Hops in the Right Direction: It's a Journey, and This One's Wet

I know, I know.  No one is really interested in me, and you've only been checking here for the most important question:  What is Prada the Puff up to?

Well, we moved a few months back.  Now, rather than it just being us girls (Prada, Stink the Cat, and me), we've got boys to contend with (the Dude and his two dogs).  We're kind of like the Brady Bunch, only with pets and no maids.  It's awesome.

But Prada has had a hard time adjusting--she's been marking in two places in the house.  At first we thought the behavior would stop once she had a chance to get used to everything, but we're into month four, and the behavior continues.

Back to the drawing board.

I like research, so I've been doing some.  I haven't worked out yet whether her marking is stemming from dominance or anxiety--knowing her, it could be either or both.  A large part of the problem is that she ninja-pees:  leave the room for ten seconds, and when you return, you've got a mess to clean up.  So it's been very difficult to catch her in the act, when we could correct the behavior, or find any common behavior before she does it.  (Because it's by no means every time we leave the room, and it's frequently very shortly after she's been outside and gone potty appropriately.)

But there are options:

• A shaker can (a soda can filled with pennies you can shake when you observe the behavior):  This probably won't work for us, because we don't generally catch her in the act, and even if we did, she's anxious enough that we don't want to scare her into peeing more, or have her associate those two places with a scary sound.
• A thorough carpet cleaning:  We've done this once, but it's probably time again, despite spot cleanings.  Hopefully then any lingering smell won't entice her to repeat performances.
• Keeping her on a leash:  As a temporary solution, it may help us keep an eye on her and prevent any bad behavior or at least let us catch her in the act.
• More walks:  A tired dog is a well-behaved dog.
• More bonding time:  If the cause of the behavior is anxiety at the move and the fact that there are more dogs to compete with, special Dana/Prada bonding time may help ease her nerves and prove to her she's still special.  Even if she is already spoiled rotten and gets lots of cuddle time every day.
• Sprays/barriers to keep her from the problem areas:  Logistically, this won't work for us, as the problem areas aren't neatly contained or able to be cordoned off.
• Positive reinforcement:  Continuing to praise/treat for appropriate expelling.
• Doggie diapers:  it'll keep her from marking and will make her uncomfortably damp, so this may be an option until we can retrain her and break the bad habit.

So at this point, it's a matter of experimenting and figuring out what works for both her and us.

We'll get there, and our carpet will be the happier for it.  So will Prada, for that matter.  And she's worth it.

Hops in the Right Direction: Good Dog Round-Up

Just in case you'd forgotten how awesome dogs are, I present to you....

Via

Psycho, the 10-pound chihuahua/poodle mix that saved his owner's granddaughter from a poisonous snake.

Via

So, looking at the comments, it's pretty clear most people have decided this is the worst thing ever, and this woman is a Terrible Human Being.

I look at this photo and see a great way for disabled pets to avoid being left at home.

Then again, maybe I'm a Terrible Human Being as well.

Via

Evan the rescue is getting a new leg!  Hooray!



Via

Service dogs in Scotland are being trained to assist people with dementia.  This is pretty much the coolest thing ever.



And last but certainly not least, read here about how shelters are reducing overall euthenasia. 



My take-away from these links are that people don't always suck, but dogs just keep on rockin' on.

Hops in the Right Direction: The Dogs Around Me

Having a dog is awesome.  No, really.  Even after moving, when Prada is settling in by marking the living room floor (thanks for that, by the way) and establishing a new routine for herself (by waking me up half an hour before my alarm goes off with a request to be let outside), having a dog is fantastic.  Something about coming home after a long workday to a a fluffbomb of excitement is so validating.  And sure, it's twenty to six in the morning, but when I carry her outside to go potty and she nestles her head under my chin sleepily, it's hard to mind too much.

My dog makes me feel like a superstar every damn day.

Now I live in a household with, altogether, a Dude, three dogs, and Stink the much-maligned cat.  So let me introduce you to the new dogs around me.

Benny and Blink are brothers of about seven years of age.  They're mixed breeds--definitely some Australian Shepherd in there.  Both are handsome merles:  Benny is mostly black with a bit of grey, and Blink is mostly white with a few small, black spots.  Blink is also blind and deaf--but don't let that fool you.  He is a smart, well-adjusted dog who loves running around the yard and exploring parts of the house he's really not supposed to be in.

When you open the door to let the dogs into the backyard, he feels the change in air movement or temperature and knows.  He knows when you open the closet door that houses the dog food, too.  He has the layout of the house memorized, so as long as you don't move furniture, he gets around just fine, using the top of his head as a bumper on the walls and furniture as guidance.  His favorite game to play seems to be "I'm not supposed to go over there and I know it because you're blocking my progess.  So I'll sneak to the left or the right and you'll never know because I can't see you, so you definitely can't see me either."  He's a riot.

Benny is just as much a character.  All he wants out of life is to be loved on and simultaneously not seen.  So if I'm on the floor playing with Prada, he'll sneak up behind me and try to join the game in a casual, "you'll never notice" way.  One time, flopped down on the couch, I stretched my arms back and over the arm of the couch, palms down.  Suddenly, there was a dog head in my hands.  But when I sat up to see, Benny had already retreated around the corner.  It was like a sneak attack of affection.  If Prada makes me feel like a superstar, Benny acts like the paparrazi.




Benny:  "Oh, do you see me sitting here?  Oh geez.  That's awkward."


Having a dog is awesome.  Being surrounded by them makes me very, very happy.


(True:  You can learn more about merle Aussies and the sight and hearing defects that can occur here.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Sometimes, You Gotta Play Mama Bear

I've gotten a few snide comments about my dog.  Usually it happens when I'm on a long walk or am out for the day with Prada, and I've got her in the belly bag.  Because you know, purse-dog stereotypes blah blah blah.  I've snarked back a time or two--in my polite way, of course.  It's amazing how far a, "yeah, it's great that there are more options for handicapped dogs these days, isn't it?" will go.  (Cue the stuttering and agreeing.  Because while plenty of people are willing to make fun of purse-dogs, not too many are willing to be an asshole about handicapped ones.  Kind of like people who are really nice--except to waiters.)  More often, I just grin at them to let them know I've heard and move on.

I don't think I should tell someone anything about their dog that I wouldn't say about their child.  Or, more universally, if you don't want to feel like an asshole, don't be an asshole.  Asshole.

Because sometimes, you've just got to play mama bear.

Naturally, assholes aren't limited to snarking on dogs with altered mobility.  Purse dogs, small dogs, dogs they've decided are a mean breed or just ugly, whatever.

Which leads me to an incident my dad described to me.  My folks were recently at a national invitational for rally obedience.  (Yeah, they got invited to nationals their first year doing it.  Dad and Linka took 3rd place in Rally 2, and tied for 6th in Rally 3, the hardest level.  Against the best dogs in the country.  Not too shabby, right?)  At the same event was a conformation show--the standard kind you see on Thanksgiving, for pure-breds only. 

Now, Linka is a pure-bred miniature schnauzer, but she has a small white line on her chest that disqualifies her from participating in conformation.  So Dad has no real reason to groom her within the parameters of conformation--Linka's got a cut on a variation of the standard, which is more suited to her active lifestyle/running around in the woods all the time.  Okay, okay, I'm done with the exposition.  Here's the actual story:

My mom was holding Linka during a break between rallies.  She wandered over to the conformation show to admire the dogs.  A woman with another schnauzer came up to my mom and asked, "What are you doing here?  You're obviously not here for conformation."

"No," Mama Bear said.  "We're not here for the frou-frou dog show--we're in the competition for smart dogs."

Hops in the Right Direction: Summer Camp

When I was a kid, I went to summer camp.  For three weeks every year, I spent my days swimming, sailing, horseback riding, and making really terrible crafts.  Every moment, I was with at least eight other girls my age--a summer experience unheard of on a farm.

I had a lot of fun.  I made a lot of memories.  I did a lot of lip-synching to "Barbie Girl."*

****

I'm picking Prada and Stink up from my folks' house this weekend.  What with Kentucky and Mexico trips in two consecutive weeks, it seemed wisest to have my parents petsit rather than kennel Prada, who finds kennels stressful instead of fun. 

My parents have a large yard ringed by woods and two dogs of their own.  Prada's been able to play offleash outside everyday for weeks.  With other dogs who know her, and have learned to play a bit more gently with her (so as not to knock her over/piss her off).  Her days end in happy exhaustion. 

****

I wonder if my parents felt guilty about dropping me off and leaving me for several weeks, or if they worried that I was having more fun and learning more than I could hope to the rest of the summer at home.  If they did, I could assure them that as fun as camp was, it was great to come home to my family and relax.

And that's why I refuse to feel guilty about leaving Prada and bringing her back home.  I'm just going to assume that she has a great time while she's there and still misses me, even though I do live in a hot, cramped apartment with no yard and no other dogs for her to play with.  In the end, I just hope that it matters most that I've missed her too.

Hops in the Right Direction: Feet!

Just because I occasionally blog dogs doesn't mean I have all the answers.  I make no claims to being an expert.  Or even qualified to give advice, but it's the internet, and my blog, so I can do as I please.  Sometimes, I have a lot to say.

Sometimes, though, all I have are questions.

One thing I've been wondering about lately is feet.  I've mentioned before that I worry about Prada's feet--she can't afford to be down any more.  But is she?  Prada definitely dislikes having her feet handled, and more strongly than a lot of other dogs I've met.  But is that because she's a tripod, or is it just a quirk of her personality?  Plenty of dogs don't like their feet being handled, after all.

That then, leads me to wonder if perhaps tripods and other dogs with altered mobility are statistically more likely to have an aversion to their feet being touched.  There's anecdotal evidence that they are more likely to fear slippery floors, as Prada does, so it doesn't seem like such a stretch for the caution to extend from the dog's environment to their body.

Anybody have an anecdote?  Ideas?  A deep-seated need to tell me this is a stupid question?


(True:  If manipulating something with your hands is called "handling," I vote that manipulating something with your feet should be called "footing."  Or am I the only person who will try to reach something I've dropped  with my feet so I don't have to get off the couch?)

Hops in the Right Direction: Let's be Better.

Prada has a strong body.  Her front leg has centered since I adopted her, and proportionally, her core abdominal muscles pretty much make her Arnold Schwartzenegger.  Her hindquarters have enough power to launch her up onto the couch.  She can run fast enough to almost catch a rabbit.  (And if that fence hadn't been there, she might have done it, too.)

But the fact remains that I am stronger.  I walk in a perma-shuffle around my apartment so I don't accidentally step on her, because I could hurt her so very easily. 

It bears repeating:  I could hurt her.  Easily.

Obviously, I don't.  My strength and size does not give me the right to hurt those weaker and smaller than myself.  Rather, I was always taught, and fully believe, that it is my duty as a decent human not only not to hurt those I could, but also to act decently towards others. 

The lesson doesn't just apply to tiny, fluffy dogs that have been closer to euthanization than they ever deserved to be.

It applies to boys who play football who rape a girl.  It applies to their peers, who stood by and did nothing.  It applies to the adults in their lives, who either looked the other way or didn't teach these children what it means to be a decent, responsible human being.  It applies to the media, irresponsible with their reporting.  It applies to the people outside the situation who have used social media to harass and blame the victim.  It applies to me, because I haven't spoken out earlier, more frequently, louder.  It applies to you, because we are all part of this culture and society that allow this to happen, that allow some people to think any of the above behavior is acceptable.

We can do better.  We can provide a good example of how to treat those weaker than us and those who are vulnerable.  We can speak up when we see something that is wrong.  We can talk openly and honestly to the young people in our lives.  We can start difficult discussions.  Why can ask "Why?"  We can offer victims a safe place to talk, and we can listen.  We can hold ourselves and others accountable.  We can well and truly--each and every one of us--do something to create a different, better future, where we all are decent--and most importantly, safe.

Whether it's to the four-legged, three-legged, or two-legged, I challenge you this:  Let's be better.



(True:  If you don't think rape culture affects even the lucky people who haven't been assaulted, think again.  And as always, be safe.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Communication is Key (And a Key to Communication)

I talk to my dog.  A lot.  And yeah, I get it.  She doesn't understand English, and the talking is mostly for my benefit.  But she does understand my tone, facial expressions, and body language.

But that communication goes two ways--she "talks" to me, too.  I get the play bow when she wants to play fetch or tug; I get anxious eyes and a little squeak when she needs to go out.  Dogs (and cats!) have more subtle ways of communicating, as well.  Via Tails, Inc., the only email newsletter I have ever bothered to subscribe to (and actually look forward to receiving):

Click here to embiggen.

In any successful relationship, both parties need to have an open line of communication--and a cheat sheet helps!


(True:  Earlier this week, I mentioned Black Dog Syndrome.  As it turns out, experts disagree on whether it's a real thing or a myth.  Regardless, any establishment trying to help any pet  find a home is A-okay in my book!)

Hops in the Right Direction: It's Normal. Or Not, But That Doesn't Make It Abnormal--Just Confusing.

My dad and I talk dogs a lot.  He and his dog, Linka, are constantly training for the rally obediance trials they do, and of course Prada and I are always working toward new body confidence goals.  Needless to say, we never run out of things to talk about, and it's great to have someone to bounce ideas off of.

That's one of the best things about having a dog--I immediately have something in common with any other dog owner I meet.

And of course there's the pleasure and satisfaction anyone who has adopted a dog has.

But having a special needs dog changes things.  Not only do I have something to talk about with any other dog lover--which, as far as I'm concerned, is anyone worth talking to--I also have had a whole new world opened up to me.

Wait.

That sounds way too sappy, even for me.

How about this?

You know, having a tripod, is like, cool and stuff, because I never really thought before about how, like, it would make me a nicer, more compassionate person.  Dude.

(Okay, let's pretend I never wrote that.  That's atrocious.)

In all seriousness, though, having a "different" pet has made me re-evaluate the importance, even the necessity, of being physically normal.  Normal is what is.  My normal, and my normal with Prada, is different than other people's normal.  That would still be the case if she had four legs.  Or if she were the size of a Pyrenees.  Or if she were blind, or petrified of squirrels.

So, I figure that makes Prada no less not-normal than any other dog.  And maybe, by extension (it's a stretch, I know), that makes me no less not-normal than any other person.

Hops in the Right Direction: Love, Love, Love (and Training)

Prada's biggest hurdle in her training and body confidence development at this point is, unfortunately, me.  I worry that she'll hurt herself or that she won't be able to handle something, so I take steps to make it "easier" for her, or she doesn't have to handle it at all.

I've been working for some months on training Prada to use a small set of stairs to get onto the couch.  She's been making slow improvements--she won't climb up them herself, but if I put her on the first step, she'll continue up herself.  Then, when I didn't want her on the couch, I'd just move the steps away.

But I was going about it backwards.  I was trying to coax her up on my terms instead of letting her desire to be up on the couch with me be her motivation.  So, earlier this week, when I had someone over for a movie, and I left Prada on the floor (she's notoriously wiggly when I have company) with the steps moved away, she took matters into her own, well, feet.

The stairs weren't near.  She wanted up.  So, she just hopped up.

It was clearly not physically taxing--something I should have realized, since her body has adjusted to her altered mobility such that her haunches and abdomen are really muscular.  She didn't hurt herself.  By putting the stairs up, I was just taking up the space on the couch she would have used to jump up.  The problem wasn't her body confidence, it was my lack of confidence in her.  The problem was my love for her made me want to protect her from anything that could hurt her. 

So, for Valentine's day, I'm giving Prada a vow to do my best not to let my protective nature and love for her hold her back from making more hops in the right direction.

Hops in the Right Direction: Winter Tips

It's February in Chicago, and it's finally winter.  The colder months bring with them new concerns for your pet, so here are some tips to get you through:

• The rock salt used on sidewalks and roads has a lot of chemicals in it that are really hard on your pet's feet.  Boots or paw wax can provide a barrier between those more-sensitive-than-they-look footpads and the salt, or you can use a warm, damp washcloth to wipe off your pet's footpads after a walk.  You may also consider using pet friendly salt on your own property.

• Just because your dog has a fur coat, doesn't mean she doesn't get cold.  If you're leaving your dog in the car, make sure your dog is going to stay warm enough--with a coat or a blanket to cuddle up in, whatever.  If it's particularly cold and you can't leave your dog at home, a warm (not too hot) water bottle under a blanket is a good option--as long as she isn't a chewer.

• If your dog is a hardy outdoor type, make sure you're aware of how cold is too cold for her, and have a backup place they can hang out when the temperature dips dramatically.

• Even if your dog isn't the hardy outdoor type (especially if she isn't), you might consider taking a couple more short walks instead of one or two longer ones.  (And maybe, if she's on the really short side, bring a shovel to clear a potty spot off.  For some dogs, this can be the difference between a dog asking to go out and having an accident.  Yes, I did have that dog.)

• Older dogs and those with altered mobility can stiffen up in the cold, too.  Put on a movie and loosen up tight muscles with a bit of massage.  (Feel for the spots on your dog's body that are warmer.)  Massage is relaxing for both of you, and a great bonding experience.

With few exceptions, if you're cold and miserable, your dog is, too.  Hopefully, these tips will help you minimize the misery, so you can maximize the fun stuff (you know, snuffling snow and chasing snowballs).  Just, you know, avoid the yellow bits.

Hops in the Right Direction: Setting an Example

There is only so much awareness I can raise about tripods through this blog and Facebook and the like.  It becomes a lot more effective in person.

A lot of people I come across when I'm out with Prada have little or no experience with dogs with altered mobility.  And because Prada is so fluffy, most don't even notice at first the blank space where her leg would be.  This actually is a good thing, because then they see her first as a dog, and not as "disabled."

I always try to be open for questions, since so many people are curious.  You'd be surprised how many people will ask if you give them the chance.  What happened, how she gets around, whatever.  I try to answer as honestly as possible.  I especially like it when kids ask, because they'll ask anything.  One day this summer, a little boy who lives nearby finally worked up the courage to run up to me and ask all in a rush, "Does she have a hole where her leg was?!"  So I showed him Prada's scar and let him touch it, so he could see it doesn't hurt her at all.  Hopefully, the experience will help him grow up to see a dog with altered mobility as a dog that's a bit different, but not "less than a dog."

I also recently had a friend tell me that he'd always thought tripods couldn't possibly have as good a quality of life as fully-mobile dogs, and assumed it would be kinder to euthanize such a dog.  After meeting Prada and seeing what a happy girl she is, he could see it's not as black and white as that.

Having any dog is a social experience--people love to meet and greet the dogs they come across--but having a tripod means I have the opportunity not just to meet new people or an excuse to chat with neighbors, but also to show how balanced and normal life with an extra-ordinary pet can be.

Hops in the Right Direction: Worth It

Every person I've ever spoken to who has adopted a special needs pet has never regetted it.  I have never once heard, "I love my pet, but if I had the chance to do it over again, I'd get a different one because it's just not worth it."

Because it is.

Owning any pet is good for your health, but there is something special about special dogs.  Something in how much they love you that makes you think, "How could someone not love you back?"  Something in how much they love life that makes you think, "How could someone think you aren't as deserving?"  Something in how plain old happy they are, even though they face something that we might let ruin our life, if it were us instead, and it's an inspiration.

Today is Change a Pet's Life Day, but the truth is, pets change our lives for the better.

So go ahead.  Be selfish.  Adopt.

Sometimes, I Think I'm the Only Pineapple in This Fruitbasket.

Thoughts from the past week:

• It doesn't count if it doesn't set off the fire alarm.
• I've been drinking just one Mt. Dew for three days now, and I have yet to kill anyone.  Someone give me a ribbon.  Quick now, before I fall asleep.
• I indulged in a bit too much holiday cheer, and I'm going to Mexico this spring.  Crap.
• That's why I'm cutting back the Mt. Dew.
• This might be the worst diet ever.
• Stink the Cat keeps trying to eat all the expensive dog food.  Isn't it dogs that are supposed to eat everything?  One more example of how my life is totally upside down.
• Acai juice and my sleepy owl hat will cure just about anything.
• Bankers do not appreciate sleepy owl hats.
• Fictitious blue PVC corsets never stop being funny.

The meds the doctor's got me on for this supercold have got me up most of the night.  Like, all week.  I'd like to blame this post on that, but let's be honest, here...

This is my normal.


(True:  But seriously, why is that whenever I make a pizza, the fire alarm goes off, but it doesn't when I set an actual fire?  I feel that might be a design flaw.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Persistence Pays Off

I know I told you yesterday I'd post a real post today, but I lied.  I'm a liar-pants, and I'm sorry.  This is really just an update.

Last week, I wrote about how I've been having trouble leaving Prada at home without her barking up a storm.  I tried just ignoring her before I left, and that seemed to improve things somewhat.

Well, it's been a week, and I can now leave without a single bark!

My dog is the best dog ever to dog.

That is all


(True:  This post is brought to you by six kinds of cold medicine and the letter M.  Sorry if it doesn't make much sense.  I think my head has drifted over to Kenya for the day.)

(Also true:  My nose is so chapped is actually bleeding.  I have succeeded in feeling the sorriest for myself ever.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Gaining Perspective and Dealing with the One Step Back Times

A well-behaved dog is an on-going project.  It's not a one-obedience-class-and-done kind of deal.  And sometimes, a dog will seem to lose a good behavior or gain a bad one.  It doesn't mean you have a bad dog--she's just testing her limits, or her routine was changed and she's upset and confused about it, or she's sick.  You know, like when people do something unpleasant--there's usually an underlying reason.  (Or they're just crazy.  One of those.)

Until a few weeks ago, I was bringing Prada to work with me, because my apartment manager was doing some construction right outside my door.  It was a pretty sweet set-up, really.  It was still warm enough for her to spend most of the day sleeping in the car, with a couple of potty breaks and a visit inside for Prada to get loved on by my coworkers.

And now she has to stay at home.  After all that excitement and affection (not to mention the treats I know some of my coworkers have in their desk drawers for just such an occasion), being left behind is not high on Prada's to-do list.

Prior to coming to work with me, Prada was really good about being left alone, as long as we followed a routine--I'd put her in a down-stay and set a treat in front of her.  I would release her from the stay once I was ready to open the door and leave. 

But a situation arose, and her routine was disrupted.  Now, we've got to start fresh, and the old routine hasn't been working.  Prada has been showing her displeasure with me by barking.  Not really excessively--or not excessively if I didn't leave for work fairly early in the morning, when some of my neighbors are still asleep.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been leaving her in the bathroom, hoping the more enclosed space and limited stimulations would help keep her calm--and if not, that the two doors between her and my front door would keep the noise down.  It was mostly the latter, and I've been trying to figure out what my other options are.

This morning, though, I noticed that as I was getting ready in my bedroom, Prada was chilling in the living room.  She was very calm, so I decided to roll with it.  I've learned that if I address her, or sometimes even look at her, she gets excited, so I ignored her as I pulled on my coat and grabbed my purse and left.  I was already to the first landing when she barked, just four times--and more importantly, it was more of a "what?" bark than an "come back and get me right now!" bark.  And then, blessed silence.

So I decided not to go back and get my glasses.

Sometimes, things don't go as planned.  Sometimes, you need to make a new plan.  And sometimes, you just need to pay attention to what your dog is telling you.  But the most important thing to remember is that it's not always going to be smooth sailing.  Keep your perspective--your dog loves you, and isn't actively trying to piss you off.

Probably.



Speaking of perspective, my friend Donna sent me this:

Because from your dog's perspective, there is nothing wrong with her, either.

Hops in the Right Direction: Paying It Forward--With a Giveaway!

Remember that time that my mom accidentally pet a 'possum instead of a cat?  And I implied 'possums are ugly monsters?  And then that led to this post, where I talked about marsupial fetishists collecting images for their pinup calendar?  And I unleashed this horror upon the world:

I'm sorry, you probably had repressed that.

Well, that calendar is now a thing, and you can get one FOR FREE.

Yes, that's right, a full, proper, 12 month, full-color calendar in all its perverted glory* can be yours.  FOR FREE.  All the images are brand new and created by my very very cool friend/cousin/faithful reader/marsupial fetishist Dianawesome.  Because she is awesome.

All I ask is that, in lieu of payment, you donate some time/money/old towels or other supplies to whatever animal shelter you like.  Then, email me at danathebiped@gmx.com with your address and details of how you helped a homeless pet.  That's it.  You could even lie about the help part if you really wanted, because I'm going on the honor system here.  In January, I'll post what we've all accomplished, and we can all be amazed and self-congratulatory over how fabulous we are.

Fabulous, right?

Because even though we're sick and twisted people, we've got squishy soft hearts.  And just in case you need a reminder of where to find your squishy soft heart, let me tell you a story.

In the spring of 2011, I adopted a three-legged Pomeranian with a slew of anxiety issues and a rapidly approaching "adopt by or else" date.  She was kind of raggedy:

But she had a great smile.  And she was terrified of being alone and also of slippery floors.  My friends and family gave me whatever rugs they could spare to help me accomodate her on my hardwood floors.

Fast forward through lots of obedience and relaxation classes for her, massage lessons for me, a ton of research about tripods and their bodies, and countless hours of training.  Fast forward to this Thanksgiving at my folks' house. 

Prada was in the living room on her rug.  Mom, Dad, and I were in the kitchen chatting.  And then this happened (which you might not be able to see very well, because it was taken on my old really dumb phone):

That's my dog on a hardwood floor, if you can't tell.  And this is why you should do something good.  Because every shelter pet that finds a home has a thousand little miracles in their lives, the most important being a family.  And also because 'possum faces on pinup girls are funny.  (And free!)


*(True:  I feel obligated to point out that a couple of the calendar possumgirls turned out a little grainy.  They'll all be perfect next year, though.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Taking Advantage of the Circumstances (And Dealing with the Them)

While my new landlord has been rebuilding our fire escape/porches, Prada has been coming to work with me.  I am really ambivalent about this for a lot of reasons.

The Cons:

• Prada is already starting to expect to come with me everywhere, and throws a hissyfit if I try to leave her behind.  My neighbors are not amused.
• It's starting to get cold, and while my boss is very cool about Prada coming into the building every once in a while for a bit, she cannot be inside with me all day.  She spends most of the day sleeping in the car, bundled in her warm bed, with a blanket and in her sweater or fleece coat.  But I worry.
• She's starting to get a little tubby from all the treats my coworkers are sneaking her.

The Pros:

• She is getting a lot of great socialization with a lot of different people.
• We've been able to practice walking on "slippery" surfaces out in the warehouse--and we're starting to make a bit of progress.  (Woohoo!  She'll go a few feet at a time toward me!)
• I can cuddle her anytime I like, making the work days seem a lot shorter.

So.  I'm on the fence about whether I'm happy with the circumstances or not.  Regardless, there's nothing I can do about it, unless I win a million dollars and can afford to take her to doggy day care every day until the construction is done.  So I deal.  Because that's what you do.

I'm going to be out of town for most of next week, and my folks will be pet-sitting for me.  Hopefully, the week will act as a "reset" for the bad habits Prada has picked up, and if I'm very lucky, the construction will be done by the time I return.  Then I can start retraining Prada to remain behind calmly.

We'll figure it out, and we'll make it work.

That's what family does.

It's Only a Matter of Time

Last week, I opened my back door to three stories of absolutely nothing.  As it turns out, building management is replacing the back porch/fire escape. 

On the one hand, this will be very nice, as the fire escape had been quite rickety and the steps irregular--which is a real hazard for people like me who have a hard enough time on flat surfaces. 

On the other hand, I'll have several weeks chock full of opportunities to forget that there is nothing outside my back door but certain death.

Also, as I was clipping my nails, I accidentally cut half my toe off.

Bets are now open for whether the fall or the gangrene will get me first.


(Prada has been accompanying me to work while the construction is going on.  In the car this morning, we discovered she passionately hates the song "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something--she howled during the entire thing.  But she does like classical.)

Cheap and Easy, and You Can Still Show Your Mother! (DIY Lego Costume for Dogs)



Pardon my terrible photography skills.  Also, the top looks spotty because it was raining.


Last Sunday, I went to a fundraising event for some local animal shelters, and on the agenda was a pet costume contest.  I decided go go Friday night, when I was in a hurry and broke.  As I strolled the aisles of the local craft store, praying for inspiration, I remembered this image from Pinterest:

Via  (This might not be the original source.  If you know, let me know.)

Cardboard box and Solo cups?  Easy and cheap.  But not flexible for wigglesome dogs like Prada.

But have no fear, for I came up with a solution:  sheets of craft foam, the top of a shoe box, and foam can holders.  Everything but the shoe box (which I had because I have a shoe problem) was in the same aisle--the sheets were $.79 each (I bought two) and the can holders were a buck a piece (I bought two).

  I did not take photos as I went along, because I was in a hurry.  (And because my place is a mess.)

Step 1:  Cut a U-shape into one end of the shoe box (or whatever box is roughly as long as your dog, shoulder-to-tail.)  This gives room for their neck.  You will end up cutting off the head end side of the box lid entirely, but that's okay.  You just need something to give a little bit of firmness to the top and sides of the Lego to hold the craft foam in shape.

Step 2:  Cover the top of the box with craft foam.  I used glue dots because I was in a hurry, but I plan on going over it again with proper glue.  Aleene's (maker of the famous craft-glue-in-a-gold-bottle) makes an adhesive to use specifically on craft foam, though I understand hot glue and white glue also work.

Step 3:  Cut a small slit in both sides of the box lid, right about where your dog's "armpit" is.

Step 4:  Cut craft foam to cover the sides and back of the shoe box, extending down to cover your dog's side.  Don't glue around the slit you cut, though...  (I realized later I should have duct-taped the insides together, connecting the back panel the the side panels, fyi.)

Step 5:  Cut a U-shape into the back end to leave room for the butt/tail.

Step 6:  Trim the can holders down to Lego-peg-appropriate height.  I cut them basically in half to be in proportion with a Prada-sized Lego.

Step 7:  Cut circles in the craft foam sheet to cover the top of the Lego-pegs/bottom of the can holders.  There was a little hole.  And I'm finicky.

Step 8:  Glue the pegs onto the Lego box.

Step 9:  Pass a ribbon/string/whatever through the slits on either side of the box.  They shouldn't be visible under the craft foam.  I used velcro straps, which worked really well.  I just looped them around Prada's harness.

And that's it!  It's easier than it sounds, I promise--it took me around fifteen minutes, and turned out well enough that Prada won the contest.  Not bad for less than five bucks!

Best of all, Prada wore it for about three hours with no problems--the craft foam kept it lightweight and flexible.


(True:  Has anyone else seen that chia pet costume on Pinterest?  If I'd had more time...)