You are what you eat

Some animals are dogs.

Some animals just think they are dogs.

Right, Oreo Cookie?

Aside, sorry for the fundamental lack of postage lately. Watch my Facebook page for more regular status updates and the like.

Our new addition (no, not that one)

So, do you know the purpose of the proverbial canary in a coal mine?

To wit:

Early coal mines did not feature ventilation systems, so miners would routinely bring a caged canary into new coal seams. Canaries are especially sensitive to methane and carbon monoxide, which made them ideal for detecting any dangerous gas build-ups. As long as the canary in a coal mine kept singing, the miners knew their air supply was safe. A dead canary in a coal mine signalled an immediate evacuation.

My co-worker's daughter found a trio of kittens out behind a woodpile.

Now, I'm a sucker for cute lil' critters.

And, frankly, one of our concerns with 3/4Em on the way is how Norton and Pumpkin will take to our darling little girl.

So...

Meet the newest member of our household:



That's Oreo. One of the three kittens.

I went for the distinctive-looking one: He's got a black head, black tail and everything else is white.

Thus, the name: He's black on each end and creamy in the middle.

I was going to name him Ninja, since his black head looks like a mask, and we almost went for Zorro (again, the mask).

But as the folks at our childbirth classes were explaining: Cravings. One woman said she craves Oreos. One said she has a bag in her car. Me and Marisa named the kitten after them.

So, as I see it: If the animals don't eat the kitten, they won't eat the baby.

So far: Norton loves him. He's a little afraid of Nort, though he's starting to figure out the big guy's a bit of a wimp (albeit a matching black-and-white wimp).

Pumpkin, on the other hand, hates him. She actually hisses and growls when he's near. But... if she can get used to Norton, she can get used to anything. I speak from experience.

When animals attack... the downside

The other day, at 5 a.m., Marisa and I were awakened by the crashing and howling of animals at the foot of our bed.

Pumpkin, as she is wont to do in her role as Attack Cat, swatted Norton.

And got a claw stuck.

In his face.

Ah. Animals.

Can't wait to add a baby to this mix.

I feel a little better...

... About Norton roaming the neighborhood after seeing this.

And yes, our poor puppy doesn't get to go out off leash much anymore. And that was after a 1-mile jaunt.

This pup makes wandering into a neighbor's garage or under the odd deck look tame by comparison.



For the original item:

Sick at heart

Is it wrong that, on the night of the State of the Union, with Super Tuesday just a week away, my Raiders possibly on the verge of firing their coach, my not-quite-sister-in-law about to have a baby any second and my birthday less than three weeks away...

All I can really think about is my poor, sick dog, and whether he's going to be just fine or whether he's going to die?

The fourth wheel

They say the squeaky wheel gets the grease, and so sometimes I do wonder if I'm neglecting the fourth member of our household - not just on my blog, but in general.

That's because Pumpkin is a cat. And of course, not nearly in need of as much attention as Norton, the dog.

But Pumpkin is, as my father once described his (late, lamented) cat, Shadow, a singular creature.

Pumpkin - who really is, as with Norton, Marisa's pet - does several non-cat-like things.

For one, she talks.

Well, not literally. But she meows constantly. I was reminded of this the other day when we visited our brand spankin' new invitation vendor and her cat started meowing at us. And she purrs. A lot. For no apparent reason. The other night, she was sitting on the couch, just purring. Nobody near her, nothing going on. Just a content cat.

Pumpkin, who also has some cataracts (no pun intended), also likes to run right in front of your legs.

I can't tell you how many times I've stepped on her, kicked her or tripped over her. Fortunately a) I've never hurt her, even the time I booted her into a wall when she zigged and I, well, zigged; and b) she doesn't hate me for it.

How do I know she doesn't hate me?

Well, for one thing, she'll "gimme a pound, dog" (pun intended).

Because she likes to rub her head on things, I suppose to mark her scent or something. But as a result, if I stick my fist out, she'll bop it head-on.

I call her "kitty head-butt" because sometimes, that's how she wakes me up. Bam! Head butt.

Another reason I know she doesn't hate me?

She follows me into the bathroom.

Those of you who know me probably realize that's a risk even (the late, lamented) Evel Knievel wouldn't take...

But seriously. The doors in the house aren't all level so they don't all close, and inevitably, if a bathroom door re-opens behind me, four times out of five it's not Norton making sure I haven't abandoned him, it's Pumpkin.

Why she does it, I don't know.

But it's darn hard to take a good bathroom break seriously when there's a cat rubbing against your legs.

Especially if you're trying to, as guys do, pee standing up. The first time she wandered in during that, which was one of the first times she wandered in at all, she nearly wound up a wet cat, if you know what I mean.

And then, of course, there are the little decks on the house. Norton likes going outside, but so does our "indoor" cat.

What does she do out there? Mostly, she sniffs the air. Sometimes she sits in the patio door and just sniffs. Other times, out on the deck, she'll stick her head through the rails and sniff. (The first time, I'll confess, I thought she was going to try and jump.) Once in a while, she growls at a bird, or hunts down a leaf. But mostly, she just sniffs.

Did I mention she likes to hide and ambush Norton? Much like Shadow would sit at the top of my parents' stairs and meow through the baby-gate at my (late, lamented) dachshund, Morgan, just to torment him because he couldn't get to her...

Pumpkin will hide behind something, wait for my gentle, wimpy and 60-pounds-bigger dog to wander by... And swat him in the face!

Hell, sometimes, she doesn't even hide. She just runs up and clobbers him, then runs away. Probably laughing.

As a result, we have a big dog... who's afraid of the cat. He won't go up stairs past her. He just stands there, waiting, looking forlorn. While she wanders back in forth in front of him, rubbbing his legs with her head. Because she can.

Of course, the pets do love each other. But really, I think Pumpkin just knows she can torment him for fun. Like a big sister or something. Except she's the little sister.

Eh. What do I know? I'm an only child.

But somehow, now, in the mornings, sometimes I wake up squished onto one side of the bed, by a snoring dog, a drooling cat and a, well, snoring and drooling girl.

Speaking of which, did I mention the cat drools?

She'll sit on your chest if you're lying down, and drool on you. She did it to me once.

But the best one was, one night when I was driving home, I was talking on the phone with Marisa, and she was telling me how Pumpkin was sitting on her, and suddenly she started screaming and squealing and yelling.

So I'm yelling, "Honey, what is it? Are you ok? What's wrong!"

And when she finally answered, she screeched, "Pumpkin drooled in my mouth!"

Which isn't quite as good as the story about one of my fraternity brothers in college.

But at least this one's printable.

"Doggie in a Box" update

"Doggie in a box" is what I call Norton when I have to crate him. (No, that's not him. That's a product shot.)

Because he got his new crate from Kennel Vet yesterday, and today was his first day in it.

Miraculously, he appears to have been completely fine when Marisa got home.

The funny thing was, I got really, really nervous for her to hurry home - she had some errands to run between school and home. I mean, really anxious.

And I'm normally the calm, "don't worry, he'll be fine" one of the two of us.

I guess it was my guilt over everything - I should've replaced the crate when he really started mangling it, before he hurt himself - bubbling up. I just wanted him to be fine so badly.

I hope it's the beginning of a better stretch for him. M even said he smiled at her tonight. And she worries sometimes that he's lost his smile.

Sadly, I know what she means.

(Sadly in the sense that a) he's lost his smile; and b) I'm talking about a dog here.)

So hey, big gold crate, working for now. Cross your fingers for us.

Two unrelated discoveries

No, I'm not talking about the Strait of Magellan and the polio vaccine.

I'm talking about two things I discovered, or rather, found out recently.


First off, "Supernatural" kicks ass. I point this out despite the fact that, before about two months ago, I'd never seen it, barely heard of it, and if you told me it was on "the CW" network, I'd have thought, "Hey, didn't that Country & Western network become Spike TV?

But I managed to land both the firstand secondseasons on DVD, and I just ate 'em up. Even if the TWOP recaps are only so-so and not awesome.

Either way, if you like, um, supernatural stuff (read: horror) and some humor, or you like watching a couple of hunky teen-beat types (I'd heard of Jared Padalecki because I'd seen him in the remakes of "House of Wax" and "Flight of the Phoenix", but I'd never heard of Jensen Ackles - who for my money is the better actor - because, despite the fact that he'd been in just about every TV show ever aimed at teen girls, I've never watched any of them)...

You'll dig this show.

Monsters. Gore. Jokes. Fun!

The second discovery is thanks to Marisa, who when I said something about taking my sweaters to the dry cleaners the other day, said, "You know, you can wash some sweaters?"

Turns out I can! And to think, I've always dry-cleaned every one. At like $5 a pop. Turns out I only have to take in about half. D'oh!

Oh, a third random discovery: Dogs who are coneheads really have no concept of the fact that they're suddenly much, much wider. This leads to both comedy and awkwardness, as you suddenly fear for everything in their immediate vicinity. Because it's in danger of getting knocked over.

I'm on a semi-mandatory three-day weekend for the MLK holiday. It's nice and relaxing, but I have a few things to do. And, oddly enough, my public-school teacher fiancee had to work.

Figures.

My dog is a conehead!

Poor Norton. He scratched his face trying to get out of his crate (again) today.


Here's a picture Marisa took at the vet.

It's so sad. He's so sad.

It's a helpless feeling sometimes. And I know it hurts her even more than me. She's the one who found him, trying to dig his way out from under one wall of the crate.

But I'm the one who put him in there. I'm the one who said I didn't want to risk him being loose anymore.

I love him. I spend every morning with him. I walk him every day.

He's a good dog.

But he's sick in the head. The anxiety is so bad, he hurts himself without even realizing it.

I know what it's like to battle demons out of your control, in your mind. I wish I could explain it to him. I wish I could tell him everything's going to be fine, that someone will come home to him soon and he doesn't need to worry.

But he doesn't understand me.

I sometimes think if I had three wishes, besides money and a long, healthy life with M, the third thing I'd wish for would be Norton's happiness.

And every once in a while, I think, what if something happened? What if something happened to us, and we didn't come home? How would he understand?

My poor doggie. And for all that, when I get home, he'll be delighted to see me.

He's a good dog.