Call the Hotline!

There is a nip of fall in the air these past few days. As a result, our fifteen month old puppy, who remembers how much fun snow was last winter, has an extra spring in her step. It is especially evident in the patches of deep weeds and tall grasses that adorn our various walking routes. Lately, once she's in the tall grass, it's hard to entice her out. She just wants to leap and hop and run around, chasing grasshoppers and crickets and what-have-you until I drag her out by the leash.

"Oh no!" I said. "Our girl has a gamboling addiction!!!"

Led (by) A Stray

I call her a stray because that was what she was when Animal Control picked her up a year ago. She was already totally housebroken at two months old, so we imagine she was not well treated wherever she began her journey. But that is not the subject of this post.

Last Tuesday morning, Grace and I were out on a nice long walk, when a big dog came running out from a yard on Center Street. It came at Grace with purpose, and we soon found out what that purpose was. Mocha - for that is her name - spread her front legs and went down into the universal canine "let's play" stance. Well... Grace never turns down an opportunity to play. They romped and jumped and ran and sniffed each other for a good ten minutes while Mocha's human and I talked about out dogs. Mocha is about the same age, just over a year, and loves loves loves to play. It was hard to end their obvious joyfulness, but I had to get home and get ready for work.

This morning, Sunday, Grace and I went out for our pre-church walk. Usually there are two choices to start out with - north to Shadybrook Park or south to either the VFW property or Cora Clark Park. This morning she surprised me by heading west. She led me up Chestnut Street to Lafayette. She stopped and looked around for a few minutes, then proceeded north on Lafayette. She turned west on Euclid, over to Porter, then north again. This was when I got an inkling. Sure enough, after sitting at Porter and Center for several minutes, looking around and sniffing the air, she led me down Center Street and directly to Mocha's yard. Mocha was not outside at 8:15 on a Sunday morning, so we came back home, Grace disappointed, and I bearing a great respect for her memory and her willingness to follow her dreams.

Clean Getaway

I took Grace to the groomer this afternoon, her first time. It was hard leaving her there with strangers, but the groomers immediately fell in love with her. Most people do. Carmen told me to stay there with her while they worked, but a big sign out front proclaimed the Rules - no waiting for your pet, in the building or even outside the building. Too much of a distraction, it says. Sadly I scratched her head while she was carried away in the arms of Katie.

Two and a half hours later they called to say she was done. I sped away and was there in record time. Katie brought her out, stylin' in her little bandanna, and totally distracted by the other dogs. I walked her around the outside for a few minutes, but nothing came of it. I brought her home where, after the photo session, she slept for four hours.

Evidently, getting groomed is hard work.

Critters

Part of the fun of walking is the chance of encountering a critter or two. We have yet to encounter a moving object Grace is unwilling to chase. Leaves, snowflakes, bumblebees, any size or shape of bird, squirrels, chipmunks, whatever. Of course humans, other dogs and cats are of special interest.

Bassets were bred to hunt rabbits, but as far as I know she has only ever seen the one on Saturday May 17th, which I saw run from a brush pile on one side of the road to the bushes on the other side. Grace saw it as it disappeared on the far side. Carmen tells me she saw one a few days before, but Grace was so busy sniffing the ground that she missed it completely.

She did knock a bumblebee out of the air last week, and step on it. She rooted up and chased a cricket a few nights ago. And probably her best conquest ever, she scared up a mole. She chased it, caught it, flipped it into the air,.chased it more, caught it again, tossed it up, chased it etc. etc. until it finally ran into some thick weeds along a fence and escaped.

My favorite so far was a killdeer. You nature lovers out there (you know who you are) will know that the killdeer builds its nest right on the ground. If a predator threatens, mama will run erratically away from the nest, dragging her wing as if it is broken, to lure the predator away. Yesterday morning, I saw a killdeer performing this stunt for the benefit if Grace and me. She ran until she ran out of room, flew back nearer to us and took off running again. Two more times she performed this stunt trying to lure us away from her nest. Grace never ever saw this impassioned performance. I applauded, but I don't think Mama Killdeer knew what it meant.

On The Road

Last week (March 18 - 24) we were out of town, visiting my parents in north Georgia. The drive takes ten and a half hours, according to Googlemaps. That's not counting the extra time for walks around the dog walking zones of five or six  rest areas along the way. We drove it in two days.

We found out on our trip to Grand Rapids in December that Grace is an excellent car dog. Except for the walk breaks, she slept all the way. With a few brief periods of mischievous wakefulness (she dug out her bag of treats twice) she slept almost  all the way this time. And then came the night in the hotel.

The Hampton Inn in Summersville, West Virginia accepts pets. That means, of course, that other dogs are there. That means, of course, that Grace had plenty of noises to bark at. When she barked at the heat coming on, we knew we were in for a long night. I took her for a walk in the rain  before going to bed, a walk in the mud at 3:30 in the morning, and another walk before we hauled ass out of there at 6:00. Then she was a perfect angel all the way to Blairsville.

Nights at the cabin were much better. Grace slept through the night, and so did we. We did learn a few things about our girl, though. She quickly accepted my parents into her pack. She also quickly found the box in which they keep plastic bottles for recycling. Walks around Smokey Mountain Estates were strenuous and tiring, just the ticket for an overactive puppy.

The most interesting bit of information we learned came during a late evening  walk. We were on our way down White Oak Drive when Grace suddenly froze. She stared  down the road for ten or fifteen seconds, turned around and led me back to the cabin. I don't know what she saw or heard in the pitch darkness ahead - a bear, a coyote or what - but she had the sense to walk away from it.

Signs

Dogs can't read, as far as I know. If Grace can read, she is unconcerned about the rules. The first thing she did during our walk this morning was take a dump beside the "NO DUMPING" sign. An hour later we had arrived at a new favorite destination, the tennis courts at the Meadville Area Recreation Complex. They are four courts wide and completely fenced in with no breaches once the gate is closed behind us. I can unleash her and throw a ball as far as my arthritic shoulder will let me, and Grace can run full bore, chasing down and catching it before it gets to the fence.

All we have to do to enjoy this marvelous freedom is ignore one little sign: NO DOGS ALLOWED"

Toy Surgery

Carmen ordered four plush dog toys from Amazon. The first one we let Grace have was a cat. Within minutes the tail and the ears were surgically removed, followed in a day by a hind leg, the squeaker and all of the stuffing. Carmen threw it away  and offered an alligator to replace it. Same shit, different body parts. The goat's horns went first, and the elephant's tusks led the carnage. Within a week, all four critters bit the dust. The cheap Big Lots penguin didn't last five minutes.

Dog My Cats

My dad (he'll turn 90 in June) still says it. "Well dog my cats" is his cleaner version of "son of a bitch!" Lately, I have been treated to a variety of illustrations of the phrase. Grace dogs my cats whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Lucia, as I have mentioned, likes the chase games. She will deliberately hang her tail off the edge of whatever she is sitting on and twitch it to entice Grace to chase her. On the other hand, sometimes she just wants to curl up in a lap and sleep. If Grace sees that happening, she just can't seem to resist the temptation to jump up and poke Lucia with that busy nose bone of hers.

Perfesser Remus J. Lupin, however, has no tolerance at all for puppy shenanigans. He is willing to come downstairs now, but only if he has a pretty good chance of avoiding the stupid dog. The dogging of this cat evokes hissing, growling and vicious swipes with lethal claws - so far not a deterrent, but more of an enticement.

Out and about, Grace is always on the lookout for cats to dog, and the neighborhood does not disappoint. Just today we were walking through a part of the world I call "cat alley" where dozens of felines seem to live. We came upon a yard with six cats on the porch. Grace practically yanked my arm out of its socket lunging at them. A big calico hopped down, back arched, prancing sideways, hissing and growling. No deterrent. I had to drag her with all my strength to keep her from being ripped to shreds. Other times she has poked that nose into holes in lattice under houses and been repulsed, so far without injury.

I keep thinking she's going to learn to leave the kitties alone, but my hope is waning.

A Closer (Or Farther) Walk With Grace

Grace is a yellow lab and bassett hound hybrid. As such, she loves water and possesses a powerful sniffer. Her legs are about ten inches long, which gives her a powerful four-wheel-drive pull on the leash. For some reason, she loves to climb steep hills, of which there are many in Meadville. She loves to romp in deep ivy, a common ground cover on the steep hills of Meadville. And she loves snow, the deeper the better. She is a Meadville dog, no doubt.

The instant we step out the door, that nose is to the ground, sniffing sniffing sniffing. She looks up frequently, watching for humans, which she loves, dogs, which she wants to play with, and plastic bottles, the best dog toys on earth.

At the end of our front walk, she makes the call. Which way are we going? I let her nose lead us about fifty percent of the time. If it were up to her and her nose, we would be exploring for many hours at a time, then napping, then exploring more. Unfortunately, I have other priorities. But I can see why she got picked up by animal control last summer. She got out of her previous home and started exploring, ranging far and wide, and when the dog catcher got out of his truck, she ran right up to him and started licking his face. Anyway, my primary job once we set out, is to get us back home or to the church in time for whatever the next priority is. She is never ready to come home. So, we're at the sidewalk and she turns left. She'll probably want to keep going across Morgan on Chestnut Street. I steer her left, down Morgan. This can take us on a fairly short loop around the streets just north of Chestnut - Maple and Walnut. Or we can continue ahead down the stairway into Shadybrook Park with a stream, a small pond and a swampy area. Very popular. From there we can continue in the same direction to North Street or we can scale the very high very steep very popular hill and down the other side into MASH (Meadville Area Senior High) property, where there is a big pond, a big swampy area, and a stream. If we're going for the hour and a half knockout punch (she'll sleep away the rest of the day) we can go over to the recreation complex. All of these places are prolific providers of plastic bottles, the best dog toys on earth.

After dark, she'll usually start us out by turning left in front of the house, taking us up the hill to Elizabeth Park, across to Alden Place - former home of Meadville Theological School - with a big parking lot on the east side, and a big field on the west. Especially in deep snow, she loves the field, where she can poke that face down and run for ten or twenty feet at a time without coming up for air. I call it "face plowing." Her snow-covered face comes up, looks around, then pokes back down for another long furrow. We can do ten or fifteen minutes there if we have the time.

When I wheedle, cajole and pull with all of my strength to turn her toward home, she begins to misbehave, jumping up, biting and tugging the leash, biting my boots and humping my leg. But I prevail, dragging her home to be dried off and settled down for a nap - hopefully a long one.

I could use one of those myself.

Fire and Grace

For decades I've asked for nothing for Christmas and birthdays. I don't mean that I've  not asked or anything. I mean that what I have asked for is nothing.

A few weeks ago I did the unthinkable. I turned sixty. To celebrate this momentous occasion, I actually asked for something. Since my life is no longer my own, that I'm either working, sleeping or dog sitting, and since the dog can't behave in my office, I asked for the technology to perform simple tasks from the living room. The obvious solution would be an Ipad, if I were willing to spend that much money. All through December, I was seeing ads on Facebook for the Kindle Fire. I went to Amazon.com and researched the Fire and decided that it would do what I wanted. I put one in Carmen's Amazon shopping cart. She took the hint and ordered it. Before she gave it to me, she Fired it up, activated it, and configured it to interface with our wireless internet. By the time she was done, she wanted one.

So here I sit in the living room, pounding out a new blog, created on Fire and posted exclusively (so far) from my new Kindle Fire while Grace sleeps off our hour-long walk. Life is good, even though it is no longer my own.

Life Changes

So I met Carmen at the Humane Society, we did some paperwork, a chip was implanted in our dog's neck, and I was sent to Wal-Mart for a crate. We assembled  the crate in our bedroom, fed our new dog, took her for a walk and played with her  for while before bedtime. Everything but the crate was purchased at Pet Smart   in Erie earlier that day by Carmen, in anticipation of my acceptance of our new dog.

The next thing we needed was a barrier to contain her in the living room/kitchen area. Then another to keep her from going upstairs where the kitties were hiding... then another to keep her out of the foyer where the shoes, boots and other unauthorized dog toys are kept. Suddenly, pretty much anywhere we wanted to go, we were stepping over a barrier - and so were the cats. We bought another crate for the church office so Carmen could fulfill her dream of a church dog, and another barrier to keep her in the office without closing the door.

Early on, we discovered that long walks were required to help her be a good dog during the long days in the office. It was during an early one of these walks that she was named. Carmen was walking her in the pouring rain and thought,"It's going to take a lot of grit and grace to raise this puppy." As anticipated, I do the long walks, at least twice and often three times a day.

The cats pretty much lived upstairs for the first weeks. Lucia got over her fear and began hanging out downstairs more and more, and soon we realized that she actually enjoyed having Grace in the house. Lucia enticed Grace to play, and even rubbed on her affectionately during calmer moments.

The addition of one little bassador has completely changed the life of every mammal in the house. She makes us all crazy sometimes, but we love her in spite of it - all but Remus J. Lupin, of course. He is not amused.

Saving Grace

For years Carmen has been making noises periodically about wanting a dog. For exactly the same number of years, I have been resisting - nay, insisting that a dog was out of the question. I knew as well as I know my own name that if she got a dog, it would not be she who would take it for a walk in the pouring rain, the two feet of snow, the bitter cold. I was the primary caregiver to a human minister plus two high maintenance cats. Adding a dog to the family would serve to increase my workload by a huge margin. For years I just said no. Then came October 11th, 2012.

Two weeks after her fiftieth birthday, she texted me to say that there was a really cute dog, half yellow lab, half Bassett hound at the Humane Society, and would I please meet her there after work to ascertain whether I could find it in my heart to bring her home and let her into our lives. I did so, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Since that fateful day, I have been out in the pouring rain, the two feet of snow, and the bitter cold dozens of times each. She has pulled my sorry gimpy to self up the steepest hills and slipperiest slopes in a mile radius from our house. I hate it when I'm right.

Everybody in the neighborhood knows Grace. I am merely the piece of meat on the other end of the leash. She is the sweetest dog ever, loves every person and every dog she meets, and even enjoys playing chase games with the cats. (The cats are not quite as  in love with her. Remus is not at all amused) The very best feature of our puppy was that she came to us, at four months old, spayed and housebroken! It doesn't get any better than that.