them to stomp the shit out of my puppy in revenge. So instead we played a little Dumbball.

It’s Ru’s favouite thing to do. And Dexter wants to be Just Like Ru (he’ll need to get that other ear up first)

And we played a little agility. This would have been a really nice photo, except Woo’s tail wandered by just as I was taking it and messed up the focus a little bit.

And then I got to indulge in one of *my* favourite pastimes, which is chasing and catching chickens. So now the chickens hate me too.

Oh look, there she is. Everyone turn away from the camera and ruin her shot.

*shakes fist at chickens*

Not a bad way to spend a lovely Spring day! Although, now I have to watch my back against angry farm animals.

Don’t forget to go visit Robyn as she prepares to go to The Roof Of Africa for charity. She’s taking a friend as well, who also has a blog about it.

Fat people can climb mountains too.