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summer_jackelI. My dogs are weird.
I usually lock Jez in the kennel at night, but I am getting a little more lax about Jez in general. At 10 (Jezebel is 10? Dear gods, when did that happen?) Miz Wolfie has slowed way down. When they were young, I was always aware that my pack could probably get out of the yard in about two minutes if they were motivated, for instance by the appearance of a dog they didn't like and might therefore want to eat, and supervised them accordingly. Still, when I woke up to the slightly concerned realization that I'd left her loose for the night, it was a far cry from the oh shit panic that same moment might have inspired when I was 25.
This morning, I was just mildly relieved to note Jez still asleep in her doghouse and all of my chickens yet living and unmolested. On closer inspection, the only thing out of place was an almost-empty bottle of kennel disinfectant in the doghouse with her. Thankfully unchewed, although I'm sure that she planned on it until she stopped to smell the thing. Dude, Jez, of all the forbidden items in the whole place that you could have appropriated for your illicit destructive pleasure, you chose the soap?
I should be grateful.
II. My dogs' friends are weird
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kynekh_amagire was kind enough to gift my pack with a very cute toy opossum. I debated keeping it for my own collection of plush, but ultimately its texture and squeaker convinced me to dog it. I'm glad. Not only are the puppies adorable when playing with it (we know pet toys are all about amusing the owner) but after a bit of time with them, its rather lifelike fake fur has given the thing an uncanny resemblance to a real opossum that has been worried by dogs.
I find this morbidly awesome and highly appropriate. It also reminds me of a couple of times throughout the years when I've gone out to say good morning to my wolfdogs and found them calmly and happily chewing on a limp 'possum that wasn't, actually, a plush one. I am so amused.
III. The cat is also weird
But you knew that. Trucker is starting to open up and gain some opinions, which is nice to see. One of these is that she certainly is not interested in being a house cat, thank you, and though she seems to understand the cat door conceptually, her little Siamese nose gets distinctly bent out of shape if a human is present and fails to open and close doors as she directs.
This is a relief to see in a cat who came to me starving, hiding, and effusively stress-affectionate little over a month ago. Trucker is a paragon of understated self-confidence, but her transition into my household has had its challenges. This place is full of active puppies and a complement of three established cats, and lacks the clutter and profusion of hiding places she's been used to all her life. Though she established herself immediately as top cat and is very good at training the dogs, I could see in her grimness as she did it that she thought this meant survival.
Tame thing to a wild thing to a tame thing again, to be abandoned and then asked to trust again; this history is written in her behavior. Trucker has learned to move like a feral cat, lightning-quick under the house when she sees me coming, and yet when I meet her there with my laundry, she approaches me with raised plume and a rusty purr. Disreputable old cat, still ragged-looking with three layers of regrowing coat; I'm trying to make this all easier on her.
I still probably shouldn't have responded to her stridently yowled demand with tuna the other night. Yeah, Trucker's real personality is starting to show through, alright.
IV. I'm probably a little weird, too
Pedaling on a bicycle trainer on my deck, going on hour 2, writing about my animals to distract me from the complaints of my legs. I haven't actually got around to considering how long I'm planning to ride, but I am settling into that calm, endlessly powerful feeling that means I could ride fast and for a very long time. So I probably will. It feels efficient, predatory, like I could climb over a fence if I wanted to, take down an errant rottweiller just like that. The sky is grey, the redwoods muted, and though it has been an emotionally difficult week I am currently satisfied and joyful.
I wish my brother would get home so that I could eat some of the birthday cake I made him last night. Since this was his 21st birthday, I'm not realistically expecting him until at least midnight. The puppy was sprawled at my rear wheel for awhile, because collies really believe in the 'loyal dog' thing, but of course hasn't offered to chew on my water plants since I've been watching. Jezebel---who is 10, and how did Timothy manage to become 21?---is asleep in her doghouse, which they seem to do a lot as they age. I will check on her in a bit to make certain that she hasn't made any more creative toy usages.
I usually lock Jez in the kennel at night, but I am getting a little more lax about Jez in general. At 10 (Jezebel is 10? Dear gods, when did that happen?) Miz Wolfie has slowed way down. When they were young, I was always aware that my pack could probably get out of the yard in about two minutes if they were motivated, for instance by the appearance of a dog they didn't like and might therefore want to eat, and supervised them accordingly. Still, when I woke up to the slightly concerned realization that I'd left her loose for the night, it was a far cry from the oh shit panic that same moment might have inspired when I was 25.
This morning, I was just mildly relieved to note Jez still asleep in her doghouse and all of my chickens yet living and unmolested. On closer inspection, the only thing out of place was an almost-empty bottle of kennel disinfectant in the doghouse with her. Thankfully unchewed, although I'm sure that she planned on it until she stopped to smell the thing. Dude, Jez, of all the forbidden items in the whole place that you could have appropriated for your illicit destructive pleasure, you chose the soap?
I should be grateful.
II. My dogs' friends are weird
kynekh_amagire was kind enough to gift my pack with a very cute toy opossum. I debated keeping it for my own collection of plush, but ultimately its texture and squeaker convinced me to dog it. I'm glad. Not only are the puppies adorable when playing with it (we know pet toys are all about amusing the owner) but after a bit of time with them, its rather lifelike fake fur has given the thing an uncanny resemblance to a real opossum that has been worried by dogs. I find this morbidly awesome and highly appropriate. It also reminds me of a couple of times throughout the years when I've gone out to say good morning to my wolfdogs and found them calmly and happily chewing on a limp 'possum that wasn't, actually, a plush one. I am so amused.
III. The cat is also weird
But you knew that. Trucker is starting to open up and gain some opinions, which is nice to see. One of these is that she certainly is not interested in being a house cat, thank you, and though she seems to understand the cat door conceptually, her little Siamese nose gets distinctly bent out of shape if a human is present and fails to open and close doors as she directs.
This is a relief to see in a cat who came to me starving, hiding, and effusively stress-affectionate little over a month ago. Trucker is a paragon of understated self-confidence, but her transition into my household has had its challenges. This place is full of active puppies and a complement of three established cats, and lacks the clutter and profusion of hiding places she's been used to all her life. Though she established herself immediately as top cat and is very good at training the dogs, I could see in her grimness as she did it that she thought this meant survival.
Tame thing to a wild thing to a tame thing again, to be abandoned and then asked to trust again; this history is written in her behavior. Trucker has learned to move like a feral cat, lightning-quick under the house when she sees me coming, and yet when I meet her there with my laundry, she approaches me with raised plume and a rusty purr. Disreputable old cat, still ragged-looking with three layers of regrowing coat; I'm trying to make this all easier on her.
I still probably shouldn't have responded to her stridently yowled demand with tuna the other night. Yeah, Trucker's real personality is starting to show through, alright.
IV. I'm probably a little weird, too
Pedaling on a bicycle trainer on my deck, going on hour 2, writing about my animals to distract me from the complaints of my legs. I haven't actually got around to considering how long I'm planning to ride, but I am settling into that calm, endlessly powerful feeling that means I could ride fast and for a very long time. So I probably will. It feels efficient, predatory, like I could climb over a fence if I wanted to, take down an errant rottweiller just like that. The sky is grey, the redwoods muted, and though it has been an emotionally difficult week I am currently satisfied and joyful.
I wish my brother would get home so that I could eat some of the birthday cake I made him last night. Since this was his 21st birthday, I'm not realistically expecting him until at least midnight. The puppy was sprawled at my rear wheel for awhile, because collies really believe in the 'loyal dog' thing, but of course hasn't offered to chew on my water plants since I've been watching. Jezebel---who is 10, and how did Timothy manage to become 21?---is asleep in her doghouse, which they seem to do a lot as they age. I will check on her in a bit to make certain that she hasn't made any more creative toy usages.
