Uh, no, not that.  That’s not tough on toys.

This, however, is tough on toys.

That’s Tempus, the borderjack.  Or as we like to call him “RUN!  RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!”  Tempus leans a little to the crazy side of things.  And at agility class, Tempus requires some kind of toy distraction to keep him from going postal, biting the heads off chickens, and sacrificing newborns to some dark overlord.  And from screaming at top volume.  This toy must be tugged with endlessly, or nobody can hear themselves think, plus he might just redirect his insanity on an innocent bystander.

The problem is, no toy can outlast Tempus.  And there have been, believe me, MANY toys.  Today I did a search for “super tough tug toys for dogs” and came up with a whole bunch of images of toys I have seen this 20lb dog demolish in mere minutes.  In fact, last night’s toy lasted (we timed it, with a stop watch) one minute and 15 seconds.  He decapitated it.

Got any ideas to stump the borderjack?  The only thing that works somewhat reliable is a Kong-tube-on-a-rope (I dunno what they’re really called) but he will eventually peel the rubber off that thing like a banana.  It’s surreal!

In other news, there is an evil force lurking on my farm.  It has slithered up from the depths of Hell (no, it isn’t Tempus) and it eats tails.

Bryce has developed a keen interest in taking out my other dogs by their hindmost appendage.  He waits until they go whipping by and he lunges out rattlesnake fast to grab a tail in his mouth and snap-the-whip the poor dog off its feet.  He has received multiple beat-downs for this behaviour from a variety of canine sources, but refuses to be deterred.  I am thinking the only thing that will cure him of this bad habit is to send him to live with several ill-tempered Australian Shepherds for a few days.

On Wednesday, he grabbed Spring by her bum handle and tossed her in the air.  She got up snapping like a pissed off crocodile and sent him running … but she got up on three legs.  She tri-podded back to me and put her front legs in the air and said “Mommy.”

I haz an owie.

I crated her off to work with me, with visions of ACL tears dancing in my head.  By noon she had only the slightest hitch in her giddyup.  By dinner time she was right as rain.  She even went to agility class last night, where she successfully weaved 12 poles multiple times and ran a pretty fast standard course. Good girlie!

Feeling smug that we had skirted disaster, I was therefore totally stymied when Dexter came in from his morning potty break on three legs.  Holding one hindleg up in the air.

I. Could not. BELIEVE. this could happen twice.  Seriously?  I lamented to Auntie Fiona today that people were going to start thinking I suffered from Munchausen-By-Proxy-Dogs.  She cheerfully suggested I do blog post titled “If you don’t love me, one of my dogs will die.”  Because Fiona is unhelpful.

I kinda held out until noon to see if the magical cure that put all four of Spring’s legs back on the earth would work for Dexter as well, but alas, he continued to tripod throughout the day.  I was pretty sure the universe was punishing me for crying wolf with Spring and that this time, Dexter’s ACL was in a thousand pieces dancing around inside his knee chanting “take that bee-otch.”

But as time went on, I began to feel that it was not his knee that was bothering him, but rather his foot.  So we toddled off to the vet clinic where the vet tugged on his toes and made him cry.  She declared his knees “fantastic” and agreed that is was an issue with his toe. A couple x-rays later and it turns out Dexter has hyperextended the fourth digit (in laymens’ terms this means the dumb ass f*cked up his middle toe) and there might be even be the slightest of fractures.

OH MY GOD!!  THAT SOUNDS AWFUL!!  WHAT DO WE DO ABOUT THIS?

“Tape ‘em together” she said and sent us on our way.  If I keep him quiet for a few days and keep his toes stabilized with some vet wra for a couple of weeks, he should be good as new in time for Regionals.  Of course, with no time to practice, just to ensure our performance is complete tomfoolery.

Dog feet HATE The Food Lady.  And there is no small irony in the fact that Mr. Woo has never had a foot injury, despite the things that happen to HIS feet.

*sigh* (I seem do this a lot lately).

“You never take photos of Piper,” Dave says, “How come poor Piper’s never featured on the blog?”

THAT’s why, Dave!!!!

Twelve years ago today, Tweed entered this world and I am ever so grateful that he did.  He was born in a rescuer’s home to a cattle herding border collie mama, who found herself in the family way by a sneaky Australian Shepherd foster dog who could climb fences.  In other words, his conception was very naughty, and it set the tone for his whole life.

Some dogs you fall in love with instantly.  Others grow on you.  Tweed has grown on me so much he’s like a second skin, and I couldn’t begin to imagine my world without him.

He’s given me so much over the years.  Briggs led us to the sport of agility, but Tweed taught me how to play it.  He showed me how important it was to have a sense of humour, and in return he gave me many opportunities to exploit it.  The blog may be called Wootube, but Tweed has been the banana peel on the floor of my life.

No matter how undignified the request, Tweed has always been willing to give it a shot.

And he’ll do it with a smile on his face.

Or at least he’ll patiently put up with my nonsense.

An uncle

a wrasslin’ buddy

A champion

He is, most importantly, my very best friend.

For while there have been, and will always be, many dogs in my life

There will only ever be one Tweed.

I used to joke that Tweed was going to live forever, to punish me for something bad I did in a previous life, and probably bark forever too.  And the other day we were playing outside and itty bitty light-as-a-feather Spring bumped into barrel-chested solid-as-a-tree Tweed and knocked him over on his face.  It took my breath away.  I realized that my 12 year old dog was … well, twelve.  He’s an old dog now, and time isn’t marching backward.  Maybe if I get him a sportscar, and a young boyfriend, we can stop him from aging?

In the meantime, I enjoy every minute I have with him, even the barky ones.  Here’s to 12 more years of that noise, Tweedle-dee-dee!

Oh sure, but you yell at ME when I bark?!?!

If you don’t shut up, *I* will do more than yell.

You know, all that noise isn’t helping me hunt the rats under this old dock!

Duh – what’s everybody barking about?

*sigh*  I can’t even reminisce without the whole peanut gallery getting involved!

Anyway, since I have to work today, we celebrated yesterday with a long walk around the dykes near Pitt Lake.  Then we came home and I let him eat cake!

For me?

OM NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!

Happy Twelfth Birthday to the awesomest Baussie in the world!!

So a little while back on the Wootube FB page I mused about comparisons of my dogs to Game of Thrones characters.  And when I took that photo of Spring and the caption popped into my bean, I could resist doing a post about it.  I was momentarily disappointed that I didn’t have more dogs so I could do a more comprehensive post, but then I thankfully remembered that I already have enough dogs to classify me as an official Crazy Person so I decided to just make do ;-)

I think we can start with the most obvious one, yes?

TWooie would be King Joffrey .  He’s a little tyrant with a craptastic attitude, and he’s always threatening to kill someone for some minor crime.

The only person who can keep him in line is a queen.

Piper would be Cersei.  She’s nice to look at, has an unquenchable thirst for power, and everyone fears her.

They are both tormented by a little evil genius.

Wootie would be Tyrion Lannister.  He’s small, smart, and always getting into trouble.

A nemesis of them all would be a little girl with a big attitude.

Spring would be Arya Stark.  She’s surprisingly ferocious for her size, everyone thinks she’s a boy, and she’s always plotting to take out the Lannisters.

The Lannisters have a fantastically ineffective foe.

Tweed would be King Renly Baratheon.  He’s charming, good looking and totally gay.

And he has a good looking boyfriend who would die for him.

Bryce/Tyson doesn’t get to be part of the GoT fun.

Mostly because he annoys me and everyone else.  He’s actually coming along really nicely.  He’s definitely gained some confidence running with the WooCrew, and has started playing with the other dogs rather than hiding under my truck when they move faster than a slow walk.

But he’s not the brightest bulb in the chandelier…he can’t tell when a dog is playing and when it’s telling him off.  Or else he can tell and just doesn’t care, which makes him kind of a dick.  Dexter’s about ready to kick ten kinds of holy hell out of him, but the myriad attempts at humping continue when Dex is trying to do something else.

We have conquered the biting when cleaning ears, biting when wiping paws and biting when clipping toenails, and this morning we learned that biting when you are scruffed gets you nowhere either because The Food Lady wears a thick winter jacket and can out-obstinate you.  Poor guy has clearly had no guidance and his teeth are default response.  He’s learning new coping skills all the time.  I think he’s got lots of potential.  But I’m not a “shepherd” person and I don’t like the on-guard personality of shepherds, which Tyson has in spades.  He’s forever alerting to visual and auditory stimulus which makes going outside a bit of a stressful venture (what with already having to keep those eyes in the back of my head on The TWoo, Sentry Of The Dead End Road We Live On).

He’s also pretty independent – whether that’s because he’s not had the opportunity to look to a person for guidance or because he’s a husky mix and disdains all humans, I’m not certain.  But he’s prone to going off to do his own thing, so we’re actively working on rewarding for checking in frequently.

Meeting my landlord’s two young kids was also not a Good Time, so I think we can safely say no children for this pup.

On the whole, I think in a fairly intensive home he can make up for lost time and really come around.  Unfortunately for him, I don’t have the time for intensive – I can give him some basic groundwork, but I have too many other commitments in my daily life to really work on his socializing the way he really needs.  He’s better off here than in the shelter, but only by virtue of not being cornered in a kennel by the public.  So I think he should go to your house.

If you take him away, you’ll instantly have Six New Best Friends.

You may have noticed the reappearance of Tweed in my photos …. that’s right!  Three long weeks of confinement to crate and leash have come to an end, and my old man is free to WHEEEE!  He’s so happy to be out and about again, you can see it all over his face.

He’s still wicked limpy though … but I seem to remember this happening last time we did this treatment too.  I am hoping to see that limp ease off in another week or so.  Or maybe even in a few more days, when he will turn TWELVE!

He is so getting the best cake for his 12th birthday :)

]]> http://www.wootube.net/2012/05/the-night-is-dark-and-full-of-terriers/feed/ 5 http://www.wootube.net/2012/05/i-can-haz-twoosday-plz/ http://www.wootube.net/2012/05/i-can-haz-twoosday-plz/#comments Tue, 01 May 2012 12:35:08 +0000 The Food Lady http://www.wootube.net/?p=1299

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

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.

Bitch.

We’re all celebrating!