seven days: day one

Posted on August 23, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday August 23rd 2020

 

It’s no wonder we British are always snuffling and sniffling. Throughout August bright sun, storms, downpours, gentle breezes and high winds seem to chase each other in rapid succession, sometimes all on the same day. Perhaps most debilitating, is the pervasive mugginess which makes me feel as though the ground is sucking me into it.

It’s widely known as British weather.

I’ve selected seven outings from the last fortnight to write about. Not all have been completely mishap free.

I blame it on the weather.

As far as Isis is concerned, as we know only too well, the weather’s very challenging. I need to check the next day’s weather forecast before I sleep and again when I surface in the morning in order to decide our destination for the day.

One day the sun is fierce and there’s no rain forecast. Off we go to Jasmin Fields. Isis balks at the brightness and has to be persuaded to walk the few metres to the gate. Once guided to the grass path round the field, though, she’s fine. Cautious, but fine.

She trots along sniffing and then turns left down one of the little tracks which meander through the wildlife reserve.

There is, of course, a multitude of scents to savour. When we return to the field, she does a spot of stick hunting, seeks out her little tree, sits under it in the long grass and chews on her stick.

When she decides to move on, I direct her further round the field’s circumference towards a bench. I’m hoping that she’ll potter while I sit.

But no, she soon discovers the path down to the canal and disappears. I meet her on her way back.

Clearly, a rest for Human is not on her schedule.

Hopefully, I point her in the direction of the last bench. She trots purposefully past it. Oh.

Then, oh joy, she rediscovers that wonderful section of hedgerow she spent forty minutes minutes worshipping last time we came here.

Of course, being a mere human, I have no idea what is so inspiring about this patch. Whatever the allure it has for her, I can see that she is set for a lengthy whizz around, so I return, thankfully, to the last bench we passed.

A family group comes up from the canal tow path. They dismount when they see the performing animal and gaze at her transfixed. My bench is set back so that from where they are standing, I am invisible, and after a while, I can see that they are concerned that Isis is her own.

Dad picks up a tennis ball and rolls it gently towards her. She is oblivious, of course. Reluctantly, I drag myself from my seat, walk over and explain her antics.

Obviously relieved that the hairy creature has not been abandoned, they ride off.

It’s comforting that people care.

I roll the ball towards Hairy One’s feet. She’s very pleased with it and carries it, head held high in triumph, until we reach the gate.

Yes, Jasmin Fields was a good choice for her today: plenty of shade which she could find when she wanted it, but no tall trees casting menacing shadows.

The car has become a furnace on wheels, and it’s necessary to open the hatch and several doors before it’s OK to let Isis in. As usual, she refuses a drink. I’m almost tempted to take a few laps from her bowl myself.

That was a good couple of hours. It’s only a few minutes to the house. Hmmmmmmm, elderflower cordial, here I come!

But not quite.

Isis waits impatiently on the doorstep while I, calmly at first, but increasingly less calmly, riffle through all of the pockets in my gilet and shorts. The doorkeys can’t possibly not be there.

Oh but they can.

I tie poor Isis to the door handle of the porch and walk over the  to retrieve my yale key from N. Back I go. Tail wags from Isis.

I open the porch door. More tail wags. We’re both smiling now. I’ll leave Isis in the cool of  the house while I return to the field. All is well.

But not for long.

The inner door is locked too.  We still can’t get in.

****!

Dear little Isis walks back to the car, gets in and settles down without protest. I’ll have to find a shady place for her while I walk the field to search for the key.

Then I remember the clink I had heard while I was pouring water for Isis. Heard and ignored. I’d checked that I’d not dropped the car keys, and then gone merrily on my way.

It could be that I accidentally pulled both sets of keys out of my pocket. If so, the house keys might have bounced under the car and are still on the road.

This time, my luck’s in. As we approach the parking spot, I see a little blob of bright green. It’s the key fob.

When I get out of the car, I see that I’ve been more than lucky. The keys are lying in the road, about an inch from a drain. If they’d fallen into the drain, I would have retraced my footsteps, and, after another long, hot walk would still have been key-less; moreover, I’d have had to call out a locksmith.

Gratefully and very, very carefully – it would be just like me to drop them in the drain – I pick up the keys.

When we arrive home for the second time, I notice that the keys have not survived unscathed.

 

 

 

 

I must have driven over this one on my first return home. Fortunately, it’s not the key to the inner door. And, amazingly, it still works!

 

Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

 

 

Posted in a joyful dog, deaf/blind dog plays, dear little Isis, walking my deaf/blind dog | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

it’s him again!

Posted on August 16, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday August 16th 2020

 

Gentleman Blitz, who some months ago intervened to rescue Isis from an attacking greyhound, and who, to this day, if asked to find Isis always dashes off to locate her, visits us again.

You may recall that on his previous visit ungrateful Isis was very disgruntled to find him in her house, and after he’d left, alarm barked until dawn.

Well, a week passes, and Y and Blitzi visit again. This time, Blitzi is taken straight through into the garden. He is given his own bowl of water, and the back door is closed.

Isis soon smells that he’s around, and barks inhospitable barks every now and then, but at least he is not able to violate her boudoir.

When, after a pleasant evening, our guests leave, Isis charges up the hall, barking fiercely. Poor Blitz makes a desperate dash for the front door.

My inhospitable animal is duly admonished but doesn’t show any sign of repentance.

Later, I join her on the day bed and spend an hour or so making a huge fuss of her. When she is let out into the garden, she sniffs around, barking crossly. But after her bedtime treats, she settles quickly, and all through the night there’s not a bark to be heard.

Phew! That’s good.

Y is off to Dorset very early on the following Tuesday morning, so Blitz is having a sleepover with us. He arrives at 6.30 on Monday evening. After Y has left, he sits next to the front door, giving mournful little cries. Eventually, I put a spare dog bed next to the door, and he curls up in that looking sad.

He is not greatly reassured by Isis who, every now and then, skids up the hall uttering threatening woofs. Fortunately, after an hour or so, she compromises by just sniffing at his bed now and then.

Every time I go upstairs, Blitz shoots up after me. He’s not staying downstairs alone with that nasty, fluffy thing.

When we come down, I sit in the front room so that he doesn’t feel abandoned. Isis joins me, having checked on Blitz on her way in, of course.

Several times he comes into the room, but he is immediately rebutted by Isis.

When he’s at home, our guest sleeps with his human. I wonder if he’d feel more secure upstairs so take the dog bed up for him. He curls in it for a minute or two while I’m moving around, but no, he doesn’t want to be abandoned, and when I go down he follows me.

That night, Isis stays downstairs as usual, and Blitzi settles on my bed. Both dogs are calm and quiet.

Early in the morning, we leave the house and get into the car to go to Highbury, Isis in the back, as usual, and Blitz next to me in the passenger seat. Isis makes no comment when he joins us in the car. I secure him with a restraining strap, and turn on the engine.

When I next glance at him, I’m shocked to see that he’s trembling violently. Although I stroke him and say “Park,” repeatedly, he is very anxious until we arrive.

Obviously something bad has happened to him in a car.

Both dogs are delighted to be in Highbury. Y has assured me that Blitz will stay around me as long as I have his tennis balls and chucker, and he does. We walk off lead (yes, human as well) along the highest woodland path, Isis a little in front of me and Blizt diving off on little forays, but always coming back to us.

Isis doesn’t even flinch when Blitz dashes past her on the narrow paths, even though his speed ruffles her coat. She knows who it is, obviously.

When we emerge from the path and walk down through the beech wood, Isis makes her way over to her favourite bog, while Blitzi chases balls and plays with two lively ladies: a large, newly rescued terrier cross and a sweet infant spaniel.

By the time I finally call him over, Isis has disappeared into her bog. Her whereabouts are being carefully monitored by a concerned family who have not spotted me and are worried that she might be alone.

There are four small children. Their father asks if Blitz is friendly. I tell him that he is extremely friendly and loves to play with children. I add that he was rescued and that his new owner is certain that he lived with young children in his previous home.

The children play with him for almost an hour. Later, as we make our way back to the car park, he spots them in the distance, and rushes over for another game.

The evening passes uneventfully. After eating, both dogs sleep for a while. Later, Blitz  comes to join me in the front room, but retires hastily behind the table when Isis arrives and officiously sniffs him out.

When his human comes to collect him, he is quite obviously greatly relieved. As he leaves, Isis, never the hostess with the mostest, serenades him with a volley of barks.

A few days later, when I tell Y how poor Blitzi trembled on the way to the park, she recalls that he did the same for about a year after she’d adopted him.

Apparently, he was found wandering the streets of Stratford-on-Avon. He had no ID, and no-one contacted the police or any of the rescue centres to claim him. She guesses that he was driven to Stratford from an outlying area and abandoned there.

Both Y and I have our birthdays this week, and he comes with Y to visit again. As we reach the garden, loud barks from the house indicate that his scent has been registered by Isis. It’s such a shame, as poor Blitzi is desperate to be her friend.

Then the rain begins in earnest, and the three of us retreat into the house.

I make a drink while the guests settle themselves in the front room. Blitzi follows Y in and stands hesitantly on the rug.

Isis bustles in and chases him away.

This happens several times. Then she snaps at him. I give her a thorough telling off.

A telling off can be challenging when one has a deaf dog, but we have evolved a routine.  This involves loud “No!”s close to one of her ears, accompanied by staccato ‘smaps’ on her shoulder. (‘Smaps’ are sharp index finger taps.)

She is not hurt, of course, but she recognises my disapproval and withdraws to her bedroom.

Emboldened by her disappearance, and by the support of his person, Blitzi comes back in and screws himself into a ball against Y’s feet.

Nowadays, Isis, like most dogs, wants to be where I am. After about thirty minutes, she rejoins us. She sniffs the air to ascertain where Blitz is, then lies down on the rug close to my chair.

Soon, there’s a very brave move from our canine guest. He moves a little way away from his person. He has his eye on Hairy, though.

 

 

 

 

 

For a while, both dogs remain alert. Then, when Isis places her head on her paws,  Blitz leaves Y and bravely stretches out on the rug.

He’s quite close now, and he’s still watching her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

But it’s been a long day, and a dog can’t stay alert forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Could this be a truce, Isis?

 

Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

that coat of hers

Posted on August 9, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday August 9th 2020  

 

“Hmmmm,” I think to myself as I bite into my Vacon, egg and dog hair sandwich.

“It’s July and she’s still not finished moulting.”

It’s been a strange year for moulting, at least as far as Isis goes.

Much earlier, her spring moult appears to conform to the norm. I can see ripples of her loosening winter layer beneath her top coat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, suddenly, the temperature dips and her hair stops dropping. This intrigues me. Do animals stop moulting if it becomes significantly colder? It would make sense, but I have no idea.

After a few weeks, it warms up again, and soon, tempting little triangles of hair appear. They’re just waiting to be plucked.

But although the soft, warm wedges of fluff are loose, not attached to her skin, she objects strongly to my attentions. She doesn’t growl or snap. She moves away, her body language clearly saying, “Gerroff!”

It’s the right time for a fluff harvest as many of the garden and park birds are looking for nesting material.

After each grooming session, I take huge handfuls of hair to Highbury. It doesn’t stay around for long. For a while, even the crows are more interested in gathering nesting material than in food.

I’ve not known her to produce such a huge amount of hair, nor over such a long period.

Now, of course, the moulting is done. But her coat still feels very thick.

I wriggle my fingers down into her coat feeling for burrs and seeds, but it’s so dense I can’t feel her skin. The only glimpses of pink I see are among the sparse hair of her undercarriage, around her nose, and, of course, inside her ears: ears which close like hairy clam shells at the merest suspicion of a probing finger. Fortunately, so far, her ears have always been clean and healthy so a quick sniff and inspection is all she’s  needed.

When it’s time for preemptive flea treatment, though, we struggle. It’s impossible to expose a site big enough to accommodate even one whole drop of the stuff. By the time we’re done, there are dozens of tiny, fractured pinpricks of liquid scattered around the base of her skull and her neck.

Recent heatwaves have brought temperatures hotter than Isis has experienced since she came to England almost seven years ago, and she spends a large part of several ‘walks’ lying in deep shade gnawing intermittently on a stick.

She eschews the garden too, instead playing wild games indoors in the late afternoon and evening.

“Come on,” I tell her, “You’re a Portuguese dog. “You’re supposed to need a coat in winter and take summer in your stride.”

She doesn’t comment.

On Friday, for the first time since March, we visit J. in the grounds of his sheltered living accommodation.  We sit outside, of course. Isis would prefer to romp in J’s flat but she frightens his little budgie and is banned.

After a while, she finds a boundary and flies around its metal posts for a while. Then she comes to lie by me in the shade.

R, who lives next door to J, has his daughter visiting. Soon, they emerge from R’s flat with chairs and sit outside in the shade with their beers, leaving the door behind them open.

Isis takes a stroll and the next time I check she’s trespassing by the semicircle of potted geraniums which surround R.’s door.

She’s sniffing hard.

I leap up to retrieve her, but she refuses to budge. Embarrassing animal. I hesitate to give her a shove or hiss admonitions into her ear as I know these nice people will be upset.

J has told them all about Isis. They’ve seen her before. They think she’s beautiful. In their eyes, she can do no wrong.

“She’s all right,” calls R’s daughter, “We don’t mind.”

I explain the likely outcome for the pots, and try again to move the stubbornly disobedient animal.

“Oh, let her be,” they insist, and R’s daughter comes over to move some of the flowers  to clear a path for the Hairy One! 

Isis, of course, can’t see the path, so she walks carefully round the outside of the remaining pots, lifting her head to sniff the air as she goes. She’s obviously picked up a scent and is determined to follow it to its source. She finally hones in on the open door. 

Oh no! She walks slowly onto the door mat in order to sniff at the open door. I don’t think she will venture inside, but really, we don’t stand sniffing at neighbours’ doors. It just isn’t done – and, oh my dog, what if she pees on the mat?

Once more I approach the little pest whose whiffling nose is getting closer and closer to the doorstep.

“She’s fine,” they call. “Relax. If you’re bothered, close the door.”

This I do, and return to my seat. After a few minutes, to my astonishment, Isis extends her front legs, drops her rump and settles in a majestic lion pose on the door mat. 

Here she stays.

I can’t imagine what is causing her to behave in this way. Approaching people is not her thing, ever. As for sitting on their door mat. No way.

I wonder, as I have done on so many occasions before, what is prompting her strange behaviour.

When R gets up to replenish the beer supply, is Isis intimidated?

Not in the slightest.

I expect her to run away, but no, she moves politely aside – just enough to enable him to enter. She looks very pleased when he leaves the door slightly ajar. She puts her nose against the crack and sniffs, and sniffs and sniffs.

I know that she’s not sniffing food smells. She’s not a food driven dog. What is she up to?

When R emerges, he says, “I know what it is.”

He explains that they have left a very large fan on in the flat to keep the air circulating and there is also a gap under the door.

Then I notice that the transom window is wide open and the drawn blinds behind it are moving too and fro.

We all return to our seats and Isis returns to her vantage point and her whiffling. I imagine she’s  lifting up her nose and letting it drop in time with the rhythm of the fan.

She is utterly contented.

Towards evening, the air cools and she comes to lie beside my chair.

 

Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

 

 

 

Posted in clever girl, dear little Isis, Highbury Park, Isis says "No"., oh dear, scenting, strange behaviour | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

some dogs smell nicer than others!

Posted on August 2, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday August 2nd 2020  

 

Within two days I meet two beautiful puppies.

It’s Tuesday. Although there is bright sunshine, the light is perfectly stable so Isis is prancing around the edge of the second meadow, completely absorbed in her play.

I am sitting on the once comfortable log nearby. It used to be one of the most ergonomic logs in the park until persons unknown turn it over one night. I try to turn it back to its original position, but it’s too heavy. I can’t even rock it.

Sigh.

Often Isis plays in this vicinity for an hour or more, and it’s damned uncomfortable standing for this long, so I settle down on the least buttock numbing bit of trunk I can find, and begin to make blog notes on my phone.

Suddenly, I become aware of a small, bouncy presence approaching me. Before it arrives, though, it is stopped in its wobbly tracks by a firm command of, “No! Come, Luna!”

Its little forehead wrinkles, but it obeys.

Three times more it attempts to leave its human’s side, and three times it returns when called.

The fourth time it lifts a paw in my direction, it’s told, “O.K. You can go say hello!”

Pup rushes up to the log to greet me. This, its two humans tell me, is Luna. She’s four months old, and has only just begun visiting Highbury.

She is beautiful and has that lovely new pup smell.

 

 

 

I’m being so good. It’s very, very hard keeping still when you’re a puppy.

 

 

 

I compliment Luna and her humans on her excellent recall. They tell me that although they very much wanted a boxer, they gave it a lot of thought. They know how boisterous boxers are and they’re determined that she will be a well-mannered dog.

They’re obviously succeeding. She’s delightful. I could easily have succumbed to being a puppy thief!

The following morning, another lady I’ve not seen before is on her way back to the car with another very young puppy. This puppy is Skye, a shy little cocker/lab. She, too, is four months old. She’s come to Highbury for a fifteen minute walk. Her brother is at home, waiting for his turn.

 

 

 

 

A puppy can never be sure something nasty’s not going to happen.

 

 

 

The pups’ human explains that she brings them out together for some of their walks, but wants them to feel confident on their own too, and not become over dependent on each other. She also wishes to avoid them developing over boisterous ‘pack’ behaviour when meeting other dogs.

It’s good to meet such responsible people who clearly understood the needs of their dogs.

(Every time I read the last sentence, it sounds horribly patronising. It’s not intended to be. It’s just that it’s uplifting to see new puppies and know that their people are intent on giving them good lives.)

And, of course, wriggly, sweet smelling very young puppies do tend to be irresistible.

Talking of sweet smelling creatures … doesn’t  remind me of Isis. It’s a few days after my puppy encounters, and my dog is definitely not irresistible.

To be fair, she usually smells very pleasant. But on this particular day, smelling pleasant is  not on her agenda. She is hell bent on sneaking past me in order to wallow in the den she has made among the rosebay willow herbs.

It’s quite a des. res., I must admit, having a long, tall-grass drive leading up to a shady plant porch which opens into a pleasant lounge area. Unfortunately, I discover when I wade into the plants to retrieve her, she has recently added a bathroom.

A large, deep, boggy puddle takes up most of the space in her extension and, most convenient of all, at the rear of the bath is a door leading off into thick, almost impenetrable, foliage.

Into this almost impenetrable foliage, a dog is able to hasten when pursued by a human who believes it’s time to go home for breakfast.

One has to be pretty nippy to grab her before she hurries through the bathroom’s rear exit. The boggy jungle is certainly impossible for a human to navigate without tripping and falling flat on her face.

I should know.

The only alternative is to wait for the recalcitrant one to return. Which, fortunately, she usually does if I walk away.

Today, when she appears she looks and smells revolting.

There’s nothing for it. We must go to the ‘clean pond’, as L, Y and I have always called it. It looks mud-black and murky because, over the years, layers of fallen leaves have sunk to the bottom. But the water above them, run-off water from the meadow above the pool, is clean and transparent, providing an excellent facility for swilling down dogs before they get into the car.  

Isis is remarkably cool about being shoved into the pool. She even tolerates Human  sploshing cupped handfuls of water under and over her.

 

 

 

Surely I must be clean enough by now.

 

 

 

Today, she looks almost spotless when she emerges. She still has a boggy niff, though.

Until, as luck will have it, the heavens open as we cross the little waterfall on our way back to the car park. Isis, of course, is delighted and begins to race to and fro across the grass, executing joyful little leaps and twirls as she goes.

Although we’ve already been in the park for over two hours, she is so happy that I haven’t the heart to take her home.

As the rain becomes heavier and heavier, she runs faster and faster, her joy turning into wild ecstasy.

Sensible people rapidly leave the park, so I don’t need to worry about Hairy colliding with innocent humans or dogs. For almost an hour I stand under a tree and share her joy.

By the time the sky has run out of rain, my dog is not averse to being led to the car.

She is as soggy as a bath mat and she smells deliciously of fresh grass.

 

Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

 

Posted in a joyful dog, dear little Isis, Highbury Park, park dogs, park people, rain, rain and more rain, running, running running, twirling, walking in the park, walking my deaf/blind dog, we don't like bright sun | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

26/07/2020

Posted on July 23, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday July 26th 2020

 

There have been no more disturbed nights. I am now certain that the all night barking was caused by Blitzi’s scent in the house. As friend Ian commented, she could definitely smell him, but being deaf and blind, she had no way of double checking.

So no, when she comes to sit or lie down next to me in Highbury, she isn’t feeling unwell or unusually amorous. She is afraid of the changing light.

Unfortunately, several times this week, like last week, she is distressed by the rapidly shifting weather patterns.

On Monday she’ll not play even for a few minutes, but follows me miserably to the log and  curls as close to my feet as she can. She only wags her tail when I put her harness on to return to the car.

Changeable throughout the day is Tuesday’s forecast. By 8.00 a.m. in the morning, the sun is already glimmering through the light clouds. No point in getting up yet. The Hairy One will not able to tolerate Highbury. Damn!

How on earth is she going to get her exercise today? Over the last few days she has refused to play in the garden, I suppose because Blitzi did a thorough job of marking the territory when he last came. Or it could be that the light is fluctuating so much that even the garden doesn’t feel safe. Whatever the reason, every time I take her snake out and toss it onto the grass, she follows me anxiously, then picks him up and returns him to the back room.

I notice she’s even stashed him at the back of the day bed, presumably to deter me from evicting him again.

Often, the answer to our weather challenges is the little lane at the bottom of the garden. It’s familiar to her and there are places where the backs of garages ensure areas of solid shade.

Unfortunately, at the moment we can’t use our own gate into the lane because the narrow access path between my neighbour’s garage and mine is obliterated by yards of towering brambles I’ve not got round to cutting down. And Isis refuses to walk even the short distance along the pavement to the main gate of the lane because of the flickering sun.

Sigh.

Then, suddenly, a light bulb moment: I’ll take her to Jasmine Fields!

In our built up urban environment, just off Jasmine Road, and only a few minutes’ drive from here, is a small nature reserve. Adjacent to the reserve, is a large playing field. There are trees here, but only round the edge of the field, of course, so there’s a huge space with no shadows. I came across the reserve quite serendipitously only a few weeks ago.

Off we go.

The sun is out as we park close to the entrance. I will it to stay out at least until we get to the gate.

It does. Phew!

We walk onto the field. Isis hesitates. She turns round to walk back to the gate. I turn her round again to face the field. I give her a little push onto the track which runs round the  circumference. She hesitates. I think she’s considering sitting down. She sniffs the track.

Ah! She knows this place.

We set off along the track, Isis sniffing and marking the route as we go. Then, not far along, she digs a stick out of the turf, takes it into the tall grass under a small tree and begins to mouth it.

Oh.

I was hoping to sit on one of the benches further along, but no, she doesn’t wish to walk on, thank you. I sit down on the field. She’s not going to get much exercise lying in the grass chewing a stick, is she? Never mind, she’s happy.

But I needn’t have worried about exercise. Soon she tosses the stick aside and darts out of her retreat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it happens, we don’t get to follow the track all round the playing field. After two hours, she’s usually ready to be harnessed and taken home, and she’ll come to find me when she’s ready to go.

But not today. I stand up, ready to fetch her, but she gleefully shoots from her den and does another circuit or two of her territory.  Quite clearly, she’s not tired, and I don’t have the heart to spoil her fun.

I sit down again. She plays on in her chosen space. 

At last, she seeks me out. I tap the ‘follow me’ signal under her chin and make my way back onto the track. She follows for a few feet but then lifts her head and turns towards the middle of the field.

I look at her. She’s tired. That’s unusual. She doesn’t want to walk the long way back. She wants to go now, please.

We make our way across the field to the gate.

What a lovely walk.

 

 

Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

 

Posted in a terrified dog, deaf/blind dog plays, Highbury Park, Isis and the snake, Isis at home, Isis says "No"., oh dear, running running, scary shadows, strange behaviour, walking in the park, walking my deaf/blind dog, we don't like bright light, we don't like bright sun | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

what on earth ……..?

Posted on July 18, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday July 19th 2020

 

The beginning of the day is unremarkable. We have the happy greeting, the usual kerfuffle in the porch.

On our way to the gate, Isis picks up the scent of a lady who has had the temerity to walk along our patch of pavement. The kerfuffle Hairy One makes is well beyond raucous, so we walk back to the porch step and someone is ordered to sit.

Our second departure is more sensible – until we reach the car. The lady’s destination was only the nearby post box, and at this point she returns to admire Isis. She is undeterred   by the clatter of yaps and whirls and, thankfully, blissfully unaware that this pretty little dog would quite like to eat her. She gazes dreamily at the raver before I manage to stuff it into the car.

She tells me she lives close by, that her dog whom she had had for many years had died and that she hopes to be able to adopt a rescue dog at the end of the summer after visitors have left. I tell her about Dogwatch U.K. while Isis, now in her car where she feels secure, feels able to relinquish her territorial duties and lies angelically on her blanket like a stone dog.

We set off for Highbury and Isis is free to run along the hedgerow, unearth particularly tempting sticks and lie in the long meadow grass to nibble them.

I am surprised when, after about an hour, she comes over to the log to join me. I give her half a gravy bone and she settles next to me. This is a not like Isis. I wonder if something is bothering her.

I check her over. No bitten off bits of stick in her mouth. Nothing embedded in a paw. No thorny or sticky twigs or stems stuck on her underside. She seems fine. I stand up, tap her under the chin, and we set off side by side across the meadow. It seems that she just fancied a change of scene.

We walk across the grass to the bottom of the sloping path which leads up to the orchard, and wander up to the highest woodland path. We’ve not been here for a few days, and Isis is delighted with all the new smells. Her nose hardly rises more than a few inches off the ground as she investigates what must be small mammal tracks criss-crossing the paths, snuffles deep into a thick clump of grass, and susses out an overhanging dock leaf to find out if she needs to pee on it. We make our way past the back of Highbury Hall, down the steep decline where I got stuck in the mud last winter, and on towards the beech wood.

I let Isis choose which paths she wants to follow into the wood, and she trots along happily just in front of me. 

But when we reach another of her favourite places, she refuses to play there. This is a first.

Oh well.

Back home, she eats, then snoozes contentedly as I plough my reluctant way through some essential paperwork.

In the evening, Y comes round for a safely distanced garden chat. As usual, she brings Blitzi dog with her.

Isis is not impressed. She’s not keen on visiting canines, even Blitzi who is always kind to her. He pops into the house numerous times during the evening, usually returning to the garden with a volley of Isis barks behind him. Once or twice a cross hairy white face even appears round the corner of the kitchen’s outside door.

We have a very pleasant evening. It’s ten o’clock, and dusk is gathering before we leave the garden. Blitzi will need another walk, so it’s time for them to leave.

As we make our way towards the front door, naughty Isis twirls around, yapping fiercely at poor Blitzi who stands by the front door and rolls his eyes heavenwards. Y comments that she’s never known Isis to be so vocal, and is surprised when I tell her of Isis’s expanding repertoire and steadily increasing volume.

Later on, our bedtime routines completed, we retire for the night.

Hardly have I hit the sack, when there’s a sharp, cross bark from below.

She’ll soon settle down. Tired after the paperwork, I switch on the World Service, stretch out and relax.

“Nyap!” Oh shut up Isis.

“Nyap!”

Oh no. I can’t let this go on. If she doesn’t stop, I’ll have to go downstairs. ****!

Silence.

Ten minutes pass. I begin to relax again

“Nyap!” …… “Nyap!” ….. “Nyap!” …… “Nyap!”

Huge sigh.

The noise stops as soon as I plonk a foot on the staircase. She can feel the vibration. I stand at the top of the stairs for a few minutes. Silence. Ah, she’s got the message.

Thankfully, I climb back under the duvet. I begin to drift.

“Nyap!”

I’m jerked awake. I make my way downstairs. I switch on the light. The little pest is lying on the day bed, head on dog pillow, eyes closed.

 

 

 

 

Remembering that she barked like this when she had a fractured nail bed last year, I examine her very carefully, every inch of her, literally from mouth to tail. I peer into each ear. Pink and clean. I sniff carefully. Both ears smell fine. I feel around her mouth, neck, all over her skull, back, rump and undercarriage, and all over each pad and paw.

She doesn’t wince, or jump or growl. Then I recall her uncharacteristic behaviour in the park this morning. Perhaps she’s coming down with something. But she’s eating well, she bounced and yapped around Blitzi, she played ‘find the treat’ with her usual enthusiasm. Her anal glands must need emptying. She’s not responded to anal gland problems in this way before, but I can’t think of any other reason for the barking.

Reassured, I climb wearily back upstairs.

Peace and quiet for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes.

Again, I begin to relax, to drift …..

“Nyap!” Please stop Isis.

“Nyap!” Please, please, stop.

“Nyap!”

“Nyap!”

I stomp back down again, switch on the light again, and there she is again, head on pillow as though soundly asleep. I give her a firm poke and hiss very rude things in her ear.

But she doesn’t stop.

The pattern is the same each time: I go down to her, she denies any responsibility for the barking – look, she’s asleep

Yeah.

Her final outburst occurs just after five, or, at least, that’s the last I hear. The house is certainly silent when I wake at six.

Needless to say I don’t have a productive day. I make an appointment at the vet’s for her for Monday afternoon.

That evening, my friend A. rings. I apologise for being half asleep and tell her of the goings on in the night.

She wonders if Isis was disturbed by Blitzi’s scent all over the house, and if, perhaps, his scent having faded by five o’clock, she was then able to sleep.

I’m very doubtful. I do not look forward to the night ahead.

But that night, once she’s had her treats, she falls asleep instantly. She doesn’t even complain when I put the light on in the Kitchen. She’s out for the count. I suppose she didn’t get much sleep either last night.

Hmmm. We’ll see what happens tonight.

Next day.

Well, she didn’t fall asleep so quickly, but was perfectly quiet when I went to bed, and remained so all through the night.

I have to admit I think friend A. must be right.

Isis was fine after Y. and Blitzi had left on Thursday night. I read my Kindle; she dozed peacefully beside me.

But I think that when she slept after I’d left her, it wasn’t long before the strong smell of Blitzi pervaded her senses and she woke up alarmed.

And yes, it would be reasonable for her to desist between five and six as the invader’s scent grew fainter.

Does it sound far-fetched?

What do you think?

 

Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

Posted in Highbury Park, Isis is no angel, oh dear, park dogs, park people, poor Isis, sleeping, strange behaviour, twirling | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

Isis finds her voice 3

Posted on July 12, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday July 12th 2020

 

I have identified seven of Hairy One’s vocalisations.

A gentle ‘oof, oof’ says “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

At the moment this is a very necessary vocalisation. She uses it only once a day. That’s when I descend after a few hours of working upstairs.

A few months ago, I reward her with a Markie for being such a good dog as she’s been downstairs on her own for almost four hours and hasn’t  complained once.

A few days later, I am again upstairs working for several hours. Once more I reward her with a Markie.

The following day, when I come down she is unusually keen to be let out into the garden, and she returns suspiciously quickly and utters a single oof.

I look at her vacantly. Another oof.

Again I stare at her and wonder what she’s oofing for.

Then she stands near her food cupboard as dogs do, head pointed treatwards for a few seconds, then head turned back towards me. After a quick shuffle the process is repeated. And again. Eventually, the reason for her performance dawns on me.

 

Isis: Can’t believe it’s so difficult for Human to understand. She must be a very stupid human. Dog! It takes her a long time to get it.

It’s so easy.

She’s been upstairs for ages.

I’ve been on my own downstairs for ever.

She comes down.

I act like I need a pee.

She lets me out.

When I come in I get a Markie.

End of.

It’s getting better though. Now I only have to bark and she goes to my cupboard. It’s definitely worth the time it takes to train them.

 

 I still often forget about the Markie reward. Then comes the gentle reminder “Oof! Oof!”

However, There’s most definitely nothing gentle about her “Rah! ….. Rah!”

This is delivered at a louder volume and in a sharper tone. It definitely means “I’m waiting. Get a damn move on.”

It’s always about food. It’s not a polite reminder, and does not, therefore, elicit the desired response.

There’s one exception. This is very late at night. I’ve already ‘hidden’ three treats for her to find when she comes in from the garden, so I nip into the kitchen to put the kettle on for my last coffee of the night.

Her exasperated “Rah Rah! Rah!” is not neighbour friendly at this time of night, so I only pause long enough to let her know I’m not yet totally enslaved.

Her excitement barks are short, echoing, hard-on-the- ear hammerings which sound like  “Yowf! Yowf! Yowf!” (brief pause while she takes a breath, then) “Yowf! Yowf! Yowf!” again.

In between times, there are yawns which end with a shrill “eek!” or are drawn out into a delightful dog yodel.

I’ve been trying to recall other occasions on which she does her excitement barks, but I can’t. I think that they are reserved for our pre-walk ceremonies in the porch. Since it’s not only an audio entertainment but a full dance performance, it is, as I’ve mentioned before, not the easiest of tasks to get her harnessed!

As soon as she’s ready to go, she releases a relentless volley of high volume yowfs until I open the door.

After this, silence reigns – unless someone has just passed by on her pavement. When this happens, there’s no mistaking what she means. Her guard dog barks are very fierce  and threatening. This is my territory, and I’ll tear you apart if you don’t get off it.

Yet if anyone passes us by on any other bit of pavement, even a few feet from our frontage, she ignores them. Out in the park it’s the same. However close she is to a stranger, she doesn’t make a sound.

Her irritated barks, like a baby’s cries of discomfort, are impossible to ignore. They are jagged, penetrating, snappy, and sound something like, “Yag! Yag! Yag! Yag! Yag! Yag! Yag!”

The yags are always a response to the intense discomfort she feels when artificial light is too strong for her, or natural light is coming through a window. As soon as the source of irritation is removed, she stops.

Her rage barks and screams have been described before in detail. Suffice it to say that they are truly blood curdling. Thankfully, she no longer employs them to defend her meals. Still, though, she will growl, shriek and snap if she’s asleep and I touch her without warning, or accidentally poke her with a knee or foot. Nowadays, though, she’ll calm down when I put my hand close to her nose and she realises it’s me.

She’ll begin to rage when she thinks she’s lost a bit of gravy bone down the side of her bed, but she’ll stop if I search on her behalf, even if I find nothing.

The same horrible shrieks which used to be a very frequent occurrence when she slept alone at night are increasingly rare. She obviously thought that something very horrible was happening to her, perhaps that she was being attacked. I put them down to nightmares, and, thankfully, I can’t even remember when the last one happened.

Strangely, she is rarely vocal outside the house. She makes odd rumbling noises when she tosses a toy aside just before she gets into the car to return home. These sound as though she’s snapping with her mouth closed.

And once or twice, when the car park’s been busy, she’s given a truncated territorial bark if a stranger has come close to her car.  Twice she’s stopped and emitted a single, loud, startled bark when she’s been walking ahead of me in a dense wooded area. I assume she’s picked up a strange scent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Otherwise, our walks are silent, except for the jingling of Hairy One’s bell.

 

*Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

 

Posted in a very good dog, clever girl, dreaming, food rage, Highbury Park, nightmares, strange behaviour, walking in the park, walking my deaf/blind dog, we don't like bright light, we don't like bright sun | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

what can I say?

Posted on July 4, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday July 5th 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The edges of the loop which holds the D ring of Hairy One’s harness is beginning to fray. I noticed months ago, and told myself I must order a new one.

I check the loop regularly. Each time I decide it’s OK for now but I must order a new one.

It’s a ‘Comfifit’ harness, strong, black nylon with a soft fleece lining. It was Ellie’s, so it’s done very well. Isis inherited it for ‘temporary’ wear last autumn when the Big Muds began, and I lost her Mekuti harness somewhere in the quagmire.

It’s Friday, and Isis shoots eagerly out of the door for her evening walk. The sun is obscured by thick clouds. Just right for my Hairy One.

But we’ve not gone far when a glimmer of sun seeps through the cloud.

Oh dear.

Isis looks troubled and turns left down the first road we come to. OK, not our usual route when we set off, but a road we often use on our way home. If it makes her feel happier, we’ll go with it.

She trots along the road casting only the occasional watchful glance over her shoulder. That’s better.

Then we reach the top of the road. Right turn Isis?

Reverse tug.

OK, we’ll go left.

She sits down.

No, she doesn’t want to go right. Or left. Or back the way we came.

I notice that across the main road, it’s shady. We cross. But once on the pavement, she refuses to move.

Poor Isis. She’s too heavy for me to carry now, so all I can do is urge her on with a tug and a shove.

When we get to Featherstone Road, I decide, we’ll cross over. She is very familiar with this road, we’ll be walking with our backs to the sun, and she’ll realise that we’re on the way home.

At last we are opposite the junction where I plan to turn off. We make our way towards the edge of the verge.

Just as we’re about to cross, I see C. with her little Westie Bonnie.

I turn around to greet them, restraining Isis who can’t wait to cross. Obviously, she’s recognised the smell of Featherstone Road and is determined not to retrace even one pawstep.

I speak briefly to C whom I’ve known for a very long time, but not seen for months. Isis pulls hard in an attempt to dislodge my left arm from its socket.

I am just about to say goodbye when Isis gives the heave of all heaves.

She then tugs repeatedly, flinging back her head for extra momentum.

Unbeknown to me, this causes the D ring to saw through its holding loop.

The frayed loop breaks. I make a grab for her, but I’m too late, and Isis stumbles across the road in front of an oncoming car.

C and I gasp and freeze in horror. Isis is moving too slowly for the car to miss her. I fantasise a blood soaked Isis, forced up, over the wing of the car, across the bonnet, over the roof, then dead on the road.

Isis is still only three quarters of the way across the path of the car when it stops dead. In fact, her tail touches the bumper. She continues to walk slowly across the main road and stops, hunched on the edge of the pavement opposite.

The driver is pale and shocked. I breathe, “Thank you so much.” and, “I’m very sorry.”

He murmurs an acknowledgement and drives away as I collect my Isis.

C and I exchange “Are you all rights?”across the road.

Isis and I walk home.

I’m not enjoying telling this story. I feel sick when I recall last Friday’s evening walk.

I really didn’t want to write it, but I thought that if it prompts any dog owner to check their dog’s lead, collar and harness before every walk, my confession will have been worthwhile.

 

*Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments

finding a voice (2)

Posted on June 28, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Posting day: Sunday, and, sometimes, maybe, extra bits in between.

 

Sunday June 28th 2020

 

We return contented from a pleasant morning walk.

For Isis a pleasant walk comprises well over two hours of walking, playing and running around. For me, it’s walking and meandering interspersed with log sits and fantasising.

After all the exercise, Isis should snooze contentedly for a few hours while I work in my art space.

I follow the usual routine for these days, shuffling out of my light coat before working up a lather for my 2020 style hand wash. Then I drop the house keys into a mug of washing-up liquid, retrieve them, wipe soap over the porch door handles, and door chain, then disinfect driving glasses, glasses’ case and phone.

Automatically, I mutter myself  through the remaining pre-breakfast tasks.

“Check – are the kitchen blinds closed? They are. Check – is the front door closed. It is.

Good. There’s nowhere for light to sneak in, no potential threats to  disturb Isis while she’s eating her breakfast, no reason for tantrums.

Next job? Weigh out her breakfast. Perfect: 75 grams.

Isis sits angelically by her dining space.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I place her bowl in her food stand, straighten up and touch her lightly under the chin. She dives forwards.

As I climb the stairs, I hear the clink of her tag against the metal bowl.

Everything’s going smoothly.

Excellent.

Even my dog walking clothes are not scruffy enough to work in. It seems like I only have to look at paint for it to transfer itself to whatever I’m wearing. Just as I’m about to change into my bespattered art clothes, my ears are assailed by a loud “Woof! Woof! Woof!” 

Now what category does this voice fit? It’s not sharp and angry, not preceded  by growls, not accompanied by snarls. 

It’s not a cross, startled bark to tell me some uninvited feline has sneaked into the garden for a pee.

It’s not a shriek of pain or fear.

Perhaps she’s just come across something which she disapproves of, and the barking will be very short-lived.

No such luck.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” 

Pause.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” 

It’s a firm, persistent bark. It’s a bark which tells me that something needs seeing to. NOW.

Sigh.

Slightly irritated, I clump downstairs.

As always, I assume that there’s nothing which a reasonable human would consider a problem.

She stops barking as soon as she knows I’m on my way, and when I get down, I find her skittering around from the back room to the hall.

I walk into the back room. There’s nothing on her bed, on the floor, anywhere, in fact, to account for her disquiet. The blinds are closed.

I look around the front room. Nothing has fallen onto the rug, the sun isn’t glaring through the window, there’s no-one at the front door. No-one’s standing chatting by her gate. No utilities workman is digging up the pavement. There’s no pile-up on the road.

I walk back down the hall. “What’s the matter with you?, ” I enquire stupidly, as one does. 

She looks ……………. how does she look? Not agitated, exactly. Worried? Not really. Concerned? Yes, concerned, I think. Concerned and very serious.

“What’s the matter?” I repeat, puzzled.

A senseless question to ask any dog, let alone a deaf dog.

I stand in the kitchen, looking at her. She’s definitely trying to communicate something. But what?

She follows me into the kitchen and sits down decisively by her food bowl.

Oh, perhaps there’s something in there which I didn’t notice and which is upsetting her.

I peer into the bowl. But it’s clean and shiny and quite empty.

She wriggles and embeds herself back into the ‘dog awaits her breakfast’ mode.

Then, I have to confess, I do something really, really stupid. Stupid even for me.

“But you’ve had your breakfast, you’ve already eaten it,” I tell her.

A flood of sense suddenly bursts into my mind – where from, heaven knows.

Come on. Does she ever carry on like this after she’s eaten her breakfast? No. Does she ever expect more when she’s finished eating? No. Has she ever behaved like this before? No.

Then she’s trying to communicate something ……………………………

I glance again at her bowl. Definitely empty. Definitely clean. Not a crumb to be seen.Very, very clean, as though it’s just been washed.

Oh.

Could I possibly not have fed her?

I peer into the pan of the scales. There, in the pan, is her carefully weighed food.

I had served her an empty bowl.

 

*Isis came from the Aeza cat and dog rescue and adoption centre in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@aeza.org or www.dogwatchuk.co.uk

Posted in clever girl, clever Isis, dear little Isis, Isis at home, relationship building | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

APOLOGY

Posted on June 21, 2020 by patinkingsheath

 

 

Sunday June 21st 2020.

 

Apology: today’s post will not be published until tomorrow!

 

Footnote: Foolish Human has been concentrating on close work for many hours today and ignoring me. Now she’s going cross-eyed.

Serves her right.

Signed electronically,

Isis

Posted in Uncategorized | 6 Comments