Organic Dog Candy

We have a new favorite place to walk Angus and Baxter which has great open areas, a nice paved walkway and lots of trees and bushes for the boys to explore, sniff and of course, pee on.  Technically they aren’t supposed to be off-leash but it’s such a great place for dogs to BE off-leash that we brazenly ignore the big sign with the dog walking sedately on-leash and let them off anyway. 

We’re always watching closely so when we spy anybody else out on the pathway we can call the dogs back and leash them up before our defiance is discovered.  They’re pretty good at coming back when I shake the bag of treats, unless they spot a dog before we do.  If it’s a choice between a dog treat and sniffing another dog’s butt, the dog butt always wins out.

Once when we were walking them I didn’t notice Baxter had ranged out further than normal and headed up the only snow-free hill.  When I called him back he was covered in little sticky seeds.  And I mean covered.  This photo does not even begin to show how many seeds were stuck to his fur and beard and lips and ears and belly and paws because we'd already pulled off a bunch before I made Dean stop so I could take a picture which I can tell you did not excite him but he's gotten used to me saying, wait, I think I might want to blog this.... 

Anyway, we pulled off our mittens and began pulling off the seeds and tossing them aside but as we were tossing them, Baxter was trying to reach down and eat them while at the same time Angus was trying to eat them straight off of Baxter’s chest and neck.  We finally got them all off and even though we tried to prevent it, I think half of them ended up in Angus and Baxter’s bellies. 

A few days later we were back on the same pathway but this time we made sure Baxter kept away from that hill because even though the boys really enjoyed eating those seeds, pulling them off Baxter was not all that much fun for us.  Unfortunately, with all the warm weather we’d had the snow was almost gone so there were many more bushes exposed.  I got distracted, Baxter ranged out, and ... 

Back out came the leashes and as we were headed back toward the car Baxter spotted a wooly bear creeping across the pathway.  I was just ready to pull him back, worried he might think a wooly bear was an even better snack than the sticky seeds, when he touched his nose to it.  The wooly bear curled into a ball and Baxter jumped, straight into the air, at least a foot, maybe two.  It was like watching 90 pounds of black fur pop out of a jack-in-the-box.  At least the wooly bear is safe from being mistaken for a dog treat but the sticky seeds are too big a draw for the dogs to risk keeping them off-leash anymore.  So until winter once again comes back with a vengeance (as I know it will no matter how hard I try to convince myself we’re going to have an early spring) we will respect the leash law like the law-abiding citizens we are (mostly).

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Organic Dog Candy

Beard Baubles Aren't Just For Men

“Boys,” we said, “let’s go skiing.”  

We aren’t as close to cross country skiing here in Sheridan as we were in Casper.  Instead of a 20 minute drive from our house to the trails it’s now about a 45 minute drive — for most people.  For us, when Dean spots a rock or what he thinks looks like a rock, he reflexively lets up on the gas.  And if he actually talks about that supposed rock he might have just seen … well, let’s just say, if driving slower saves gas, we get up that mountain for next to nothing.  It was foggy on the drive up to the ski trails which pretty much prevented Dean's rock gawking, but the low visibility and discussions of the shrouded trees made him drive even slower so I had plenty of time to take some pictures as we crept up the mountain.  

We didn't know exactly where the trails were.  All we knew was that when we’d checked out the spot last winter (stupidly leaving our skis behind) there’d been cars parked alongside the highway where the trails began.  So when we saw a trail sign a short distance off the highway we figured that was the place.   The boys were in dog heaven but we were a bit taken aback by the lack of a groomed trail.  

We strapped on our skis and broke trail for a short distance.  As we trudged along Dean kept mumbling about how he didn’t think we were at the right place but I pointed at the sign on the fence saying, “but there’s a sign on the fence.” He refused to be convinced.  He decided we should get back in the car, and drive further up the highway.  He’s all for exercise but he has his limits. 

Turned out he was right and about three minutes up the highway were the real trails, which had been groomed …. before it had recently snowed.  So we still had to break trail a bit but at least the trails were wide and easy to follow.  And we only fell once.  Which is pretty good considering we had to cross a small creek and we had two 90-pound snow-crazed dogs running near us.

We’re planning to head back up that way this afternoon because we really need to hear something crunching other than peanut brittle between our teeth and feel the glide of something other than frosted cookies going down our throats.  

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Beard Baubles Aren't Just For Men

To Oz? To OZ!

How could the ground be covered in a sparkling white blanket two short weeks ago ...

   

... and today be an emerald green carpet?

Oh, right.  I forgot.  I live in Wyoming where if we don't like the weather we just gnaw on some antelope jerky and wait a few minutes.  In Wyoming I can drive to work in a blizzard, struggle to push my car door open as 40 mph winds slam it back into me, fight my way across the parking lot with mascara dripping down my cheeks from the pelting snow, and finally reach the office door where I sometimes even get completely inside before the wind slams it closed on my arm.  A few short hours later, I can walk outside, upright, sun shining, carrying my coat. 

I’m tired of winter.  I’m glad winter is over and the bir...................... ohhhhhhhhhh, nooooooooo….…..did I say that out loud?   Knock on wood, knock on wood, knock on wood, knock on wood, knock on wood, knock on wood.   

Angus, though?   I think Angus is going to miss winter.

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To Oz? To OZ!

Dog Paddling

Our friends, Larry and Heidi, invited us to spend Memorial weekend with them camping two nights and canoeing 20 or (depending on who was reading the map) 30 miles on the Platte River.  It’s been at least three years since we have canoed and even longer since we’ve camped so we were out of practice, but we thought, why not.  Just because the last time we went on a camping and canoeing trip with these friends it was cold and rainy and we didn’t see the sun until the last day didn’t mean the weather would be bad this time.  And just because we tore a gash in the side of our canoe when we hit a limestone wall as we were frantically paddling through boulder strewn rapids on the Smith River with these friends didn’t mean we couldn’t have a leisurely float with them this time.  So I said, let’s check the weather forecast every day until we leave and if the prediction is warm and dry with no wind … let’s do it!  And while we’re at it, since Larry and Heidi have also invited another couple we‘ve never met, Bob and Laura, let’s test our friendship by bringing a 75 pound “puppy” along for his first experience floating in a canoe and sleeping in a tent.

We all met at a pre-arranged spot, strapped our gear into the canoes, coaxed, sweet-talked, bribed and then shoved Angus into our canoe and pushed off.  Unfortunately, by that time it was late in the day, the wind had come up, and we were not only paddling into a head wind, we were being buffeted by cross winds.  Angus was constantly moving but it was from excitement, not nervousness.    Every time he saw a bird he would jump up, poised to leap, the canoe would sway from side to side and I would tense, waiting for the inevitable.  Let me tell you.  There are LOTS of birds flying around a river.  When he wasn’t jumping up and whining at a bird or walking from one side of the canoe to the other, he was stepping over the cross bars to get to the back where Dean was sitting.   When he got bored with Dean he’d move back over the cross bars to the front of the canoe right behind me.   Just as I would be paddling like crazy to try and keep us going forward as the wind was trying to push us backwards, Angus would lay his head on my shoulder and expect me to pet him.   When the bird population dropped enough that he felt he could ignore them for a moment, he would lean up against the side of the canoe, causing it to list, stick his head over the side and nonchalantly lap up river water.  

 The wind rippled the water and made paddling difficult but Angus’ bird-watching and river drinking made it nerve-wracking.   I know it probably wasn’t fair for me to blame Angus for every tilt and sway of the canoe but I did.  Especially since I had no idea what was going on behind me.  Each time the boat leaned I gripped the side, and as I waited for the water to take us, I yelled.  “Sit!  Lay down!  Sit! Get away from the side!  Please!  Lay down, Angus!  Sit! What’s he doing now?  Is he sitting?  Sit Angus!  Is he lying down?  What’s going on?    Where is he?  Angus!  Sit!  Sit Angus!  Chew on your bone.  Chew on your stick.  Is he sitting?  What are you doing?  What’s he doing?  Oh, no, there’s another bird.  Angus!  Stay!  Staaaaaaaay ………….. staaaaaay ….. staaay …. stay! ….. Angus!  Stay!  Sit!  Sit, Angus!”

That was day one.   A four-mile, hour-long canoe ride that felt like a lifetime.  We almost backed out after that.  We fully intended to walk the five or so miles back to our car and admit defeat but Larry and Heidi and Laura and Bob talked us into staying.  Maybe listening to frantic yelling while they watched a wobbly canoe was good entertainment, or maybe they wanted to test their rescue skills if Angus did dump us into the river, or … maybe there were beers riding on exactly how and when the likely event of our dunking would occur.   Later, as we were all relaxing and visiting at our campsite, I wondered how much beer it would take to make a 75 pound dog lethargic.  Would it only take a little since he would be in a canoe being gently rocked to sleep?    Or would it take a lot because of all the stimulation from birds and wildlife?  Joking.  I was just joking.  Really.  I wouldn’t give him any.  That would be dog abuse.  But just out of curiosity, how much beer would a 75 pound dog have to drink in order to become mellow and sleepy? 

First night's campsite

We started out early on day two hoping to beat the wind.   The water was calm and Dean and I were much more relaxed as we glided along quietly with only the whisper of our paddles through the water.   Now and then I’d hear a muffled word softly spoken from one of the other canoes, or the quiet crunch of a stick being chewed behind me.  Angus even actually lay down in the boat or rested his head on the side intermittently for almost 45 seconds at a time – until he saw a bird or heard the slap of a beaver tail or the crack of elk hooves clambering over rocks.   All at once he would jump up, the canoe would rock and the tranquility would be shattered by staccato bursts of our frantic dog commands.

Day two had been so much more relaxing and enjoyable that we all decided to sleep in and have a leisurely pancake breakfast before we set off on the last morning’s paddle, which I welcomed because I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the first night Angus slept in our tent.  He had started at our feet.  Then he moved to my side, then Dean’s side, then between us, then right on top of my legs and once I woke up and looked straight into a big black nose.   

Second night's campsite

As it turned out, we needed that extra sleep because day three was Day One Déjà vu with the addition of a goose; a goose that stubbornly chose to float and honk just ahead of our canoe.  When we paddled faster to try and scare it into flying away, the goose paddled a little faster maintaining the same distance ahead of us.  Angus was so tense with excitement he nearly vibrated.  He whined and cried and barked but the goose just kept floating and honking.  I yelled at Angus.  Dean yelled at Angus.  I yelled at the goose.  Nobody listened.  “This is it,” I thought.  “This is it.  So close to the end and he’s going to launch himself after that goose and dump us.”   

He didn’t.  But that was only because Dean decided to beach the canoe for a bit, wait for the others to catch up, and give that taunting feathered fowl time to get ahead of us.  Otherwise, I’m convinced instead of enjoying one last beer on the bank with our friends, I would have been drinking river water as I floated down the river clutching my life jacket in terror, wishing I’d given Angus a beer for breakfast.

Not as much fun as a river.

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Dog Paddling

Lyle Loves Ponies Too

It’s been so long since I’ve written anything here that I don’t know how to begin so I guess I’ll just jump right in with I thought I broke my nose last weekend.  The second thought that went through my head as I was gingerly tapping at my nostrils wondering when the blood would begin to flow was boy, this will make a great blog post.  Too bad I don’t have time to write about how I was on my knees, hunched over, gripping pliers and pulling at a stubborn staple with all my strength when it suddenly let loose, my fist flew back straight into my nose which propelled me back onto my butt.  But my nose didn’t bleed or swell or even bruise and my nose didn’t break.  So no blog post there. 

I thought maybe I could post about the shape my hand had assumed from ripping out four rooms of carpet and padding, yanking out those stubborn staples and scraping off the glued-on indoor-outdoor carpeting foam from the floor of two rooms, although I wasn’t sure how I could type if my fingers were curled over in the shape of a claw.  But I managed to pry my fingers from the pliers and the scraper and with only a little massaging I was able to return them to their natural positions … or at least natural enough to hold a glass of beer.  So no blog post there either.

Dean made the first mouthwatering homemade breakfast in our future retirement house but there were no fires or spills or burns to make that interesting to post about.

It seems all I’m left to write about is the variety of ways Angus found to stay cool while Dean and I were sweating as we pulled and ripped and yanked and scraped and groaned. 

Well, that and the fact that we have just learned that Angus is not part Labradoodle/part Bernese Mountain dog.  He is part Labradoodle and horse Newfoundland.   12 weeks, 25 pounds and growing.

Now we know why he likes to stick half his head in his water bowl when he drinks.  I can’t tell you how excited I am for the drooling to start.  I just hope I’m not holding a pair of pliers when I slip in it.  On the bright side, if I can train him to lick up his slobbers from the floor I may never have to mop again!

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Lyle Loves Ponies Too

Let 'Er Rip!

Last night I was dreaming in spanish again. I wasn’t singing this time

(Did the music work?  I've been haunted by this stupid player. Some might even say obsessed.   Pleeeez say it worked.)

but somebody was babbling away to me in spanish and I understood every word they said.  I don’t remember every detail of the conversation, but I suspect that it went something like this (in spanish, of course): Wake up! Wake up! Someone is trying to kill you. There are gases pouring into your bedroom. You must open your eyes before the tears pouring out of them blind you and you can’t find your way out of the house. Save yourself, Senora. Quickly! Wake up! I woke up, took a deep breath … gagged. Within seconds I knew that smell. Shadow! Not again. Jeez. Recently she has become a factory of eye-watering, nostril-pinching, gag-reflexing odors. I am married to a man. I have experience with flatulence. But the stench produced when Shadow cuts the cheese is indescribable.

Don't let that innocent look fool you.  Evil gases lurk within.

Once I could breathe again I argued with myself over the next step. Should I make myself crawl out of my warm bed, walk the six feet over to where Shadow is tooting peacefully in her bed, wake her up, explain to her that she is killing me, grab and pull her stinky body out of her bed, place myself in the danger zone and push her out of the bedroom? Or should I stay in bed and hope there would be no more gifts from her for the remainder of night? It was the middle of the night and I am “of an age” which means the window was open so the room was cold. And as it happened, Shadow’s stink bomb occurred at one of the rare moments when I was actually enjoying the feeling of a warm blanket on my body. I stayed in bed.

Shortly after, I regretted that decision. I had barely begun drifting off to the land of Nod when I heard "pppppppfffffffffffftttttttttttttttttt.” At least I had a warning that time. I quickly squeezed my eyes tight, pulled the sheet and blanket over my face and held my breath. I checked the air after about 20 seconds only to discover it was still filled with noxious fumes. I told myself if it happened one more time I was leaving the bedroom and spending the rest of the night on the couch. Sure enough, it wasn’t three minutes later and I once again heard, “ppppppppppppfffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt." That dog cut the cheese three times in fewer than five minutes.  The air was hazy with deadly gases.  I looked over at Dean who was completely oblivious to the fact that our bedroom smelled worse than ... I don't know.... I honestly can't think of anything worse.  He was peacefully in dreamland, happily making little puffing noises and totally unaware that one spark from static electricity could cause our room to burst into flames.

I am ashamed to say that I did not crawl out of my nice warm bed and head for the couch. Nor did I grab Shadow’s bed and drag her out of my bedroom.  I was just too lazy to put forth the effort. It’s a sad thing to admit you are a person who would prefer to breathe in toxic fumes rather than get out of bed in the middle of the night and deal with a health risk.  Either I finally just went to sleep and somehow managed to live through the additional gaseous fumes filling up our bedroom or Shadow’s body had reached its maximum production. Either way, we all woke up alive with no apparent side effects.  And one of us didn't even know their lungs were at risk.◦

Let 'Er Rip!

Tennis Balls Aren't Green

A couple of weeks ago I noticed my box of dryer sheets was running low and since we now have those new energy efficient appliances I thought maybe instead of buying another box of dryer sheets and filling my garbage can, and ultimately the landfill, I should make an attempt to be more green.  So one day last week while I was stimulating the economy at WalMart, I purchased the Dryer Bar.  It lasts about four MONTHS!  Just stick it and forget it!  How perfect.  I could do my part to lessen the landfill AND keep my clothes not only static-free but smelling fresh.  And not only that, I would have one less thing to think about and I'm all for that because at this point in my life each new thing that must be remembered requires me to forget some other less important thing.

I dutifully used the last three dryer sheets and finally was able to use this nifty product on Sunday.  It worked like a charm.  My clothes came out static-free, smelling outdoor fresh.  The best thing was that I didn't have to worry about forgetting and throwing a dryer sheet into the garbage in my bathroom where invariably Shadow would pull it out, gum it and then leave it lying somewhere around the house.  I don't know what it is that attracts her to dryer sheets.  Maybe it's her doggy way of trying to soften her fur.  Or maybe she's got some kind of doggy disease, like those people who like to eat dirt, but whatever the reason, she loves them.  And I know it's not my cat because if it was Lily she would leave the garbage can tipped over.  She's nimble but she prefers crawling into a small garbage can, tipping it over and just lying there. (so there, Dean).   Shadow sneakily delicately pulls the sheet out before gnawing on it.

Since the temperatures dipped to single and minus single digits over the weekend, I figured I'd better switch out the two blankets and summer bedspread on our bed for the comforter before Dean started whining (more).  As it was, he'd been adding increasing numbers of blankets, bathrobes, and whatever article of clothing he found nearby onto his side of the bed until our bed had begun listing to the west.  So our bed is now winter-ready but since Shadow likes to use the sides of the bed to scratch her snout, rub her body up and down, scratch her snout again, more rubbing, (you get the picture), the summer bedspread had a nice layer of greasy brown mixed with black fur.  It needed to be washed.

Never fear.  I have the new Dryer Bar.  I can wash that bedspread, throw it in the dryer and forget it!  No muss, no fuss.  That's what I did last night.  I should mention that my mom taught me that bedspreads are never to be used as blankets.  They are decorative.  I use this bedspread in the summer but it's made of pretty heavy fabric.  It weighs alot.  Actually Dean probably would have been more toasty pulling it up over his cold body than all the articles of clothing he's been using.  If I would have let him.  But I didn't.  I tell you this because last night was the first time I washed it in my new high efficiency washer using the extended spin option.   Apparently extended spin option isn't a good choice with a heavy bedspread.  There was a moment when it sounded like somebody had picked up the washing machine and was throwing it against the dryer..... boom!. boom!... boom!... boom!... boom!  I ran downstairs only to see the washing machine walking into the dryer over and over and over. 

A quick switch to regular spin, the washing machine quit walking and then it was time to put my heavy bedspread into my new high efficiency dryer with my new green(ish), Forget It! Dryer Bar.  So far so good.   For whatever reason, I thought I should add a tennis ball.  I'm not sure why.  Tennis balls are great for fluffing pillows but apparently not for bedspreads.  Don't ask me why I thought I needed a tennis ball to fluff my bedspread.  I don't know.   It just seemed like a good idea at the time.  It's not.  Not if you're using the Forget It! Dryer Bar. 

When you come back to take out your heavy bedspread you will find that the tennis ball has beat your Forget it! Dryer Bar to hell and you have pea-sized bits of Forget it! Dryer Bar all over the inside of your dryer and lint thingy and in places you can't even reach to pull out. 

And after you've cursed and moaned softly to yourself, when you try to pry off the base that you have stuck on the inside of your dryer you will discover that the gluey stuff holding the base is there for life.  (please loosen it peanut butter). 

It's back to dryer sheets for me.  Forget green.  Shadow's snout's been looking dry and I didn't like the smell of the Forget It! Dryer Bar anyway.◦

Tennis Balls Aren't Green