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.
You are currently browsing the archive for the Pets category.
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?
Skipper and Summer play in the snow and scare Abby who decides to watch from afar. (Behind a bush.)
It doesn’t get better!
We have fresh snow, two dogs and sunshine.
We can’t go into the woods, though. It’s deer hunting season. Every deer in the county knows DH and I don’t hunt. Their tracks are everywhere. They are everywhere.
We’ve flushed out full-antlered bucks. We’ve flushed out whole herds.
One of the deer is the smallest doe DH has ever seen. He saw her this summer and thought she was a fawn, until he saw the baby. DH was on his tractor and the fawn and tiny doe walked almost up to him. They weren’t the least bit afraid as they strolled by DH and the tractor on their way to a neighbor’s cornfield.
But, as beautiful as they are and as much as we love seeing them, the deer are a danger to our deer-running dogs who’ll hopefully give chase over car-ridden highways, past trigger-happy hunters and livestock-protecting farmers.
Until hunting season ends, the dogs have to be leashed or kept by the garden where they won’t be enticed into harm’s way.
Today though, nobody minds. Not with snow to run through and a dad who can be coaxed into throwing the ball.
It’s a most wonderful TIME of the year!
More posts about the dogs:
Posts about the cats:
“I promise to answer your horse related questions and to include three references other than my own experience” said Edna Leigh of Red Pony Farm, “I have at my disposal a vast library of information and many professionals with whom I have the necessary rapport to glean needed expert commentaries. They include veterinarians, ferriers, trainers in several disciplines, breeders, back yard hobbyists, farmers, and competitors of all ages who have achieved success.”
Edna Leigh was taken up on her offer immediately.
“Separation anxiety question: I have two horses who have hissy fits when separated. Between the neighing and calling back and forth, the head tossing of the one being ridden, and the frantic galloping and bucking of the one left behind, riding isn’t fun. Any suggestions?”
Today I had the answer to my question from Edna Leigh and several experts. I am thrilled. Edna Leigh worked hard and gathered a LOT of information.
To read the suggestions for how to cure “buddy sour” Skipper and Summer and to read more horse related questions and solutions check out Red Pony Farm:
MORE HORSE STORIES:
Kitty is trying to kill himself.
It’s a dangerous situation.
Kitty is so happy when he thinks his people are coming home he runs under the front wheels of every vehicle pulling into our drive. If you look for him, when it gets dark he’s hard to see.
We don’t know how to break Kitty of his new habit. Some of the visitors to our house are older and have enough trouble negotiating around our trees, shrubs or the barn to consider watching out for our little cat.
This week our horses kicked holes in the barn. We don’t keep them locked inside stalls. They can go inside or out at will. They’ve got free access to a big round bale of hay. They have a fan inside the barn. They have bug zappers. They have a drinking fountain.
I think the horses and Kitty are missing DH.
DH loves having a farm and spends his days as if he were a paid hand. He mows, works in the barn, trims trees, cleans up trails, fixes fences and as he does chores, the horse’s noses are right up his back or over his shoulder. When DH is outside their pasture, the horses watch his every move from the closest fence corner.
Kitty lived wild and feral in DH’s woods for an entire year before DH was able to get close to him. He still spends most days outside. Only instead of being the cat that walked and lived alone, Kitty now follows DH like a dog. He is up and down ladders, running ahead of DH on paths in the woods and springing out from behind weeds to grab DH’s legs.
Lately though, DH has had obligations that have prevented him from being as available outside for our animals.
Buster and DH greet Mr. Miller, the repairman who will be fixing our barn. The children soon are petting our horses although Mr. Miller said their horse is a new one. According to Mr. Miller, the new horse isn’t very well trained and behaved badly on the drive to look over our barn.
It is shedding season and over the past week with my daughter visiting, every day was a reminder that I really need to check out the animal Dyson vacuum cleaner. Dog and cat hair were everywhere and clinging to our clothes everytime we left the house.
Our pets are a lot of work and a responsibility. They aren’t cheap with vet visits, expensive and endless desires for Fancy Feast, hay, treats, toys and barn destroying. But, their joy, when we come home, is so overwhelming you cannot help but know it’s love in its purest and most unselfish form.
Simba may mostly be DH’s cat, but this week it was my face he snuggled up to every night. And in the mornings DH made coffee and Abby came and nuzzled my arm so I’d wake up right before it was ready. Somehow, someway, those pets instinctively became nurturing and extra affectionate.
Are our pets worth the inconvenience and expense?
Absolutely. We don’t miss or think about their cost in time or money.
But, we’d sure miss them.
More dog stories:
More cat stories:
More Horse Stories:
“Collars are cruel,” said DH, “they make dogs choke. Before we go to the vet, I’m getting harnesses.”
And he did.
But, it was as if Buster had ESP.
“Isn’t Buster pretty,” we said. “Good boy, Buster, beautiful Buster.”
Our talk didn’t fool Buster one bit. He cowered and shook with fear. He seemed to know what was coming.
Buster wasn’t going sit and let it happen either. At the first opportunity he bolted through the dogdoor and hid in our backyard. DH had to go out and get him and carry him to the jeep.
In the meantime, I was in charge of putting Biggs in the cat carrier.
I had only to shut the cat carrier door after Biggs went in on her own. Abby proudly let me put her regular collar on, strutted out to the jeep and hopped in. Except for Abby getting carsick and drooling and Biggs meowing, the ride to Maplecrest Animal Hospital was uneventful.
Once we got to there, Abby practically drug me into the front waiting room. Then, DH signed everyone in and Buster retreated to hide in the corner with his head under a chair.
There was a different veterinarian in the office today, Dr. Jeff Longenbaugh. He won Abby and I over when he said her weight was just fine. Biggs didn’t fare as well. Eleven and a half pounds is a lot for such a small boned cat. But, despite all the talk about her fatness, Biggs purred contentedly through the examination and her vacinations.
Buster didn’t recognize the vet and clung to him avoiding DH and I. I think Buster was remembering past times DH and I had betrayed him in the examining room. Once the vet took out the syringe to draw blood, though, DH had to help hold Buster down.
No fleas, ear mites, heartworms or signs of problems. Everyone got a clean bill of health. DH paid.
We will be back again next year. In the meantime, I would like to thank the veterinarian, Dr. Jeff Longenbaugh and the staff at Maplecrest Animal Hospital.
Other posts about Buster, Abby and Biggs include:
“Don’t forget to call the vet to make an appointment for Abby and Buster.”
DH reminds me of the card we just got in the mail announcing it’s time for our dogs to get their yearly checkups and shots.
“OK.” I wonder how long I’ll have to get Abby’s weight down before I have to face the vet.
Abby officially became a senior dog this month. Because of her advancing age, last year I was told to restrict her diet to take off her extra weight. I did mean to take Abby on more walks, not to give her treats or to give her leftovers. But, nobody appreciates my cooking more than Abby.
By default she’s my dog. Prevented by Buster from getting near DH or getting exercise from chasing a ball, (Buster gets to balls first and they are HIS) Abby stays by me, where she can have bones and toys, without them being stolen. Rawhide twists, pigs ears, old socks with a knot in them, the sound of Abby’s gnawing is constant. She is a chewer. I hear her chewing as I type on my laptop, read, watch tv or drift off to sleep.
I’ve been taking Abby to the garden with me. It is our special time. All I have to do is put on my old tennis shoes and Abby’s eyes widen, her ears go up.
She is asking.
“You can go,” I say.
Abby’s eyes shine, she smiles, her tail wags and she prances as we go out the door. Once outside she hurries to sniff the groundhog hole by the compost pile. She digs a little. Then she settles down in the shade and watches while I weed. Without her partner in crime, she doesn’t run away.
But, even more than the garden, Abby likes being with me in the kitchen. Pie dough’s her favorite of favorites. It turns her into a greedy begger–one that barks if pie crusts are rolled out and no trimmings come her way.
However, Abby’s chubbiness pales in comparison to Bigg’s bigness. I don’t know how long it has been since Biggs has had a checkup or vaccinations. So she needs to go to the vet, too.
And she will be weighed.
In all fairness, the cat was not small when my daughter gave her to us. DH and I said, when we first saw her, that Biggs lived up to her name. But, despite my daughter’s instructions to feed Biggs limited amounts of dry cat food only twice a day, Biggs quickly discovered Simba and Kitty only eat Fancy Feast.
She was a quick convert.
She not only swats Kitty and Simba away from the Fancy Feast until she polishes off as much as both of them used to eat combined, she meows and rubs against DH when he puts whipped cream on my coffee with cinammon…until DH gives Biggs her own little pile of whipped cream.
Biggs hasn’t slimmed down under our care.
Pie dough, whipped cream, the cans of Fancy Feast, why are the things which give loved ones the most pleasure so often what you have to deny them?
I am cringing at having to face those scales. And the vet.
“Buster doesn’t chase,” says DH, “he’s part Australian Shepherd. He herds.”
DH talks about the time he saw Buster “herd” 23 deer. According to DH, Buster flat-out ran after them yipping his deer yip and drove them into our woods.
“I wish I had a camera,” DH says. “Buster was so proud.”
Unfortunately, Buster could someday pay a price for his happiest moments.
Neither Buster, or our other dog, Abby always come when called. Deer, rabbits and squirrels are too enticing. Interesting trails are also irresistable.
Sometimes it’s a long time before the dogs come back. We worry. There are nearby roads and neighbors protecting livestock. In the fall there is hunting season and hunters.
Oh, and the smell. Our dogs roll in deer poop. They eat horse poop. Smelly marsh muck clings to feet, legs and bellies. Which makes their indiscretion all the better. The dogs practically smile as they pant.
Buster is not only a hunter, he is also a natural herder. Part lab, with a little border collie and a lot of Australian shepherd, Buster often does the snaking neck and goes into a herding crouch. His “stare down” is intimidating. As jealous as the most suspicious wife Buster guards DH. His “look” effectively keeps rivals out of the same room.
“Buster…noooooo,” I say, gathering up a cowering Abby or cat wanting to be with us. Buster retreats still sneaking in his glares.
“Mom, why does Buster act so nervous around you?” my daughter asked on her last visit.
“Because, I’m training him. He’s learning to walk on a leash,” I told her. Which didn’t adequately describe the experience of a gagging, gasping and squealing Buster trying to escape.
“Awwwwww, poor Buster, you’re choking him,” said DH.
“Don’t say awwwwww in front of him. We need to act like this is no big deal. Maybe if he can’t see you…”
Miraculously, that worked.
Soon after DH went into the house Buster was walking at my side in a way that if it wouldn’t make Cesar proud, was at least respectable.
Our other dog, Abby, took to the leash as if she had gone through obedience school as a pup. Even when visiting the vet, she prances and her tail wags.
Sadly, more often than not, snap on a leash and Buster’s head goes down, along with his ears and tail. His eyes are mournful and sad. He looks at DH pleadingly.
“What have I done to deserve this abuse?”
I have had to compromise on leashes.
The dogs are tethered by our voices during the day on walks. After dusk, when the deer and rabbits are out, DH says we will use leashes. He also agreed to leashes during hunting season.
Admittedly, my insistance that we use leashes in the veterinary office makes them more horrendous for Buster. He hates the vet. Before leash training, Buster once got away from DH and crawled under our jeep in the veterinary parking lot.
Today, on our walk, temptation again won out over training. We hadn’t gone far before the dogs smelled something and took off.
Fortunately, Abby wasn’t gone long. And DH had an idea.
Instead of calling and calling for Buster, and then going into the woods trying to find him, DH turned the other way and headed toward the house.
As he walked, he praised Abby, “Good girl, Abby. Good dog, Abby.” he said loudly, ” What a good Abby…I like Abby best.”
Guess who came running?
Other posts including Buster are:
One of DH’s most treasured possessions is his mother’s piano. Although he only took a few lessons, he spent many an hour, growing up in his parent’s home, playing whatever tunes were popular on the radio. Simba, our big orange tomcat, also has an ear for music and hurries to join DH at the sound of a piano key.
Not that he is especially wanted.
“Jolynna, I’ve got a small problem on my hands,” says DH, “can you come and get him?”
“He won’t stay with me,” I respond.
And it’s true. Although Simba was my cat before we were married, Simba is DH’s cat now. Simba meows and scratches the bathroom door should DH be so rude as to close it. Simba follows DH inside. He follows DH out. When DH takes an afternoon nap, usually all three cats join him.
I tease DH about his animal magnetism. And all of the (ummm…) cats he gets.
But, actually, DH’s love for animals is the reason we met.
When I first moved to the midwest, I checked out the Yahoo personals. Just to look. Although I had moved into a rural area, there were 900 men in my age range on Yahoo. But, it was the “must love animals” in DH’s ad that caught my eye. (That and he is nice looking.) I joined Yahoo personals immediately, composed my own profile and sent DH a response.
“I am looking for a man that is macho enough to know how to fix the things that break in my house, and sensitive enough to hold my hand during scary movies.” I listed among my requirements. But, there was more…
It took DH three long days to check his e-mail and answer.
“Yes,” he said,” yes I have a barn. And yes, I will get you a horse.”
We were married within three months.