Who really matters?

So, you know if you read my other blog that there was a rant about the economy. Actually, in re-reading it, it's much less political than I thought it would be when I started out. It was really just a mini-rant.

Not surprisingly, what prompted that economy rant was what psychologists call a "precipitating event:" Tony comes home yesterday and tells me that the distributors - as in food distributors - were talking about the impending food shortage. (Tony owns a bread route, he hangs with these guys every day.) Yes, you read that right - not the impending increased cost of food, but honest-to-god food shortages. While the immediate problem seems to be with grain - wheat, corn, etc. - I ask you, boys and girls: What do cows eat? And in another stellar economic move, some numnuts thought, "gee, wouldn't it be fun to tie the cost of corn to the cost of oil? Because, after all, biofuels are a growing industry and really (really) corn should be priced on the same scale as oil!" (This little tidbit came from one of my way-too-bright tutors.) So, vegetarian, carnivore, or omnivore, it would appear we're all screwed.

Yes, there's a point.

What's the first thing Tony and I worried about? Loretta's special diet. She has to eat k/d (Hill's Prescription Diet), which is low protein, low phosphorus food for dogs with renal disease. And, because Loretta eats k/d, they all eat k/d. And it's made primarily with - you guessed it - grain. So, no talking about going to Sam's or to Costco to stock up on food for us. Instead it was "how soon can we get by the vet to stock up on dog food?" Then Tony comes home with a HUGE food grade barrel so we'll have something in which to store the dog food stockpile.

Wonder what k/d tastes like? I may soon find out....

But look at this face - worth it or what?!

What's "little" and what's "big?"

As you probably know, we have five "girls." The smallest - in terms of weight - is Emily, but for some reason I always think of Rosalita (aka "Piglet") as the smallest. Emily weighs around 45 pounds, Piglet about 50. So neither, in most people's worlds, are small dogs - right? Maybe it's just because they're the smallest dogs we've had in a while, and we've only ever had one that was smaller, Lucille, a party-colored cocker spaniel. But I digress a bit. Rosalita sleeps under the covers every night, either curled up at my stomach or all the way to our toes. Such a comfort. But, if somebody said to me, "Oh, my dog sleeps under the covers," my immediate vision would be a poodle, or a chiuaua. Or some combination of the two. But certainly not a 50-POUND DOG.

Back to the life with dogs

So, I'll step back from my blow-by-blow about the girls' entries into our lives, and talk about their "theirness" for a bit.

We have a really large back yard - it's around a quarter acre, maybe a bit more, but pretty big. The entire back yard is fenced in. And, we're fortunate to live in a neighborhood of big back yards, so we have fairly abundant wildlife considering we're technically in the city. Lots (!) of squirrels, flocks of birds, and, unfortunately, the neighbor's cats. (Don't get me wrong - I like cats. But they shit, dogs eat shit, dogs get worms. Pam is out $50 per dog to remove worms. And that's not even mentioning the yuk factor.) Anyway, there is a love seat that sits more-or-less beneath the window to the back yard. Yes, the placement is entirely my fault - it's their love seat, see? I have often wondered what they do during the day when we're both gone - perhaps a nanny cam is in order? When I'm home, it's a constant "Oh my god mom there's something in the back yard and it's come to kill us all! Must go out now! World peace and harmony, and possibly your life and ours depends on us going out now!" So, I get up to let them out. Emily, the border collie, whose job it is to control her sisters, bottles up everybody at the door. Much barking and snapping ensues. I've tried yelling, but all it gets me is a sore throat. By the time one of the others manages to break the bottleneck, and they actually GET OUTSIDE, they've either forgotten what was so important, or the object of interest is now in the next county.

I wouldn't miss this rowdiness for the world....

Ruby comes home

The trip home from the Humane Society with Ruby was a riot. Tony sat in the back seat with her - obviously her first time in a car - and she literally glommed on to him. Not in a needy, clingy, way, but sitting next to him butt-cheek-to-butt-cheek. Looking at me in the rear view mirror.

It was probably at least a year before Ruby would NOT sit cheek to cheek with one of us. If we were in bed, she was in bed. If I was on the couch, watching TV, she was sitting next to me - touching me in some way - watching TV with me. I really have no idea what created this strong need for closeness in her. It wasn't - well, it wasn't whiny-needy, you know? She was always supremely confident, her own dog so to speak, but she just really really wanted to be close.

I had anticipated that she would be destructive, based on her breed and her size, but I don’t think she’s ever torn up a single thing. The other girls love “woobies,” and a couple of them will happily rip woobies to shreds, but not Ruby.

It seems hard to believe now, but when Ruby came home we still had Peggy Sue, Bobby Jean, and Susanna….In fact Bobby Jean was almost a deal breaker, because she was already old, old – probably 15 – and starting to have seizures. One of the Humane Society’s things is that you have to bring the whole family to the facility to meet the potential adoptee. They put you all in a room with an animal trainer, who sits back and watches the interactions. I refused to take BJ, because of her age and health. They finally consented – possibly at least partly because our vet of years and years was on the Humane Society board (ya think?!) Anyway, I remember the trainer telling me that Ruby was younger, and would grow to be bigger and stronger than Susanna, the current 4-legged pack leader. Also, how I might have to get used to Ruby kicking Susanna out of bed, because she would take over as pack leader. “Yeah, right,” I thought to myself – you don’t know Susanna. More than being just the pack leader, Susanna was devoted to me – there was NO WAY she was going to allow Ruby to take that spot. I did worry a bit, to tell the truth. I didn’t want Susanna hurt. But, Ruby – yes, if you haven’t guessed by now, the perfect dog – never even challenged Susanna. But, the day after Susanna’s death, Ruby magnificently and benevolent assumed the leader position. That trainer knew dogs, but he didn’t know my dogs.

Ruby

Ruby - I don't even know how to start. I would say that to know Ruby is to love her, but she's so big she scares people easily. Also, I don't guess I'd really call her a people-person. She's too reserved, too judgmental. When somebody comes to the house, she quickly investigates, watches me for reactions, then retreats to a safe distance to observe. If the person comes back again (and usually at least once again), she may favor them by staying the same room with them. Maybe.

We adopted Ruby for our 25th wedding anniversary present. We had decided there was really nothing we needed, nothing we wanted in the way of more traditional gifts, so we decided to adopt a hard-to-place dog from the Austin Humane Society. What we had in mind was an older dog, probably on the small side. Ugly. Overlooked. You know. What we came home with was Ruby, a 6-month old Malamute-Rottweiler mix. We actually overlooked her the first time around, because she wasn't, well, she wasn't what we thought we were looking for. Then I saw her, in a large cage by herself. One shoulder leaning against the cage wall, just watching us - observing even then. "How about this one?" I asked my husband. "Well, I dunno, she's kinda big. I thought we were going for a small dog." But, there was just something about her, to me anyway, and I asked the assistant to let us take a closer look. So, we went into the little "visiting room," sat down, and they brought Ruby in. She immediately jumped up on the bench behind my husband, and basically wrapped herself around him. I didn't need to ask him again if she was the dog for us....LOL We then found out that she had been brought in by Malamute rescue - even though she was not full-blooded, somebody had taken her and a sibling to them, then they took the pups to ASPCA. Her sib was adopted quickly - they were only two months old at the time. Ruby had been at the Humane Society for FOUR MONTHS. She had actually been adopted a couple of times, but when her prospective family would come back for her - they make you wait a few days before getting to take the new family member home - she had visibly grown, and they opted out. To those two families that decided Ruby (then called Calamity) was too much - THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. Ruby is now nine, will be 10 in July. Her adult weight hovers around 100 pounds. One of her favorite things to do is to come up behind me, and thrust herself between my legs, back to front - and she literally lifts me off the ground. There's a lot more to say about Ruby - it will take another post - or two...

Why a blog about life with dogs?

Well, first, because I couldn't find one. I tried a lot of names - My Life With Dogs, It's a Dog's Life, Pack Life (that's one's about the Green Bay Packers - I mean who cares?) before coming up with this name (more about that in a minute). None of them were about dogs. Most of them, in fact, were "blank blogs." There's probably a cyber-geek word for that - blogs without entries - but I don't know what it is. So, I delved into my dog quotes bookmarks, and found the one by Edith Wharton: My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet. Although none of my dogs are little, the smallest weighing well more than 40 pounds, they are indeed my daily heartbeats. People come and go, money comes and goes (yes, goes mostly). I cook - it's eaten. I wash clothes - again and again and again. It's Friday, and before an eyeblink it's Monday, and then lo and behold it's Friday again. But always there are the dogs, my "girls." Yes, of course, they come and go, too. Another favorite quote: Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really (Agnes Sligh Turnbull). They don't live long enough. Twelve or 14 years, if you're lucky. Bobby Jean was almost 17, but Susanna was only 9....Anyway, they are my constant in a world of uncertainties. I want to talk about them to myself, and perhaps to others as well.