Merry Christmas!

Well, we had planned to (grudgingly) leave Rufus and Amelia in charge of the house, and head up to see Sophie's family for the holidays. The first "white Christmas" Texas has seen in many years intervened, however - shutting down parts of both highways we'd have to traverse. (Note: It wasn't a lot of snow, but we got a huge amount of freezing rain, which sheathed many of the major roads here in ice. Better safe than sorry, I guess.)

So it's a quiet, wintry day at home with the dogs and cats for us. Which suits us quite well. Rufus and Amelia got to romp around in their first snowfall today, including chasing squirrels early in the morning for Ammie and the largest ice-cubes Rufus has ever owned. It's all melting away to mud and sludge at this point, but it was grand while it lasted.

In other news, our decade-old Olympus C-5060 camera has finally died. Since we can't come close to affording a digital SLR (which is what I ultimately want, camera-hound that I am), we've opted for a Canon PowerShot SX120 in the interim. Hopefully, it won't take long to get the hang of using the new camera, but I apologize for any major lags in photographic quality.

Other than that, we wish you, your families and friends all a wonderful and loving holiday season. May your days be merry and bright, and may your nights be warm, cozy and a bit fuzzy.
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Monkey vs Dog in the Great Panty Battle

So, I'm gathering up laundry and Rufus grabs a pair of panties and runs out the back door. He proceeds to rip them up (Emmy helps) and chasing is no good, so I grab a big stick and start whacking it against the tree he's running around, and I yell "Drop it!" (whack) "Drop it" (whack) while following him around the tree. Basically, I become Big Scary Monkey. The stick shatters with every smack and I very rarely lose my temper with Rufus to that extent. (Annoyance is a totally different thing.) With a look of shock, he finally dropped it and just stood back and let me take the shredded remains of my undies. Now is very contritely sitting at my feet. So is Emmy (who drops things immediately.) Panties destroyed but maybe he'll stop swiping my stuff. I'm sure it's not the Dog Whisperer way to solve the problem, but it worked on this day.

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Big scare

As I mentioned in a previous post, Rufus likes to grab Amelia by the collar and drag her around. Well, tonight he got ahold of it and somehow twisted it around his lower jaw so that he was stuck and she was choking. Tim and I had to hold them both still against their panicked thrashing and cut her collar loose enough that we could roll Rufus over and get them both free. Very scary for all of us as Amelia was running out of air and Rufus' teeth were wedged in there tight. Immediately after they were rescued, both sniffed and licked each others' face as if to say "Hey, no hard feelings."

Unexpected Guests

Although you might have a difficult time judging by the temperature, the local Texas flora have come to realize that it's late fall. All three of our elderly mulberry trees have cast off their summer foliage with a vengeance, pretty much burying our yard in a thick carpet of leaves. So off to the store I went in search of extra-extra large trash bags with intent to do some frenzied yardwork.

On my way home earlier, I had noticed two unfamiliar dogs wandering in our neighborhood. I stuck a few treats in my back pocket before heading to the store, just in case they were still roaming around lost. And sure enough, they were: a young shepherd/lab mix who could have easily been a black version of Rufus, and an elderly beagle. The beagle had a collar on with a tag bearing his name ("Short Stop") and his owner's number. Leaving a message on the owner's voicemail, I thought to myself, Well, now you've gone and done it. Got to look after him until the owner calls back. Another fine mess... Although the black dog had no collar, I was very hesitant to let him keep wandering back and forth in traffic on his own, so the three of us headed back to the ol' Chateau Rufus.

At first, I figured I'd just keep the two visitors out front. Sophie was out in the backyard, however, and I walked around to ask her to keep an eye on the newcomers while I brought out a crate for Short Stop. Amelia and Rufus ran to the gate to greet me, right up to the point where Shadow (the black anti-Rufus) rounded the corner behind me.

Ohboy.

Amelia didn't take too well to a strange dog following me, with a fence between us. The argument that ensued was loud, scary, and particularly hard on our gate (which survived, but I think it might need a little work this weekend). Apparently, her guard dog instincts run deep. So while Sophie came around to keep Shadow in check, I went and brought Amelia out front for a slightly more controlled meeting of the canines.

There was a little tension at first, while the two sniffed and sized each other up. Then, instead of growling or lunging at the visiting dog, Amelia flopped down into the biggest play-bow I've ever seen, and she and Shadow rolled around like a couple of puppies. Rufus came out next, with predictably similar results. Everyone showed a casual interest in Short Stop, who preferred to let the younger dogs act silly while he relaxed in his crate. Reasonably assured that the dogs were going to get along fine together, we set about doing some all-but-forgotten yardwork while the puppies rolled around in the piles of leaves.

Short Stop's owner finally called back (Shadow, it turns out, was theirs as well - he'd apparently ditched his collar at some point), and we agreed to look after the two dogs until they got off work, and could come take them home. Short Stop had begun baying, however, apparently upset over being left out of the fun. Rather than subject the neighbors to a beagle serenade, we let him come into the backyard and hang out with the other dogs. He walked around the yard with Amelia for a minute, paused as they passed Shadow, then promptly laid into the black youngster with a distinctly un-playful wrath.

Ohboy, take two.

What followed was a flurry of activity. I snatched Short Stop up, scruffing him until he regained his composure. While my attention was on the beagle, Rufus rushed over to the (justifiably) panicked Shadow - who promptly lunged at him. I heard Amelia's rolling bark from beside me, saw her leap forward, and thought: this is going to get very ugly, very fast.

But it didn't. Amelia tackled Shadow in mid-lunge, knocked him onto the ground, and just pinned him there like a wrestler until everyone had calmed down. Short Stop went back to his crate to cool his heels, and the other three dogs kept cavorting around, demolishing our piles of leaves as if nothing had happened. By the time their owner arrived to pick them up, Short Stop had calmed down again, Shadow had played himself breathless, and both were thrilled to be heading home. Rufus and Amelia got some wet food with their dinner, helped me bag up a few more leaves, then curled up to sleep off a hard day's romp.

Incidentally, our next-door neighbor pointed out today that Amelia was tearing up our bags of leaves. In fact, she was dragging them back out across the yard, then ripping them open - apparently, she had so much fun playing that she wanted to reset all the leaf-piles for another game today.
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Rufus and Amelia

Things have worked themselves out between our Rufus and his sister, Amelia. They are inseparable and take turns being obnoxious to one another. Rufus loves to grab ahold of one of Emmy's ears or legs or her collar and try to drag her outside to play. Amelia still takes Rufus' toys and treats and always eats first. They are barkin' buddies who alert each other to the presence of cats, people and sirens. They are jointly responsible for destroying any stray sock, sweater or magazine that happens to fall within reach and together have successfully ousted one or the other of us from bed (whereupon one dog sleeps with Mom and one with Dad. Usually.) Walks are twice as tricky with two adolescent adventure dogs, but we're getting there, slowly.

It's so worth it when they settle down and lay their noses together during a nap or when they lick each others' faces affectionately. I love my dogs. I'm lucky to have them.

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Things Rufus has eaten

Numerous shoes
DVD remote control
Plush toys
"Indestructable" compressed rawhide chews (took less than an hour)
Wooden chair made by Tim's father
Wooden TV stand
Three bras
One pillowcase
Innumerable cardboard soda can boxes
The mail
Nearly new green shirt
(10/01) Plushie
Misc. cords (Amelia probably helped a lot with these)
kitchen sponge
Copy of Games magazine (found in shreds all over the backyard)
(10/6) Grey flannel pillowcase (which Tim turned into a braided tug toy)
Few dozen socks
(10/13) A silk/sequined bag and the vintage costume jewelry inside it (his turds must look FABULOUS!)
(10/15- busy day!) 5 of Sophie's tops, a mystery cord, two socks
(10/27) Sophie's pillow. Photo below:

(11/02) Sophie's pink woolen hoodie
(11/03) Sophie's grey hoodie shirt
Playstation controllers, as well as some games and CD cases
More books and an art print
Comforter
HUGE dog bed, brand new (He managed to unzip it, so at least the shell of it is intact.)
Another Games magazine

And that's just the stuff we know about. I'll add more as it is remembered or destroyed.

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Sibling Rivalry

Well, its about a week into this new pack formation and it's not going as smoothly as it did with Buster. Emmy's very protective of the resources: food, toys and affection, so she's been doing a fare share of menacing Rufus. He's a pretty good-natured fellow but he's having a hard time dealing with not getting his toys when he wants them and having to wait to eat until she's done. The weird thing is, we've tried separating them at mealtime and Rufus doesn't like that. He seems quite upset if we close a door between them, whether he's on the inside or she is. So, for now we'll just put out plenty of food and hope that once she's had her fill, she'll leave him alone to eat and that he'll stop moping and start eating.

As for the attention-whoring, she actually bolted over Tim who was laying on the futon between the dogs, petting them both. While we know we can't influence their pack order, we CAN demand good behavior. It's just trying to enforce manners and civility while allowing them to work things out on their own that's so stressful. It's also hard on us seeing Rufus bullied. He's smart, though, and it seems that about half the time he's baiting her to get her to chase him.

It's only been a week. Too early to be too concerned I think. She's just going to need a lot of training to learn how to live indoors with a pack that pays attention to her. It appears she may have been an outside dog, because she's peeing in the house, even next to the food bin (which is fortunately a plastic tub, so no contamination.) She's also peed in the hallway outside the bathroom. For now we've set up baby gates to keep her confined to the livingroom.

Rufus seems mopey sometimes. But he seemed mopey before we brought her home. I think we'll just have to wait and keep loving them both and trying to be good role models. I just don't want to lose the happy, confident boy that our Rufus has become.

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Lonely Dog

Over the past few weeks, Rufus has slowly become more and more destructive: a sure sign of boredom and frustration. I've personally lost my only black bra, two pairs of shoes (almost a third pair but I rescued them after losing only part of the heel,) a halter top, many empty soda boxes, pillowcases, a cat bed, a wooden chair, a tv tray, stuffed animals, and who knows what else we simply haven't found the remains of yet. He has also become very recalcitrant on his walks and we've had to cut short our last couple of forays and head back home after Rufus got too unruly and wild. At home, he'd get into everything, bully the cats, nip at us and run out back and bark in order to get us to go outside and see what was up, whereupon he'd try and start a game of chase-me chase-you. We were losing patience and sanity. Obviously there was only one solution.

We got another dog.

Her name is Amelia, but "Emmy" for short, and she's probably got some pit bull or mastiff or both in her. You may notice she looks a bit like Buster, but that's not the reason we chose her. She simply charmed us and had such a good, sweet, playful temperament that we were pretty sure she could keep up with Rufus without being bullied or being a bully to him. If you follow our "Shelter Diaries," you'll have already read about her and her pal Royce. Unfortunately, Royce is still at the shelter and on the urgent list. We'd have taken them both if not for the fact that we've got too many animals as it is.

Rufus is very happy with his new sister and hopefully, she'll be a good influence on him. We'll post photos and video later. In the meantime, here are a couple from her time at the shelter.

It's our first night together and I'm looking forward to seeing her become used to her new home and her new pack. Welcome, Amelia! We love you!

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Shower time

When Rufus was small enough to fit in the kitchen sink, that was where he got his baths. As he grew too big for that, I began simply taking him into the shower with me. It was never his favorite thing, and although he is always very good and patient, he is very happy to get out of there, shake water everywhere, and roll around on the carpet like a maniac.

He's caught on to the fact that, when it's shower time, I wait for him to follow me into the bathroom (which he always does, no matter what I'm up to) and then I close the door so he can't escape. Nowadays, he stops halfway into the bathroom until he knows it's safe to proceed. Thus, after a long muddy romp in the backyard, I had to trick him into coming all the way into the bathroom while still being able to close the door behind him. Not hard, just had to put something interesting on the lid of the toilet so he came over to investigate. Ha! He was trapped. As I started forward to take his collar off, he backed up, but then stopped and with a look of resignation, waited for me to remove it.

Now, at this point, what I have always had to do was lift him into the tub. He's about 50 lbs. of muscle and long, long legs, so it's not easy to do. After turning on the shower and setting it to a dog-friendly temperature, I decided to see if he'd get in on his own. I didn't think for a minute that he would, but it was a good stalling tactic while I braced myself to hoist him over the edge of the tub.

I looked at Rufus, then at the tub and said, "Get in."

And he DID!

He still doesn't enjoy taking a shower and he still can't wait to get out and roll around on the floors, attack the towels, etc, but it was so very heartening to see him willing to do something he didn't want to when there was no treat involved other than pleasing his "mom." He stood there so good under the water while I washed him, and waited for me to get clean too (he jumped on me with his muddy feet.)

I am very proud of my funny little dog. He still has a long way to go before he's no longer a bratty teenager, but this was a really awesome step in that direction.

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STICK!!!!

This is just about* the most awesomest stick in the whole world. It is the Excalibur of sticks. With it, Rufus can rule the world. He just can't make it back in through the dog door.

Almost as awesome as The Stick is his new toy, the Squido. It is a squeaky egg, wrapped in canvas, with flappy bits hanging off the back. What's not to love? If only it dispensed bacon...

*With the possible exception of that huge bundle of branches we passed by on our walk tonight. Rufus tried to drag one off but they were all in a big pile and easily weighed 15 times what the Wooferdog weighs. But he was pretty sure he could do it, if only those annoying parents would let him try.

Farewell, Buster

There's not really anything that I could say that Sophie didn't say better in her post. I'll try anyway.

Buster and I were fast friends within an hour of him arriving at the shelter. As the days went by, I knew more and more that this dog was too good, too right to let go. If dogs are mirrors of the people they associate with, Buster reflected all of the qualities that I hold dear, and obscured the ones that shame me. He was patient, gentle, dignified, and so very affectionate and eager to be a part of a real pack, a real family. And as one by one I watched a dozen fantastic dogs fall to apathy and overcrowding, I realized that I couldn't let Buster go out that way.

It was a hard decision, especially since we weren't sure that we were ready for a second dog. Even if we were able to make it work, how would Rufus react? The onset of adolescence is difficult enough without throwing another pack member into the mix.

Predictably, the first few days were a constant struggle as the dogs haggled over status. But even through a bout of kennel cough (which Rufus had shaken off about a week before), Buster kept pace with the younger dog and lent his calm, cleverness and stability to Rufus's enthusiasm and limitless energy. It was pretty much the perfect team.

Buster worked hard to be a good member of our pack. Every so often, he'd make a patrol of the house, peeking in on everyone to say "hello" and make sure everything was well. Then he'd stretch out on the futon, or run around our backyard with Rufus in search of the perfect mud puddle to decorate our house with. He would wait patiently for food, tirelessly work on commands, and dutifully sit at the edge of our hallway in anticipation of our evening walk.

He seemed to love that walk more than anything in the world; more than a game of tag with Rufus, more than a tug-of-war with me, more than lounging on the futon with Sophie. Buster missed one walk with me, the day he was neutered. After that, he always insisted on coming along. We tried to leave him behind his last night with us - his seizures were escalating and his balance was uncertain. Staggering to his feet, he plodded to the hallway with fierce determination and refused to let us leave without him.

And the next day, he was gone forever.

There were so many memories we were supposed to have together. So many adventures to recall fondly and challenges we stood bravely together through. But viruses have no use for sentimentality or nostalgia. It took Buster from us, fairly destroying him in less than a day and a half. It took away our ability to work with other dogs for the forseeable future. And we must wait almost three long, worrisome months to see if Rufus (who was thankfully vaccinated) managed to keep from falling victim to it.
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Eulogy for Buster

(Written on 8/13 by Sophie)

Buster was the perfect dog. He wasn’t some exotic pedigree or AKC-worthy purebred. He didn’t know any tricks or excel at any doggie duties. He wasn’t even a particularly good watch-dog. What he was, however, was gentle, dignified, loving, patient and so eager to please. He endured the juvenile machismo of our other dog, Rufus, yet found his position in our little pack without problem. He never disobeyed when he could figure out what we wanted him to do. He learned “sit” and had almost figured out “lie down.” When it was time for a walk, he waited for his leash and then patiently sat at the edge of the entryway with Rufus for us to say “Okay, let’s go.” The night before he died, we were going to leave him to rest while we took Rufus for a walk, but little Buster clambered shakily off of the futon and wobbled over to us, as if to say “Hey, I’m still part of this family. I’m supposed to go with you.” We took him down the block just a bit until he flopped down in a yard. Then we walked him slowly home.

He was a part of our family from the moment we let him into the backyard to meet Rufus. Rufus is happy all the day long, so rather than treat this new dog like an intruder, he sprang about playfully, trying to determine the parameters of our new dynamic. Buster was at first quite all right with letting Rufus be “top dog.” But Rufus, having so little doggie-sense, wouldn’t let it go. So Buster, over the course of the next few days, put the little brat in line and enjoyed a little more respect, (off and on.)

One thing Buster liked was to wade around in our little plastic kiddie pool. Rufus uses it as a glorified water dish, but Buster would climb right in and slosh around. After a particularly hard rain, I poured the water out into the yard so I could refill it with clean water. Oh boy. The mud puddle was epic and both dogs ran around in it like lunatics, and then chased each other through the house, leaving a trail of mud across the livingroom, onto the futon/couch, and all over both bathroom floors. It was impossible to be upset about it: they were having so much fun.

When we took Buster to get neutered, the vet noted he had an upper resperatory infection and gave us some medicines to give him. Three different pills, twice a day. Well, Buster was one of those dogs that could eat peanut butter from around a pill and spit it back out. We tried just shoving the pills into the back of his mouth but his jaws were so strong. And he had no appetite so it was hard getting him to eat. The first couple of days, we just pulverized the pills and slipped the powder into Yokult (Google it) and squirted it into his mouth. Once his appetite kicked in—and did it ever—he gulped all three pills down inside meatballs made of canned dog food. When the wet dog food ran out, peanut butter and then hot dogs did the trick. (And then we bought more wet food!)

He never finished off his prescription. Never even finished off that last can of dog food. Never even got his stitches taken out. He blew into our lives and we were making plans for years and years of belonging to each other, but he was sicker than we realized.

Yesterday morning I noticed the muscles in his head and neck twitching continuously. We had no idea what it was and so later that day we asked Doc. She said it sounded like distemper. We weren’t sure if that was a death sentence or not, so I planned to go online and find out what I could about it. As proof of an indifferent universe, the power supply to our connector box was fried and we could not find a replacement anywhere. Our provider promised to send one within a couple of days. So we were left to call a friend and ask him to tell us what he could find. Still, there was nothing we could do but keep him as comfortable as possible until morning, when we could take him to see Doc.

It got worse last night, (yet he still wanted his walk) and by this morning, he was having seizures that left him frothing at the mouth. We both knew this was probably the end, but kept trying to hold on to whatever sliver of hope there could be. When we got to the shelter, Buster was so scared he tried to run away. I don’t know if he thought we were going to abandon him there or if it was the disease making him panic. We wanted to be with him to the very end, but because of city ordinances, we had to leave him with the vet and vet tech. We walked out and just stood there, holding each other and crying in the parking lot. He was our perfect dog. He was the missing piece that we didn’t know was missing until he clicked into place and made our lives so much happier.

Just a handful of days ago, as we were lounging around on the futon with our two sleepy dogs, Tim said “It’s stupid, I know, but right now I’m so happy, it kind of hurts. I’m not used to it.”

Preparing for the worst, we spent that last evening giving him every ounce of love we could. He could hardly sleep through his tremors so I gave him a midnight buffet of hot dogs, yogurt, wet dog food and water. He still had his appetite and still loved meatballs. He seemed unable to walk so I carried him into the bedroom to sleep with Tim one last time.

On the way to the vet, he sat up in the back seat, in spite of his seizures, and looked out the window at the world he was leaving. Trees in bloom, blue skies with thick white clouds, cars, people, buildings, all in colors that seemed so bright, painted especially pretty just for him. He seemed to savor his time here and was filling his eyes with a last look at his world. He didn’t know what was happening, I know. I’m aware of anthropomorphising our pets, but I want to believe he was still full of doggy curiosity and wonder, up to the end. I just wish he hadn’t been afraid, those final minutes. I wish we could have stayed with him. But in the end, death is death and he’s not scared or suffering anymore.

We hardly had time to make memories, but my favorite one, the one that will stay with me the strongest, was one afternoon when I came home from a day out with Tim. I flopped down on the futon and Buster came in the room, looking perky. I opened my arms wide and said “Buster!” in a cheerful voice. He suddenly sprang onto my chest, laying his forelegs around my neck and resting his head against mine. A perfect cuddle, a wonderful surprise. I honestly didn’t expect that reaction. It made me laugh and call Tim in from the other room to see. He lay on me like that for a while, just “hugging” me. I would give the world for that moment one more time.

I kept his collar and tags. His id tag is on my keyring for now. I think I’d like a more fitting tribute to him, but I’ll have to figure that out later. Maybe a photo with his tag attached to the frame. Simple and classy, like my Buster.

There was a meteor shower last night. I think I saw a meteor but it went by so quickly I’m not sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light. Buster was like that: a brief, bright, beautiful light that was gone before we could blink. He was the perfect dog for us and there is a huge hole where his piece of the puzzle used to fit. But we got a glimpse of the whole picture, and it was wonderful.
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Rufus Learns a New Tune

While working on checking my e-mail and uploading photos tonight, I've been infrequently (as is usual around our house nowadays) interrupted by Rufus diving out the back door in a burst of spontaneous barking.

Usually, he's just menacing one of our next-door neighbour's cats. Slowly, they're realizing that he's no threat, and hopefully Rufus is realizing that he doesn't have to bark at them (hope springs eternal). Other times, he's warning away an opossum or noisy dogs or neighbors down the street. He even tried to alert our neighbour when his fence blew down in a storm. But tonight was a bit different.

At first, I thought Buster was in trouble - I learned this morning that he "yodels" when he's excited. Heading through the house, however, I noted that it was definitely Rufus' voice I was hearing. As I neared the door, the nondistinct sounds coalesced into a "bark-bark-hooooowl," over and over. It was a sound I'd heard before and recognized, but never from Rufus.

I called to him, and he stopped to look at me. Faintly in the distance, I heard the siren of a fire truck echoing in a low, wailing howl. Rufus replied twice more, then followed me inside.

Since bringing Buster home, I've been seeing Rufus acting like an arrogant, bullying snot. He steals toys and randomly jostles, shoves and chews on the newcomer, seemingly oblivious to protestations and acquiescence. He blatantly disobeys Sophie and I, throwing temper tantrums and trying to get away with whatever he thinks he can.

But tonight, I saw the Rufus that we brought home and have been living with for the past six and a half months. The same dog that I hope he'll be again after he grows out of his rebellious teenage phase. It's the Rufus that I love, and am so proud of it makes my chest ache when I look at him.

As I said before, I recognized that howl. It's the sound a dog makes in reply to a slightly different-sounding howl; the one he thought the fire truck was baying. In rough translation, Rufus' reply was, "It's okay, don't be scared. You're not all alone out here."
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Busted - Up Buster

Buster went in for his neutering surgery yesterday. Although it went far more smoothly than Rufus', the aftermath seems to be hitting him much harder. Granted, he's recovering from the surgery while shaking off a respiratory infection of some sort, but it's still worrying me. The poor guy looks miserable: he won't eat, sleeps fitfully, and is pretty frequently pestered by Rufus, who has decided that he wants to rule the world - or at least Buster's half of it.

To top it all off, Buster hates his meds. Combine that with the fact that he's got jaws like a steel bear trap, and an uncanny ability to pick even a fraction of a pill out of a ball of wet dog food or peanut butter, and dosing time becomes an extreme sport. Dogs usually perk up after the first day or two after surgery, and I'm hoping that poor ol' Buster will be more happy - and tractable - tomorrow. If nothing else, I want him to start eating properly; everything else will follow, but he's got to do at least that much.

Right now, he's curled up on our futon with two fans blowing over him and thunder rumbling noncomittally in the distance. There was an empty space next to him (where I'm certain he thinks I ought to be), so I remanded custody of "St. Christopher," a little stuffed beaver, to him. The toy had travelled literally from one end of the USA to the opposite shore with us when we were helping out bands visiting from Japan. It was sort of our good-luck charm, and though I'm not superstitious, I hope it can at least bring a little comfort to my ailing sidekick.

Get well soon, Buster.

UPDATE 8/10: Buster is feeling much better but poor old St. Christopher was mauled horrifically this morning and was laid to rest in the kitchen trash. I'm sure it was a martyr's death.


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Enter the Buster...

Well, we brought Buster home and introduced him to Rufus. They laid into each other for about five long minutes before devolving into a game of tag. Rufus came out the top dog, although he doesn't realize that it's now unnecessary to remind Buster of the fact every ten minutes.

At one point today, I tried to teach Rufus to share his toys. I let him pick the one he wanted, then gave Buster the other one. Rufus would abandon his toy to steal Buster's, so I'd just pick it up where he dropped it and hand it to lil' Buster after he absconded with the other toy. This merry-go-round continued for quite some time...

They still argue, mostly because Rufus is rather dense when it comes to the "okay, you win" part. The rest of the time they get along really well, though; and the cats are quite happy now that Rufus has someone his own size to chase around.

Rufus found this face-pull hilarious: Me? Not so much, thanks.

Guard Dog

So, it was about 7:00 am a couple of days ago...

I should have been fast asleep. In fact, I was fast asleep. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard a sound that didn't fit in with the whole natural-for-7 o'clock-on-a-weekday-morning scenario, and my eyes snapped open. Before I could even lift my head from the pillow, I heard Rufus' now-familiar warning bark coming from the backyard. Then I heard the @#*&%(*& weedeater.

Apparently, the lawn guys that do my neighbor's yard have figured that the best way to beat the summer heat is to begin when the sun's not up yet.

I called to Rufus, closed our bedroom window, and headed for the back door. By that time, one of the lawn guys was wheeling an industrial mower into our neighbor's backyard, clearly amused by the knee-high ball of fur menacing him on the other side of the fence. I wouldn't have been smug, though; Rufus has no fear whatsoever of lawn mowers, and by his body language, was debating whether he ought to consider the fence optional. He'd only met my neighbor a couple of times, but he was sure this wasn't her, or her cats.

When he saw me come out the door, Rufus visibly straightened; his ears and tail flicked up as high as they could go, and he hopped back and forth excidedly. At this point, I was trying not to laugh - he was basically saying, "Yeah! You'd better stay over there, mister strange-guy, or me and my dad will straighten you out, but good!" Striding across the lawn, I tapped the Woofer gently on his shoulder. He stopped barking and glanced over at me.

"It's OK, Rufus. You did good." I nodded at him, then at the back door. Apparently, he wanted to impress the interlopers with how awesome a team we were, and he quietly ambled back into the house with me. Since he'd worked so hard, I gave him an early breakfast, closed the dog door (to block out the noise of course, *ahem*), and headed back to bed to try and get my last 30 minutes of rest for the day.
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Dog With a Mission!

(But without a clue...)

We've read in several books that dogs have more fun if they have a "job" to do (appropriate to their breed). With Rufus'... er, well-diversified bloodlines, there are quite a few tasks to choose from. Our relative distance from any substantial water-source (along with his odd fear of his wading pool) bumps him from dock-dog work, and there aren't any sheep or cattle nearby for us to (well, legally) herd. And Schutzhund is right out, until someone gets a lot better attention-span and discipline. Which leaves the sled dog in his husky genes, and the war dog in his shepherd blood. Hey, carrying stuff can't be too bad!

Thus the mental conversation in my head went at the local pet store, at least. The end result was that Rufus got his first official backpack! Now he can adventure with us in style, and feel like he's holding up his part of the work. Or at least holding a couple of his toys, some poop-scooping bags and a treat or two.

Although he frequently lapses into episodes where he thinks his backpack is some clever "solitaire-tug-of-war" toy, most of the time Rufus seems to really enjoy it. Once he's a little stronger, I might add some weight in the form of a couple of freezer-packs to keep him cool. Given the volume-to-weight ratio of water, though, I may be toting the refreshments for the forseeable future.

There's plenty of room for him to grow into his trusty backpack for now. If he keeps on enjoying it, I might trick it out with some fun "adventure dog" stuff. Looking at the basic pattern of it, I'm thinking that when the weather gets cool enough, I may have to try my hand at making him a suit of hundepanzer (dog armor) as well - if only for a photo shoot.

Neutering Day, Take Two (testicles, please)

Aww, poor Wooferpuppy's got a deflated scrotum and a few stitches, plus some antibiotic for his weewee, but the deed is done and it's nice to have that out of the way. We'll go back in 10 days to have the stitches removed. They also trimmed his toenails while he was doped up, which is really the only way it could've been done. He's a bit squirmy with having his feet messed with. We'll go out for a walk later, if he's feeling up to it. And boy howdy, does he get the treats today. Even though we did the responsible thing, it's hard not to feel guilty for putting him through surgery. So yeah, treats.

The Dog Whistler

We went to PetSmart to pick up a new Kong red rubber ball to replace the one that Tim lost via a mighty throw over the play yard wall, and while we were there, we picked up a dog whistle. The purpose of this whistle is to get the attention of Rufus, who has taken to barking at cats, possums, other dogs, leaves, stars, and air molecules at night. Calling to him (or if I'm really tired, snapping at him, which I know is the wrong thing to do) often does not have the desired effect, or any effect at all on him. In the middle of a good bark, he just doesn't care to "notice" mom or dad hissing at him to shut up and get in the house. Thus, we bought a dog whistle.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but dog whistles are supposed to be silent to humans. They are also supposed to be adjustable, but this damn thing makes one sound, and it's just a whistle. Either we were gypped, or I'm part dog. The end unscrews but it doesn't change the pitch much. The middle ring doesn' t move at all. Now, Rufus definitely reacts to it, but so will our neighbors if I toot it in the night to get the dog to stop barking. It's not silent. I was lied to. Or maybe I'm supposed to blow into it really really hard. I would try that, but it's just after 1 a.m. I guess if Rufus' barking has already woken the neighbors up, a shrill whistle isn't going to make much difference. At least to the other humans. With my luck, it'll just get every other dog on the block going, which is half of what our dog barks at anyway.
Stupid whistle.
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Happy Summer, 2009!

Rufus demonstrates what a calm, responsible dog he is deep down inside:

Hopefully, everyone is having as good a summer as he is.

Neutering Day.... or IS IT?!?!

We took Rufus to the vet at the crack of dawn today to get him neutered. The vet did some preliminary bloodwork and then called us to say that Rufus seems a bit anemic and his white blood count was really high. So instead of leaving his testicles behind, he came back home with some antibiotics and heartworm preventative (well, the heartworm stuff was something we planned to get anyway.) So in ten days we take him back to have another go at it. Quite an expensive day, today was. For the exam, heartworm medicine, and antibiotics, it was over $220. Next trip will be more bloodwork as well as anesthetic and neutering. Ouch. Rufus, this is going to hurt us as much as its going to hurt you. :)
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How We Met Rufus

It was back in February of this year, February 19th to be exact, only a couple of weeks after Tim and I had begun our volunteerism at the Irving Animal Shelter. I (Sophie) had wandered to the back kennels where the small dogs and puppies are kept, and noticed this adorable little fluff ball curled up all sad and lonely in his kennel. Naturally I had to take him out for a cuddle, and L____, one of the staff who helps run the place, told me "That little guy needs to be fostered," and gave me a meaningful look. The puppy, whose kennel card read "Rufus," snuggled up and sighed against my shoulder.

Now, up to this point, I hadn't owned a dog before, save for a dog that my family owned (but I never really did much with) when I was a kid. I have always been rather cat-obsessed. Insanely cat-obsessed, to be honest. But I thought, Well, he's cute and he's so quiet and cuddly. It'll be fun! Tim and I had a brief conversation that consisted mostly of, "Well, I'm game if you are," and that evening we took our new foster puppy home.

He was only about five weeks at the most and as the reality of this tiny, helpless, noisy and poopy creature sank in, I began to freak out a little bit, like any new parent. We put him in a laundry basket with a heating pad, blankets and a soft toy or two and kept him next to the bed. He slept fitfully and I kept reaching down to soothe him. By the second night, he was sleeping between us. Yeah, we're suckers.

We also read online that we were supposed to be crate-training him, so we went and bought a wee little kennel. It was soft-sided and made for a great dog-carrying satchel. He still slept in the bed, though. We also began what was to become a four-month long saga of housebreaking. Again, the kennel was abandoned although we did get a kiddie yard-fence thing and set it up in the kitchen so that at least he was penned over the tile floor. It wasn't long before he could jump the pen side and so every homecoming was a game of "find the pee spot."

Rufus got the idea of going outside but he didn't seem to understand that we weren't telepathic. He would go to the back door and wait for us to notice him there. When we didn't, he just did his business right there. Needless to say, I got very good at keeping an ear out for the sound of him wandering around by the back door. (Getting a doggie door solved that problem in a day, but we didn't get that installed until May.)

But back to the early days: we were just fostering him, you know? A couple of weeks after we started taking care of him, I took up up to the shelter to let him play around with some of the other puppies. A lady and her husband were up there, having had to return a dog because their other dog, a female somethingorother, was too aggressive toward it. But the lady fell in love with Rufus and wanted to see if her dog would accept a male dog instead of a female. A few days later I brought Rufus over and we let our leashed dogs meet on the grass. Her dog sniffed him, he turned to play with her and she attacked him. I was so horrified I couldn't move for a minute. Luckily, she didn't hurt him and puppies are made of rubber, so he was fine, if frightened. Obviously that definitely didn't work out.

Our next attempt was with one of my co-workers and her boyfriend. They took him for a night and by 6 am the next morning, I had a message on my phone from a very tired sounding co-worker saying they just weren't ready for a puppy.

The third attempt was with my manager who absolutely fell in love with Rufus. She took him home for a couple of nights but her old cat was NOT having any of it and was actively menacing the dog. We took him back and then she gave it another try, thinking maybe she didn't give the pets long enough to call a truce, but again, no dice. She was really sad to have to give him back and I still bring him up to visit her at work when I can.

At this point, about 2 months had elapsed. We had neither crate-trained nor potty-trained our puppy, spoiled him by letting him sleep with us, and taught him some tricks. I told Tim, "Well, we've pretty much ruined him. I guess he's our dog now, huh?" Truth is, we loved the little punk, exasperating as he could be. Even our four cats had come to accept him, begrudgingly. I took him up to the shelter, had him microchipped and registered, and formally adopted him on April 6th.

One thing we did early on was try to rename him. We thought "Rufus" was a pretty goofy name so we called him "Mischka" for about a week. Tim pointed out that since his papers and his profile online said "Rufus," we should keep calling him that, so we did. Now he knows that as his name and frankly, its grown on us. Rufus the Doofus became Roofer, which has become Wooferpuppy. His formal name is Rufus P. Cornchiphead (or Cornchip Ears, owing to the shape of his ears in his puppyhood.) He was being an adorable brat one day, and I laughed at him and said "I love your stupid little cornchip ears," and that made Tim laugh and the nickname stuck.

The photo at the top of this entry is misleading. That was done in April. He's much bigger now and his stupid little ears are halfway standing up like chicken wings. Rufus P. ChickenHead just sounds rude, though, so we'll stick with the cornchips.

Rufus and "Mom"