This is the face of a dog-tired dog.
A friend of ours has been doing jury duty, and was sequestered yesterday and today. So, Luna and I went into town today to keep Bach, a massive Leonberger she’s house-sitting, company.
We all ended up walking up Mt. Nelson. All-the-way-to-the-top. I’m still feeling it in the “gluts” (and I may be walking “funny” for a day or so).
Fact is, if it weren’t for the dog(s), I’d hardly go for walks.
Even though I know I need the exercise, I just can’t self-motivate sufficently to get out and do it.
Enter the dog, with her patented remonstrative look.
So, what does your dog get you to do, that you really should do, but otherwise wouldn’t manage without that extra nudge.
I live out in the country in the midst of acres and acres of woods in which my dogs roam freely BUT for some reason if I don’t go with them at least once a day, life is incomplete. Since I usually take them first thing in the morning (except in winter), the moment I start brushing my teeth, I am accompanied by a chorus of whining.
But despite the walk-in-the-woods requirement, the thing my dogs excel at is relaxing.
Giddy
Hopeful
sniff
Everybody’s dogs are so beautiful!
Yep Andi, dogs are champion nappers (edged out only slightly by cats).
Luna prefers to nap outside on our gravel/dirt drive, to being inside on the carpet. But that’s just because she can see the whole neighborhood from there. Keeping an eye on everyone is her “job” afterall (as a livestock guardian breed). Besides, in her big fur coat, its usually too warm for her in the house.
She’s been especially lazy this morning. I suspect that she is still “recovering” from the 1000 foot assent yesterday. I feel surprisingly good.
Here’s a raccoon dog, found mostly in Eastern Asia, China, etc.
I scanned this image from The Encyclopedia of the Dog, by Bruce Fogle, D.V.M. (a “must have” book for all dog afficienados).
The accompanying text, under the heading “Distant Relatives” reads:
The book also notes that, “This dog was once farmed for its fur in Europe,” and, that it doesn’t bark.
That last trait, I gladly would have had in several of my more voluble pets.
Last week, the focus of the “dog blog” was wild animals that live with us.
Since I’m trying to learn all of the species that live on our property in Tasmania, I take pictures of anyone who shows up – including bugs, or in this case, gastropods.
This one is only 8mm long (about a third of an inch, for the metric impaired). It was probably the largest of the 10 or so I found yesterday. Some were only about a millimetre in length – and very hard to photograph.
I’ve sent several photos to an invertibrate professor at the local university, in hopes that he can tell me what they are called.
Seems a bit of a cheat going for something that moves that slow.
One of my favorite local critters is the five-lined skink but they are very fast so I’ll have to wait till the next time one gets stuck in the bathtub for a picture.
Not slow relative to size, I’m afraid.
Since the images of these small critters are only a few centimetres across, quite a few of my unwilling subjects were able to move out of frame between the time I put down the ruler and picked (and focused) my camera.
Then there was the whole issue of them retracting their eyestalks every time the “giant eye” hovered menacingly above.
We have lovely skinks here as well. Try going out when it is still cold and turning over rocks and bits of wood. You can usually find a cold, and slow, reptile or two that way.
As it is the height of summer here, I’ve got about 4-6 weeks or more before there’s enough “cold” to slow them down. But they show up in the bathtub with regularly so maybe I’ll have a picture to post before too long.
What is it with skinks and bathtubs?
I remember finding them in my tub when I lived in New Mexico. And a fair few snakes made it into the house as well.
Makes me think of the time the cat was batting as something that was behind the open bedroom door by sticking his paw under the door. Next thing I know I hear a “rattling” sound.
After grabbing the cat and putting on my biggest pair of leather gloves, I find a gopher snake – doing a fair vocal imitation of a rattle snake. The snake darted by me and into the closet. And behind the safe. Around which I had oh, so craftily built-in-place all the shelving.
So, picture me, awkwardly arranged between shelves, hanging clothes, and draped over the safe (good thing I’m flexible), with one arm rooting around behind it for a snake. Thank goodness it wasn’t poisonous.
We have a lot of snakes around here, including rattlers (very rare) and copperheads (not so rare) but most of them are harmless. They all seems to prefer our wood stacks (we heat with wood so we have several runs of stacked wood) over the house. Worst find was a half-dozen baby copperheads.
Our “best” snake story was the corn snake that crawled into the airconditioner unit after a mouse at, unfortunately for him, just the moment that the unit started up (and then, naturally, abruptly stopped). It was wound around the spindle several times — very tightly. The only way we could get it off was in pieces. Certainly one of our least pleasant home repairs.
Speaking about skinks, did you know that we have the largest skinks in the world? Well, we do.
In fact they’re big enough that instead of running away, they just look at you and hiss, and stick out their electric blue tongues. I was suitably cowed by the display.
Although once, I had to move one out of the roadway (where it was sunning – and sure to be run over), and it was pretty docile to handle.
I was a bit confused when I first encountered our native Bloched Blue-Tongue Skink, as it didn’t look like any other skink I had ever encountered. I had assumed that skinks were all slender. Blue-Tongues are anything but, which lead me to ask a naturalist at the Platypus House (in the northern part of the state – just across from Seahorse World) what was the difference between skinks and lizards. Lizards lay eggs, and skinks are live bearers.
I’m afraid the blue-tongued fella lacks the charm of our local guys and I’m pretty sure I’d rather not be intimidated by a skink. But a blue-tongue does get a pretty high “wow, that’s cool” rating.
I don’t have a dog, but have spent some time with Bobbie of the neighbors at our family summer cabin:
She’s 7 now, but still obsessive about fetching – to the extent that she will dive for rocks thrown in the water.
I’ve known a few “diving dogs” in my day. The best bit, if you can swing it, is watching them from above while standing on a dock.
Like this?
Here she’s looking for the right one – everyone in front take cover! (oldest asklet in the water)
Well, I was envisioning the person on the dock, and the dog under the water.
But that way looks fun as well.;)
who were wondering what our property looks like (since I’m always showing you photos of who lives here). Here’s a shot I took while walking the dog today.
(Click for a larger view. But be warned – it’s BIG)
It’s a rainy winter day, with just a hint of spring starting to show.
and put her head in my lap. We raised her on our farm, which is surrounded by a mile-long invisible dog fence. She doesn’t need walking; she patrols the farm, keeping the groundhog population down, and chasing the deer and raccoons away from the vegetables and chickens.
When we moved to the farm seven years ago we had two Standard Poodles. In the first two months they killed 40 ground hogs. Bea did most of the work, having been raised on a farm. Tui, the male, was a city-raised buffoon hipster doofus. He thought the ground hogs would make great playmates. He would play-bow, then twirl around in circles, as if to say “Let’s play!” This was enough to distract the poor thing just for an instant so Bea could grab it by the neck and quickly dispatch it.
The next spring we got Orion the Airedale. Bea was aging, and we needed her to train in her replacement. We decided on an Airedale because it would be less of a velcro-dog in burr and stick-tight season. Orion learned quickly. Unlike the Poodles, who would either eat their prey, or deposit it at the back steps, Orion just leaves the hapless beast in situ, to be discovered on a walk around the farm. Her personality is totally different from the Poodle. For those of you who have never known a Standard Poodle (not the yappy little ones), they are noble, dignified and sociable. Bea was the neighborhood welcome-wagon when we lived in town. Orion, on the other hand, would more rightfully be named Mimi, or Me!Me! She wants what she wants when she wants it, no ifs, ands or buts. Period! Typical Terrier. And she doesn’t know how to sit still for a good scratch, except when she’s sleepy. She writhes and tries to assert dominance by putting her feet up, which we must place back down on the floor. She just can’t give the kind of companionship we were used to from the Poodles.
Sadly, Bea died in November. She was 14, and worn out. She started with seizures the week after Hurricane Charley, one time thwacking her leg against the wall so hard that she was in great pain, limping for the rest of her days. We learned later that the pain meds worsened the seizures. In October she followed us to the orchard for the harvest, and barely made it back to the house, unable to climb the stairs to the deck. One day in November she lay down, and never had the strength to get up again. We tried to feed her a piece of home-made bread. She took one bite. We carried her outside, but she had nothing to tinkle. My husband slept on the sofa next to her bed that night. The next day she hadn’t moved, but we could see the pain in her eyes, and her legs were stiff. It was time.
Six weeks ago Tui woke us at 3AM Sunday morning, whimpering in pain. He had always been the sweetest, gentlemanliest, stoic presence. Often, when I scratched his ears, he would wrap his front leg around my calf in a dog hug. He was the light of the old neighborhood where he spent his puppyhood. Everyone loved Tui the well-behaved, handsome dream boat.
When he woke us up his belly was bloated like a blimp. I had been warned about ‘bloat’ years before when I bought him, and lived two blocks from the veterinarian. But the nearest 24-hour vet was an hour away. My husband drove, and Tui stood with his head on my shoulder, as I stroked him, not one whimper; Tui the stoic. He died twelve hours after surgery.
Our ancestors who created Canis familiaris gave us one of the greatest gifts imaginable.
Welcome as an active commenter, TrueRot.
I didn’t recognize your handle and clicked through to see that this is your first comment. Don’t be a stranger – head over to the Froggy Bottom Cafe come Monday morning to introduce yourself – or do it tonight in the Happy Hour.
My condolences with Tui and Bea – you described them as great companions and friends. Orion will look after you.