Progress thwarted

Joy has been doing decently on her resource guarding (thanks published works of Jean Donaldson!), but lost a lot of ground last night. We were lounging in bed while she was getting the last morsels of dinner out of her kong. I must not have latched the door completely, and Tess nosed her way in. The Law and Order folks were hollering at the escaping criminal, so I didn't notice the door bump open, but Joy did and gave a warning growl over those last three kibbles. Tess was not about to take that sort of lip, so leapt onto the bed ready for business. The growling turned into a great deal of horrible noises, hideous faces, and lunging fangs, one set on each side of my head. With a show of buddha-like calm I began yelling ShitShitShit as loudly as I could and alternating between shoving one dog and tackling the other. Adrenaline is supposed to give you great powers of strength and reasoning, but instead turned me into a screaming, crouching windmill of arms, with no hint of either my first hand experience handling dog fights or my remaining knowledge of karate. The event ended somehow, without a moment of dog-dog contact. Perhaps Joy is just that intimidating, or my actions were bizarre enough to induce retreat, or, hopefully, Tess is making progress in her own training.

The unfortunate outcome: a few hours later Chaco walked by the now food-less room, and Joy overreacted horribly with a growl-snarl-bark-lunge in his general direction. Not just back at the beginning, but quite a bit worse. Damnit.

Separation Anxiety

Every night my roomie comes home to a huge puddle of splinters and paint chips floating in drool. And if you're lucky enough be be home with the dogs when she is not, you have to pick between whining and pounding inside or barking outside. Exercise, Discipline, Affection anyone? (Said, it should be noted, with a great deal of hypocrisy...)

People always seem to bring their spouse when they come to adopt and animal, so I've gotten a great feel for who pairs up with who in Boulder. Sometimes it's really surprising, but usually people date/marry close to their level the hotness scale. Two hippies, two CU econ majors, or the most common combo, scrawny nerd + chubby spouse (the chubby one always wears the pants). When they come with children it makes for extra surprises. Sometimes the kids match, sometimes they miraculously escape their parents' vices, and sometimes they amplify the one drop of weirdness in a great gene pool. Yesterday I worked with an exceptionally chubby/nerdy couple and their two gross children. The six year old was a puppy-chucking bastard (the puppy landed just right and was fine, phew), and the four year old looked just like gollum from LOTR.

He had the ears, the pointy teeth, bulgy eyes, white complexion with red spots, even the limp and scraggly hair. Just add a double chin, a beer gut, and a mutant ninja turtles t-shirt and you've got this kid. He was not only hideous, but also terribly behaved. His parents' unsubstantiated scolding was no match for his desire to stomp in the fresh puddle of urine every time he passed as he ran shrieking in circles of the patio (because really, why prevent your child from splattering himself, you, and nearby strangers in dog pee?). They did manage, with stellar parental techniques like distraction and begging, to keep him from licking the urine puddle. The puddle was finally drying up when the puppy let loose some wicked diarrhea. I kid you not, this toddler made a bee-line and got his tongue within inches of the shit before his parents intervened. The older kid picked up and threw the puppy while his parents were asking me how to tell that the puppy wouldn't get very big or be energetic. I was just telling them that this catahoula/hound mix will most likely be both when the puppy yelped behind me and they waddled over to their child and explained how it wasn't nice to throw puppies. And yes, they adopted the adorable, beautifully brindled, and very good-natured puppy. And no, they've never owned a dog and haven't done a scrap of research.

Wentworth

Lady Bird

Sometimes I wonder why everyone doesn't have a dog (or two), and then I come home from work (cleaning up dog shit) to piles of diarrhea splattered all over my bedroom carpet (and onto my blue fluffy slippers). Many hours after the initial scrubbing session I'm finally crawling into bed. Wondering why the stink persists (I scoop diarrhea all day, and this is exceptionally horrible), I look under the bed to find three more piles with impressively dispersed splatters. My bed is only eight inches off the ground, requiring Joy to army crawl underneath in order to create this surprise. Furthermore, my room is not large enough for me to move my bed more than half its width in any direction, requiring several attempts to get at all the diarrhea, smearing some piles and collecting others in goopy rings around the bed legs. Finally able to access the most offensive deposit, I find it hardening into the rug's once thick and fluffy fringe. At this point I'd have to pole vault in order to get from one side of my room to the other without stepping in the massive wet spot. You'd think an elephant vomited a gut full of sewage on my carpet.

Also, why in god's name don't they put carpet cleaner in bottles capable of spraying at an angle other than vertical? Are all these "spot and stain removers" for fucking tapestries?

The Prince of my dreams

...is a primieval animal physic with ferret sidekicks. Ah, BeastMaster, my favorite show of the 90s. So popular in it's three glorious seasons that it's website is no longer functional, alas.

Luckily, the Austrailians have more appreciation for the primieval blond highlights, suspiciously orange-tinged tan, obvious green screens, shameless shirtless opportunities, and repetitive plotlines. Here's their synopsis: "Dar, the Beastmaster and last survivor of his tribe, wanders the ancient lands, seeking out his beloved Kira, defending the animals he controls, and pitting his might against various sorcerers and tyrants. He protect those he care for and all the animals."

I think his ferrets travel in the loin cloth. Totally rocked when I was 13.

As long as I'm being picky, I'd also like a prince who never gets sick, loves to go swimming, and is a man among men with a beard who is kind to little people.

Oo, good one

Mine oh mine

http://www.zillow.com/homedetails/photos/60237671_zpid/

also cool...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AewuFIlsZ1Q&feature=related

Show jumping without the head injuries!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AewuFIlsZ1Q&feature=related

What are your career goals for life?

Who knew that filling out a million and a half applications could lead to increased self-awareness? Forced to answer, I kinda dug up some reasonably focused ambition.

"I would like to work in sustainable agriculture in some capacity and hope to contribute to the pool of ideas that will bring us into a better relationship with our planet. I would like to spread my passion for healthy and ethical consumption to others and help to change the materialistic and damaging patterns of our culture. With farming and ranching I would like to find ways to make sustainable and humane production profitable, especially concerning animal welfare."

Cuddly Noodle

What the Hell?

First, I found this button in my breakfast cereal. I guess now I know what the "Plus" is in Fiber Plus!

And then I was looking for jobs in the Boulder Pet Directory and came across this ad (three times).

Thanks, but no thanks?

Magical Moleculars

I had a mad crazy last week. I had a job interview at a natural vet clinic in the mountains, got the job, and started at 7 the next day. I was really excited because it seemed like I was going to learn a lot and get quite a bit of responsibility as well (doing dentals, helping in surgery, etc). Also the lady who hired me told me she thought I was a "beautiful person" and was so excited to work with me, which was such a delightful contrast from my last piece of shit, condescending, completely incompetent boss. yippee i thought.

So I come in at 6:30 after my hour commute, bright and happy, well-caffeinated and energetic. I jumped in to help with the morning cleaning, and this is when I began to have misgivings. For starters, the place has four resident cats, one of which is severely handicapped - admittedly a very nice gesture of animal rescuing. On the other hand, four cats in a high stress and very busy clinic is a rather unsanitary scheme, involving, it turns out, a minimum of four kitty craps and three vomit piles distributed outside the litter boxes and around the clinic on a daily basis. I originally assumed the early morning fecal odor permeating the clinic was a unique occurrence, perhaps involving an ill patient, but was informed by a unfazed staff member that this charming smell was characteristic of the morning routine. Ack.

Furthermore, the place is covered in carpet. An animal HOSPITAL. CARPET. BAD. The carpet is vacuumed every morning. Which of course makes it sterile. Luckily the carpet is a nice dark color with a mottled pattern, so the many layers of blood, vomit, diarrhea, and death stains become indistinguishable from the brownish/greenish glory of the carpet itself.

Sinks. At least one in every exam room - that's gotta be in a health code somewhere, am I right? Aspen Park Vet Hospital has one sink. Three exam rooms, a surgery, two labs, a pharmacy, the lobby, and an office. One sink. It's small, it's skanky, and it has no surrounding counter space. Fill your cup-o-soup? Clean the blood off your rib spreader? Scrub out the ghiardia kitten's litter box? Uno. Seems inconvenient if nothing else, which perhaps explains why the vet and his staff never wash hands between patients, or ever for that matter (no gloves to be found either). To be fair, there is another sink in one of the bathrooms (the other bathroom is a toilet in the laundry closet, and with all that clean laundry around who needs a sink anyway?). Holy Jesus, thought I.

More later, I must go apply for a new job!!!

A New Hope

After Hope's sudden death, Darrel bore his grief with great resiliency and accepted Judy into his nest and, it seems, into his heart as well. She has become quite pretty in her larger and lower stress environment, has grown all her feathers back, and has even laid two eggs in her beautifully engineered double-decker nest.

Feet are food too

It was strange to find one rotting coon foot, with no carcass or other coon bits to be found, but to find another lone foot a half a mile away and several days later - what luck (in Rosie's opinion)! I didn't have the balls to retrieve the first coon foot from between Rosie's molars, especially as I would have had to carry it a good ways until I found a tree or suitable bush. It was much too squishy and horrible feeling for that amount of contact, and I thought it'd be better disposed of by a labrador. Although a lab's digestion is amazing - Lily's stomach stripped the foot of fur and thouroughly mangled it - it none-the-less rejected this particular foot as uneatable and sent it back up, new and improved with a powerful and untique odor. After dealing with the first, I thought I'd rather not see or smell the second foot after Rosie was done with it. I grabbed it by it's protruding tibia, wiggled it out of Rosie's jaws, and hung it in a scrub oak.

My only guess is that this particular raccoon's feet were just too repulsive to be consumed with the rest of the carcass, though god knows how they got so widely distributed across the landscape. Perhaps some bird attempted to carry the feet off, and then caught a whiff and dropped them mid-flight. Point being, this proves that of all scavengers, there is no palate less discriminating than that of a labrador retriever.

A Low blow, but so familiar that I couldn't resist

http://www.collegehumor.com/article:1771895
The Seven Girls You'll Date In College:
1.

The Beginning:
Maybe you were good at sports, maybe you always sucked, but a semester of 4am burritos hasn't helped either way. She'll be cute, blonde, and look better in track shorts than she does make-up. Through careful deception, you'll convince her you can still play intramural soccer sans heart attacks.

The End:
This, of course, is a lie, and you'll both discover that, in the strictest animal-eating/shelf-building sense, she's more of a man than you. You'll have fun, but as soon as you try to keep up with her on the field (and elsewhere), she'll be forever left with an image of you, wheezing, doughy, and begging her to slow down.

I know it's ridiculous

because he's gay and into himself and not particularly amazing.... but i'm totally in love with Nick Pitera when he's singing disney classics to me. He's totally working the happy childhood memory angle, and he just looks so darn sweet, and I know I'm not too demented b/c no girl in my pod could resist him either.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9-CS2v8wcc

Stranger Danger

As we came down the hill towards the creek today a coyote came into view, calmly watching us from a little knoll. Once he satisfied his curiosity, he trotted off towards the west. Joy picked up on the movement and couldn't resist giving chase. He loped away, not particularly concerned until she put on a real turn of speed and started gaining on him. He took off, looking over his shoulder (in disbelief at her amazing athleticism of course), but she kept gaining. Almost to the top of barrel cactus hill, he pulled up and turned. Still as tree stumps, they stood for several seconds eye to eye.

Mr. Coyote (in a dangerous drawl), "Well you got yourself a real fast set of legs there, sweetheart. It'd be a such a shame if they were torn off and eaten by some wild animal."
Joy, "EEEEKKK!!! MOMMY!!!"

Joy's tail dropped and disappeared between her legs, and she was bolting back down the hill, lacking any hint of predatory poise. We were unpleasantly surprised when the coyote followed her, effortlessly proving his superior speed while nipping her backside, ankles, and tail. Joy began shrieking in utter horror, and the coyote, his point made, turned aside and (smugly?) watched her streak back to the safety of the pack.

Hopefully this experience will make more of an impression on Joy than our many discussions on coyotes, their sneakiness, and their willingness to eat even the most beautiful of labrador mixes.

Not So Nudie Ned

terrified of vaccums

but inexplicably confident with half-ton horses. She's tired from being a mountian dog, but not tired enough to resist nomming Mr Sheepie.

oops

I wasn't supposed to end up unemployed... That's ok - Metal-smithing fun starts tomorrow, so who needs a pay check? I am so psyched to do some art and create something other than paperwork and death !!

My room has been filled with the cutest noises lately (probably because I've been sitting in it more than usual). Whenever the birds are nest building they talk to each other in these little tiny birdy mumbles and coos. It's really adorable and romantic. Ned's been contributing with these itsy bitsy coughs and sneezes that are completely incongruous with his giant, tubby body. He sounds like a baby chipmunk being tickled, it's just ridiculous.

Today I'm stewing some g. pig poops in warm water to make fertilizer because I'm growing this sunflower, and its bottom leaves are looking kind of yellow. I was trying to grow a peace lily, but it got fried in the south window, and then some seeds snuck into the pot and took over, and thus the sunflower was an excellent accident which I'd like to prolong with poo stew.

Speaking of poo, did you know that 99% of plastic bags have at least one hole, usually right there in the bottom?? It's really irritating trying to scoop using the side of the bag and then holding it all awkwardly so it doesn't leak. Also, Joy's poo is so potent that it will stink right through a sealed baggie. If there's not a nearby trash can, I might as well be walking around with her poop on a plate for the way the stench permeates the bag.

Rambo VII: The War With Alzheimers

we've all done it..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajXT9ER7WFo&eurl=http://failblog.org/page/2/&feature=player_embedded

just not with an iron, thank god.

SMAM Newsflash!!!!

Phil and Nearly Nudie Ned are out of the closet (still under the bed)! Their shared dietary interests have spurred a beatiful friendship between pig and bunny, and I honestly think Phil is happier and less evil for the first time since Harriet. I think this means I have a new resident, but Ned's pretty low maintinence and I don't miss feeling all guilty about Phil's depression.

As for avian reproductive news - the second batch of eggs has arrived! I was feeling suspicious - I think their cooing changed in tenor a bit - so I checked the elaborate (and stinky) nest ...

There are some well placed dog hairs in that third picture for scale. So tiny! I was going to just crack the eggs into Joy's bowl and leave it at that, but I started imagining opening a fertilized egg, and if the little fetus was old enough it might be really uncomfortable to be dumped into the cold air and then eaten. So I put them in the fridge, which seemed like a better way to meet your end. I replaced the eggs with some wooden beads to stave off grief, but considering they kicked their first batch out of the nest (clumsy or infanticidal?), I think they'll be fine.

Hematoma day

Wednesday at work was Hematoma day. It royally sucked, and I feel superbly inadequate at kitty blood draws. Cats have these leg veins that are right on the surface underneath their papery thin skin and what with them kicking and hissing and generally trying to kill you, it's super hard not to poke right through that little vessel. Piercing the vessel is apparently pretty painful, because they always kick extra hard when you do that, pulling away from the needle, ripping the vein further, creating a goliath hematoma, king of all hematomas. And since I shave the area before I poke, the kitty has a giant and very visible bruise for adopters to admire. And then I have to put in a note so patrons and staff know just who is beating up these helpless, homeless, tiny little bundles of love.