Canine Couch Battles, Round 2

Abby 2 days ago after a good night's sleep (note pillow on floor), with her ball & Boy Wonder's gently chewed shoes.

In my July 24 update on Mother's Little Odalisque, I said I'd put heavier furniture on the couch (see above) to keep Abby off. That worked like a charm. Now my Clever Girl is pulling the throw pillows, which I stack on a chair at night, onto the floor to cushion her weary head. One of my next purchases will be a cushy dog bed, which she'd damn well better sleep on.

Caught in the act 10 minutes ago.

Mother's Little Odalisque

Left, by Eugène Delacroix. Above, by moi.





After fighting the family dog for bed space all through my teen years, I never allowed my subsequent dogs on the furniture. Putting end tables on the couch at night always kept them off.

And then last month along came Abby, who pulled the tables onto the floor so she could sleep on the couch. That lasted about a week, till I gave up and covered it with a sheet. As you can see, she finds the arrangement just to her liking. (I kick her off in the daytime.)

Update, July 24:
I got tired of shooing Abby off the couch, so I'm covering it with heavier furniture at night. We'll see how this works out.

In Memorium

Jenny, March 2007. (Her tongue was mauve on top, pink underneath.)

Jenny, The Best Dog died one year ago today. I still miss her, even though Abby, whom we adopted a month ago, filled the dog-sized hole in my heart. Abby likes to bound into the water to fetch a stick or ball, whereas Jenny's favorite activity was The Pebble Game. See it below (I was still pitching lefty 4 months after the 2nd surgery on my right arm).

Jenny, The Best Dog

Six months ago, Jenny was going on long mountain walks, splashing around in Cherry Creek and running away after deer. She'd slowed down considerably since the days she'd raced against motorcycles, but she was still way ahead of us on the trail. Then she slowed down even more. By March we had to wait for her to catch up when we went for long walks. By April she refused to go on long walks at all. Arthritis in her hips, the vet said.

We tried various medicines, in various dosages, but Jenny got increasingly feeble. By her 13th birthday in mid-June she couldn't even walk around the block. Nor could she get upstairs to sleep on the floor at the foot of our bed, which she'd done since she was a puppy. After the last vet visit 2 weeks ago, I took Jenny to her favorite park. We'd only walked 5 minutes when she turned around and headed back to the car.

After that she wouldn't walk more than 50 yards from the house, and spent most of her time stretched out on her side on the bare living room floor, panting. Whenever I petted her she emitted the faintest high-pitched whine.

Friday morning I called the vet to ask for an end to Jenny's suffering--and our anguish over her. He said he'd be here at 8:00 a.m. today.

At 7:00 this morning I sat on the front steps, with Jenny stretched out at the bottom because she couldn't make it back into the house. At 7:30 I brought out a cup of tea and yesterday's NY Times Magazine. At 7:45 Darling Husband came out to sit with us. Jenny moved into the shade along the north side of the house and barked for the last time at Snowy, the cat next door, who was walking along the fence. At 8:00 we were more than ready for the vet, but no one showed up.

At 8:15 I called the vet's office. The receptionist said they had us down for an appointment there. She was unswayed by my tears of grief and rage; no way was anyone coming to our house today.

Jenny was always terrified at the vet's; she'd start panting and trembling as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. Which was only as far as she was going to go today, we decided. If the vet wouldn't come to our house, he could at least attend to Jenny in our car. So she'd be calmer for her final trip, I shoved 10mg of Valium down her throat (like a cat, she always spat out pills). When I pulled my hand out, a big chunk of one of her molars came with it.

DH pulled the car around in front, close to the curb. I had to lift Jenny's hind end so she could get onto the floor, and then again so she could get up onto the back seat.

There was quite a crowd at the vets'. My eyes were so blurred with tears that at first I couldn't read the euthanasia form I was given to sign. For a half-hour, DH and I sat with Jenny in the car, petting her and telling her what a good girl she is.

Finally the vet came out. He had the good grace to apologize profusely for the screw-up. Then he and the tech injected Jenny with a sedative, and then something lethal.

I kept my left hand under Jenny's neck, my fingertips buried in the fur at her throat, where I could feel the vibration of her breathing. I stroked her head with my right hand and kept telling her it was okay to let go, that she'd always be my baby.

"This'll only take 4 or 5 minutes," the vet said. But it didn't. It took a good 10 minutes, plus 2 more injections. The reason was most likely circulatory problems--"probably her lungs," which fit in with Jenny's rapid decline and harsh, labored breathing.

The vibrations in her throat grew fainter and fainter, then stopped. In another minute I could feel Jenny was gone. Now my baby can rest without pain.

Same Old, Same Old

I haven't been posting lately because not much has been going on in my life, except:

1. I went to NYC for 4 nights for BookExpo, and also gave a "Polish Your Pitch" workshop with Ron Hogan at Backspace Writers Agent-Author Day.
2. Then I spent 3 nights in the Kingston, NY, area, where I hope to live in the not-too-distant future.
   
3. Just as I was returning the rental car in Poughkeepsie, Darling Husband called to say that he'd been laid off his job of 8 years--the one we'd moved to Denver for 3-1/2 years ago.
4. I have to crank out the text (some 17 K words) for the Bella Terra Massachusetts Lighthouses map so it can go to press in 10 days.
   
5. I'm giving another phone seminar on June 28. (Details in sidebar.)
   
6. Last Thursday, I had 3+ hours of excruciating nerve tests on my dysfunctional right arm, which has had 3 surgeries since I broke it 3 years ago. Preliminary results: Further neurosurgery would probably do more harm than good; my 3 middle fingers will remain numb forever.
7. I had 8 days of debilitating headache (technically neuralgia), caused by Denver's unusually damp & stormy weather. On the plus side, my garden has never looked more lush.
   
8. Tomorrow I go back to Dr #13, a hand/arm specialist at Denver Health's Center for Complex Fractures (which I wish I'd known about 3 years ago, GRRRR...), who will tell me whether further orthopedic surgery will help. If he says not, I'm giving up.
9. My wonderful dog Jenny, who turned 13 yesterday, is rapidly succumbing to arthritis. Once upon a time she'd run for hours without stopping. Now she can walk--slowly--for 10 minutes at most, and can barely make it up the 3 steps into the house. We've tried all sorts of meds, to no avail. Today I started her on Dog Gone Pain as a last-ditch effort, and tomorrow she'll get codeine too. There's a wonderful new book, HOW SHALL I TELL THE DOG? I keep asking myself (and the vet): How shall I kill the dog? And when?

As a palliative, I've been gardening and immersing myself in novels written or set in the 19th century:

• PRIDE & PREJUDICE
• RUDE AWAKENINGS OF A JANE AUSTEN ADDICT by Laurie Viera Rigler
  
• CONFESSIONS OF A JANE AUSTEN ADDICT by Rigler (again; even better after RUDE AWAKENINGS)
• LITTLE DORRIT, though Dickens's sentimentality & weakling heroines may have me reaching for Trollope's Palliser novels before too long
  

Showdown at the Kitty Corral

Snowball the trespasser beats a slow-motion retreat from Max the Mauler.




























While I was making sales calls for Bella Terra Maps this afternoon, some high drama was playing out next to the house. Next-door neighbor Snowball came over, and as usual, had a faceoff with Max.

We can't figure out whether Snowy is really stupid or just stubborn. Max almost always beats up on him when he comes over, and Jenny almost always barks at him and chases him away. (She didn't today only because she was napping.) Still, he's constantly in our yard, and sometimes even sits on a kitchen windowsill and peers inside.

We have feline rock-paper-scissors going in the neighborhood: Max clobbers Snowy, Snowy clobbers the black cat across the alley, and that cat clobbers Max.

Update: Next day, the Boy Wonder found Snowy in our basement. He beat a hasty retreat out the window we'd left open for Max, who apparently needs to get a lot tougher.

The Яolcats Are Coming! The Яolcats Are Coming!

The Boy Wonder turned me on to Яolcats, billed as "English Translations of Eastern Bloc Lolcats."

Not only can those kitties spell better than their Amerikanski counterparts, but they have a deep understanding of poetry and political dialectic. For example, there's this post from February 15:





















"Your inactivity is criminal, porcine gastropod…

Go back to Oklahoma!"

Closer than Ever

My friend Stefanie, the artistic, social & culinary doyenne of Schuyler, VA, sends this update on Onslow (at right above) and best pal Snickers (left), who despite all appearances does not officially live at her Gracious Home.

Whether it was the therapy sessions or the sudden realization that there is no "I" in "Dog," our favorite duo has a more harmonious relationship than ever.

Take this Test!

Wild times in Schuyler, VA.

From my friend Stefanie, artistic, social & culinary doyenne of greater Schuyler (pop. 1,286):

One of these large amorphous shapes is a carbon-based life-form. The other is an inanimate object. Can you tell which is which?

Its constant presence notwithstanding, the object on the left (aka "Snickers") officially belongs to Stefanie's neighbors down the road.

It's a Wrap!

Response to Dog Rest Ye Merry, direct from Schuyler, VA:

You know, sometimes during a photo shoot with the boys, nerves get frayed (you can see that in the images, can't you?), words get barked that can't be unbarked, somebody eats a biscuit that was meant for somebody else. It's all part of the wear and tear of the creative process.

Yet seeing our finished work in print on your blog, knowing that our take (or should I say "fetch"?) on the world is reaching millions...well, it makes it all worthwhile.

Thank you thank you thank you,
--Stefanie & troupe

Happy holidays to all!

Dog Rest Ye Merry

Onslow & Snickers get into the Christmas spirit.

I know what you've been thinking:
"Enough about book publicity, and your self-absorbed musings! What's been going on with the dogs in Schuyler, VA?"

Well, my friend Stefanie, social and culinary doyenne of Schuyler, just sent me the above photo. As you can see, Onslow and regular visitor Snickers (aka "the canine Kramer") are working on a holiday-themed synchronized napping routine. I like how Onslow's hind foot is tucked into his armpit. Note the supine penguin at rear (for scale); and in the basket at upper right, part of the banner of Charlottesville's own newspaper, The Daily Progress (aka "the Regress").

For more awwww-some photos, check out GalleyCat and the Rocky Mountain News Holiday Pets Slideshow (my favorites: #4, 13, 19, 43, 57, 58, 60).

It's Hard Out There for a Cat

Above and bottom, Max reacts to the news that he received only 1% of the vote in the Summer Cats popularity contest.

"You're going to be a star tomorrow," I whispered to Max last night. I'd sent a photo of him sacked out on the edge of a bed to GalleyCat, which is having its annual Summer Cats contest. (See Thursday entries and vote here.)

Filled with excitement, first thing this morning I clicked on GalleyCat, only to discover that Max had received zero votes. I was crushed. Now I know how the mother of a beauty pageant loser feels. It was small consolation that when I checked a few minutes ago, Max had received 1% of the vote.

I have to admit that Katinka (the companion of one of my favorite novelists, Katharine Weber), Sebastian and Petunia are pretty damn cute. (I said "Awwww!" at the pic of Petunia sleeping in a manuscript box.) But out of loyalty I cast my vote for Max.

As you can see, all this has deeply affected him.



Update July 11, 11am:
Max has now garnered 3%. I think some people have been playing Mama Rose and haranguing their friends to vote, as one cat (not mentioning any names) who I don't think is terrifically cute is now in the lead with 23% of the vote. Hmpf!

They Let Me Out Again!

Away from Bear Creek in Lair O' the Bear Park

With Darling Husband at the wheel and Jenny in the back seat, late this morning we set off for one of our favorite jaunts: west to Morrison, then up scenic, twisty Route 74 for a walk in Lair O' the Bear Park (love that tacky name!), then lunch at Bear Creek Restaurant in Kittredge, idyllically located on a bend in--you guessed it!--Bear Creek.

But first the painful part: gassing up the Toyota Highlander. When we bought it four years ago, it cost about $25 to fill up. Today it cost $64.75. I haven't driven in almost two weeks, but you can bet that when I do so again (probably tomorrow), I'll be consolidating all my errands into one run.

Back to the fun part...


A female hummingbird dipped into some nectar while I dipped into a margarita at Bear Creek Restaurant.

Jenny made like a cow and nibbled grass after DH and I had our lunch.




I could have spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by the creek near the restaurant (below), but alas, we had to return home.

The View from Here

The scene in bed this afternoon, with my three faithful companions: Jenny, Max and a book-- HOLLY WOULD DREAM for now, but BookExpo added many volumes to my To Be Read pile. (The cane by Jenny's head is a holdover from previous surgeries that has yet to make its way back to the basement.)

R&R with Max

Since I came home from the hospital last Saturday, Max has spent most of each day sleeping on my bed--whether I'm there or not. After lunch I found him luxuriating (above). When I settled in with the laptop, he woke up long enough to give himself a few dabs (below), then moved to his favorite cyber spot (bottom).

This morning, a neighbor who's a massage therapist told me that scientific studies have shown that a purring cat helps bones regenerate. In which case those 11 holes in my humerus should fill in pronto. (Note the vastly reduced bandaging, again due to bathroom triage. The tape on my right hand really is "suntan" color--my suntan, anyway.)


Now I'm going back to HOLLY WOULD DREAM by Book Promotion 101 workshop alum Karen Quinn, just visible at upper left.

The Cat Stays in the Picture

As you can see, Max lost no time in reclaiming his favorite spots as soon as I returned home. He couldn't care less that my right arm looks like a prop from "The Mummy." Neither does my dog Jenny, who quickly realized that all petting and ear-scratching were only going to come from my left side. (She runs away at the first click or flash, which is why there are so many more photos of Max.)

I am SOOO glad it's warm out, as the only garments that fit over all the wadding are tank tops, my silk kimono and Darling Husband's Hawaiian shirts. I wore one with 1940s pin-up girls on it to and from the hospital--which of course coordinated with my cotton-knit skirt and black slides. (I'm always ready for the Fashion Police.) However, the white compression stockings I was commanded to wear after surgery mucked up the ensemble.

P.S. Thanks for all the kind wishes! They greatly lift my spirits.

Punked

It's the weekend, which means it's time once again to check in with Jenny's old friend Onslow in fabulous Schuyler, VA. Onslow's keeper Stefanie writes:

It wasn't long before Onslow became disillusioned with the slick, overproduced Disco style of napping. It was time to find raw power and intensity in the nap idiom.

So here is Onslow, Punk Napper. He has exchanged one accessory (Snickers, the hanger-on) for another (handsome green Mohawk). As a reaction against the synthetic beds of his Disco period, he is dispensing with beds completely. It's just the floor, the nap and him.

In case you are wondering about his influences, the most important one is the Ramones. Their "I Wanna Be Sedated" speaks to him, for some reason.

Onslow may feel kinship with the Ramones, but he's not giving credit where it's due: to Richie Stotts, original lead guitarist of The Plasmatics, who popularized the Mohawk back in the 1970s. (I'll never forget the time I saw him get on the subway at 14th Street, 6'7" and rail thin with the indigo Mohawk. Everyone in the car cleared a space for him; the looks he got from the other riders were priceless.)

Richie Stotts of The Plasmatics

Ready for the Weekend

Max (left) and Jenny (below) couldn't care less about publishing, or how much book reviewers are--or aren't--paid.

As you can see, they're in my office preparing to party down. (It's hard to catch Jenny napping; as soon as the hears the camera click on, she's ready to bolt. I got her to stay by telling her, "Let's see your belly.")

They Love the Night Life

Snickers (foreground) and Onslow have a ball in bed.

Breaking news from my friend Stefanie, artistic doyenne of Schuyler, VA:

I am happy to report that Onslow and Snickers have joined forces for at least one more project. Onslow persuaded Snickers that of late their naps were becoming too esoteric and too serious. The joy of the early naps was missing.

The time had come to kick up their paws. The result: "Disco Nap". (The disco soccer ball is a nice touch, don't you think?) It must be said that Snickers is looking a little pensive, perhaps not yet comfortable in his new funky incarnation. He need only look to Onslow and learn.

We hope that this latest nap will introduce a whole new generation to Onslow's and Snickers's oeuvre.

I'm sure everyone is relieved, as I am, that Delilah the bitch didn't succeed in breaking up the boys' collaboration. (Though it may be time for them to get their own blog.)

Artistic Differences

Snickers (front) and Onslow (waaay back).

When last we checked in with my dog Jenny's old pals in Virginia, Onslow and Snickers, they were sharing Onslow's capacious bed. But now, my friend Stefanie (Onslow's keeper and Snickers's ever-gracious hostess) writes:

As you can see from the photo, Snickers and Onslow are going through a period of adjustment and, if truth be told, discord. They just don't have the same vision anymore when it comes to synchronized napping. Really, Delilah the corgi mix (otherwise known as Yoko Ono) has been having a wrenching effect on their collaboration. She keeps yelping that Snickers is the "real artist" of the duo. As if!

Anyway, we're very excited about their next--and possibly final--project. It's a portfolio of nap photographs called "The White Album." Although it features both dogs, it really may be considered two individual albums.

Wish them well during this period of transition.

We can only hope that the boys' separation is due to the springtime warmth, and not that pushy, manipulative bitch.

P.S. from Stefanie:

I know that their many fans would like them to stay together, but ever since Onslow started going to the ashram in Buckingham County, he realizes that there is more to life than money or even a huge bed.