I was so sure Scout was mostly German Shepherd. Nope. There is not a trace of German Shepherd in our boy. Despite Scout’s size and mean bark, Scout has to be the worst guard dog ever. We have to pull Scout off of guests the same way the officers on “Cops” pull their dogs off of felons. But, it is to protect people from muddy paws and kisses, not bites.
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We did the DNA cheek swab.
We’re anxiously awaiting the results.
Since adopting the abandoned puppy, we’ve been wondering what he is. We are pretty sure one of Scout’s parents is a german shepherd. But, what about the other parent?
At first we thought Scout was all german shepherd despite his droopy ears. Every german shepherd puppy has droopy ears for 8 weeks. But, by 4 to 7 months the ears should be erect. Scout’s ears never quite came up.
Not that Scout didn’t tease. When Scout was approximately 12-weeks-old one ear starting going up. Then the other. They got 3/4 of the way. Then at five months the ears headed south.
Scout is now a 7-month-old. And he has changed even more. He weighs 70-lbs. His tail curls over his back like a pug. He seems to be getting jowels.
Is he part mastiff? Pit bull? Bulldog? Pug?
It takes 6 to 8 weeks for test results. We are on pins and needles. How can Maury handle the suspense 5 days a week?
DH has been working on a solution to our “cat box” problem. He’s been at it most of the day.
The “cat box” is gone.
Biggs goes to the door and asks to be let out. And sits in front of the door and waits for someone to come along to let her in.
But, if Biggs used the dog door, she could go in and out without our help. DH thinks that’s what Biggs should be doing. Only using the dog door means going into our fenced-in backyard. Which is dog territory.
Our other cats DO use the dog door. Then they race up the fence posts to escape from Buster chasing at their heels. Most of the time. Sometimes, when Simba, the orange tom, isn’t in the mood to be chased Simba just lies down. Buster gives him a disappointed sniff. And that’s the end of it.
DH is right. Buster IS just playing. And, DH HAS been trying to train Buster.
Only DH’s “Buster…no”, in my opinion, is said in too nice of a voice. I think our pack needs
meaner more assertive leadership. Because Buster only stops sometimes. Other times, he pretends not to hear.
To make up for DH’s over-niceness, my no is extra stern and usually followed by a psstt hiss, dog whisperer style. I point my finger, like Cesar, for emphasis. Only, as I am in cat protection mode, I end up doing assertive without the calm part. Which sends Buster slinking up against DH’s legs like he’s been whipped.
The looks Buster gives me are reproachful and accusing.
Biggs stays as far from the situation and dog door as she can.
Today DH worked on resolving things and built a “cat ladder” for the cats. Now they won’t have to climb the fence and can instead zip up the ladder before Buster has a chance to get outside. Using a ladder won’t be new. Our cats are up and down the ladder to the hayloft all the time.
UPDATE: The cats were suspicious of the “cat ladder” at first. Only kitty would sit on it long enough to have his picture taken. BUT, today, only one day afterwards, every cat has successfully gone up and over, come in, been fed and gone back out to the barn. Without being chased.
DH’s “cat ladder” is a success.
Bigg’s story and everything you ever wanted to know about the “cat box war” between my husband and I is here: http://www.turkeycreeklane.com/?p=48
He does not want a cat box in our house. But, Buster , HIS DOG, is preventing our new cat from using the dog door and going outside.
We didn’t want another cat. We had two cats already.
But, no stronger crusader for saving downtrodden animals exists than my daughter. Biggs, the cat, was down on her luck. And Heather was determined to save her.
Biggs, had been Heather’s grandmother’s ( my ex mother-in-law’s ) cat. She had a good life. The food bowl was always full. Biggs had toys. Biggs had catnip. And her antics made her the center of her elderly owner’s lives.
Then my ex mother-in-law entered her final stages of cancer. She became confined to a hospital bed moved into her living room. Biggs became a permanent fixture on the corner of the bed. Hospice workers and family and friends came and went. Biggs was admired and petted by all. But, Bigg’s life was about to take a turn for the worse.
My ex mother-in-law died. My ex father-in-law’s health deteriorated and he had to go into a nursing home.
Poor Biggs, at the age of five, after spending all of her life in a loving comfortable house, was given to a duck farmer and tossed outside to make her own way. My daughter lives in California. But, she worried about Biggs and looked her up every time she visited. Overjoyed to see one of her people, Biggs never failed to greet Heather as a long lost friend. She would crawl into my daughter’s lap and purr and purr and purr…when Heather left, Biggs tried to follow her crying.
Things did not get better, either.
Biggs found a way to get in the machine shop to stay warm. Soon she was covered from nose tip to tail tip with black grease. The duck farmer was given a black lab named Buddy who barked, chased, bit and mauled poor Biggs.
Heather’s pleaded for DH and I to take Biggs. I was stubbornly saying DH and I had enough cats and that her “father” should take the cat when Biggs got her tail caught and broken in a machine shop machine. That did it.
DH and I caved.
Biggs spent her first days on our farm, in our house, upstairs on one side of a door with her new cat brothers, Kitty and Simba, sniffing and growling and hissing on the other side. Buster and Abby, our dogs wanted no part of a cat fight. They stayed as far away as they could.
I worried that we had made Bigg’s life even more miserable by bringing her into a house full of animals. Kitty and Simba behaved as if DH and I had committed adultery by bringing “another cat” into “their” home. I was sure if they met Biggs, face to face, fur would fly.
The slightest bark downstairs would send Biggs up the nearest piece of furniture. It didn’t look as if she would ever get over her “bitten-by-Buddy” trauma.
Fortunately, cats and dogs are resilient and forgiving. They don’t carry baggage or harbor grudges the way people do. After only a few weeks, Biggs is now coming downstairs with Simba and Kitty in the room. They will get a swat across the nose for sniffing or getting too close. But the growling and hissing has stopped. To get to the food bowl, Biggs walks past the dogs. If they are lying down, that is.
We have only to resolve the cat box situation.
DH thinks Biggs is ready to learn to go out the dog door.
Buster has a quirk. Cats that are inside are family members. Cats that go outside through the dog door get chased up a back yard tree. Buster lives for the sound of the dog door flap.
DH says he will train Buster to stop chasing cats when they are outside. Then he says that even IF Buster DOES chase cats it is all a game and that Buster would never actually HURT a cat.
I don’t care that Buster won’t actually HURT a cat.
Poor Biggs would be traumatized if she were to be chased. She trusts us. The poor cat has been through too much already.
DH says the cat box makes the whole house reek.
And so the lines have been drawn.
(The picture at the top of this post is of Biggs (cat on the bed) & Simba (cat on the rug).