Baxter, our leaper.

Ridge, our groaner.

Idiosyncrasies

I've been working on a book about criminal psychology and profiling (I'm a writer by trade). It's part of a forensics series, and it's amazing how the littlest details can identify the person who commits a crime. It isn't just "hard evidence" like DNA, fiber analysis, and fingerprint matches that identify criminals, but more subjective things as well: habits, styles, actions, mannerisms.

Someone once said that to learn about an artist you have to study his works; to know a criminal you have to study his crime (at least according to former FBI behavioral scientist John Douglas).

Why? Because crime scenes tell you about behavior, and behavior tells you about the person committing the crime. People have indiosyncrasies that are every bit as unique as fingerprints and iris scans.

I guess dogs are like people: they have indiosyncrisies, too. :o)

Ridge is our flip-0n-his-back groaner (something neither of the other two does). He's also our ever-so-gently-plant-his-paws-on-your-shoulders-to-give-you-a-kiss greeter.

Baxter is our lamb-like leaping gazelle (all four feet off the ground) when he's happy. He's also our kangaroo-hop-at-the-gate welcomer (vertically jumping on his back two feet).

Elsie is our flop-against-you leaner. She loves to touch.

When it comes to nuzzling, each has his style: Baxter is a head-on-the-knee kind of guy; Ridge curls up next to us, but doesn't need to touch; Elsie's an I-want-to-be-in-your-lap gal, and if she can't plop her full self in our laps, she plunk her body over both our feet.

Their idiosyncrisies tell us about who they are: Baxter's our exuberant, out-going, full-of-enthusiasm for anything adolescent; Ridge is our faithful, independent-but-neurotic old man; and Elsie is our affectionate, gentle soul.

Each acts differently; each possesses an individual personality.

I used to wonder when I heard that shepherds knew each sheep by name. How can they distinguish between 100 or 200 or 500 sheep? They all look the same to me.

But I suspect that each, like in other species, has its own little character when it's born--a part of which remains for a lifetime.

Kinda like dogs. Just like kids. Exactly like people.

Each one is different. Each is unique.

I celebrate, giggle over, and appreciate the differences I see in our canine kids. Perhaps I should work harder at doing the same with my human friends, family, co-workers, and acquaintences.

'Til next time,
Joan

Elsie, my office helper. :o)

My Helpers

When my children (as in human kids) were small, I always had "helpers." Throwing laundry into the washer, folding clothes, running the vaccuum, loading the dishwasher, weeding flowerbeds--you name it, no matter what I did I had a helper by my side.

Then my children grew up. Oh, they'll help when I ask, but they're not particularly interested in what I do anymore, and that's as it should be. It's time for them to be working their ways out of the nest.

I thought I was done with "helpers." I was wrong.

Now I have canine helpers. Let see...hmmm...Baxter pounces on the broom head whenever I sweep. I guess he thinks he can push it more effectively. Sweet boy. How nice of him to assist me.

Ridge follows me around on the deck when I water the plants (as do the other two). I guess he wants to be sure my plants don't die and that I water sufficiently. How kind of him to be so concerned. :o)

They all love to help load the dishwasher. Who needs water when you have three lab tongues!

They all bark at the vacuum cleaner, too. I suppose they're just trying to encourage the little-vaccuum-that-could to try harder. I never knew dogs were such selfless encouragers! And you know what? I think that little vaccuum does work harder when the canine kids are around!

And then there's Elsie. She likes to "help" me write. She sits by my side in the office (when I let her) silently cheering me on.

Sigh.

I have so much help these days, I just don't know what to do with myself!

Now, if I really want to get something done...well...that's another story.

'Til next time,
Joan

Ridge, Baxter, and Elsie love Daddy Don. :o)

They Love Their Dad

Poor kids. Daddy Don is away again in Ireland. I can't tell if the dogs' sluggishness is heat related or if they just miss their "dad." It's probably both.

Don has a different relationship with Baxter, Elsie, and Ridge than I. He's the alpha male in our pack--no question about it. They respect him. But they also love him and play with him. He's their primary trainer and field buddy. They romp in the woods with him. They retrieve for him. They run with him and obey him. They even sit for him when he clips their toenails (well, sort of).

Don is trainer, disciplinarian, leader, and wrassling buddy all wrapped up into one. He's the primary source of leadership and all things fun. He was that way with our human kids, too.

Then there's me--the old softy. I cater to the kids (human and canine). I comfort them and sooth their anxieties. I listen and coddle. I spoil and indulge (although I can discipline effectively when I need to). And I play, too, just not the way Daddy Don does. When it comes to disobedience, I'm probably far too patient, but then again, everyone in my house knows I have an incrediably high tolerance for inappropriate behavior. That can be good and bad.

Don and I balance each other well. And in both cases, the kids (human and canine) know they're loved and secure. Life at our house is predictable--no ugly or scary inconsistencies--just the normal everyday routine of provision, discipline, love, and play. And I think we're all happier and better adjusted for it.

I'm glad for our predictability and routine. It provides a sort of security knowing that Don will come home, that the canine kids will be there, that the human kids will come and go. No, we cannot control unforseen events (tragic or otherwise), but our ordinary days are filled with the security of a routine (not boring) home life.

When I read about neglected dogs or abandoned children, I wish more families could experience stablility, routine, love, and faithfulness--even in little things. We've truly been blessed, and I'm thankful.

'Til next time,
Joan

It's even too hot for pool time.

It's 90+ degrees and humid. Blech!

Heat Wave

It's only mid-June and we (including the canine kids) have had enough of the triple H weather that's been lingering in the Northeast since early last week: Hazy, Hot, and Humid.

Today the heat index is supposed to be 105 degrees (heat plus humidity). Temps in the 90s all day plus high humidity make for lazy days and irritability. It's just too early in the season for a heat wave (especially for those of us who do not have central air conditioning). None of us has had time to acclimate.

Elsie in particular doesn't seem to tolerate the heat well. Baxter and Ridge, other than panting and drinking more, don't show signs of noticing the heat; they're still rambunctious and want to play and will run around the yard. Elsie, on the other hand, doesn't even want to go outside (remarkable for our outdoor girl). She just wants to stretch out on the floor and do nothing. She's stopped eating, too.

She's worrying me a bit. She's just not herself. I think it truly is the heat, but I'll keep an eye on her just in case. I suppose I should remember that this is her first full summer (she's only 10 months old), and that even humans get sluggish in this kind of heat. We should expect no less from our canine friends. Elsie's coat also differs from Ridge's and Baxter's, so she may not be as heat tolerant.

She does, however, like ice cubes. I've been handing out ice cubes like crazy (good thing we have an ice maker). At least that way I'll know she says hydrated.

It's still cooler in the house than outside, largely because we run a whole-house fan all night with the windows open, then we turn off the fan and close the windows in the heat of the day. We then use small room fans to circulate the cooler air. That's where Elsie seems to like to hang out these days. There, or at the base of my office door (my office has a room air conditioner) where she gets the cooler breeze. She'd love to hang out in the office with me (and she will when she gets older), but for now she gets into too much trouble.

We're supposed to get a break on the heat late this week. Then, we'll see how Elsie responds.

Hopefully her recent sluggishness is just weather related. I certainly hope she's not pregnant (how could she be?).

'Til next time,
Joan

Baxter can't be outside without knowing what's happening inside.

Baxter's picnic table perch, outside looking in.

Baxter's face at the window 

Faces at the Window

Since the weather has been so warm, and since we don't have central air conditioning, Baxter and Elsie have been spending more time outdoors, usually most of the morning and late afternoon and evenings when it's cool.

Ridge still prefers the indoors unless he's training or going for a walk/run. I think the openness of our backyard overwhelms him, especially after spending the two years before coming to live us in an enclosed kennel. He's happy sleeping and panting on the cool brick floor of our family room.

Baxter and Elsie prefer the outdoors. Elsie would stay outside 24/7 if we allowed her. She's content to lounge on the welcome mat beneath the back door or to sprawl under the shade-giving umbrella after swirling her nose in the kiddie pool.

Baxter is more restless. As much as he loves the outdoors and being with Elsie, Baxter can't seem to stay outdoors without at least checking on what's happening inside. Poor conflicted Boos. He'll snooze beneath the pin oak or hang out under the picnic table only so long. Then he seems compelled to check on us indoor folks.

So what's his solution?

He jumps up on the picnic table and peers inside the family room window. He has the best view that way (smart boy). He stands outside looking in just to make sure we're all okay or that he's not missing something.

That's all well and good, but I wish I'd had some warning about his new investigative behavior. I was carrying a load of laundry to the laundry room when I happened to walk by the window through which Baxter peered. Imagine my surprise to see two glistening brown eyes and giant black head staring at me through the window! I nearly dropped the laundry basket. As it was I thought my heart stopped for a moment.

As a kid I watched too many horror movies that contained images of vicious stalkers and malevolent strangers staring through windows at unsuspecting prey. I always had this fear of faces at the window outside looking in. They unnerved me.

Maybe it's the scary movies I absorbed as a child. Or maybe I was like the returned-from-Neverland Peter Pan crying at the nursery window as he watched his parents cooing over their new baby boy; I didn't want to be the one left out, trapped forever outside looking in.

Whatever it is, I didn't like faces in the window.

Then came Baxter. Now I have to laugh. Every time I see his eager face smiling and drooling at the window, I giggle. I have to smile.

There's nothing threatening about that face. And he is, after all, just checking up on us. A face at the window, I'm learning, is nothing to fear.

Thanks, Boos, for the lesson. And for making me smile once again.

'Til next time,
Joan

Elsie and the hose sprayer.

Elsie tries to eat spraying water. 

Hose 1; Dogs 0

In the contest between canines and water hose, the hose won by a nose.

It's hot here in southeastern PA. Today it's supposed to hit 90 degrees (F), and the humidity (blech) is rising. After a delightfully cool spring, I suppose it's time for summer weather.

So lately I've been filling the new, splashy yellow kiddy pools for the dogs. We replaced the old blue ones after the canine kids chewed on their rims and bottoms while they were empty. Silly us. How could we have not predicted such behavior!

So out come the new pools, just in time for our coming heat wave.

Elsie hasn't figured out the pool-filling process yet, though. She's not sure about the hose. Baxter and Ridge gently and skillfully sip from the hose while the pool is filling--a skill they learned after many snoot fulls last summer. Elsie hasn't mastered their technique.

Time after time, the Elsie Squirt pushes her whole snout into the spray only to get another nose full. After a few head shakes and sneezes, she's back at it again.

You'd think she'd learn: face + hose sprayer = nose full. But she doesn't seem to care. She just goes back for more.

Either she has an incredibly high tolerance for water-in-the-nose discomfort or she's a glutton for punishment. Either that or she's oblivious to the cost of water-in-the-face fun. I suspect it's the latter.

Why does she do it to herself? Silly girl.

Again, she reminds me of me. :o)

Why do I go back again and again to behaviors I know will come with a cost: not getting enough sleep, overbooking my schedule, spreading myself too thin? I guess, like Elsie, I hope to learn to manage it all in time. But sometimes my life feels like I'm drinking from a fire hydrant: too much force; not enough me.

After too many years of overwhelming snout fulls, this spring I finally decided to cut the water off at its source--to turn the water pressure down a bit. I've fulfilled all my speaking engagements and am not booking any more for at least a year; I've cut my freelance writing back to one contract at a time; I've limited my volunteer activities to one church responsibility and one for my son's high school marching band. I've also lessened my expectations for keeping my house in order (so what if laundry doesn't get folded every time!).

And, I'll tell you, I feel like I'm sipping from a gentle stream. It's so refreshing. I should have done this a long time ago.

Thanks, Elsie, for the reminder that it's okay to slow the stream; it spares me the discomfort of blasting-in-your-face pressure. It allow me to relax and enjoy the sun.

Elsie may have lost the contest between her and the hose, but in my contest with pressure, I'm finally winning. And it feels good.

'Til next time,
Joan

Shoes are something we find in Elsie's wake.

Elsie's wake (after one hour) 

Elsie's Wake; Our Wakes

Elsie may look like she's growing up, and she may act like she's growing up, but she still displays kid-like tendencies (in both the child-like and goat-like senses of the word).

She continues to leave a trail of her chewing adventures wherever she goes. Take the deck, for example (see photo above).

Last week I let Elsie and Baxter outside to play so I could get some work done in the office. An hour later, here's what I found on the deck (remember, this is Elsie's work in only an hour):

• three bones
• one whole Nylabone chew
• one tiny piece of a blue-nibbed dental chew
• one narrow rope
• one red Kong toy (from which the narrow rope had been removed)
• one multicolored, large-gauge knotted rope tug (which is quickly becoming floss)
• three pieces of shredded outdoor electrical wiring (which had not been plugged in)
• three arborvite branches (she's still making a den under the arborvite tree)
• several twigs
• a few pieces of wood-chip mulch

And that's only what you can see in the picture. :o)

At least she's not dragging our dirty laundry all over the lawn anymore (I've learned to lock the back door when she's out so she can't get to the laundry room).

Sweet Elsie Girl. Gotta love her. She's growing up, but she's still an imp.

Sounds like human kids, too. :o) They grow up, but they retain who they are at heart. And they retain a few less-than-desirable habits, too (instead of twigs and bones, human kids leave soda cans, candy wrappers, cracker boxes, and chip bags in their wakes).

The same could be said for us, I suppose. We grow up. We assume adult responsibilities, we act and look like grown-ups. But, inside we feel like we did when we were young.

Truth be told, I'm a month shy of forty-five and I feel no different inside than I did when I was fifteen. My 82-year-old mother tells me she feels similarly. Certainly we've matured, but we've retained the essence of who we are.

There's something about the spirit (or soul) that lasts; it's unfazed by our changing bodies. We act as though our bodies are everything (just look at the rise in plastic surgeries in the country), but our bodies don't last. Only our spirits do.

If that's the case, perhaps we should focus less on the external (like material things, wrinkles, clothes, hair styles, money, reputations, images) and more on the internal (attitudes, thought processes, character traits, forgiveness, love, gentleness, etc.). If we did, like Elsie, we might then leave only chewed-up things in our wakes (which really don't matter) instead of chewed-up people (which do).

Elsie's left a lot of chewed-up things behind her; but she's never left a chewed-up person (literally or figuratively). When it comes to how she treats people, her interior is in tact.

Can the same be said for us? What do we leave in our wakes?

'Til next time,
Joan

Elsie, the wonder tongue! I have never seen a dog, male or female regardless of breed, with a tongue as long as Elsie's (check out picture on bottom right of collage above).

Ridge is Fine

Ridge is back to his old self again. I'm glad. And relieved. He seems no worse for wear.

And the rest of the crew seems much more normal now, too (Elsie's heat is finally over). Life for them is status quo.

Now I've got to get my work schedule back to normal. Between my recent food poisoning episode, my college-age daughter's move from DE to MD, Ridge's tooth adventures, Elsie's heat, my daughter's hard drive crash, my oldest son's college visitations (and acceptance!), my youngest son's end-of-his-junior-year-prep-for-senior-year paperwork, my husband's monthly trips to Ireland, the wrapping up of my speaking engagements, my mother's car problems and adventures, routine doctor visits and blood work, and....life, well, my regular schedule went by the wayside weeks ago.

Ahhhh. It's June. I can revert to a regular schedule once again. :o) I can even set regular office hours once more. Good thing, too, or I'd never get any work done.

That's the plan anyway. We'll see what life holds.

In the meantime I thought you'd enjoy pics of Elsie's wonder tongue. It's a good representation of the way she "laps" up life.

'Til next time,
Joan

Poor Ridge. Look closely at his nose: its smooshed into the cushion. But he's sound asleep, and doesn't even notice. At least for now while he's still working off the effects of his root canal sedation. 

Ridge is sleeping here, too, with his head drooping off of the couch. His nose is wedged into the throw pillow, but he still seems oblivious. Ah, the wonders of sedation! 

Ridge Update

Ridge is home and doing fine. He's still a bit woozy (walks like a drunken sailor). And he sleeps most of the time. Pain meds and antibiotics are managing his post-root-canal trauma just fine.

Back in April, when they tried to perform the root canal on the tooth Ridge snapped off, Ridge's tooth wouldn't stop bleeding. So the docs put a temporary filling and cap on the tooth to let it settle down. They said they'd finish the job in two months. Yesterday was the root canal completion.

Now all we have to do is fork out another $800 for the permanent crown (yet to come).

Ridge seems fine. His mouth and tooth are functional. You wouldn't even know he broke the upper canine tooth. But if we hadn't done anything, he would've lived in pain or been susceptible to infection. So....

He's SO sweet when he's sedated. :o) He just wants to snuggle and sleep. But that's not our Ridge; not the real Ridge. And I'd miss him in the long run if he stayed this way.

The hiatus is nice, but I can't wait for Ridge to be himself again.

He will be soon.

'Til next time,
Joan

Ridge sleeping off the effects of yesterday's general anesthesia. He had part 2 of his root canal done on the tooth he broke back in April. 

Ridge, still sedated, after his last trip to the dentist. We'll see how he is later today. 

Ridge Returns to the Dentist

Ridge goes to the doggie dentist again today for his second round of drilling and capping on the tooth he broke two months ago.

I suspect he'll come home sedated (heavily this time, unlike his recent impulse-controlling adventures with Benedryl).

Poor boy.

He could barely stand up when he came home last time. And his face was sooooo droopy he almost looked like a Shar-Pei.

When Don and Ridge left this morning Elsie and Baxter, of course, went wild with jealousy ("Ridge gets to go in the car with Dad, and we don't!"). If only they knew what awaited Ridge at the other end of his ride.

Humans are like that, aren't we? We envy other people's experiences, circumstances, successes, lives, jobs, relationships, and things. But we don't consider the downsides that come with the very things over which we're jealous. Like Elsie and Baxter, we only know what we see. We don't even consider what we cannot see.

If only we really knew. We might not be jealous at all. We might even learn to be content with what we've been given. Our lives might not look so bad after all.

Everyone has downsides to their lives. There's no such thing as a greener pasture. Not really. Oh sure, we can always find ways to improve our circumstances or ways in which we'd like to see our lives change. But the point is this: every greener pasture has its weeds and fences, no matter how green.

And if we can't deal with the weeds and fences we have (big or small), how can we expect to better cope with others'?

When Ridge comes home later today, Elsie and Baxter will undoubtedly shower him with concern and affection, their momentary jealousy long forgotten.

These two crazy critters have much to teach us about short jealousy memories and long lavish concern for others. They know how to put things behind them. They've learned to be content. They know how to love.

Do we?

'Til next time,
Joan

Short stocky Baxter puppy at seven weeks of age. 

Short, stocky Baxter puppy in Mom's arms (gentle giant grown-up Baxter still likes to wiggle his way into Mom's arms!) 

Short, stocky Baxter puppy with "Platty." 

Short, stocky Baxter puppy at the back door. 

"When I was a puppy, I fit under all kinds of things--like this coffee table in the family room."

"Help, Mom! I'm stuck. I don't fit under here like I used to."

Small Puppy, Big Dog

Baxter outgrew his body. Well, sort of. He outgrew his idea of his body.

You see, Baxter's parents were small, stocky Labs. And Baxter was a small, stocky puppy. And as a small, stocky puppy, Baxter fit in spaces meant for small, stocky dogs.

Small, stocky Baxter fit under our deck chairs, under the coffee table, under the kitchen table and chairs, between the recliner and its end table, under the rolltop desk, under the patio furniture and glass-top (Plexiglas) tables--anywhere you can imagine a small, stocky dog--small stocky Baxter puppy wiggled himself there.

As he grew, however, small stocky Baxter wasn't so small and stocky anymore. He soon realized (after countless upended chairs and tables) that he couldn't fit under certain things anymore. He wisely gave up trying.

One place, however, that Baxter (no matter what his size) could count on hiding beneath was the picnic table.

Not anymore.

Baxter has outgrown his ability to fit his lumbering, leggy Lab body between the picnic table benches and table top. If he succeeds in getting under the table, he gets stuck trying to get out (see photo above). I guess that's why he's resorted to getting on top of the table now.

Poor Boos. He can't help his size. In his head he's probably still our small stocky Baxter puppy, when in reality he's grown-up giant Baxter dog.

What makes it particularly difficult is that out small, stocky Elsie puppy stayed small and stocky as she grew. She can still fit pretty much wherever she used to fit. And when she and Baxter play, she hides in those places. She knows Boos can't reach her there.

Baxter, the gentle giant Lab, our genetic anomaly, will adjust. Eventually.

Until then, I guess we'll just have to help him when he gets stuck.

'Til next time,
Joan (who, too, has outgrown her idea of her body--it's a middle age thing) ;o)

Smiling Elsie. :o) 

Elsie's Smiles

Phew. Elsie is finally past her prime fertility time, and her heat is passing. Don is back from Ireland; Ridge is sane now (even without Benedryl); I'm over my food poisoning; and life is back to some semblance of normal (is there such a thing?). Can you hear us dancing?

And now I have time to notice the little things once again. Like Elsie's smiles.

A long time ago, some old fuddy-duddy told me dogs don't smile (I can't remember who). He said they were incapable of smiling, especially since they are incapable of emotion. And I believed him. Once. Many years ago. When I was young, naive, and gullible.


Well, dear old FD whoever you are (or were), I now beg to differ. Our Elsie Girl and Baxter Boos both smile. But Elsie's smiles are more visible (Baxter's get lost in his black sheen).

And Elsie only smiles when...well...when she's smiling--when she's happy, excited, or feeling upbeat. She doesn't smile when she's sad or tired or lonely or has been reprimanded. Her smiles aren't gastric reflexes as some claim; they seem to be genuine smiles to me.

Call me crazy. But I know our canine kids smile sometimes. Truly. With emotion. When they're happy or glad to see us. When they just can't contain themselves.

Okay. So I might be guilty of anthropomorphizing the dogs, but who cares? They really do smile. You'll never convince me otherwise. :o)

And their smiles make me smile, too.

'Til next time,
Joan (who is feeling MUCH better)