Tweed

Life After Tweed

June 12, 2015 By The Food Lady 38 Comments

My family seems so small now.

I’m sure to those of you with one or two dogs I sound like a crazy person, but I can’t begin to tell you how pervasive the thought “where did everyone go?” is right now in my household. First Rhumba got adopted, two weeks ago, and though she wasn’t mine, she was with us long enough to notice her missing. Then I lost Tweed and I can’t begin to tell you what a gaping hole he leaves in his wake. God but I miss him. Nobody attacked the vacuum cleaner this week. I didn’t have to tell anyone to “get out of the shot!!” What am I going to do with the cardboard paper towel tubes now?

I thought Tweed was going to live forever.

But now my pack is divided into perfect duos; two border collies, two whatever-WooTWoo-ares, two terriers and two Littles. No odd man out, no compact fluffy red beast huffing at me, making his own path through the world. Last Thursday morning he got the zoomies in the yard and cavorted around all over the place like a puppy. And on Monday he was gone. It beggars belief.

Although this doesn’t make a whole lot sense either.

And really, this never did.

(As I forced him to wake up from his nap in the sun and pose for a family portrait, he stole the Chuck-It as revenge)

Regionals was, as you can imagine, ruined for me. I couldn’t run Spring with my best boy dying. I am sure she felt the stress – first run on the line and she did two obstacles and then peed in the ring (automatic elimination). We simply left the event after that, as neither of us were having any fun.

Clearly, she’s over it now.

I went back the next day to get all my stuff, and brought Tweed with me so he could say goodbye to his friends. I had a bucket list planned for him for my vacation – swimming at a real beach, playing at agility class one more time, an ice cream cone all for him, with a cheeseburger chaser … I didn’t know he had only one more day. We didn’t get to do any of those things. On his last day, he didn’t want the ice cream. And there were so many tears. Many of my friends have known Tweed his whole life, or near enough to make no matter. Many of you have “known” him for a decade or more. And he was just that kind of dog; you couldn’t not like Tweed. You couldn’t not be sad when he died.

Unless you are my other dogs, none of whom seem to notice he’s missing. I brought his body back for them to see, and only Piper seemed concerned. The rest of the assholes just seemed grossed out, and Addy walked all over him – something she desperately wanted to do when he was alive, but he’d have eaten her for her trouble. I have heard some dogs grieve for their fallen comrades. I apparently do not know any of those dogs.

For them, bless ’em, life just keeps pushing irrepressibly forward.

I’m carried along in the wake of their enthusiasm for just about everything. And I’m glad of it. Tweed didn’t understand sad. We did his bucket list for him this week – we went real swimming. We went to agility practice. We did NOT all get individual ice cream cones because that’s too many ice cream cones, but I ate a sundae in his honor.

And now vacation is over and I go back to work, and every day gets just a little bit easier to bear.

Thank you for all your condolences. I read every one.

My friend Keryn owns a knitting store called Farm Fairy Fibre in Pitt Meadows. She has taken to dying her own yarn, and came up with a lovely dark red/burgundy colour that she asked if she could name “Tweedles.”

Knitting is not one of the skills I possess, but if you do, buy a length of it and make something whimsical. Tweedles would have loved it :)

I miss you, buddy.

An Honest Dog

June 8, 2015 By The Food Lady 138 Comments

My good dog Tweed died today. He got a swift and ugly cancer, and he was hurting, so I let him go.

I have no words of eloquence for my good dog. He was a simple dog, and so I mourn his loss simply and without fanfare. He was honest. When he had an opinion, he shared it. When he had a feeling, he let it be known. And when it was his time to die, he asked me to let him go.

I know what loss is – I feel it keenly now. I know what luck is, because I was lucky that he was my dog for *exactly* 15 years. I know what love is, because we shared love deeply. We grew into one another, and although his body is gone, we will never be apart.

Thank you to all my friends at the Regionals that I could not participate in, who shed a tear and hugged him goodbye, because he inspired that kind of fondness in people who were not his own. Thank you to Auntie Heather, for taking care of the bits that I could not. Thank you to Auntie Kim for the roast chicken that was the last food he ate. And thank you to Dr. Jeff Bowra, for releasing from his painful body.

Thank you Tweed, for being part of my very soul.

Valar morghulis. Dogs too. Even mine.

Tweed May 6th 2000 – June 8th 2015.

The Countdown

May 30, 2015 By The Food Lady 11 Comments

Regionals is next week! The weather promises to be hot, so I’m looking forward to my annual terrible sunburn that no sunscreen in the world can prevent, for some inexplicable reason. It’s already hot, Tweed would like you to know.

Less boiling please.

The tiny sun goddess is fine with the heat. Sometimes she just lays flat out in the grass and, like, revels in it. Or crawls into my lap to try and absorb all of mine too. Then she sneaks off into the shade to discharge some of the inferno she has internalized.

Dexter is cool with the heat.

He just shakes it off.

His limp is quite a bit better … I feel like I am the only one who would notice it now. But I wouldn’t run him unless he was 100%. He’s too damn crazy, and could *really* hurt himself flinging him around the equipment.

The fact that Spring has made a beeline for the shade every time we go out (hence why there are no photos of her in this entry) gives me no great hopes for her performance in the heat at Regionals! Fortunately, I have low expectations, so I can’t be all that disappointed with the results I guess. Silver lining and all that. To be honest, I am more looking forward to my 6 days of vacation/staycation that come right after Regionals than I am to the event itself. I am officially tired, and really need to recharge. The fact that competing this weekend makes me a bit scowly as it means no sleeping in for my first three days of staycation tells me just how body-and-soul exhausted I really am. The end of winter/spring is always hellish at work; for some reason adoptions fall way off, but intakes of dogs keeps increasing. Then suddenly dog adoptions pick up again and the shelter starts emptying out, and kitten season explodes. Everyone at work is bone-weary.

Except Rhumba, she’s just laughing. She is one of the lucky ones; she doesn’t realize she has no home.

This week she was featured in an article on VanCity Buzz which has been shared over 5000 times(!) but still no home.

Hello, I can haz home pleaze?

I am old enough to remember the days when shelters drew numbers out of a hat to pick an adopter for a small dog because they were so few and far between in the shelter system. Now they’re in shelters in abundance. I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with the dozens and dozens of import “rescues” bringing little dogs into Canada by the truckload and handing them out like party favours, sometimes to homes that probably shouldn’t have them. They are starting to full-cycle already, in less than a decade – maybe less than five years! – with small dogs originally from places like California ending up in our local shelters looking for homes once again. And even when they aren’t, the dogs in our local shelters don’t stand a chance; they are “boring” with no SAVED FROM HIGH KILL SHELTER story attached to them, and we actually screen our potential homes. So they languish. Some weeks I avoid the kennels for days at a time because I can’t stand to see all the sad faces in the kennels.

Yep, I need my vacation pretty bad.

On another topic, this photo should be in the dictionary under “corruption”

THAT would be the Two Mighty Hunters leading the little astray, teaching them the ways of being naughty!

Naughty like killing moles that you don’t actually like the taste of, and have no intention of eating.

Moles that you later bring into the house and leave on the carpet for The Food Lady to step on in her bare feet. Probably so that your brother can laugh and laugh as TFL does the screeching OMGEWWGROSS!!! dance across the living room on one unbespoiled foot.

This photo is apropos of nothing, I just think it’s really really funny.

Anyway, wish us luck at Regionals! Come watch even – you’ll recognize us because Spring will be trotting through the courses while I do headstands and make monkey faces trying to bolster her spirits. Bah.

Boys and Their Toys

May 23, 2015 By The Food Lady 12 Comments

Landlords acquired this machine recently and have gone absolutely bananas with it.

They demolished the building I used to use as an Eatin’ Chicken coop*, and the old hitching post thing in the middle of the lower pasture that ruined so many potential shots, and have used it to pile all the debris in the back of the pasture, to ruin my photos in a completely different way. They took down all the crap around the apple tree so now I can pick apples. They seem to be having an awful lot of fun doing it.

But I get that. I also like to use tools, though on a lesser scale. Last weekend I was non-blogging because I was busy building the duck pen. I had to finish the post-and-rail fencing and then page wire it all in, which required a saw and a cordless screwdriver, and wire cutters and a hammer and U nails and buckets and buckets of sweat! And when I put it all together, I remembered I had no gate, so I had to fashion something out of pieces of a plastic XPen. The end result ….

These got to come home!

They’re SO cute!!!

They smell SOOOOO bad!!! Why did I put them so close to my house?

And the best part? Piper is TERRIFIED of them! Won’t even look at them, much less work them.

NO GOOD DEED, BITCHES!

Phhhlllbbbt on you and your stinky ducks, lady.

This is par for the course for the way this month is going though.

I spy, with my BIG RED SWOLLEN EYE, a dog who has been bothering bumble bees:

And SOMEBODY is still broken, and had to be pulled from Regionals :(

Who? What? Nobody. Nothing to see here.

Leash rest / no leash rest, drugs / no drugs, laser therapy / empty bank account … nothing makes a difference in his tripodding. He still goes like the dickens, but the tripodding remains. And apart from the fact that I won’t put my dog at risk by making him compete if he’s not 100% sound, someone could point out his limp at Regionals and we could be excused, which means no refund. At least this way, I can pay down some of his vet bills.

He thinks he’s fine.

But I can see that his left hind leg isn’t extending like his right and there’s a definite hitch in his giddyup when he walks. He looks like a hooker with his new rear end sway.

I’m bummed. Nationals is HERE this year.

Now all hopes rest on this:

THIS is sulky, inconsistent and last year decided all her contacts were on fire, when she wasn’t moping around taking off course jumps at half speed. IOW, Regionals is probably a bust this year for us.

Why doG, WHY??

I wish I knew what was wrong with him. Nobody seems to be able to figure it out, and it’s been going on for a month now. Any ideas?

I feel kinda like this about the whole thing:

Poopy.

And for the love of doG, would someone please adopt my Wumbers already??

(*I realized “Eatin’-Chicken Coop” sounds like somewhere I go to eat chicken, as though it were a dirty shameful secret. I really meant it’s where I used to raise the chickens that were for eating, not for laying eggs, since those chickens can’t live with the other kind)

I like you

May 3, 2015 By The Food Lady 8 Comments

I like you …

You like me ….

… we all live in harmo- OOPS

The little dogs are teaching the even littler dog to be a real dog.

She was pretty lethargic and timid when she first arrived, but now she is all busy and active and stuff. It’s pretty damn adorable!

So who wants to adopt this itty bitty bundle of cute?

Or this one? (this is her “I was naughty and barked at someone walking down the road, and I know it was wrong” face)

Still adorable though. She plays with the puppy the most.

More adorable (puppies are sweet and all, but give me a fluffy orange beast any day!): Got Wootie a new Fifa, and he was so happy!

It was a cheapie from the dollar store, so it didn’t last long, but he was ecstatic while it lasted, and beyond.

More adorable still (and a little creepy) is the faces Dexter makes when I let him “get” the ball, even though he is still on leash rest.

Still limping on this left hind leg, so he is in a down while the other dogs play (he would hate this more, but liedown is Dexter’s favourite position). I’ll throw the ball at him periodically to make him feel included.

Tomorrow we go see Dr. Jeff and find out what the f*ck.

In the meantime, Spring will get enough air for the both of them.

and show off her adorable little heiney.

With this new camera and lens, I can finally get photos of Addy running at speed.

She’s adorable in her own way. She has a VERY nice personality, I really lucked out there. Her personality is better than Fae’s, who is kind of a sulky, passive aggressive little shit. But a SUPER adorable passive-aggressive little shit.

They make a good team.

Old. Kinda senile and getting very grouchy. Best girlie. Adorbz.

(Winter and TWooie were hunting wabbits, and declined to participate in photos)

Most adorable of the whole shebang … Mister Will-Be-Fifteen-In-Three-Days-Time.

Like A Lamb To Slaughter …

April 27, 2015 By The Food Lady 15 Comments

Today I did something I was really not comfortable with, which is in part largely why I did it (it’s probably going to make some of you uncomfortable as well, so be forewarned). I visited an abattoir and brought with me an ewe to be turned into 100lbs or so of ground mutton meat for dog food.

I should begin by saying that I do not have any ethical qualms about being a meat eater – lots of animals eat other animals, and I happen to be one of those meat-eating animals. I respect that there is a food chain and I don’t feel the need to opt out of it for any moral argument. I respect the people who do choose to live and eat differently as well. I do have a problem with the way we raise our meat animals and the whole factory farming issue, but have not found a way to circumvent it completely.

But my biggest personal issue is that I am part of a generation of people who think their meat comes from Safeway and I don’t want to bury my head in that la-la land. I have a lot of pets who eat a lot of meat, and I feel it’s important – for me – to remember that they (and I) are eating animals that were born and lived and died for that reason. So from time to time, I explore the “real” subject of killing to consume, like when I raised and slaughtered meat birds. Recently, I taught myself to skin rabbits (when the apocalypse comes, I will be set).

So when I acquired some sheep recently, which I am not allowed to keep on my property because my previous crazy neighbours ruined livestock keeping for my landlord, I traded away two of them to a friend for the aforementioned freezer full of rabbit (they were already dead), and took the third to the abattoir for – ahem – “processing.”

I slept poorly last night, and was full of reluctance about my decision, for reasons I still can’t quite work out. I wondered if I should just give my friend the third ewe (she’s keeping them to lamb them out next year), and kept picturing her sheepie face … I am not even very fond of sheep, and ate lamb just the other day for lunch. And I recognized that thousands – millions even – of sheep are slaughtered all around the world every year for food. If I am willing to eat them, and feed them to my dogs, I shouldn’t be squeamish about how they live and die.

So this afternoon I loaded the ewe into the back of my van and made the long drive out to the abattoir in Chilliwack. It was probably not a lovely trip for her – she was nervous without her friends, and minivans are not ideal transport for livestock. And when we got out to the slaughterhouse, she was scared as f*ck. So was I. It smelled bad (though it was clean) and there were pigs screaming somewhere inside. I got the sheep out of the van and when she hit the ramp she folded like a shitty old deck chair, down on her knees and refused to move (although it may have been exhaustion trying to keep her balance for an hour in the back of the moving vehicle). I managed to get her up again and lead her down a row of stark (though again clean) metal pens full of pigs, manipulated her into one of them, and left her there.

And I felt a bit sick. I’m not sure I could do it again. My feelings on eating meat, and feeding it to my dogs, has not changed but I definitely did not enjoy the experience of visiting the abattoir. Conversely, I am excited about receiving 100+lbs of food for the dogs from a pasture raised ewe this week. I am conflicted, not about eating and feeding meat, but about a stand-up quality I feel I’m lacking. I strive to be braver, and face the consequences of my choices, which is why I did this, but I really don’t want to do it again.

So there you go. Once step closer to being someone I am proud of, someone who is real and planted in the world in which I live, and consume.

Something else that is real: Dexter has done something to his hind leg (or foot, or hip, or knee or groin – who the f*ck knows) and is tripodding all over the place. Six weeks BEFORE BLOODY REGIONALS, OF COURSE!!! I have sort of been pretending it’s nothing much and that it’s just a coincidence that I have chosen to leash walk him for the past few days, and convinced myself so well that I let him run around tonight.

Which was a mistake, naturally, as he is limping / tripodding worse than ever now. I know I have to take him into the vet, but I like my vet and don’t want to punch him in the face when he gives me dire news like, oh, “He’s torn his ACL.” Actually, I don’t think he has, I think he’s pulled something. And he’s back to leash only walking.

I don’t have enough hands for all the leashes I’m going to need. In the morning, when it’s still too dark to walk on the property, I walk my dogs on the dead end road. All three little dogs are on leash (because coyotes) and now I have a new (temporary) 4th leash denizen:

Ermigawd, amiright?? Totes is a 9 week old “yorkiepoo” or maybe yorkie/maltese. An ACO brought her in stray, and nobody ever called about her. How does this happen? She’s like a whopping 4 lbs. And she makes Wookie noises.

I don’t like to leave tiny baby puppies at the shelter, so I bring them home. The other dogs probably wish I wouldn’t.