what a day it is, what a day …..

Posted on November 28, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday November 27th 2022

 

Monday. Not the greatest beginning to a new week. I’m late getting up – plus ça change there then – and when I wander over to the window and draw back the blinds, it looks as though someone is chucking bucketfuls of rain against the bedroom windows.

Sigh. Yes, Isis will love to go out in it, and generally I’m up for walking whatever the weather, but the days of greyness seem relentlessly determined to carry on for ever.

And then I see it: the front nearside tyre of my car is pancake flat.

Groan.

So many decisions to make. It’s all to0 much in the morning. Must ring my breakdown service immediately. But no, best to have a shower first as they might come out before I’m dressed. But on a day like this, there might be hundreds of breakdowns, and I have an appointment at 4.10 this afternoon. But it’s only 11.00. Get in the b. shower. No, must let Isis out and give her her breakfast first.

Inevitably, this internal debate has delayed me, so it’s well after twelve by the time I’m back downstairs to face the next dilemma. Isis hasn’t been out yet. I should take her before I ring the breakdown. But then I might miss the appointment. On the other hand, if the rescue people come late, there might not be time for her walk before it’s time to leave, and when I get home it’ll be dark, and Isis will refuse to go out. If I don’t have the tyre fixed today, though, what if there’s an emergency? What if Isis needs to be rushed to the vet?

I ring Motoring Assistance. The phone at the other end is picked up immediately (yes, really). About an hour later, a guy is here to change the tyre.

The surgery is only five minutes away. There’s plenty of time to take Isis for a walk.

The rain is still very heavy, so heavy that, for the first time in years, I think Isis needs some weatherproofing! Her natural coat takes hours to dry out thoroughly, and, clearly,  she’ll be soaked. Ellie, my previous dog, had a red raincoat which proved much too small for Isis, but it’ll be better than nothing.

I  riffle through the animal bedding, vet cones and clothing cache. Nothing. Must have given Ellie’s little red coat away. Then, right at the back I come across another coat. It looks new, it’s waterproof and it even has a warm lining; furthermore, astonishingly, it looks big enough for Isis.

Slowly, the memory comes back. It’s 2014, and Hairy One’s first winter in Britain. Adopters are advised by Dogwatch U.K. that their Spanish and Portugese dogs, acclimatised to warm temperatures, will need coats in cooler countries.

It was obvious that Isis was warm enough during the autumn months, but a warm winter coat was bought for when it would be needed. When the icy weather came, she wore it for several days before I realised, when she settled in the car for the home journey, that the poor little creature was very hot. She was, of course, young and energetic, and she had grown her own thick winter coat.

The new coat was put away and completely forgotten.

Today a very cold wind kindly accompanies the rain. I carry the coat downstairs, wondering how she’ll react to it.

She seems a little surprised that I’m adding yet another layer on top of her harness, and turns her head to sniff at it. I expect that she recognises her own scent on it even though she’s not worn it for over eight years. She accepts it without further investigation, and after Human has worked out how to thread the lead through the little slit in order to attach it to her harness, we’re ready for off.

The coat fits perfectly, and looks very cosy; it even has a stand up collar to keep the back of a dog’s neck dry.

 

 

 

 

 

Very chic, Isis.

 

The new coat does not cramp her style, and we jog off along the pavement, Isis holding her tail aloft, and waving it joyfully. I bear in mind the many times when she has zipped off after scenting a cat, and I have narrowly avoided measuring my length on the pavement: I keep a very close look-out for sudden changes of gear, and there are no mishaps.

Isis investigates each of the myriad scents she comes across, and would like to stay out longer, but, mindful of my appointment, I persuade her to head for home.

Wonderful! Only her head, ears and feet need drying. I hurry upstairs to change, checking the time every few minutes. Before I leave, I check on Isis. Yes, she’s warm, dry and looks very contented.

When I snap on my seat belt, it’s exactly four 0’clock. It usually takes five minutes to reach the surgery, but it’s best to arrive early.

I turn on the engine and reach for my driving glasses.

*”**”*! I’ve left them in the house. Off with the engine. Off with the seat belt. Unzip inside pocket, and scrabble for house keys. Back out into the rain. Only a quick search is necessary. Found them!

It’s still not quite five past four yet. I’ll make it.

But, as usual, I have too many things in my hands. Just as I’m about to open the car door, glug-clank – the car keys have slipped between my fingers, and are lying in the gutter under about three inches of swirling rain water.

**”*! **”*!  and double **”*! I scream against the wind. The spare key is broken and has not yet been replaced, the case enclosing the key in the gutter doesn’t fit properly and often comes apart.

Eek! If the chip gets wet, the key may not work. It must be dried thoroughly.

Keep calm, you still have three minutes to get there.

Forgetting that my phone is under my right arm, I reach forward to open the driver’s door. Gurgle, thud! My phone drops into the gutter. I’m beside myself with rage, and muttering, “How could you be so – – – – – – –  stupid?”, retrieve the phone and attempt to dry it.

It’s now almost ten past four. I shoot off, park the car and race over the road to the surgery.

Today’s not my lucky day. In front of me, a guy is having a protracted debate with the practice manager so it’s impossible to approach a receptionist. By the time I’m able to announce my arrival, it’s almost twenty minutes past four.

The receptionist tells me that the nurse needs twenty minutes to complete my blood tests,  and I’m almost twenty minutes late, so the appointment must be re-booked.

Not wishing to tempt fate, I drive home very slowly, and creep up the path like a tranquilised snail. Once indoors, I am ridiculously cautious, refraining from walking  around in my socks, taking the stairs one at a time, drying my hands meticulously before inserting plugs into sockets.

Isis welcomes me onto the day bed, where I doss for most of the evening. She is very relaxed, shunts herself against me comfortingly, and even stays snuggled close to me when I cover her with a fleece.

I call it a day.

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

Posted in a joyful dog, a very good dog, dear little Isis, glorious rain!, Isis at home, rain and more rain, scenting, sleeping, sleeping arrangements, walking my deaf/blind dog | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

rain and floof, rain and floof

Posted on November 20, 2022 by patinkingsheath

A post should appear every Sunday

 

Sunday November 20th 2022

 

The first part of the week is consistently* wet; consequently, Isis chooses pavement walks on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. We take a different route each day, so there are plenty of messages from other dogs for her to sniff around and pee on.

*I use the word ‘consistently’ very loosely. It is rare in Britain for the weather to be consistent for an hour, let alone a whole day; thus, when Isis sets off confidently for her pavement walk, you can bet your life that before long, the sun pops out for few minutes and stops her in her tracks.

We don’t remain stationary for long, however, as Human has devised a strategy for moving on the poor, persecuted pet. The strategy arose from Hairy One’s objection to having her bottom sniffed – not by me, I hasten to add, as I’ve not yet reached that degree of depravity – but by other curious canines.

When she’s assaulted by a cold, huffing nose, she shoots forward with seldom demonstrated alacrity, in order to escape. Now, so far, I’ve refrained from kneeling on the ground, but if no-one is watching, I’m not averse to leaning close to her tail and blowing on it suggestively. This, as a last resort, is usually effective. But, to be fair, she has become much more tolerant of light changes, and as long as she’s not walking towards the sun, she copes well.

On Thursday, we shift to drizzly patches rather than downpours, and we venture to Highbury. Human, quite reasonably, she thinks, tries to persuade Isis to walk with her on the grass, rather than squelch through the mud covered track. I wonder why it is that presumeably otherwise sane dog walkers tramp along the edge of this field, following exactly in the boot prints of all the other walkers, and creating a boggy mess.

If Isis smells a path, she always wants to follow it. To her, paths are safer than unmarked routes. This, of course, makes sense to a blind dog. Perhaps the human walkers just become habituated. Anyway, Human soon becomes tired of patting Isis in the direction of clean grass. She also begins to feel guilty about attempting to keep Hairy One’s fluffy feet and ankles clean. A dog should be allowed to get dirty.

We complete our cicuit of the field via the claggy path, and take a short cut to the main, tarmacked path. Hardly has Isis set paw on the main path, than a family walking towards us stops in its tracks. There are three adults, a granddad, his daughter and his grandson, I surmise.

They gaze down in awe at Isis, and the lady tells me, ‘We couldn’t let you go past without asking you about your beautiful dog.’

Beautiful Dog stands patiently close by as I answer all their questions. I explain about Portugese podengos and Spanish podencos and their hunting skills. They are impressed that this dog is behaving so well, waiting by me and not chasing around looking for something to hunt. Inevitably, this leads to my explaining that she has no useful sight or hearing.

‘Would she let me stroke her?’, the lady enquires. As usual, I invite her to let Isis sniff her hand first. This is a person, I observe, who has empathy with animals. She is such a lovely person that I find myself willing Isis to respond.

Slowly and carefully, the lovely lady approaches Isis, and profers her hand.

‘Yes,’ says the lady, ‘I think she’s going to sniff my hand’, then, as Hairy One dodges the hand and trots off, adds, ‘Or not.’

Then, after more admiring comments about fluffy coats and fetching ears, as the trio turns to leave, they thank us for a delightful end to a pleasant walk.

Since autumn began, virtually everyone we meet is visibly startled by the whiteness of Hairy’s coat.

 

 

 

It is a strangely bright white. She could almost be in an advert for Persil.

I hope she’s not radio-active.

Her winter coat is exceptional this year. Here is a selection of her admirers’ comments over the past week:

‘Ooooo – floofy! So-o-o-o-o floofy.’

‘I can’t believe how fluffy she is.’

‘She’s so Christmassy, I could put her under my Christmas tree. What about giving her a red bow?’

‘I just love those ears (demonstrates with hands) how they stand up and the hairs flow down.’

‘What a beautiful dog.’

‘He/she is amazing.’

‘All that hair. I can’t believe it.’

‘She’s made my day.’

And, inevitably, ‘What is she?’

Of course many people want to pat her. I always ask them to let her sniff their hand first so that she knows where the pat is coming from, and explain why. Sometimes people say, ‘Oh no, I don’t want to frighten her.’ Sometimes they proffer a hand, but it’s very rare for anyone to have their hand sniffed, for nine times out of ten, she hurries off  as soon as they move close to her.

As Kerry once told her, it’s a shame she doesn’t know how beautiful she is. I’m not so sure. She might become even more entitled!

And even more nonchalant about leaving her beautiful fluffiness all over the house.

(A friend and I used to spend time thinking about inventing a self-cleaning house. His idea was to have in each room a permeable ceiling above which was a ceiling-sized vacuum, so  that you could just flick a switch and the dirt would rise and enter a holding tank. I thought that system would make the room super dusty, and posited that it would be better to have the suction underneath the permeable flooring. We agreed on that but never got round to making a prototype.)

I’m sad that Isis is still so anxious around strange people and strange dogs. She has very few human friends, and is never effusive towards the chosen few, but those whom she trusts are her friends for life.

Last Friday we meet up with Bev and Nancy. They have been away for several weeks, and Nancy, who is now twelve, is some distance away. I bend towards her, arms wide, and she gallops towards me for hugs and a treat.

Isn’t that sweet, Isis?

‘Huh!’

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

Posted in deaf/blind dog, dear little Isis, Highbury Park, Isis knows best, Isis says "No"., learning to trust, oh dear, park dogs, park people, patience is a virtue., poor Isis, rain, rain and more rain, relationship building, scenting, something's not right, these dogs!, walking in the park, walking my deaf/blind dog, we don't like bright light, we don't like bright sun, what on earth's the matter?, who'd be a human? | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

a week in autumn

Posted on November 13, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

A post should appear every Sunday

 

Sunday November 13th 2022

 

On Monday we walk in Highbury. For some reason, on this day, Isis receives even more  ‘oos’ and ‘ahs’ than usual. Almost all of her admirers are taken aback by her fluffiness.

“Oh, she’s so fluffy.”

“So’s my house”, I reply truthfully.

“She’s so clean. How do you keep her so clean? Do you have to give her lots of baths?”

I answer that I can’t remember when I last bathed her, and I don’t. Her coat seems to be self-cleaning. Dirt just seems to  drop off her, usually onto the floor at home, which, sadly, is not self-cleaning.

I do have to brush Isis frequently, I admit, so that she doesn’t get tangled.

“But doesn’t she run through the mud?”

Now this is a F.A.Q., and inevitably leads to  my explaining Hairy One’s disabilities. The people whom she hasn’t walked into yet are always astonished that she is happily finding her way around off lead without any problems.

Having her leads to some very interesting conversations. There’s a sweet Irish guy who often walks around Highbury while waiting to pick up his daughter from a nearby school. He was very taken with Isis when he first met her, and sometimes says, “I’d love to give her a cuddle, but I know I can’t because she’d be frightened.”

On Tuesday we take the track from Holders Lane through to Cannon Hill Park.

It’s a good walk. When the light’s too bright, Isis employs her passive resistance technique, refusing to walk until I clip on her lead, and this works very well.

Poor Isis. If she only knew that she will have her rear clipped before this afternoon’s vet visit for anal gland emptying: last time the nurse couldn’t find her bottom, let alone her anal glands!

My little dog is exhausted tonight.

It’s Wednesday, and our morning walk in Kings Heath Park is the only pleasant part of a long and exasperating day.

Why? Because Human is such a procrastinator. Her car and breakdown insurance expire at midnight, and at the moment she feels that she might well expire well before then.

For years, she’s put off sorting out her car related documents as she’s carried on with the same insurer which also selects the breakdown service. Today she has to research other insurers and breakdown services.

Thank dog for confused.com.

She spends the rest of the day chasing information about her no claims bonus and the date of the last claim made. To top it all, she has to obtain a DVLA certificate, and has lost the reminder, the reference number of which is also required.

Moral: it’s not a brilliant idea to wait until the expiry day before you sort out the necessary documentation.

Now it’s Thursday. Not only does it tip down all day long, but Human, still exhausted from Wednesday’s debâcle, turns her back on the outside world and dozes on the daybed until late afternoon, Isis stretched out beside her.

 

 

By the time we leave the house, it’s still drizzling off and on, and the sky is relentlessly grey, so Isis is amenable to a road walk. I’m not feeling fully awake when we set off, but we’ve haven’t gone far when Isis jerks me to full consciousness.

Literally.

She gives a sudden, violent tug on her lead and gallops along the pavement. I skitter behind her on the wet flagstones, expecting to hit the deck at any second. Miraculously, I remain upright, even when she turns abruptly left onto someone’s garden path.

Yes, I understand, Isis: a kitty lives here.

Once she realises that she will not be allowed to follow the scent  up to the front door and into the house, she reluctantly gives in and returns to the pavement.

It isn’t long before there’s a second hefty jerk on the lead, and another fruitless pursuit. But fortunately, I am now fully awake and watching her like the proverbial hawk.

I fantasise that roadfuls of cats have simultaneously awoken to the fact that, for the first time today, it’s not tipping it down, and have popped out for a breather.

On Friday, before we set off for Highbury, I empty my stubborn pet’s sardine and Burns’ supper into a plastic bag and shove it into my pocket. At least the crows will benefit from the recalcitrant creature’s fasting.

The crows are delighted with our gift, and dozens of them follow the fishy trail, gobbling the fragments.

As we leave the happy birds behind, heavy drops plop onto us. The local forecast said there’d be a downpour around 3.00, and here it is. Two people who were walking towards us beat a hasty retreat beneath a huddle of trees, while I creep under a single, very leafy one. After a few minutes, Isis becomes bored with standing still, and, tempted by some magnetic scent, sniffs her way to the path which leads to the pond. Soon she’ll turn the corner, and I’ll not be able to see her.

Sigh. Thanks Isis.

I emerge from clusters of leaves to find that the rain is nowhere near as bad as the forecast predicted. We walk on up the hill, then descend to the flower meadow and make our way home. We’ve been lucky: as we leave the car park, the rain begins to pound against the windscreen. It rains all through the night.

Today, Saturday, is dry and quite sunny. We head for Holders Lane woods and circle back via the sports’ fields.

It’s been  a very good week for sniffing.

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

 

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you needn’t think I’m eating that!

Posted on November 6, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday 6th November 2022

 

Isis swishes past me as she leaves the kitchen and stalks into the hall. When I check her dish, I observe that the food is untouched.

I open the following conversation.

What’s the matter with you? You’ve left your delicious meal.

You needn’t think I’m eating that.

Why not, you ungrateful animal. Did you order it with a parsley garnish?

Those kibbles and that mince are very expensive. Many a hungry dog would be grateful for that meal.

Give it to them then.

Isis! What is the matter with you?

You’re trying to poison me.

Don’t be ridiculous.

I peer into the dish. There, beneath the kibbles, and scattered cunningly among the curls of mince, are  little bits of NexGard Spectre. Not only will these tablets eliminate ten different species of parasites – all drawn in revolting detail on the front of the pack – they are also, I am assured, chewable and palatable to most dogs.

I don’t read out the Latin nomenclature of all the nasties, although it’s quite fascinating, since Isis hasn’t studied Latin, and would find it confusing.

I’m not being reclidious. There’s something very nasty in my food. I can smell it from here.

It’s a special tablet to get rid of worms.

What worms?  I never eat worms. Do you think I’m stupid? And you hid nasty stuff in my bowl without telling me.

Well, hook worms, eye worms, heart worms, round ……

I just told you – I haven’t eaten any worms.

You don’t have to eat them. They just sort of …… get inside you.

Why don’t you stop them? You’re supposed to be looking after me.

I can’t see them because ……

There you are. I knew they weren’t any worms. Liar.

Isis!

Well, I’m sick of being aboosed. Just because you’re a human and I’m only a dog. I’m being x plited.

(Oh dog! That Brummy accent.)

Oh, for goodness sake. You’re not being exploited. Or abused. Just tell me one time you’ve been abused.

When I’d only just come to live with you, we were in the car and you kept smacking me right on my muzzle. For nothing.

Yes, I did. You bit me and you wouldn’t take your teeth out of my thumb.

You were strangling me. You tried to kill me!

I did no such thing. You twirled round and round until your lead was wrapped round your neck, and I was trying to untangle you.

Huh! Liar. And then you took me to Wales and tried to poison me twice while we were there.

What are you on about?

You did. You did. You did. One night you fed me a whole sweet potato with its soil still on.

I most certainly did not. You found it in a shopping basket and ate all of it while I was asleep.

But it shouldn’t have been there. I got bad tummy ache. It was very cold outside, and you had to keep taking me out into the garden. I had to keep shi-

(Human hurriedly interrupts)

Yes, yes. I remember it very well, thank you.

And then the next day, you forced me to eat Krismus cake. And all the time you knew it had things in it that could kill an inner sent dog.

Absolute rubbish. You snitched it.

Well, you shouldn’t have left it on the floor when you you went into the kitchen. It’s negglee jens.

I did NOT leave it on the floor. I put it on the table.

Huh!

And as soon as I went out, you sprang up onto the arm of my chair, put your paws on the table and snaffled it. You’d swallowed it before I got back.

Well, S. was there. She should have stopped me.

You were so quick, she couldn’t get out of her chair in time. We had no idea a small, blind dog could do something like that.

I’ve got a nose, haven’t I?

Yes, dear. We just didn’t know you could leap onto a chair, launch yourself from the arm and stretch your legs and neck out that far.

Oh, and I nearly forgot. Once, when I got wet running into the sea, we came home and you tried to suffickate me. You dropped something over my head. I couldn’t breathe.

Yes, I covered you with a towel, and you were hysterical. I did say I was sorry. I didn’t realise that you hadn’t been dried before.

You’ve always got an x queues. You still do nasty things to me all the time. Like when you put my harness on, and you’ve got your speck tickles hanging round your neck, and when you bend down they bash me on the head.

Sigh.

It’s nearly as bad as trying to poison me again. And tonight’s not the first time you’ve given me nasty things to eat. You’re trying to get rid of me, and it’s not right, and I’M NEVER, EVER, GOING TO EAT THIS FOOD WITH POISON IN IT, AND YOU NEEDN’T THINK I AM.

She jumps up onto the day bed, and turns her back on me.

SIGH.

I should have known better.

I go back into the kitchen, bend over her bowl, and begin picking out all the fragments of NexGard (chewable, and considered very palatable by most dogs). The medication has become very sticky, and it’s extremely difficult to dislodge the pinky- brown remnants of it from between my fingers and under my nails.

At last her bowl is medication free.

I transfer the mince and kibbles to a clean bowl, and serve her meal again. This time, she polishes it all off without a murmur.

When she leaves the kitchen, I remove a pack of strong cheddar from the fridge, make little claggy balls of cheese, painstakingly insert a fragment of the tablet into each one and plug it with a little more cheddar.

Somehow, by now I’ve gone off the idea of eating a meal, and decide I’ll just have some toast.

I perform my ‘something very tasty is coming your way’ routine before hand feeding her each of the balls.

She accepts them all, dances and twirls a little, grabs Old Polar Bear, drags him into her bed and mouths him thoughtfully for at least an hour.

This is her ‘very contented dog’ behaviour.

 

 

 

 

Thank dog for cheese, I say.

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

 

Posted in a very naughty dog, clever Isis, deaf/blind dog plays, Isis at home, Isis is no angel, Isis knows best, Isis says "No"., oh dear, patience is a virtue., something's not right, strange behaviour, twirling, what on earth's the matter?, who'd be a human? | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

how wonderful you are …..

Posted on October 30, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday October  30th 2022

 

I’m glad that little Isis refused to eat only kibbles for breakfast, and spurned her kibbles with sardines for supper. Good for her. I have, I conclude, been incredibly dense. As creatures grow older, of course they change. Why shouldn’t a dog become bored with her monotonous diet? People do. Now I am old, I am repulsed by the very thought of the pilchards atop baked beans on toast which I happily downed in my student days.

So, it’s a tablespoon of minced beef with her breakfast, another with her supper. What a contented little podengo lives here.

A long time vegetarian, Human doesn’t relish dealing with meat, especially raw meat, and  shudders as she looks at, handles and cooks it.

Isis responds very differently. On Saurday, when I remove the pack from the fridge, open it, and get out the pan, she comes into the kitchen and lies at my feet. She’s never done this before. Then, while it’s being cooked, she sits just inside the back room, her pink and black spotted nose whiffling in anticipation.

Wherever she is as I remove her the cooked meat from the fridge, that nose soon picks up the tantalising smell. When I begin to pour boiling water over the mince, she trots down the hall and stands in the kitchen doorway, waiting for me to pat her in. When she sits, I tap her under her chin, partly close the door to eliminate any light which might be sneaking through from the porch, and creep away.

 

 

 

 

Now, you may recall that since the mince regime began, Human had seen huge improvements in Hairy One’s dining room manners. It had reached the point when Human only needed to give Hairy a gentle poke in the side in response to the first woof, and to lift her feeder two centimeters off the floor in response to the second woof, and the barking ceased. More progress came, and only the gentle poke was necessary to quell the barking. A huge improvement from the habitual outbursts which could last until she’d finished eating.

This week, believe it or not, her mealtimes are barkless. Yes, really. Barkless. She approaches her dish, I retreat and wait nearby, ready to intervene.

And wait. And wait.

Nothing happens.

All I can hear is a very quiet munching, and, now and again, the clink of her bell making contact with the rim of her dish.

After a few days, I discover that I can even walk into the hall and upstairs without provoking a volley of growls, snarls and ear piercing yaps.

Life is so much easier now: I don’t have to unscrew the clamp in order to remove her bowl of water so that she doesn’t splosh it all over the floor, then replace the clamp to secure her food dish; I don’t have to  wipe bits of soggy kibble from the wall and floor after she’s eaten. Isis is eating like a ordinary dog.

I am absolutely delighted.

And it’s only taken eight years and two months!

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

Posted in a very good dog, clever girl, deaf/blind dog, dear little Isis, food rage, Isis at home, Isis knows best, patience is a virtue., these dogs!, we don't like bright light, who'd be a human? | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

(s)he who dares wins

Posted on October 24, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday October 23rd 2022

 

This really isn’t the best week I’ve ever had.

Mealtimes have been easy since best quality minced beef has been added to Hairy One’s breakfast. On Tuesday evening though, I absent-mindedly serve her minced beef for her supper too, instead of her usual sardine.

I note that there are only three tins of sardines left, so the following day I stock up with half a dozen tins while I’m in Lidl’s. Good. These will last her for a while.

That evening, as usual, I serve her a plump sardine with her kibble.

She stands by her dish and sniffs. Then she walks out of the kitchen. Oh dear, she must be feeling off-colour: she’s seemed fine all day, but we all go off our food sometimes. I leave her dish on its stand in case she comes round later.

She doesn’t, but she greets me with her usual enthusiasm in the morning, bouncing up and down on the daybed as I attempt to secure her collar round her neck. I throw away the uneaten meal, and offer her a replacement. She’s still not interested though. This is very strange. A few weeks ago, she would have been thrilled to have a sardine added to her kibble breakfast. Perhaps a good walk will whet her appetite.

Or not.

I haven’t had the heart to deprive her of her bedtime treats, and note that her enthusiasm for gravy bones, Markies and Schmackos is undiminished. She is obviously not unwell.

But she continues to ignore her breakfast. This is ridiculous. As the day goes on though, it suddenly dawns on me that she might be holding out for the mince. I look at her. She lifts up her head, but won’t even approach her dish.

I can’t believe it. Normally, she has a good appetite. Yes, I must be right: she’s convinced that if she refuses to eat for long enough, I’ll give in and produce mince with everything.

Little toad!

I am determined not to be manipulated. “There are thousands of poor, starving dogs who’d be grateful for kibble and sardine”, I tell her.

She is unmoved.

Time passes. Friday evening comes, and Isis is still steadfastly refusing to eat either kibbles on their own or kibbles with sardines.

She’s not eaten a meal since Wednesday morning. I look at her. She’s small and dependent. I’m big and powerful. She’ll be ill if she carries on like this.

I get out the mince, put a tablespoonful into her dish, pour a little boiling water on top, stir until it exudes a thin gravy, then add the kibble.

She’s at the kitchen door, wrinkling her nose. I give her the ‘eat it’ signal, and retreat.

I can’t hear a sound from the kitchen. She is so quiet that I have to check her dish to be sure she’s eaten at all.

As the strip light flickers on, it reveals a dish licked to a high polish.

She trots to her dog bed, grabs Squirrel by its neck and shakes it victoriously.

 

*****

 

Preparing Isis for the great outdoors is so much easier now. The old harness had a separate space for each front leg, so that no sooner had I managed to insert a second leg, than she withdrew the first and so on and on and on – a veritable Hokey Cokey.*

You just pop her new Easyfit harness over her head, click on one strap, and away we go.

On Sunday Isis decides to frighten Human to death. We walk across Jasmin Fields, down the steps to the canal towpath, along to Brandwood End Tunnel and then back through one of the woodland paths. It’s muddy underfoot, and soon Hairy’s pads are black.

About halfway along the path I glance behind me to check that she is keeping up with me, and all I can see is an Isis shaped gap. I retrace my footsteps, expecting to find her round a bend in the path, but she’s not there.

I’m anxious now, and stride back to the beginning of the path. Has she wandered down  one of several other tracks? Each one leads back to Jasmin Fields, and she’s familiar with all of them. I search the area. There’s no sign of her, and I hear no tinkling bell betraying  her presence.

I decide that the best plan is to get back to the Fields as quickly as possible, in case she decides to walk through the gate and cross the road to the car.

I rush back to the path we had taken, and break into a trot. Now that it’s twenty minutes since I last saw her, nasty possibilities flash into my mind, and I’m becoming increasingly afraid for her.

The path seems to go on for ever. About three quarters of the way along it, I stumble round a tight bend, and there, standing a few yards in front of me, is my Isis. She’s picked up my scent and is facing me, waiting for me to approach her.

She doesn’t look at all bothered, and obviously she doesn’t think she’s lost. Where the hell has she been?

She looks rather surprised that I am making such a fuss of her, and soon turns round and walks ahead of me.

 

 

 

It’s then that I notice how clean and pink her previously black pads have become.

The penny drops. She’s not been wandering through the woods, she’s been sniffing around in the wet grass. She must have been ahead of me, not behind me, must have walked on until she reached the Fields, and then, after a while, decided that she’d better come back and fetch me.

Very sensible from her point of view, I suppose.

 

*The Hokey Cokey

You put your right leg inYour right leg outIn, out, in, outYou shake it all about

You do the hokey cokeyAnd you turn aroundThat’s what it’s all about …….

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

Posted in clever girl, Isis at home, Isis in danger, Isis in danger, Isis knows best, Isis says "No"., Jasmin Fields, oh dear, patience is a virtue., scenting, something's not right, strange behaviour, these dogs!, walking my deaf/blind dog, what on earth's the matter?, who'd be a human? | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

well, really!

Posted on October 15, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday October 15th 2022

 

A few days ago, I read a short article which emphasised the importance of understanding your dog. “I try hard to do that,” I tell myself smugly.

 

 

 

“Really?”

 

 

A little minced beef mixed in with her Burns kibble continues to work very well for Her Highness’s breakfast. For her evening meal, I decide, she just needs something tasty with her Burns; that will ensure that she’s keen to eat it.

On Monday, I add two large spoonfuls of Chappie to her dry food. She turns her nose up. Perhaps she’s feeling a bit off. I leave the meal. She’ll eat it later.

She doesn’t.

What’s the matter with her? Until a couple of months ago, she would demolish her dry food and Chappie with the normal enthusiasm of any hungry dog.

On Thursday, forgetting that I’d opened a tin of sardines in olive oil for her the day before, I add half a tray of very superior dog meat to her Burns.

The little toad doesn’t even sniff the meat, but stands a couple of inches away from her dish, wrinkles her nose disdainfully, and retires. I can’t believe it. It smells good enough to me for human consumption.

Perhaps it’s because the meat contains very small amounts of rice, carrot and peas. I insist that the naughty little animal revisits the kitchen, and give her the ‘eat it’ taps again. She backs away, exits her dining room for a second time and, to underline that she has no intention of eating, curls up on the day bed.

Ellie, my previous dog, loved fruit and vegetables, and would even pick herself blackcurrants, strawberries and blackberries.

Obviously, Isis is not a devotee of healthy eating.

Irritating creature.

I think about the ‘understanding your dog’ article, and wonder what she is trying to communicate. Once more I tell myself that there is always a reason for an animal’s behaviour. It’s just a matter of its human working harder to discover it.

When I finish my book at 2.00 a.m., she’s still tucked behind my legs, sleeping soundly on the day bed. She hasn’t left the nest since she rejected her food. She must be hungry.

I take her out into the garden, then empty her dish, wash it and serve her a fresh helping of kibble. I add a fat sardine.

She can’t wait to begin, and, apart from contented munching, there isn’t a sound until loud clanks announce that she has finished eating and is giving the dish a good licking to make sure there’s not an edible fragment left.

How different her attitude to food is from that of the ravenous little dog who, soon after she was adopted, swiped a lettuce leaf from my plate as I was eating, and ate a condom she found in a car park.

By the time she reached her optimun weight, she had lost interest in lettuce and condoms. Since then, she has cleared her dish. With a huge amount of noise, yes, but refusing to eat? No way!

Humans become used to their felines being horrified when offered today the same kind of food they were crazy about yesterday. But dogs?

Perhaps it’s an age thing. People tend to eat less as they grow older. Do dogs’ appetites decline as they age? Do their taste buds become fewer so that they need more piquant meals, food which smells stronger and tastes more interesting?

Definitely, it seems. I just stopped writing in order to read several online articles about appetite changes in older dogs. (Little Isis must be over nine now, so reluctantly, I have to concede that she is an older dog.) One writer stated that dogs have a weaker sense of taste than other animals. Interesting. The consensus is that appetite changes are common as they get older, as their sense of smell and taste decline.

That makes sense. So it probably isn’t the trauma of travelling all the way to Cornwall and back in an unfamiliar car, or nasty Human’s embargo on barking while eating.

Isis: Human, you really haven’t been listening to me: I’ve been telling you for ages that fishy, cheesy and real meaty foods are my favourites. It took Tony’s suggestion of offering me mince in the morning to get you to provide me with a decent breakfast. Surely you’re not so dim that you couldn’t work out that I need a decent tea as well!

Obviously you are.

Sigh.

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

Posted in food rage, Isis at home, Isis knows best, Isis says "No"., oh dear, patience is a virtue., poor Isis, something's not right, strange behaviour, these dogs!, what on earth's the matter?, who'd be a human? | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

oh my!

Posted on October 9, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday October 9th 2022

 

The tasty additions to Hairy One’s meals continue to transform her attitude to food. I think that the poor dog must have been bored with the taste and smell of the menu Human provided day in, day out.

Now she has mince with her dry food at breakfast and other tempting additions served for her supper, for example:

grated cheese

a fat sardine or mackeral

high quality wet food with rice, peas and carrot

Chappie mixed into  a gravy with a little hot water

She is very eager to eat, and clears her bowl at breakfast and supper. Now, I decide, is the optimum time to work at eliminating her defensive behaviour around food. As she begins to eat, I slip round the corner and take up my position in the room next door to the kitchen.

This time round, I am determined that I will not allow myself to be half-hearted. At the very first woof, I walk swiftly into the kitchen.

But instead of arguing about who has possession of the bowl, taking it away and plonking it on the side and provoking a spate of frenzied twirlin, growing and barking, I try simply lifting her feeder an inch and then replacing it immediately, before she has time to fly into a rage.

It works.

And when she utters a second woof, I give her a gentle poke with my index finger. Only twice this week, has she given a third woof and received a second gentle poke; also, I have to admit, the bark is very muffled, very different from the resounding cacophonies which bounced off the kitchen walls twice a day.

The last two days have been even better: I’ve responded to the opening woof by rocking the feeder briefly, then adding the gentle poke, and that’s been that. And twice, I’ve not had to intervene at all, instead, have just stood still enjoying the blissful sound of contented chomping, followed by claws rattling their way towards her bed where she relaxes and settles with her toys.

 

 

 

 

What heavenly delight.

She is preparing for winter, and is astonishingly bright and fluffy. I think that clipping her in the summer has made her coat even thicker than it was before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every time we go out, she provokes ‘oos’ and ‘ahs’ and people of all ages want to stroke her. People who have not come across her before want to know what she is and where she came from. A few notice her eyes, or see that she is about to walk into them, and ask if she is blind. Most are incredulous if they discover that she is deaf and blind after seeing her navigating the park.

I have had many very interesting conversations which just wouldn’t have happened if Isis hadn’t been with me.

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

Posted in a very good dog, deaf/blind dog, deaf/blind dog plays, dear little Isis, food rage, Isis at home, Isis is no angel, oh dear, patience is a virtue., something's not right, these dogs!, training, twirling, who'd be a human? | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

a man called Michael

Posted on October 2, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday  October 2nd 2022

 

In the comments section of the penultimate post – you can take a horse to water – Tony suggested that a way of breaking Hairy One’s recently acquired habit of refusing to eat her breakfast might be to give her turkey mince. Nancy Labradoodle finds it irresistible, apparently.

I couldn’t access any turkey mince in time for the following morning, so bought free range beef mince instead, and mixed it in with her Burns biscuits. This worked like a charm. Not only did she clear her dish, she didn’t even lift her nose from the dish long enough to bark.

Thank you Tony!

She still struggles to surpress at least two single yaps with each meal, but Human helps immensely by removing the delicious meal immediately, so the wild growling, snapping and leaping throughout the meal isn’t happening any more.

When her food is taken away, her immediate reaction is to seague into a frenzied growly spin mode. I try blocking her so that she can’t spin, and am pleased to see that she is calm enough to eat again within a few seconds.

Another positive for me is that I no longer have to wear a padded gauntlett when I remove her food: even though she objects to what I’m doing, she never attempts to bite me.

Most of her fears have faded. She’s still wary of most other dogs but is able to encounter them without cringing, and sometimes even exchanges a thoughtful sniff. Every now and then she accepts a face lick from Nancy, who realised some time ago that bits of treats may get stuck in a hairy friend’s whiskers!

After her very positive encounters with strangers while she was in Cornwall, I looked forward to her being much less wary of people she encounters on her Birmingham walks. But no, she is only confident with Bev. She is uncomfortable with anyone else she meets.

Even though I am well aware of this, I was very shocked by her reaction to a stranger yesterday.

We park outside the Co-op on Vicarage Road so that I can nip into the shop. The sunroof, boot and all the windows are left open in case the car becomes too warm.

I’m only away a few minutes, but when I turn the key in the ignition, the engine merely chugs. This takes me by surprise since the battery is relatively new. Then I discover that the plastic key cover has cracked, dislodging the key shaft and preventing it from connecting with the immobiliser. Nothing I try remedies the situation.

My mobile isn’t functioning so I can’t ‘phone for help, nor can I remember which rescue service I’m registered with. Since all the windows are all open and all the doors unlocked, I don’t want to abandon the car while we walk home to pick up the spare key.

Eventually, I get Isis out of the car and walk over to two friendly looking guys who have been chatting outside since we first parked. I explain my dilemma, and ask them for how long they’ll be around. They tell me only for about twenty minutes, and I prepare to set off home with Isis.

Then one of these guys says to the other,

“Tell you what – I’ll drive her home to get the key, while you watch the car.”

I warn the guy, whose name I later discover is Michael, that Isis will drop hairs in his car, but he assures me that he has been around dogs all his life and isn’t at all worried about dog hairs! Apparently, his grandmother fostered rescue dogs.

I climb into the front seat hauling a very reluctant Isis onto my lap. Then I discover that she is absolutely terrified. She presses the front of her body into mine and hooks a front leg over each of my shoulders. Her legs and body are rigid with fear and she is shaking like I’ve never felt a dog shake before.

To make matters worse, every now and then, Michael, with the kindest of intentions, gently strokes her head and whispers soothing reassurances. Clearly, he has an affinity with frightened animals. But she doesn’t know the smell of his car, and she doesn’t know him.

I’m devastated to have put her through such a dreadful ordeal. When we arrive, I have to peel her from me and lift her onto the pavement. But as soon as she walks into the porch, she relaxes, and I know she’ll be all right on her own for a few minutes.

Apart from poor Hairy One’s truly gut-wrenching terror, my brief encounter with Michael is a heart-warming experience. On the way back to my car, he tells me about his grandmother and his parents  – he has dual nationality. We discuss people’s attitudes towards those of different ethnicity. He isn’t in the slightest judgemental, just intelligent, discerning, empathetic and, I feel, a little sad about how people sometimes close themselves off from those different from themselves.

When I tell him how grateful I am for his kindness to me, someone he’d never met before, he tells me how touched he and his friend were that I approched them and asked for their help. By the time I leave his car, we are both on the edge of tears.

Isis is fine now, but I am still wondering where that terror came from. The incident throws a light on her obvious stress when C. drove us to Cornwall. Although Isis knows and likes C., she has never been in her car before. She loves our car, is eager to jump in, and happy to spend any amount of time travelling or snoozing in it. She has been fine when we’ve had a lift in Bev’s car or Y.’s car.

Hmmmm.

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

Posted in a terrified dog, crisis, food rage, Isis says "No"., oh dear, park dogs, park people, relationship building, something's not right, these dogs!, twirling, what on earth's the matter?, who'd be a human? | 2 Comments

you can take a horse to water ……………

Posted on September 25, 2022 by patinkingsheath

 

 

 

 

 

 

A post should appear every Sunday.

 

Sunday  September 25th 2022

 

Poor Isis is in for a big surprise.

My visitor C. eventually decides that Monday’s the big day. She will drive from Wrexham, pick us up with all our dog and human clobber, and we’ll set off for The Lizard Peninsular to visit old friends N and S. S. has generously offered us free use of his cottage.

But shortly before C is due to arrive, I receive a WhatsApp message from N. (Simon is a worrier and always considers the worst that could happen in any given situation.) He is anxious that Isis might:

fall off the staircase, as it is open on one side

get out of the garden and onto the very busy road the other side of the gates

pee on the carpet because she doesn’t know the layout of the cottage.

I reply that Isis will not:

attempt to go upstairs

be let out into the garden unless she is on her lead

pee on the carpet.

N. has absolute faith in me, and reassures S. that all will be well.

When C. arrives, I cover the back seat with a sheet, and place Hairy One’s bed on it. Understandably, she is not keen to get into the car and has to be lifted. She looks very anxious, and I wonder whether she expects to be taken to the kennels.

She refuses a drink of water either in the car or when we get out for coffee about forty miles the other side of Birmingham.

As always when she travels, she is silent. But she doesn’t doze. She is hyper alert, and although we stop twice in laybys to offer her water, she refuses to drink and continues to pant heavily all the way to The Lizard. I conclude that she must be very stressed; we are, of course, very concerned about her.

To our huge relief, once she is allocated a quiet, dimly lit spot in the cottage kitchen, she has a very long drink.

N., who is a dog trainer and ex-breeder of golden retrievers, has extensive experience with dogs, and holds his hand out to her, saying, “Dogs usually like me.” Almost immediately, she moves close to him, sniffs his hand and allows him to stroke her.

That’s a first.

She’ll not eat, but when we move into the sitting room, she settles close by on the carpet, not in the least perturbed by the presence of these two strange men. They fall for her, and are surprised by what a good dog she is. When they are about to leave, she allows S. to stroke her too. He tells her she can come to visit any time!

What a turn-up for the books, as they say.

I place her bed under the stairs where it’s darkest, and spread a sheet on the sofa in case she decides to use it as a substitute for her day bed, but she sleeps on the carpet close to the bottom of the stairs.

She’ll not eat breakfast, but has a large supper. She’ll regulate her own eating, I decide, and stop worrying.

She is understandably nervous about navigating the strange new garden, and needs much touching and guiding, but otherwise she copes well with her new surroundings.

The next day, she is happy to roam with me on the sand dunes. Her tail is high, she revels in the numerous rabbity smells, and she thoroughly enjoys herself.

To my surprise, the following day, although she is keen to go out and happy to be on the dunes again, she doesn’t want to walk as far as the day before. After about twenty minutes, she turns around, and stands on the path facing the way we’ve come.

Strange.

I encourage her to walk on with me, but she very definitely wants to return to the cottage. She follows this pattern the next day too. She is eager to go out but stops at the same place again and insists on returning to the cottage. When she gets ‘home’ she sniffs for C., and wags heartily when she finds her.

It dawns on me that she is insecure when C. is left behind. Next day, we test the thesis, both of us accompanying her on her walk. Sure enough, she walks chirpily towards the horizon, without so much as a glance behind her. She looks as if she’d cheerfully walk for miles, but we have arranged to meet N. & S. at the café run to raise funds for Bolenowe Animal Sanctuary. (N. is a trustee and committee member.)

Sadly, we are unable to visit the sanctuary, as it only opens on Sundays, and we have to leave on Saturday.

Naturally, dogs are welcome at the café. It’s pretty full, and I wonder if Isis will cope. We find a table in a corner, and I settle the Hairy One beneath it, between my knees. I am prepared to have my coffee and cake outside, but surprisingly, she seems calm, and doesn’t tug on her lead asking to leave.

When I get up to look at the merchandise donated by supporters, I hand her lead over to N., telling myself that I mustn’t be long or she will become anxious.

But nothing could be further from the truth.

When I return about twenty minutes later, she is centre stage, surrounded by people from the neighbouring tables, who appear to be competing to pet her. She looks calm and relaxed, and although she registers my return, she doesn’t move to greet me.

How wonderful. I can hardly believe it.

When Mavis approaches with a gravy bone, I explain apologetically that Isis never takes treats from anyone except Bev and me.

Yes, you’ve guessed. Isis gently takes the treat, munches it contentedly, and looks for another.

Customers fill the café. They arrive in ones, twos and groups. As soon as seats are vacated, they are filled by new arrivals. They are all local regulars who typically return week after week to support the hosts and the sanctuary.

C., Isis and I, the only outsiders, couldn’t have received a warmer welcome.

Not only do we have a delightful afternoon, but I see an astonishingly different aspect of Isis.

 

*****

 

After reading the last post (Sunday September 11th) Tony, an assiduous blog follower, suggests a different approach to Isis’s seemingly intransigent and increasingly disgraceful mealtime behaviour. I take his suggestion on board.

What happens?

All will be revealed next week.

 

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.

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