Bird Brains

I just finished another animal-centric book.  And by "just," I'm talking this morning and it's 11:20am.  It didn't take me long to get through this book at all and not because it is simplistic or mediocre, but because I absolutely love it.

The book is Birdology by Sy Montgomery.  I had to buy the book because 1. I read Montgomery's book The Good Good Pig and fell in love and 2. it's a book about a woman's relationships and encounter's with birds of all kinds.  I knew this was a very dangerous move on my part considering the effects of animal-centric memoirs on my brain and desires, but I only have so much self-control.

Sy Montgomery is a great writer when it comes to connecting humans and animals.  If I had to emulate a writer, I would emulate her (which is one thing I tried to convey in my craft paper for my master's degree, but apparently I'm not very good with craft papers.)  I left this book craving interaction with birds, as I had expected.  To my relief (and probably to the relief of my parents and peers) I do not wish for any more birds on my future farm/very-large-yarded-house as a result of this read.  It affirmed my desire for hens and strengthened my admiration for birds of all types, but I am glad to announce that I am intelligent enough to know that a cassowary is not meant for farm life, especially in North America.

What really shocked me is that as fascinated as I am by parrots, and as much as I want to spend more time with a parrot (I say as if I have spent much time with parrots already), I don't actually want a parrot of my own.  This baffles me.  I baffle myself.  I am not upset, I just don't understand considering what all previous books have done to me.  I do want to read more about the famous parrot, Alex, and his scientist-human Irene (if you have read the book Alex and Me please tell me what you thought!)

But what did I really learn from this book?  I am one of those people who tends to humanize animals.  I believe animals deserve all the rights we give our fellow humans.  I believe other animals have feelings and intelligence.  Sy Montgomery made me realize that birds may actually have some of these characteristics, but in a way so very different from ourselves because birds are biologically and fundamentally as far from humans as possible.  To quote her and people she quoted almost directly, they are "living dinosaurs."  They are built differently and function differently but are capable of so many of the same things, in fact we probably underestimate many of their abilities.  This idea sends little sparkles of giddiness all through my being.

I've grown up in a mammal-loving family and always wanted mammalish pets, but I suddenly have this immense desire to root for the feathered.  GO BIRD!

I'm Certified!

What could I possibly be certified as when I'm already a certified nutcase?  Ok, so there is no official badge or piece of paper, but enough people hold opinions that I figured it was certifiable enough.

But seriously speaking, I took a Pet First Aid and CPR class yesterday and will receive my certificate in the mail within a couple of weeks.  I have been wanting to do something like this for awhile now, you know, have something on paper to say that I have a mass of knowledge about furkids in my brain-piece so that everyone does not just have to take me on faith.  Because of course this certificate will prove that my knowledge of rat mucus is, in all honesty, true.  Ha!

Lucky for me, Bill was not too upset to find out that rescue breathing and CPR from human to dog is not mouth-to-mouth but mouth-to-nose. It seems as if he's always trying to get his tongue in, or very close to our mouths.  Ewww. (We love him, just not his mouth yuckies in ours.)

This class was also the first step towards becoming a certified NDART volunteer.  That would be National Disaster Animal Response Team.  I have many more steps to go, but I'm itching with excitement!  Or it could be that I over-washed my hair this morning and my scalp is paying for it now.

The night before I stopped by the shelter to explain to one of two people who have some sort of authority and I know fairly well that I have a full-time job in the city and that is why I am never around there any more.  I have no time.  And that I would soon be certified because that's just awesome.  I was surprised I even had time to stop.  It was supposed to be a quick 5-minute visit to see if there is any off-site volunteering I can do and to drop off the bison-and-potato food that Bill and Bailey had rejected several weeks earlier.  There are no short trips to the shelter.  My chat stretched out into a long conversation and I socialized with my fur-buddies for a little while (without actually doing any volunteering).  I even managed to get nicely scratched up on the chest while holding one of the little rascals because I wasn't wearing a proper shirt and he wanted to go see another volunteer (apparently really badly).  For the next few days I get to choose my wardrobe carefully.  But, on a good note I will have plenty of off site volunteering to do!  I've felt very guilting lately now that my job has taken me away from walking dogs and feeding them, cleaning them up, and so forth.  I can't abandon them completely!

Now I just need somebody to buy me a nice sized house with a yard so I can adopt a couple of them...

Pet Food Buy Out

I recently got a full time job.  This means I don't get to sit around spoiling the dogs all day.

I think Bill is taking this the hardest.  We've caught him peeing indoors a couple of times which is very out of character for him.  Unless he has some sort of bladder infection, we think he's just angry that I'm not home all day for him anymore.  Bailey is just bummed.  When I get home at the end of the day they go bonkers and plaster me to the couch so I can't get up and can only pay attention to them, Lord and Lady Weenie.

When I was unemployed I was able to do all the dog food runs and keep up the dog chores very efficiently.  This past week while filling the food bowl I realized the food bin was pretty much on empty.  I had to make an emergency run to the pet store.

We usually buy their food from a small privately owned store down the street, but I had to run to the chain-store next door which does not carry Evo, which we have been feeding Bill and Bailey.  They love the read meat small bites and it's grain free and chicken free for Bill's allergies.  I bought a couple of flavors of Natural Balance which is another very good brand in the hopes that they'd like one of them.

After awhile they decided they'd eat the duck and potato if we really-seriously-weren't-going-to-give-them-the-good-stuff, but bison and sweet potato has been sorely neglected.  That bag will just have to be donated to the shelter.  I should mention that these dogs are extremely picky eaters.  It took awhile to find Evo and Thank The Lord.

So my dad went to the privately owned pet store yesterday to pick up a bag of Evo to mix with the Natural Balance.  This is a great store because it's locally owned and operated and everything in the store is grain-free.  But my dad couldn't find the Evo!  It turns out Innova who makes Evo has been bought out by Proctor and Gamble.  Proctor and Gamble bought out Iams years ago and completely destroyed the brand.  I don't condone feeding your animals Iams because they have done terrible things in the past which is very unnecessary.  I won't go into detail.  Anyhow, the store offered to order special, but won't carry Innova on its shelves anymore.  Well, we won't buy it anymore, either.  They gave us a bunch of food samples (they are fabulous about that, huge samples, too) to try out on the beasties.  It looks like we're back to square one!

Melted Heart: Why I Love Volunteering

After a too-long vacation from volunteering at the shelter, I wandered in the other day to find almost all new dogs.  Every time I am away for a long stretch and then go back in, I wonder why I waited so long to go back.

It was far too hot to take any of the dogs on a normal-length walk, so I spent most of my time indoors looking at all the new faces and rubbing chins.  One face wasn't new, but I hadn't gotten to know him when he was new a few weeks ago.

The little Norwich terrier had been very scared of everybody when he first came in and apparently he hasn't change too much.  I got a leash to take him outside and several volunteers warned me, "He nips, be careful," and "You're better off just putting him in the yard."  But with such a sweet wiry face, I had to give him a chance.  I'm all about the chances.

So I let him sniff me.  He saw the boo-boo on my thumb and started to lick my bandage.  He either knew I had a cut, or liked the taste of antibiotic cream.

Then he nudged me to pet him on the head and behind the ears.

Each time I tried to get the leash on his harness, he shied away.  I wasn't going to push it, that'd just make things worse for him.  So I knelt there in his cage and we became buddies.  This so called little nipper ended up semi-snuggling with me and giving me kisses all over.  I managed to get the leash on and only after the fact did he notice and put his mouth around my hand, barely pressing down.

I wasn't able to coax him out of his cage enough to get him outside, but the other volunteers were impressed that I got the leash on him.  I took the leash off (no nips at all) and stayed with him a few more minutes.  I felt guilty about leaving him and he looked so eager every time I passed his cage.

Later I looked him up on the shelter website and in his story it does mention that with patience he'll cuddle and love you, so I know I'm not the only one who has given him a go and that reassures me.

If I could, I'd snatch him up in an instant.  I've said that about plenty of dogs, though.  I hope he finds a good home, soon.

It's little victories like this that make volunteering at an animal shelter so wonderful.  With time, that little guy is going to be a great companion for somebody.  It's all about understanding and patience.

Then again, it's bittersweet because I can't have him for my own!

Turt Turt

If you ever asked me what sound a turtle makes, I'd probably say "turt turt" just for kicks.  It's not that I think it's that funny, but whenever I think of turtles, I think "turt, turt, turt" with long pauses between each turt.

I've never been especially attracted to turtles, either.  Or any reptilian creature for that matter.  They are reptiles, no?  I know somebody will see this and laugh at my incapacity for placing species in the correct categories.  I'm much better with the furry and feathered.

Turtles look old.  Even when they are quite young, they look very old and even wise.  It's got to be the leathery, wrinkly skin.  Such a stereotype.  There are plenty of leathery, wrinkly dimwits out there.

My dad found a dead turtle while driving the other day.  He the turtle, probably fifteen years old by his estimation, smashed on a street where a turtle probably wouldn't have been on a normal day.  It was the day after one of the tornado-like storms in the Chicago suburbs (our town escaped the actual tornados and only got massive, destructive winds).  Our theory is that the turtle got into the street and a driver, unable to see properly in the storm, smashed the poor dude.

Then my dad found another turtle.  On one of his walks while behind a shopping center he picked up a foot-long turtle and replaced him closer to the grass and out of harms way (hopefully).  The story makes my mom cringe, but I'd like to think I would have done the same.  Turtles aren't rare around here, they just usually aren't so out in the open.  They're down in the marshy areas and ponds, mostly man made near office buildings and housing subdivisions.

So with turtles on the mind, I came across this article about the oil spill and it's effect on some wildlife.  Specifically, the efforts to save sea turtle eggs that would otherwise be destroyed by the oil.  Sea turtles are more fascinating than your average land turtle (sorry, land turtle).  After all, they can live to over a hundred years old, they remember where they were born, they swim tremendous distances, and Squirt and Crush were friggin' awesome in Finding Nemo.  Amongst other things.

My first reaction was terror.  Thousands upon thousands of baby turtles could hatch and thrust themselves into a horrible, oily death.  BP, do you not deserve the detriment into which you have fallen?

My second reaction was awe.  Human beings are not half bad.  There are people out there attempting to rescue these babies pre-hatch and move them to a safer location.  Knowing that there are people who understand the effects of losing a species and are willing to take action not only makes me feel insignificant but also gives me a smidgen of hope.  A smidgen is more than nothing.

Good luck baby turts.

Oscar is Such a Great Name

I check a set few websites on a daily basis, one of course being Cute Overload.  It just would not be a complete day without a proper dose of cute and cuddly.

Sometimes there is a video or article posted that just begs to be passed on (and this goes above and beyond the duckling butts and tap-dancing geese).  For instance, Oscar the Cat.

The first time I watched this video, I did so without sound.  My laptop is normally on silent for various reasons, but I can usually get the gist of videos anyhow.  Watching Oscar get his new feet gave me that feeling deep in my stomach, the one that comes when somebody gets married or your own pet makes it through surgery alright (and yes, I put those two on the same level).

I just watched the video for the second time, this time with sound.  I felt a strong sense of joy and had a smile across my face.  I think I even said an audible "Awwww," but I didn't get the same intense feeling.  I didn't expect it.  It would be like watching the same movie over and over again and expecting to be surprised by the ending each and every time.  But there was a sprinkle of a different happiness that hadn't been there before because this time I heard the veterinarian's voice along with seeing his body language.

It makes me feel warm inside to know we have such proponents of animals out there.  Wouldn't most people just have put the cat down for losing two paws?  This guy gave it new paws!  Even if they do look like the stoppers at the bottom of chairs, they're paws!  (or pawz?)

So go ahead and give the video a peek (and a listen!).  Don't feel ashamed to shed a tear, either.

Bring the Heroes Home

Pedigree (the dog food brand) has been very active in promoting the adoption of shelter dogs.  If I weren't already an adopter, the commercials on TV would melt me into one in an instant.

Pedigree's latest video in the campaign, "Heroes," makes me smile especially wide.  I hope the following link works for everyone and not just Facebook users, because it is the only one I could find.  Watch the clip.  It will make you smile, too.

Heroes


"But do not pity a shelter dog.  Adopt one."

Alright folks.  If I watch that commercial one more time I might cry.  I'm going to go hug my own shelter dogs now.

The 'Potamus Physique

Take a look at this Picture of a hippo.

Then kindly explain to me how it is fair that her doctor is not hounding on her about the risks of diabetes, heart attack, and stroke.






Silly hippos.

My Sappy Little Rant

We often hear about pet heroes whether it be on the news, from an online article, or even just by word of mouth.  I've never actually owned a hero pet, other than they are all heroes of the heart in some way or another (you're free to get teary-eyed now).  I often say that Bill, our male tweenie (in between a miniature dachshund and a standard dachshund) was my hero when I fell on concrete and busted my chin open, but he was only a hero in that he wouldn't leave my side when he's known to wander off-leash.  That's huge for Bill, but not for what we see on TV.

Our late German shepherd mix, Becki, could sense a good person from a bad person from the moment he or she stepped foot in the house.  I was always very wary of the people she didn't like.  But she never really came to our rescue.

And Goldie, the golden retriever we had when I was growing up, was your stereotypical golden.  She would invite a robber into the house with the hope of getting a belly rub.

At least that's what I always thought the typical golden was like.  That's how 99.9% of the goldens I've met have been, and they're popular enough that I've met more than I can remember.  But they're smart buggers, too.  The Animal Rescue Site highlights the story of Calamity Jane, a three-legged golden who came to the rescue of her neighbors because she sensed danger.

I can't say Jane's story is particularly unique as I've heard stories like this time and time again, but I always find it fascinating how brave and selfless our animals are (or are we their pets?) when they come to our aid.

How many times do we not even give them a choice, and yet they go through ruins and hazards to save us?  We pick out the most promising pups and train them to be search and rescue dogs--we choose their futures of heroism--but they don't say, "Well, I'd much rather study Latin, Dad."

It makes me wonder if this rescue-mechanism is programmed into their brains.  Even cats and birds make the news for these so-called miraculous acts of bravery and heroism.  What if humans were so loyal and selfless?  I'm talking all humans, not just the select few that risk their lives every day on search and rescue teams, as fire-fighters and police-people, etc.

Maybe it's that survival instinct that's still so closely imbedded in their DNA, not only for their own survival but the survival of the pack.  We've invented so many objects to help us survive and "civilized" ourselves to the point that we've forgotten how important basic instinct is.

We can learn a lot from these guys. (Beyond how Bill barking at me right now probably means he really has to go...NOW.)

The Lifecycle

Anniversary
May 8th was Bill and Bailey's birthday.  They turned six years old.  Other than the grey speckles on their muzzles and the extra hobble in Bailey's walk, you probably wouldn't know they were six years old upon meeting them.  In fact Bailey's hobble isn't even from age, but from surgeries and her face will always have the soft edges of a puppy's features.  They're crazy little turds.

It's hard to believe they've been with us for four years.  I say that in an "Only four years?  Wow" way and a "Wow, it's been four years already" way.

When we found them at the shelter (we've never bought a dog, or any animal other than a fish for that matter) they were on the verge of turning two years old.  In the next four years they would go through the following:

Bill
*One back surgery for a bulging (almost herniated) disc
*One oral surgery for a broken and infected tooth to be extracted
*A strained hip
*Numerous speculations, foods, ointments, pills, etc until finally a vet put him on the miracle antihistamine (who woulda thunk it?) for his incessant itches that caused raw, bloody spots that turned into a bald chest and the occasional whimper.
*I forgot about the neuter.
*Stress-induced colitis

Bailey
*Two surgeries for herniated discs
*Due to the surgeries the inability to control her pooper (the control, after a few years, is finally starting to come back)
*Also due to the surgeries, the inability to walk normally giving her an old-lady-wobble and making her favor a bunny-hop-run which causes her back legs to work together rather than against themselves
*Laryngitis (That's what you get for over-rooing yourself)
*I know I'm forgetting something...

What have we learned?  Unless you have PATIENCE and a large SAVINGS ACCOUNT, dachshunds are probably not the dogs for you.

But their giant eyes and toddle-toddle-weenie-waddles have captured our hearts and our bank accounts.  We're doomed.

Death
A few days later my mom broke the news to me that my aunt's dog, Pebbles, passed away.  This was not entirely unexpected but seeing as I don't talk to my aunt on the phone regularly like my mom does, I did not realize how sick and old Pebbles really was.

I am taking this for the better because the picture my mom painted for me of Pebbles' last day was not pretty.  I will remember her as the little schnoodle-doodle-noodle dog (she was some sort of schnauzer-poodle-mix-thing rescued like most dogs in my extended family, so her origins are muddled) with little purple bows in her ears from her latest grooming and the long princess-train-tail that dragged along after her.  She was a princess-dog of sorts, but not overly foo-foo like some dogs.  My aunt would never let it get that way.  She was queen of the house and demanded respect but was also soft spoken (compared to what I put up with everyday).  She was twelve years old and will be missed.

My aunt and uncle will adopt another dog eventually, but they will take their time.  Losing one dog and taking in another are two very difficult things especially when done together.

Poop Machines
I haven't volunteered at the shelter in a few weeks and I feel guilty for it.  I love it when there is a litter of puppies.  Aside from the constant need to clean up piles of puppy poo (which is altogether different and worse than adult dog poo--we won't get into details) which seems in endless supply, having little balls of puppy fluff crawling all over me, tugging at my shoe laces and chewing on my jeans always brings a smile to my face.  I fell in love with Mikey, the shepherd-mix pup who did the dive into my crotch and promptly fell asleep.  He and his littermates looked just like our late dog, Becki.  Sometimes I just hang over the door looking in knowing how hard it will be to leave them (both emotionally and because they latch on and threaten to run rampant around the shelter).  But the puppies always go fast, the puppy room is cleaned and smelling freshly of bleach again, and we must wait for another litter of sweet little innocents to arrive.

While You Wait...

I'm in the process of writing a new post, don't worry!  Don't get your tail in a knot.  Yeesh.  

Here are some links for a good dose of cute to hold you over.

Baby Sloth?  Adorable little sins.

When a Bunny Noms Self explanatory.

Create a Mutt! Incredibly fun Animal Planet game.  

Mommy and Daddy are Home!

For the past week my parents were away on vacation so it was just the little turds and me.  They were absolute angels until the last day and a half when they just got tired of me and being fabulous and had to do something naughty.

But they were smart enough to wait until after the field trip.  I'll let you read the e-mail Bailey wrote to my parents about it (yes, she's very talented.  My mom even suggested she start a blog just as I did.)

Mommy!  Daddy!

Jill got us all dressed and took us outside and we thought she was going to drag us around the pond so we started to protest, especially Bill, that wimpy weenie.  But then she took us across the street to the furniture store!  Oh my duckies!  The grass is so green over there!  We were all excited until we reached that really busy road with the really loud cars.  It seemed like forever passing those cars with people pointing and looking at us until we found refuge at the pet store.  But everything is so big and high up there that I kept scratching at Jill's legs for her to pick me up.  She wouldn't.  But she bought ups poopie bags and booda bones!  Bill wanted cat food, too.  He's such a pig.  But both of us wanted out because it was very overwhelming.  The really tall guy asked if we could have cookies but Jill said we have allergies.  Even though that's only half right, it's okay because we wouldn't have taken them anyhow.  You're not supposed to take cookies from strangers.  He wanted to say hello but he was soooo tall and sooo strange that Bill and I just started walking.  Jill let us take a back-way home to avoid the monster cars and boy was it good to be home!  She gave us jerky for being so good (which made Bill super-happy.  He's been upset about not having jerky-time the past few days.  Piggy.)  Now we're pooped.  In both senses.  And Jill has some really pretty artwork on her legs.  I guess the bright side is that the whole world thinks Bill and I are super-adorable.  You're really lucky to have us.  

Now Jill says she's going to go workout.  Bo-ring!  

 

xoxo

Little Miss Bailey Butt

Yea.  I never actually got to work out.  Seven minutes into my treadmill routine and I heard a faint yelp, so I went to the couch to see what was up.  Turns out Bill's having a bit of spring fever.  I had to nix the workout to spend my night making sure he stayed off of her.  

In other news, if you're in the Chicago area you probably know about Eisenhower, the dog.  If you don't, read about him here: Eisenhower the Dog  

Remind Me Why This is the State Bird?

Some of you may remember or know from other conversations that my family was blessed with The Cardinal, lovingly dubbed Mr. Stupid.

Mr. Stupid graced us with his appearance last summer when he decided our back door was harboring another cardinal, competition.  He began ramming himself into the door.  He came back daily for a good ramming.  This has continued even periodically through the winter and now daily again since the weather has brightened.  We are all baffled as to how he hasn't scrambled his brains into a smoothie and broken his beak into a million pieces.  We are mostly baffled as to how he is still alive.  And how he managed to find a mate.  We've seen her.  She must not be very bright picking a man like him.

Last year I put newspaper up on our door to block the reflection.  Apparently newspaper looks like cardinal, too.

This year we decided we'd invest in an owl.  Some garden stores call them "garden defense owls" for the fact that they scare silly birds like Mr. Stupid away.  I was all set to go out and buy one today when my dad came up from the basement.

"You know when Bailey barks out back?"
"Yea."  She always barks.  She barks at everything, anything, and nothing.  She's a mouthy little dachshund who always has to have the last word.
"She's barking at the neighbor's owl."

Plan B, anyone?

My dad often reminds me that I would have been a great veterinarian...

So, here I am starting my second blog.  For those of you who follow my first blog, The Adventures of an Almost Vegan, don't stop!  I will be double-blogging.  That sounds a whole lot like double dipping, which is socially unacceptable.  But, I have found acceptable ways to double dip, so you'll just have to deal with my double-blog.

Why this new and furry blog?  Of all things, I was watching a recent episode of Ugly Betty.  I hadn't seen that show in ages, but my mom and I just didn't turn the TV off after our usual slew of Wednesday night shows.  And boy did Betty have some great advice.  She turned down an amazing offer in the fashion industry because that wasn't what she loved to write about.  What she loved to write was on her blog.

Don't get me wrong--I love to write about food.  I also love to whine and complain.  But animals and I have always clicked in some almost paranormal way that makes it quite silly that I didn't start blogging critters earlier.  Animals are always on my mind.  My favorite job thus far was an unpaid internship at a pet magazine.  I am on the verge of being able to sell homemade dog biscuits (I apparently need a license and insurance incase I kill somebody's furkid).

So, I introduce you to Talk to the Paw, my very first furry blog.  This will be my place to indulge in anything furry, feathered, scaled, and slimy.  Or however they come.  Got a story?  Let me know!  Think I'm crazy?  Let me know!  But in the meantime, go give the nearest non-human a hug.  Husbands and children don't count.