All was well until the meat grinder got involved

The day before Christmas Eve was so perfect I got to take the dogs out and shear off all that hair they’ve been shedding all over the house. The next day it snowed like crazy and although it was about 45 degrees when it began, the temperature dropped rapidly, the snow picked up, and then it piled up everywhere. Perfect. First white Christmas in my lifetime.

So everyone’s all crazy happy, singing Christmas carols that only a day earlier they said they never wanted to hear again, ever. Blane, he’s putting up the Christmas tree. I didn’t even have to ask, this is what Christmas snow does to southerners).

Me? I pull out the new meat grinder I got to make rice dressing. Last year I tried chopping all the meats and it didn’t work out. This year will be different for sure, there is magic snow on the ground and… Dude. A meat grinder, okay? What can be cooler than that in the kitchen?

It’s not one of those old metal crank ones.

I will get one of those next time I’m in Louisiana. I grew up watching my mom use hers, so I know how to operate the thing.

I got what I could get around here, an attachment that fits on my KitchenAid stand mixer.

What’s important to know about this is it’s electric and I don’t ever read instructions to anything. Half the fun of a new thing is figuring it out how to make it work.

So I threw a pack of raw chicken gizzards down the hole and used the plunger thing to tamp it. Out the other side, curly strings of meat emerged. Awesome and quick. This was something that took at least an hour to chop by hand last year. Oh what a magical thing.

Next came the raw chicken liver. I threw those down the hole and tamped it, but nothing happened. So I shoved the plunger down hard and out the other side… An EXPLOSION of pureed chicken liver in my face, hair, on my arms, shirt. I look behind me and oh God, my dog Mireille! She’s white and I see these thick, red lines of raw meat all over her.

Now that was pretty disgusting for me, but for the dog? She ran around in circles licking herself, what a gift she must have thought, if she could think.

When the other dog heard all the ruckus, she came dashing in to clean the floor. That stuff was all over.

You know how difficult it stop a dog from eating raw meat spray? It took two people to straighten out that mess. Thanks a million, Blane, you saved Christmas.

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Scraps

I don’t like giving my dogs human food because they have sensitive stomachs, but every once in a while I am curious to see if they would actually eat what they’re begging for.

So I was eating an apple last week and tested Mireille. She turned her nose up at it.

Then Scrappy came around. She took a couple of licks and then went crazy on it, eating everything but the stem. It’s the funniest thing because I had no idea a dog would eat that.

And enjoy the hell out of it.

We all think it’s funny.

Scrap, Working Like a Dawg

I completely forgot to tell you about my terrier, Scrappy and her relentless work for the Obama campaign.

First, when the primaries were going on and we were all for Hillary (even Mireille my other terrier was for Hillary), Scrappy broke for Obama. I know this because every time he came on tv Scrap would stop what she was doing, climb on the highest spot on the sofa and watch him speak.

When you say “Obama” she tilts her head. Without fail.

So when I went out to do block walking for Change…

Guess who had to come with me?

That’s right. Scrap did. She even let all the little children we saw pet her. She learned the routine quick. Walk up the sidewalk, turn when we get to a house, and as soon as she heard the doorhanger snap onto a doorknob, she was turned around and ready to “hit” the next house.

What a dog!

Things We Can Learn From A Dog

During my first week selling real estate, a client of mine had left his mobile phone in a high rise I’d shown him. It was late at night when he realized it was missing and I had to call the listing agent to get back into the property. It was embarrassing and I’m glad I had no idea who I was talking to on the phone, Carolyn Shamis, The Queen of Real Estate in Dallas.

She was extremely cordial, calming, and eventually bought dinner for my client and I at one of the finest restaurants in Dallas.

I stole this from her website and think it’s brilliant.

THINGS WE CAN LEARN FROM A DOG:

1 NEVER PASS UP THE OPPORTUNITY TO GO FOR A JOY RIDE.

2. ALLOW THE EXPERIENCE OF FRESH AIR AND THE WIND IN OUR FACE TO BE PURE ECSTASY.

3. WHEN LOVED ONES COME HOME, ALWAYS RUN TO GREET THEM

4. WHEN IT’S IN YOUR BEST INTEREST, ALWAYS PRACTICE OBEDIENCE.

5. LET OTHERS KNOW WHEN THEY’VE INVADED YOUR TERRITORY.

6. TAKE NAPS AND ALWAYS STRETCH BEFORE RISING.

7. RUN, ROMP AND PLAY DAILY.

8. EAT WITH GUSTO AND ENTHUSIASM.

9. BE LOYAL.

10. NEVER PRETEND TO BE SOMETHING YOU’RE NOT.

11. IF WHAT YOU WANT LIES BURIED, DIG UNTIL YOU FIND IT.

12. WHEN SOMEONE IS HAVING A BAD DAY, BE SILENT, SIT CLOSE BY AND NUZZLE THEM GENTLY.

13. DELIGHT IN THE SIMPLE JOY OF A LONG WALK.

14. THRIVE ON ATTENTION AND LET PEOPLE TOUCH YOU.

15. AVOID BITING WHEN A SIMPLE GROWL WILL DO.

16. ON HOT DAYS, DRINK LOTS OF WATER AND LIE UNDER A SHADY TREE

17. WHEN YOU ARE HAPPY, DANCE AROUND AND WAG YOUR ENTIRE BODY.

18. NO MATTER HOW OFTEN YOU ARE CRITICIZED, DON’T BUY INTO THE GUILT THING AND POUT. RUN RIGHT BACK AND MAKE FRIENDS.

19. SNIFF EVERYTHING BEFORE EATING

Mireille Teaches Scrappy to Levitate

Besides flying, Mireille is quite skilled at levitating.

And Scrappy is learning how to do it from the very best.

Now don’t go telling the government about this because they might just try to draft my dog into the CIA.

Oh, you don’t believe there are spy dogs?

There was a man selling what he claimed was a talking dog. A guy goes to buy that dog and of course he doesn’t believe the dog speaks, but he goes with it, asks to see him, then asks the dog if it’s true he could talk.

The dog replies, “Of course it’s true. I used to work for the CIA, and I speak seven languages.”

The buyer pulls out his wallet and asks the owner, “How much?”

“Five bucks.”

“But Mister, that’s a talking dog, why so cheap?”

The seller responds, “He lies.”

Flying Dog

I took the dogs down to the creek over the weekend and let them run full blast and swim.

They were so excited they kept running back and forth along the sides, running so fast, leaping into the air, flying.

I told you my dog could fly.

I got Blane to swing on a Tarzan vine after promising not to put it on my blog.

But that’s too cool to keep from the internet.

Oh, the swimming dogs. Check it out.

And what happens to these dogs after a full day of fun down by the creek? A good bath. They know it’s coming. They go straight for the hose when we get home and wait for it.

Where Are They?

I looked high. I looked low. Those ducks are nowhere to be found.

Talk about an empty nest.

They took off a couple of days ago, snuck out while I wasn’t home. We walked the neighborhood looking for them, but no ducks. They are a noisy crowd, so if they were in any of the yards near here I would have heard them.

Maybe they went to the pond by the library where the mother probably came from. There they can dive for minnows.

Animal Friends

I kept hearing my dogs bark like crazy after letting them out into the back yard Saturday. Not the regular barking they do, but fierce protests, as if an intruder was back there. I went out to check on it and saw this duck swimming in the pool. She wasn’t quacking or anything, but she seemed to know the dogs weren’t going to jump in after her. 

I got the dogs back into the house, grabbed the camera and didn’t really think she’d still be there by the time I got back out, but she was. 

I wondered if she was injured because she wouldn’t fly away. 

Since I’d never seen a duck in the pool before I rounded up everyone to come see but she was gone by the time they came. Spanky said she had seen one a few days before, a male one swimming in the pool, but she was in a rush to get to school and forgot to tell us.

Sunday, I go out to see what the dogs are barking at again. This time they are barking at a shrub. I pull the foilage back and guess what? That same duck, sitting on three eggs. 

 

Awwwwww.

There’s no way I can fence off this area as it is behind the pool and the dogs would just be able to walk around the coping. So I just keep telling the dogs,”That’s our friend.”

That’s what I tell them when our human friends come over to get them to be nice. They know that word, somehow, and are leaving the duck and her nest alone.

Of course, you know, I keep thinking… of all the places that duck could’ve made a nest and she chooses a Cajun’s yard. That is one lucky duck, I tell ya.

Meet Scrappy and Mireille

Both of my dogs are terriers which means they never outgrow the puppy phase. They are about five years old and they still fight over toys and chase and nip at each other.

Here is a little video I got of them a couple of days ago while they were fighting over a tiny rubber chicken. The very end is the best part, that’s when Scrappy (the smaller dog) runs so fast in front of the screen you barely see her. You can hear her feet galloping. Fast.

Oh, and that was laundry day, so, excuse the house.

When Dogs Fly

Every once in a while Blane asks me if it’s true that I saw our dog fly. First of all it’s hard enough to believe our well-behaved Mireille would steal food off the counter. Secondly, she’s just not tall enough to reach the counter-top with her mouth.

But I saw her steal that pork chop. Barely. It happened so fast, all I saw was a white blur, two back paws, and then an empty plate. I heard her jaw snap. Next, she went into self exile in the washroom. Proof of her guilt. Proof that pork chop didn’t disappear into thin air. She couldn’t even look me in the eye.

Blane claims I told him it happened in slow-mo, her long white ears like airplane wings, gliding through the air. I’m thinking his imagination added that to the story.

Spanky says I told her too that it was in slow-mo, that Mireille looked just like Scar attacking Simba in “The Lion King.” I couldn’t have told her that because I know I saw back legs, not the dog coming at me head on. That dog would never be able to fly through the air while looking dead at me and steal. Not Mireille. I think Spanky’s imagination added to that story, too.

Blane and Spanky believe everything I tell them. They just ask me if it’s true because they want to hear the story again. They believe Mireille flew for that pork chop.

She did. There was no slight of paw involved. She flew. That’s how we saw it.

Wrong and Wronger

What Blane did to my dog was wrong, wrong, wrong. Mireille was shedding and he’d had enough. Got out the shears and mowed her down. This was his first time, it’s obvious by the results, notice the unnatural looking square bald spots.

Poor Mireille.

I took her out for a walk with her new “do” and I could swear she was embarrassed when she saw other dogs at the park.

I had to fix this. Put some flair in it, make it look like it was done on purpose.

Leopard spots.

Now I think my dog looks cool. Bohemian.

Why is it that the kids won’t stop laughing? Why?

We’ll have to go out for another walk to the park this afternoon, wait a week, then see if anyone tries to copy Mireille’s style.

The Other Spanky (and Coburn)

Part I: The Other Spanky

There’s another Spanky in the family, Blane and Angela’s dog. She’s a mutt Angela got about five years ago. Someone brought her in to the vet’s where she works. The pup was just 1 day old and the owner wanted to put it to sleep because it was born with a cleft palate.

Now Blane used to make jokes about the vet’s. About how they put more animals to sleep there than they saved. And Angela had just been saying how some new girl at the office wouldn’t cut it in this business because she cried every time they had to put down an animal.

I don’t know how it all went down that day, why Angela didn’t put that dog down. Maybe she didn’t want to do it while the new (sensitive) girl was around. She kept the pup in her pocket at work all day and by the time 5 O’clock rolled around, Angela couldn’t manage to put down the doggie.

I mean, could you?

She got some feeding tubes, puppy formula, and made a commitment to save her. A month or two later a vet friend of hers sewed up Spanky’s palate and she became sort of a normal dog.

Spanky the dog had cowlicks all over her body, eyes that went in two different directions, perpetually bloodshot. She also walked as if she was drunk. We called her “troll dog” because she had this wicked growl with that screwed up palate. She was possesive, too, a bit jealous of Blane, especially when he and Angela moved in together. When it was time for Spanky to go in her crate at night, she’d try to hide. She often stuck just her head under the bed, the rest of her body in full view, but to Spanky, she was deep cover.

She had OCD too, had to make a figure eight in the yard before she did her business.

A couple of days ago she came down with something, got really sick and passed on. Nobody knows what it was.

Part II: Coburn

Liv’s dog Coburn was the biggest German Shepherd I’d ever met. The thing about this dog was he seemed to read minds. You could just look at him a certain way and he’d sit. We’ve been knowing him for a good ten years, visiting just a few days at a time through the years. He never forgot us, even though every year my girls had grown and changed a lot, he never did bark at them as if they were strangers.

On one trip we’d told Liv and Coburn bye for the year, we were going to another place 3 hours away and would continue on with our travels. All evening he was restless. He panted and waited by the door for us to return. It worried Liv. Turns out, we couldn’t find a hotel where we went and had to return to her place. We got back at about 3 AM. Somehow that dog knew we were in a bit of trouble.

In the summer of 2006, when we were telling Coburn goodbye, he whimpered. He’d never done that before. I remember going back one more time and giving him another bear hug. About a month later, he was diagnosed with cancer and given about a month to live. Maybe he knew that would be the last time we’d see him?
Liv had her son dig a deep hole in her backyard in advance. She has a bad back and wanted to make sure he had a proper resting place in case Klaus wasn’t around when the Time came.

Next summer rolls around, we go back and see Coburn again. He doesn’t even look sick.

See? So I’m thinking that dog was misdiagnosed. He looked healthy, a little slow, but hell, he was 12 years old.

The next day, however that dog barely moved. I don’t know where he got all that energy to pretend he wasn’t sick that first day we got there, but it was all gone. A couple of months later, Coburn, too was gone.

Part III: Why I Am Writing About This Depressing Stuff

Well, obviously because these two pets passes away recently. It’s really sad that there are no memorial events for pets. People hurt deeply when they go. I haven’t seen any cards in the sympathy section of the greeting card aisle that are specifically for those kinds of best friends. Maybe they do have them somewhere. But I haven’t seen them.

What about dog angel stories? Ghost dog stories? You ever heard one?

Not until now. Call me crazy if you want (I will revel in it anyway), but I got one for ya.

This last trip to Liv’s? Coburn had been gone for a couple of weeks. I went out and paid my respects to his spot in the backyard. I can’t tell you how empty it felt in that house without him. I think it was the second day at Liv’s, while at her computer, I felt something nudge me in the lower back. I thought for a second, Coburn. Looked around. No one there. And then I thought…

So if you have any kind words to help heal the hearts of Blane and Angela and Liv, feel free to say them here. If you have any pet stories to share, go on ahead. I’m listening.

Pimp My Hair

First, a couple of photos of recent animals Blane and Angela adopted. Pipsqueak is a miniature chihuaha. Tiny!

Check out the Doggles.

And here is the horse, I forget his name, but he is a retired racehorse. Gigantic!

Check out that ponytail. Not on the horse, on Angela. She’s cutting it next week. I told her (and Blane) she could sell it. Here’s the convo:

Me: Oh, yeah, a friend of mine got $2500 for her hair.

Blane Jr: (ears perk up) Oh yeah?

Angela: I’m going to donate it to…

Blane Jr. (laughing): No you not, I’m starting a hair farm.

Angela: You gonna be my hair pimp.

Blane Jr. (playfully grabs Angela by the hair, talks in a gruff voice): Where you been ho? You… You trim some of dat hair off?

All joking aside, she is planning on donating the hair to that group that makes wigs for people with cancer. I have a cousin, Tracy who donated hers last year to a group called Locks of Love. Anyway, I think that’s a pretty cool thing to do, especially when she could sell it for some major lettuce.

Party Animal

I’m so glad I have these damn dogs. This is Mireille, she’s a westie mix we got from a shelter. One Mardi Gras just before giving her a bath we got out some markers and colored her hair. She seemed to like it.

A Diet That Really Works

It is simple. So simple it is scary. Four words: Eat less. Move more.

I didn’t say it’s easy. It is not. The good news is you do not have to give up chocolate. That’s important. Necessary for life, happiness. Just eat less of it.
It really works. Those killer 10 pounds everyone talks about, those are the ones I’ve been banging away at and it has taken a while, but they are on the way out. Two to go. That’s it. Two more.

The “move more” part is just walking. Running is bad for you, I’ve seen too many young runners in the hospital have their knees and hips replaced. They regret the running, have suffered much and ended up less mobile for a long time before they get to the replacement parts. If you walk fast, it burns just as much energy as jogging. Take a dog with you and you won’t even notice you’re “working out.” If you don’t have a dog, volunteer at an animal shelter to walk one of theirs.

I also have a recumbent stationary bike i got for $100. I can’t ride a regular one because I broke my tailbone a while back and it is painful to sit on those old seats. Every other day is my routine, it is just too hard to find the time and I don’t like to wash my hair every day since it is long. I’m moving more than I used to, that’s all that counts.

So. A free diet plan that really works. No special food to buy, no diet books to study and feel guilty for straying from. No club memberships.
Eat less. Move more. I’m going to get that tatooed on my ass just in case I ever forget. If those words get bigger, then it is time to…eat less, move more.

Dogs In Life And Death

When I was little, our dog had ten puppies. One of every color and according to our math, two for each of us. This was Pluto’s first set of pups and she was too young. Two of them died within the first few hours.

I had an idea. Steal some holy water from the church. The stuff works like magic dust I told the others. My brother, the meanest bully in the world even drove me there. On his bicycle. It was sleeting and dark, and on any other occasion, he would have just made me do it. Maybe he wanted to make sure it was the real thing.

It was. We got it. We blessed the dogs. I wish I could tell you that they all lived, or that just one of them did. But as I said, Pluto was pretty much a pup herself. My brother never said I jinxed them because the holy water was, after all, stolen. But I thought it anyway. Don’t even think it had anything to do with us touching them. We didn’t, we sprinkled the magic from afar, just like the priest does it.

Dogs bring out the best in people. In life and in death.