I've been trying to come up with something to write about pooties and woozles and birds and such, but I'm having trouble. See, I'm distracted. I'm a bit under the weather, I'm missing a textbook I absolutely must have to work on a class project, and my girlfriend and I have to talk about some difficult matters before we can proceed.
Anyway, I hope you won't mind: I'm going to skip writing anything [update: I lied], and just dump photos of dogs I have called my own. And any other pictures I see fit.
Enjoy!
This is Lucky, the golden dog who took it upon himself to guard me in the mornings from anyone trying to wake me up.
He had a strange skin disease that made his fur come off in clumps, sometimes leaving patches of bare and raw skin. He also had the strange distinction of smelling worse when he was freshly cleaned and dried than when he was dirty.
Many people asked why he had one eye so blue it was white - was he blind? No, he wasn't. He was just heterochromic. He was a pretty nice dog, too - at least, toward people. He didn't really understand other dogs. When they approached him and offered to play, he usually just looked confused. When a female dog offered him her hindquarters, he just ran around in circles, barking. Ah, but he did get very excited about other male dogs. I am pretty sure he was exclusively gay. It was a source of amusement, once I got over the shock of this early-neutered dog showing any kind of sexual behavior at all.
Because he was, basically, a castrato, he had a very high singing voice. From my father's side of the family I have inherited a very keen ability to hear high notes, often that others can't hear. Well, this dog would hit them all, and lord, it was often horrible to hear. Any sheet metal or cookware within earshot of him would start resonating, too. But his singing was endearing when he wasn't barking, so much as just... you know, talking in an indoor voice. He would open his eyes all the way, with the whites showing, as he said things like "Owwwrrrrroooooowr!" as though it was a message of cosmic importance. And perhaps it was, and we simply didn't speak Dog well enough to understand.
Eventually he became old, and arthritic, and hoarse. His muzzle greyed. But still, he loved to greet us at the door, and he loved to amble after tennis balls (where previously he would have galloped like the wind).
The last we saw of him was just after Passover, 2005. We couldn't find a food for him that was legit for Passover and wouldn't make him horrendously ill (he had a very quirky digestion), so we had him boarded in a kennel. Well, the day after we got him back from the kennel, in May 2005, something went wrong. Though we didn't know it, his stomach had become twisted and blocked. He tried to eat, but then vomited it right back up. And he was in agony - he walked around the house, moaning like he never had before, creeping under furniture to hide from the pain, as though the darkness of upholestery sheeting could protect him when his own body had become his enemy.
We took him to the vet - or I should say, my parents did, because I had to go to work that day. The vet diagnosed him with gastric volvulus, a problem of deep-chested dogs like him. The vet explained: yes, it's something we can fix surgically, but this is an old dog - he might not wake up. Plus, once there's one episode of volvulus, it's likely to happen again. So, said the vet, I think the best thing you can do is put him down. Let him go quietly and peacefully.
I got to the vet's office by speeding down Rt 1, but I made it in time to speak with my parents and my younger brother just after the vet had left them to consult with one another. I heard the case and I agreed.
Lucky was there on the table, heavily sedated, wrapped in a blanket. He had an IV port in his left arm. His eyes were closed, but when I stroked him and spoke his name, they moved behind the lids - I offered him my hand, and he sniffed it, then licked it. Then he lay still again.
The vet came back a few minutes later. we told him what we'd decided. I asked him if I would be allowed to do it, as Lucky was really my dog more than anyone else's. He shook his head - the law requires controlled substances to be used only by those officially licensed to handle them. He did it instead. Lucky sighed once, and then... he was gone. I folded the blanket over his face.
Although it was against the law, my younger brother convinced the vet to turn what was left over to us, in a cardboard box. We lay him to rest in the garden behind the house. I still miss him, and sometimes when I stay over at my parents' house, I wake up expecting him to be a warm weight at my feet.
--
Two months later, I was sitting next to my father in his home office - he was wrestling with a work problem, while I was doing homework. I got a call on my cell phone from my mother: could you please come to the local PetCo? We have puppies.
My father and I looked at each other and said, "This woman has lost her mind." But we went, and we met these lovely fuzzbutts. Twin sisters.
The one on the left is named Violet, and the one on the right is Blue. We didn't get them harnesses to match their names. We got the harnesses first, and then I decided: instead of giving them human names like Sarah and Cindy [edit: derp, I was trying to come up with random human names but came up with the names of my previous and current girlfriends], let's just name them after the colors of their collars. And so it was.
They quickly established a dominance relationship:
It's more complicated than that, though. Violet gets to hump Blue whenever she thinks Blue is misbehaving. Violet also gets first dibs on any offers of affection or walks. However, Blue always eats first - when they're served their dog food, Violet will not start eating until she can hear Blue eating. (Their bowls are out of sight of each other to minimize theft, because Blue would otherwise inhale both servings.) Blue also has all her whiskers, beautiful long and curved ones, where Violet's are all short, stubby and split-ended, because Blue bites them off. Blue initiates almost all aggression between them by biting Violet's wrists, ears or ankles. Violet typically suffers in silence for the first few seconds before she twists and tries to bodyslam Blue to the ground.
They grew...
...and they grew...
...and they grew...
...until today, Violet is 75lb, a bit on the upper end of healthy weight but still muscular and athletic, a chaser and catcher of thrown balls; while Blue is 65lb, needs to lose five to ten pounds to be healthy, and is really an attention-loving narcissist.
Suddenly, turtles! This is (I think) a female Eastern box turtle named Flash. It belongs to some neighbors who leave her with my parents when they travel.
Got? Yes? Good.
--
The following are photos I took at Otakon, an anime convention, in 2009. I don't dig anime so much as I have friends in the business and used to volunteer for a company in the industry. Thought about getting a job with them, but they don't really need statisticians.
It was just awesome. How awesome? THIS AWESOME!