Tuesday, February 28, 2012

How to Train Your Dragon

The wee one is coming along fine these days. She has been with us about three months now. She came to us at two years old, having already had a litter of pups, and unspayed. And untrained. She was a kennel dog, but had been well socialized with other dogs, people, and, thankfully, small children. This last was very important to me because of having my grand-children around. She is a natural with them and lets them hold her, squeeze her gently, and sit with them if they watch cartoons. She did not know how to climb stairs (up or down). She did not know what toys were, how to sit in a lap, or how to jump on a couch. All this, and she was not house-broken.

She's come along famously. Now she is the beloved dog of two people with nothing better to do (at least in her mind) than to play with her and love her. She has learned everything, including some regular doggie stuff like "sit" and "stay." Her goofy, troll-dolly face makes everyone smile and even my husband is not immune. Her name is Cricket, which I like, and I think it suits her. My husband calls her "Pickles" which is his special pet name for her.

If you have not seen this movie, "How to Train Your Dragon" I highly recommend it. I am categorically not an animated movie lover, so for me to recommend an animated film is really a stretch. But now that we have Cricket (aka Pickles) she really does look like the dragon in this film, albeit a much smaller version. Especially when she is playing like in this photo.
She never bites hard, so this is just play. With wild eyes.

How to Train my Dragon? The same as in the movie. With love, respect, occasional treats, repetition, and fun. She is one smart little cookie and she seems to like learning new skills.

I think it was Will Rogers who said, "If dogs don't go to heaven when they die, then when I die, I want to go where the dogs go."

Me, too.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Hair Cuts

Okay, remember this girl? Here she is in all her late fall glory, covered with apples. Don ate some of them while he was mowing the lawn, but most were wormy so we let the deer have them.
Now check her out.
Here she is, post hair cut. A tree trimmer, experienced in fruit tree trimming (or so we hoped) came out and chopped away. He cut most of the water spout growth from the top, thinned out the middle, and more or less gave her a Dorothy Hammil cut. Like a human, there were lots of trimmings on the floor afterwards. I thought he was going to clean this up like they do at the beauty parlor. But no.
I myself got a haircut this week. Not a Dorothy Hammil, though I've had one in my life. Don got a picture of a movie star and said, "You'd look cute in this hair cut." I showed it to the girl who cuts my hair and she said "sure, no problem" and off she went. A huge pile on the floor later, I have much shorter hair, too many layers, and my hair only looks okay if I spend half an hour styling it. Fortunately, like apple trees, my hair grows fast. By spring, she will be in full flower, and my hair will be back down to grazing my shoulders.
We are leaving to drive to Boston this week. I am so thrilled. February in Michigan is cold and wet and gloomy. Boston may be no better, but seeing the smiles on my grand-daughter's face will lighten my heart. Cricket must go to the kennel for the week. Having managed to completely spoil her in the two months we've had her, I was so worried about leaving her. But this morning we stopped by the vet for a kennel cough vaccination and flea control and the women at the vet ooh-ed and aah-ed over her and picked her up and cuddled her and said, "We can't WAIT until Cricket comes next week." So. Worry over.
My mind is jumping all over the place this morning. Hard to keep thoughts in order. I had Don bring up hamburger, tomatoes, onions and peppers from the basement and I need to get the chili started. Cricket is snoring on the couch. I just finished reading "Profiles in Courage" by John F. Kennedy. At first I thought it was mis-titled. I would have called it "Profiles of Early American Politicians." But of course then no one would have read it. None of the profiles fit my definition of courage. But then later, thinking it over, I realized it's precisely what's lacking in politicians today. None of them have the courage to stand up and say what they believe in. None of them have the courage of their convictions. They just say, "Elect me. Things will get better." Uh huh. But how? What will you do? What will you not do? These are the questions that plague me because I got up at 4:30 this morning.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Groundhog Day

I thought it would never be February. And yet here it is. Somewhere in this country, many places in fact, crabby, anxious little biting furry animals are being dragged from their warm holes to see if they cast a shadow. This happens most notably in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania where Punxsutawney Phil is hauled unceremoniously from his den while being filmed for everyone to watch. Of course the original Punxsutawney Phil perished many years ago and we are, I believe, on our 31st groundhog with that same name. Males and females.

I don't know if they cast a shadow it means 6 more weeks of winter, or if they don't cast a shadow it means 6 more weeks of winter. But either way, I can tell you from experience, at the first week in February, we will certainly have at least six more weeks of winter. This is not rocket science. This is calendar reading.  Similar to what doctors do when they give you a "due date" for a baby. They say, "When do you think you think you last had sex?" Then they get out a calendar and count to 40 and hey, presto, you have a due date. This part does not take four years of medical school.

We do not have a ground hog. We have Phil. Here he is. Isn't he glorious?
Phil the Pheasant comes every day to our bird feeders now. Here he is by the rocks near the driveway, cautiously picking his way to the feeders. He stays for an hour or more and gorges his way to health and happiness. The one day I didn't realize he was there, I let Cricket out and she ran faster than I believed possible for a girl of her size. Phil can't take off suddenly like smaller birds, so he ran like  Roadrunner for a few wild steps, leaving a beautiful tail feather-shaped pattern in the snow before he got airborne.

Have I put in a picture of our house yet? I don't think so. Here is what it looks like this time of year. In the front you can see the small tree close to the house. This is where all the bird feeders are. Where Phil eats every day.
Ah, my 140 year old house. It looks so innocent here, doesn't it? All dusted with powdered sugar snow, the flag floating in a light wind, surrounded by maple trees hundreds of years old. Trust me, the house is not so innocent. She harbors all manner of tricks. Critters such as Phil are wonderful outside. But when they come inside it's different. I still won't go down in the basement. Two months ago, Don shot a snake down there. With a BB gun of all things! (Don had the BB gun, not the snake, but these days you never know.) Afterwards he had to DEAL with the thing. Dear God. So can you blame me? If spring ever comes, we are going to go all around outside the house plugging holes where the mice get in. Because this is how it starts. First the mice, then.... 

But as I say, spring is at least six weeks off.  No matter if you have a ground hog or a pheasant.