Archives for April 2012

No Means No

Sometimes life’s lessons are hard:

(view large for giggliest results)

Meet my latest project!  This is Bryce, the Dog Formerly Known As Tyson.

Bryce is a 5-6 month old puppy and what’s known in our parts as a “Rez Special.”  He’s a mix of this, that and probably the other too.  He weighs just over 30lbs, stole his legs from a giraffe and has a raging ear infection of epic proportions.  In fact, it was the ear infection that motivated me to bring him home, because on his first day in the shelter Bryce bit the shit out of both my arms when I took him by the collar and then reached for his head with my other hand.  Because I am dog savvy (<– stubborn and stupid) I didn’t let go of him until he stopped chewing up my person and he collapsed in a big whimpery pile of mush.  I trundled him off to the vet (with a muzzle!) who yelled “HOLY SUGAR!” when she saw the inside of his ears.  Not that she could see much, since both canals were swollen almost totally closed :(  Poor guy must be in so much pain.  We’ve got him on a couple of medications to clear that up lickety split, and now when I touch his ears he leans into my hands and grunts with pleasure at the rubbing.

Bryce finds the world quite scary, and he needs some confidence building, Food Lady style.  So here he is.

He’ll be coming home with me evenings and on my days off until his ear infection is cleared up enough for him to get neutered.  He’s already doing TONS better, and he even did the A-Frame at agility class last night, with lots of cookie bribery.  But Bryce hasn’t been exposed to much, so every single new thing he sees is scary until he decides it isn’t.  Dogs barking was the most terrifying thing ever at first, and I thought he was going to have a heart attack when I let my crew out and they announced their arrival.  But he got over that pretty quick, as he has other, scarier things to worry about.

Oh hello.  Why don’t you come over here, little boy?

I may have mentioned this in passing before, but TWooie is a real dick!  Poor Bryce isn’t allowed to do ANYTHING without TWooie ripping hunks of fur off ‘im.  We’re doing some crate and rotate at the moment, because I am tired of running interference between TWooie’s teeth and Bryce’s butt.

None of the other dogs are too impressed with him either.  Dexter is just plain horrified that I welcomed this thing into our home.

Wootie is VERY suspicious of his motives.  But Wootie is also not very ferocious, so nobody worries about him.

Tweed and Piper are laying behind my desk chair like sentries and curling their lips in unison at him if he gets any closer  to me than about 5 feet.

As for Spring …

Don’t be fooled.  Miss Neighbourhood Greeter was playing with him moments after his arrival.

ZOMG!  I am having fun!  I think.

His brown eye always looks like it’s out of focus because it’s actually 2/3s brown and blue at the top, so it always looks like light is reflecting off it when it’s not really.  A photographic challenge!  I shall bust out the flash and try and get a good shot of his eye for you.  It’s kind of funny because in real life, he always looks !SHOCKED! because of his eyes.

So Bryce is going to be available for adoption very soon.

Based on what I know of him already, I am going to say he needs a home without kids (because sudden movements and loud noises are scary, and unapproved handling may cause teeth on flesh) and preferably one with another well adjusted dog for company.   He’s a very bright and personable little (but going to be big, about 65lbs I would say) guy and likes people quite a lot, unless there are large groups of them appearing suddenly as if from nowhere.  He’s probably got some shepherd in him, so he’s naturally a bit protective / suspicious, but he’s not a dog I think is a big bundle of Fear Aggression waiting to happen – I feel like with ongoing exposure to new situations, he’ll actually turn out to be a fairly well adjusted dog.  He’ll want a more proactive owner as opposed to a passive one; he needs to get out and about a lot, take classes of just about any kind to build his confidence and increase his focus, and judging by the way he is staring out my patio door as I type … no chickens ;-)  And no crap food – he came in with a bag of Pedigree which I promptly threw in the trash, and a bottle of Epi-Otic, which was his former owner’s ‘solution’ to his ear problems.  He’s eating raw now, but I think he will be fine on a grain-free, high quality kibble, since his rotten ears are most likely directly linked to allergies to his old food.

If you are interested in my puppy, you can message me for details on how you can apply!  I am also going to post him on the Wootube Facebook page, and would appreciate if you’d share it with your FB friends.  Let’s find this guy a home!

Funnily enough, more than one person has asked me – dead seriously – when they saw him if this was my “new dog.”  For realz?  Have I reached the point of too-much-dog-owningdom where nobody even thinks it’s weird or unusual that I would get a 7th or 8th dog?  YIKES!  ABORT ABORT!

Too late!  You’re stuck with us. And we are going to live FOR-EV-ER.

And this here is a photo for Dave, because he says I never post anything about Piper unless she’s dying.

He’s TWoo Silly Sometimes

(He learned a new trick this week, so he’s very pleased with himself!)

Through With Chickens Thursday

Not really *through* with chickens, just through with them in my dining room!

One week old chicks are very cute, quiet and peepalicious.  One MONTH old chickens are screeching pterodactyls who shit constantly and never sleep.  And because I like to sleep, it’s time to move my babies outside.

On reflection, I notice that this photo makes everything I put together for chickens look like a garbage dump; dirty crate, some half assed plastic wrap, rusty old enclosure.  Before I lived in the Stix, I used to think that everyone who farmed liked to be surrounded by garbage and was genetically incapable of cleaning up their land.  Now that I live here, and keep farm animals, I realize that short of enslaving a team of Oompaloompahs to scrub and clean for you every minute of every day, there is just no way to have attractive chicken housing.  And it’s also pointless, since they’re just going to shit it up now matter how nice it is.

Anyway, the little chickens are in an addition built off the big chickens’ yard so they can all get used to one another for several weeks through the wire fence.  Big chickens are real assholes to little chickens.  In about a month, I (<– by “I” I mean “my landlord”) am going to drag the shed on skids from the lower pasture up to the chicken yard, turn it into a hen house and expand the chicken yard by another third, and throw everyone in all together.  By the end of the summer, I am going to be drowning in tasty, multi-coloured eggs.  I’m already getting about 3 dozen a week from the big chickens.  Hopefully none of the little chickens are roosters!  If they are, I will eat them.

The metal enclosure for the little chickens is not very heavy, but it’s big and awkward … and because it’s been sitting out for about a year in the grass, it was trying really hard to become One with the ground, so it was hard as hell to move.  I hurt my back a little trying to drag that sucker over to where I needed it to be.

The dogs were outside with me, amusing themselves, for the couple of hours it took to put it all together, and by the time I was ready to pay some attention to the pooches, I was too tired to stand up and kick a soccer ball or whatever.  So I decided to sit down instead.

Which makes me Spring’s mobile pillow.

I think it’s funny that tough little terriers, who will dig through a cement wall filled with dynamite to get something they want, if necessary, also require extra comfy places to lay down several times a day.

Are you just going to sit on your ass all morning?

I really hate being judged – and found lacking! – by 30lbs of border collie.

Fortunately Dexter came to my rescue.

No she’s not!  She’s going to play toss the, umm, the, umm … ribbon ball toy thing.

OKAY!  Yay!!

And thus did we pass the rest of the morning, playing toss the, umm, whatever it is.

You throw again now please kthx?

Except for Wootie, who prefers being fat and getting head rubs.

And TWooie, who was busy resource guarding the chickens and a 50 foot radius around their new pen.

I tried to get him to play, but in the two years I have had TWoo, he has never managed to grasp the idea of toys being “fun.”

At this point, I think it’s a lost cause.

When I finally told everyone it was time for us to go inside, Piper pretended she had gone deaf.