(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Graduation Day

Congratulations, Max! He graduated from PetSmart's Puppy Training class on Saturday. Max is our 6 month old lab/mastiff puppy that we adopted in July. You can read more about him by clicking here.

He still has come fear-submissive tendencies and will sometimes bark at another dog (not all dogs, just certain ones). He almost got into a tussle with Emma, his great dane classmate, at graduation. That was unusual because they've gotten along great for the past several weeks.

Mostly though, he's a very sweet, well-behaved pup. He picks up on tricks very easily. We just need to work to socialize him more. I hope to sign him up for intermediate classes, but the Sept. and Oct. classes aren't fitting in with my schedule at this time. In the meantime, I'll keep working with him on my own. He really has it in him to be a great dog.

Evacu-cation* - Day 4

* Evacu-cation (ee-vak-yoo-kay-shun) - noun - a trip that starts off by evacuating from a natural disaster, but upon learning that family, home, neighbors are safe, morphs into a mini-vacation. (according to Son #1)

Son #3 especially enjoyed himself. He kept saying he was "living the dream!" No wonder. Here he's getting a poolside massage (courtesy of Dear Hubby).

Isn't this retro McDonald's cute?


Inside McDonald's:


The hotel has a tree-shaded courtyard area with tables so we ate lunch outside one afternoon. Below is our puppy, Max, who dined with us.

Here's Son #3 with our beagle, Scout.

He's Probably Not Smiling Now...

Subtitled: Missing Max

Son #2 took this photo of Max. Looks like he's smiling, doesn't it? He's probably not too happy today. I took him to the animal hospital this morning for his canine vasectomy. I called a while ago, and the little patient is doing well. He'll stay overnight for observation.

I pick him after 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Boy, is he going to be mad at me!

Meet Max

Subtitle: Call me 'stupid.'

I've been a bit stressed lately with all that's going on (or not going on) with Son #1's growth issues. The testing, the "maybes," the research (ad nauseum), etc. I could use a bit of a distraction, right?

Summer break with three boys...not exactly the picture of serenity anyway, so why not add a PUPPY to the mix? Truth is, I'd been thinking about it for a while. Our greyhound, Echo, died suddenly last September, and I've been getting the feeling that it's about time to consider another dog. Our beagle, Scout, misses having a canine friend. I miss having a "my" dog. Scout it great, but he's a family pet. Echo loved all of us, but he was "my" dog, know what I mean?

I thought about adopting a chocolate labrador retriever, but wondered whether I really wanted to spend hundreds of dollars for a puppy, when I could adopt a dog who really needs a home for a nominal fee. An ad in Sunday paper a week ago caught my eye. No photo, mind you. Just a two line listing amidst many pets for adoption. I called the all-volunteer rescue group the following day but didn't hear back so I figured it just wasn't meant to be.

I finally received a call on Friday, July 4th. We were told that the dog, and several others would be at the PetSmart Adoption Day on Saturday July 5th. For those of you unfamiliar with PetSmart stores, they do not sell puppies. Instead they work with local rescue groups by hosting adoption events at their stores, and providing discounted shots, spay/neutering through their in-house veterinary clinic called Banfield.

Dear Hubby, Sons #1 and #3, and Scout the beagle went to meet "Mr. White" as he was called by his foster family (because of a teensy white spot on his neck that's usually obscured by his collar).

We liked what we saw, filled out the adoption paperwork. They did the vet reference, and home visit on Monday and by Monday afternoon, Max was coming home with us.

More about Max: He's 4 months old. His mother is a yellow labrador retriever. His father, also up for adoption, is an English Mastiff. Probably not pure bred since the dad is small - "only" 100 lbs. His foster family was caring for the father (a rescue dog), when the woman's son adopted the yellow lab. The two became fast friends before they had the opportunity to have the lab spayed and the rest is history.

Max definitely looks more "labrador" than "mastiff." He has the softest coat (probably from the yellow lab side. Mastiffs and black labs tend to have courser coats). He's going through his awkward stage - long and lanky. He's very calm and very mellow. We're training him to stay off the furniture (he was allowed on it in his foster home). We're working on housebreaking him (he's most of the way there, but not quite) and crate-training him (he'll bark for 5-20 minutes but will settle down and sleep through the night). I'll enroll him in puppy obedience training since he's going to grow to be rather large - probably larger than a typical lab.

This is the second full day he's been with us and so far, so good. He's very well-behaved, but a little timid. He really seems to like the kids and me, but he's still getting used to Dear Hubby. There wasn't an adult male in the family so that may be why. He loves lying by our guinea pig cage quietly watching Kramer.

Introducing Kramer....

I've been a little distracted lately. Here's why:

It's a baby guinea pig (also called a cavy). Isn't he adorable? Oh, c'mon, even it you don't like rodents, he's awfully cute. His name is Kramer (after the character on "Seinfeld") because he has crazy hair. His hair doesn't lay smooth like his parents and one sibling. Instead, he has swirls and cowlicks, like two other siblings.

Son #2's friend has a pair of guinea pigs and they had babies. Son #2 first met Kramer when he was only 3 days old. He's grown fast, though, and is old enough to be separated from his mother so the friend's mom offered one to us. We picked him up last Friday (my criteria: I wanted the friendliest, mellowest one).

It's funny how expensive a 'free' guinea pig can be once you factor in all the accoutrement. He's loads of fun, though. Really sweet.

Here's another photo:

Rest In Peace, Precious Angel

Our beautiful, beloved retired greyhound, Echo (racing name: Echol's Guard), died today at the much-too-young age of 5 1/5. We're not sure what happened. He went out in the yard to do his business and stretch his legs. He had fresh full bowl of water. He tried to dig a hole under the gate but didn't make much progress. Greyhounds are very susceptible to extreme temperatures, which is why they must be an indoor dog and only allowed outside for short periods (as Echo was). It wasn't as hot as it had been recently. I don't know if perhaps the physical exertion of digging was too much, or something else was wrong. He's now buried in the backyard under the tree. We're heartbroken.

To read more about Echo, click here.

Random....

Well, we learned that Son #1 did not get his first choice of electives for the upcoming school year. He switches to a new school for 7th grade (junior high = 7 & 8 grades). He wanted to take Spanish (click here to read the April 26th post). The deal was that if he allowed me to "homeschool" him in Study Skills - perhaps the most useful, but least fun elective - then I would allow him to sign up for Spanish. Unfortunately, the Spanish teacher only works part time and this year, there were simply too many kids requesting it. Perhaps next year....

In the meantime, Son #1 has asked me to homeschool him in Study Skills and Spanish (using my old college texts). We'll see how long that lasts. He wasn't placed in his second choice either. (I don't recall what it was.) Instead, he'll be taking Agricultural Science. When I initially read the description, I thought it sounded like something he'd really enjoy and was surprised that he didn't select it. I think he'll come around though, plus he has the entire summer to get used to the idea.

Unfortunately, we also learned that his schedule will be identical to that of his archnemesis (click here for a little background), same classes, same times. It makes sense because they're both in the inclusion program. While I don't want either kid "branded" as a problem, I do think it's important that the teahers and administrators are aware of the history so I've been asked to call back at the beginning of the school year to remind them that although they'll share the same classes, in no way should they be seated next to one another, etc.

In a few minutes I have to take our greyhound back to the vet. He hurt his paw a couple of weeks ago (he got it stuck between the pickets of our fence when we was trying to peek over. The cut didn't look very deep - very little blood, but it did get infected. We took him to the vet last week where they lanced the wound, put three staples (to somewhat close it, but still allow it to drain), and fitted him with the "lampshade" looking collars so he cannot continue to lick at it and chew at the staples. Well, the vet apparently underestimated Old Needle Nose. I noticed that he was still able to lick at the boo boo AND one of the staples is missing. Sigh.

After the vet, Son #2 has a baseball game. His team got off to a slow start, but has been playing well the past 5 games. Son #2 is the #2 pitcher. Son #1 has a Boy Scout meeting later this evening. Fortunately, Dear Hubby will take him.

Our lazy summer day has morphed into a busy summer evening.

Weight Watchers Wednesdays (& Other Stuff)

Okay, this isn't so good. I woke this morning, saw that it was rainy and gloomy, considered what it'd be like to attend a Weight Watchers weigh-in/meeting with three boys in tow (no school this week)...and decided to skip WW this week. Shame on me!

I did weigh myself on my bathroom scale, which is not as finely calibrated as WW's scale, and I seem to be at a plateau. Nothing lost, but nothing gain (I'm trying to be a "glass half full" gal). So here's my progress to date:

week 1 (Wed. 3.9.07) ~~~~~~ Just getting started!
week 2 (Wed. 3.14.07) ~~~~~ - 3.4 lbs
week 3 (Wed. 3.21.07) ~~~~~ - 1.6 lbs
week 4 (Wed. 3.28.07) ~~~~~ - 2.4 lbs
week 5 (Wed. 4.4.07) ~~~~~ + 0.6
week 6 (Wed. 4-11-07) ~~~~~~ -0

total weightloss: -6.8 lbs

This week I'm going to continue tracking my food intake, calculating my "points" and focusing on water, water, water. I've not been doing a good job with water lately. I personally would rather drink anything but. However, I think it's time I start to wean myself from the Diet Coke and replace it with something better for me.

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Thanks, everyone, for indulging me in my Cat Eulogy yesterday. Can you stand one more Sebastian story? BehavenPapa mentioned in a comment on yesterday's post that he had a cat that was toilet-trained. How cool is that? I've heard of it before, and Sebastian might have been a good candidate had he not been so stubborn. After all, he has proven that he can perch in unusual places and do his business with hardly anyone knowing. So it really wouldn't be a stretch to switch to a toilet from ... a toaster!

Yes, he peed in my toaster. This was years ago, shortly after Dear Hubby and I were married. Perhaps Sebastian was acting out. You wouldn't know from looking at the outside of the toaster that anything was amiss, but pop a slice of bread in there and push the lever....

My smoking toaster became something along the lines of a weapon of mass destruction. Trust me when I tell you that there are few things worse-smelling in this world that the scent of cat urine being toasted to 250 degrees. Ask my neighbors - both next door and across the courtyard. The smell pretty much permeated the entire city block.

If you ever need to get rid of the smell of skunk, have I got a cure for you. Needless to say, Smoking Toaster of Death met an immediate demise in the dumpster - wrapped in 5 plastic bags. And speaking of demise, that was when Sebastian almost lost one of his nine lives.

Ah, the memories.

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And since this post has already descended into the realm of poor taste, let me tell you how the rest of our evening went yesterday. An hour after our cat funeral (burial, eulogy, prayer), we washed up and went out to eat dinner in honor of my eldest brother-in-law's 50th birthday. He chose his favorite Italian restaurant and we were seated in a small, private dining room. Eight adults, four kids (three were mine). The room was pretty dimly lit, nice paintings. The kids were finished eating, the adults were about halfway finished their meals. I was cheating on my diet with a pretty decent Chicken Marsala, when all of a sudden, Son #1 calmly announces "there's a dead mouse under the table."

I thought he was either kidding or mistaken (most likely the latter, because he's a terrible kidder - he laughs too easily and gives the joke away). I was seated two spaces away from Son #1 so I walked to where he was, asked him to get up and I pulled his chair out from under the table. I still expected it to be a mistake. Perhaps a piece of black paper that was used to wrap the napkins or something like that (it was, as I mentioned, dimly lit).

I pull Son #1's chair away from the table. I'll spare the gory details, but yes, it was indeed a dead mouse and it looked to be there at least a day or two by my best estimation (I'm not a Rodent CSI, but I do know mice). ICK. Just ICK. I signalled for the waitress, she walks into our private dining room and said, "What can I get for you?" I suggested she step closer - I was trying to avoid saying it so loudly for the diners just outside our room to hear.

I tell her, "there seems to be a dead..." (insert waitress' bloodcurdling shriek here) I hadn't even told her what we found. "Dead" was all she needed to hear. Way to be subtle, lady! The manager comes over, handles the news a bit better, hurries off to get a broom and dust pan. Meanwhile, Dear Hubby's family continues chowing down. Nothing can kill an appetite with his clan.

First the manager offers cocktails, dessert (at which point my 5-year old was ready to sell us out for a piece of cake) - no thank you. Ultimately the manager ended up not charging for the meal, which in my opinion, was the appropriate thing to do.

I have three boys. I'm not easily fazed. But still, ICK.

Sebastian

Sebastian

August 1989 - April 10, 2007

You've probably heard the expression that cats have nine lives. Well, Sebastian had one very long life. Seventeen years is a long time for a cat, although when it comes to our furry family members, it's never long enough.

I met Sebastian's mother in autumn of 1988 when we moved into a townhouse in Kenner, La. She would dart in our door every time we opened it and she really seemed to know her way around. I theorized that the previous tenant left her when they moved out. My parents, with whom I lived at the time, were pretty insistent that we were not adopting another pet. My poodle and mixed breed dogs weren't amenable to the idea either. She was a very sweet, very affectionate cat, though.

Soon it became apparent that she was pregnant. I managed to leave open the door to the storage unit on the back porch. Inside I placed a box with shredded newspaper and a towel. Mama Kitty bypassed the little feline maternity ward that I set up for her and decided to have her kittens in my dad's tool box. Not pretty. I eventually found homes for all of the kittens.

As short time later, or so it seemed, Mama Kitty was pregnant again. If memory serves me, my dad locked the storage unit door and hid the key so Mama Kitty had her kittens elsewhere. My dad thought that was the end of it. Not to be outdone by a mere human, Mama Kitty brought all seven of her kittens back over the fence into our backyard and set up camp under the barbecue grill. The kittens were about two weeks old at the time and their eyes were just opening. Most of the kittens were gray tabby like their ma, one was black and white, another was orange striped, and Sebastian was part-Siamese! No kidding. As a kitten, he had the darker face, paws, and tail and the beautiful blue eyes. As he grew older, his paws and tail would take on the grey tabby stripes, but this body would be mostly pale beige.

It was agreed that I could keep Sebastian if I found homes for all the other kittens and their mother. We were finally down to one kitten and one mother cat. Now, I don't advocate dumping pets, but my cousin lived down the street from a nutty cat lady. She took very good care of them (fed them well, provided shelter for inclement weather). She'd never notice two more, my cousin said. What's more, if she did notice, she'd never turn her back on them. True to his word, Mama Kitten and Last Kitten lived down the street from my cousin for many years.

Sebastian was accepted by my poodle and mutt (and later, Dear Hubby's labrador retriever). He moved with us to our apartment in Virginia, to the first home we ever purchased (also in Virginia), back to Louisiana to an apartment, then into our final home. He was strictly an indoor cat for the first 14 or so years of his life. He had no interest in the great outdoors and would hide under the bed if he suspected we were trying to get him into his crate for the dreaded car ride to the vet.

He outlived his three canine companions, and barely tolerated the two canine family members that came later. For a long time, he'd sleep on our bed. I'm a side sleeper, so he'd curl up on my hip. I also toss and turn and he'd scratch the dickens out of me when I'd try to roll over. Long before being diagnosed with coronary artery disease, Dear Hubby and Sebastian would eat Spam and watch late night television.

Something odd happened in May 2004, though. I remember it clearly as it was the day we brought home the rescued greyhound that we adopted. The dog didn't even glance in Sebastian's direction, but Sebastian might have thought enough was enough. He walked out the door, never to come (willingly) back inside. In truth I don't know that I can really blame it on the dog's arrival. Sebastian had been acting peculiarly for the few months prior. He stopped using his litter box in the garage. I switched litter brands (several times), bought a brand new litter box, you name it. Instead he would go to the bathroom in inappropriate places. Like on my garden tools (what is it with felines and tools, anyway?). Although he seemed to recognize me, there were times that he didn't seem to know the kids. Perhaps it's the equivalent of kitty-alzheimers?

Deep down I thought then - in 2004 - that his end was near and perhaps this was his way of sparing us the difficulty of having us die inside the house. Probably I'm reading too much into it. In any event, he spent the past three years happily rolling in the mulch in my garden, completely disregarding his own personal hygiene. A couple times a year, I'd sit with him on the porch and pretty much shave him bald from the back to the butt because he'd let the fur get so matted. He tolerated the shave and a haircut, but he absolutely hated being brushed (always did). Have you ever seen a cat with dreadlocks? Yep, that's pretty much him.

Most mornings, I'd open the door to peek outside and expected to find him dead on our mat or behind my hibiscus plant in my garden. The sort of thing you'd rather your kids not discover first. But no, I'd occasionally find a dead lizard on the mat (a little 'love' gift from Sebastian), but the old codger of a cat was hanging in there.

Until this morning. Dear Hubby put out the trash and noticed Sebastian lying under the van. He was meowing but didn't sound normal. He put a towel in Sebastian's crate and fetch the cat from under the van. The fact that he didn't rip Dear Hubby to tatters when he put him in the crate told us something was seriously wrong. We woke Son #1, told him that the end was near for Sebastian and we sat our on the porch and said our goodbyes. Son #1 is my most sentimental child and he's taking it the hardest. We then woke Son #2, who although he loves Sebastian, is much more pragmatic. Finally Son #3 awoke. We explained what was going on, he shed a couple of tears and asked for .... a hamster. Oy!

We spent time petting Sebastian who mostly seemed to be unaware of what was going on. Since, he did not once indicate that he was in any pain when we touched him, and it was clear that nature was taking its course, we felt no need to involved the vet.

It was odd, because the weather this morning started off nice, but quickly turned gloomy and rainy (as did our mood). We had lunch plans with a friend of mine so we went out for a few hours. When we came home, it was still dreary and raining. Sebastian was still breathing but was mostly non-responsive. Every now and then he'd let out a little murmur but mostly he'd lie on his side looking helpless.

About an hour ago, I was checking my email on the computer in the kitchen and I noticed that although it was still raining, the sun was also shining. I've always loved the phenomenon of rain on a sunny day (or is it sunshine on rainy day? - drat, that song just popped into my mind. I bet it will overstay its welcome). I felt compelled to check on Sebastian, as we had been doing every 15 minutes or so, and there he was still lying in his crate. But instead of lying helplessly on his side, he mustered the strength to lean up against the side of the crate, still technically on his side, but his head was up and his paws outstretched, just like he did when he slept. It was almost as if he positioned himself how he would prefer to be remembered. It was kind of nice to see the sun shining and Sebastian finally at peace. And I'm sure there's a rainbow out there somewhere.

Vaya con Dios, Sebastian, you were a good friend indeed.

Echo's Story...

As I mentioned in my profile, one of my 'men' includes a retired racing greyhound. His racing name was "Echol's Guard" but his foster home shortened it to "Echo" and we never changed it. He was born on January 29, 2002 and trained at a racetrack in Florida. His maiden season of racing ran from October to December 2003. Let's just say his heart wasn't in it.

Of 11 races, he came in 2nd three times. Doesn't sound too shabby, right? Unfortunately, he finished 4th, 5th, 6th and 7th once each and came in 8th (that's dead last) 4 times. If you'd like to see info re: his bloodline and racing history, visit the following website: www.greyhound-data.com. You'll need his name (above) and his ear tattoo number, which is 10626.

At some point in his career, he suffered an injury in which his tail was caught in the starting gate. To this day he's still skittish whenever someone is right behind him. The boo boo which he had when we adopted him in May 2004 is completely healed now, but the hair hasn't entirely grown back.

We first became familiar w/ the greyhound breed in April 2004 when we met several representatives of our local chapter of Greyhound Pets of America (www.greyhoundpets.org) at a Books-A-Million store. We have a young, hyper beagle but these giant, majestic, laid-back creatures were more my style. I did some research about the breed, filled out the adoption application and sent it with a nominal fee (which includes vet checkup, neutering, shots and more) to our local GPA chapter. After a home visit by a GPA rep, we were deemed worthy to adopt.

A couple of weeks later we received the call that several "greys" were being transferred from Florida to Louisiana. My middle son, Sam, and I went to the animal clinic to meet the greyhounds. I had it in my mind to adopt a smallish female but it didn't work out that way. Sam and I spent a lot of time in the pen with approximately 8 other dogs. Other families were there, some brought their other pets to find a compatible match. Ultimately Echo chose us. Everywhere Sam went, Echo went. Everything Sam looked at, Echo checked out. Echo wasn't interested in performing for the other potential adopters. He already made his choice.

So that's how I ended up with the largest male in the bunch. Just over a year later, I can tell you this: he's enjoying his retirement. He's not completely housebroken - altho' I think perhaps his problem might be related to nerves. Today, for example, he left a small puddle on my bedroom rug but it was during a major thunderstorm. He's very sweet, very gentle and a little shy. He doesn't climb on the furniture but loves to follow me around the house. He leans on you, which is the dog equivalent of a hug, I think. The first few times he 'hugged' Zachary (age 3 1/2), he nearly sent Zack through the wall.

Echo gets along great with his foster brother, Scout (a blue-tick beagle), but he doesn't understand the ways of a domestic dog since that's not the way Echo was brought up. I think Echo finds it undignified when Scout chases a frisbee or retrieves a ball. Although you should see Echo and Scout "race". Echo will run a few laps around the yard and Scout, bless his heart, will try every shortcut he can think of to beat the dog who can still run in excess of 40 miles per hours. (Greyhounds are built for speed but typically don't have a lot of stamina so they don't make great jogging partners unless it's a short run.)

Greyhounds sometimes sleep with their eyes open so if you move to pet one that's not fully awake, it's not unusual for a grey to snap. Echo is no exception. However, my boys learned early on not to approach Echo if he's laying down with his head on the ground.

Most greyhounds make excellent indoor pets (because they have such a low percentage of bodyfat, they're not suited for long stretches outdoors). I've also heard of greys referred to as the smallest large dog, and it's true. Our home is less than 1200 sf, yet Echo, despite his 70+ pounds, doesn't take up a lot of space. Keep in mind though, that these dogs have not had a typical 'puppyhood' and may have a few issues.

Echo likes to counter-surf, which is easy because of his height, but he responds to a gentle warning. If you're thinking about getting a pet, consider a greyhound. They do well even in condos and apartments as long as you take them for regular walks. And they really need the love and attention.