Doggy Crack

Sweet Potato Chews, people. If you have dogs, buy a couple of sweet potatoes, slice them up in thick (1/4- to 1/2-inch) slices, and bake them at about 175 degrees for 12 to 14 hours (turning every 4ish hours), or until you get a good, chewy consistency.

You can buy sweet potato chews at pet supply stores, but the cost markup is truly obscene. As I recall, it's about $7 for a bag that probably contains one potato. At the grocery store last weekend, I bought four potatoes at a little over $1 a pound, or $4 and change for all four potatoes.

Sliced into thick chunks.

Shrinkage at 14 hours. (I call this one George.)

Happy Doggy. George is no more.

The financial investment is minimal, the time investment is basically slicing the potatoes and then checking the oven three or four times, and there's nothing wrong with a house that smells like sweet potatoes. And they're a bazillion times healthier than raw hides and other chew treats of that type. (Sweet potatoes do have calories, though. Don't go overboard feeding them unless you want a Tubby Terrier.)

Next week's experiment: Red Delicious apples.

Bertie Sue is SENSITIVE, Y'all

Or picky. Whichever.

A year ago at just about this time, I made a sweater for Bertie Sue. I was inordinately proud of it, because, even if just a dog sweater, it was the first knitted object that I ever conceived of and knitted on my own without a pattern. And it was awesome.

Mostly.

I learned one important lesson while constructing that sweater: You should put the leg holes in where the legs end under the chest, not where they start up at the shoulder. This is an important feature for dog sweaters because doing it wrong adds a lot of unnecessary fabric across the chest and probably makes walking feel kind of funny. Miss Bert would consent to wear the sweater for trips in the car or to go outside for a quick potty, but she refused to go on walks while wearing the sweater. It may be that she is fashion conscious and the grab-bag quality didn't fit her personal style, but I think it's more likely that it felt strange to walk in.

So I cogitated on the problem for a while and decided that the best way to put the leg holes in exactly the right place is to leave them out altogether. Here is the result:

I found the purple mystery yarn in the yarn cabinet wound neatly into a cake with no label. No idea what that stuff is except that a flame test proves it to be an acrylic. (Bert won't be hanging out unattended in this sweater. That stuff melts.) The red ribbing is a design feature in the sense that I ran out of the purple mystery yarn and didn't have anything else to match or coordinate, so I decided to go with full-on clash instead. Embrace the ugly, people. The body is the honeycomb stitch most frequently seen of late in the Honey Cowl. The tummy is all ribbing so that if we manage to help Miss Bert lose the 5 pounds she needs to drop, it will still fit. I hope.

The innovation that made another dog sweater worth knitting is the single giant leg hole.

Sorry about the blurry photo, but that is an insanely difficult angle to photograph and that's the best I could get before Bert wandered off to see if Brew needed to have his rear end sniffed. (He did.)

So far, so good. She can run! She can jump! She can stroll leisurely up the block sniffing every third leaf!

Don't worry that Brewie might be chilly. He's always toasty in his ultra-hip fleece hoodie.

A Profound Metaphor of Significant Significance (but mainly dog training)

My dad came over this morning to do something mysterious to my stereo to make the classical station in Hutch come in more clearly. (And by "mysterious," I mean he stuck a piece of flexible, rubber-coated wire in the antenna port. The wire has a name, but I've already forgotten. Dad would want me to tell you that you should NEVER attach a wire coat hanger to your stereo. Not that I would ever consider that. Ahem.)

So, knowing that we were about to have company, I did what I always do to make Brewster more comfortable with visitors. The dogs got their harnesses on, and we went out for a mini-walk so we could meet Dad outside. Brewster is much happier to meet people outside on neutral ground than to have them come into his house. Bertie is always happy to meet new people so she runs up first to perform her official function as the Chez Furry Pants Welcoming Committee. (Obviously this special service is only for guests we already know are dog people and won't mind slobbery dog tongue.) Then in theory Brewster and I follow, Brewster gets to meet the guest if he's feeling brave enough, and then we follow the guest into the house so Brew doesn't feel like he's being chased. 

When Dad came by a couple of weeks ago, we did not do this very well. Or rather, I did not do it very well. Bertie ran up to Dad, and I held Brewster back to see how he would react. In the process of holding him back, I pulled back on his leash, putting tension on it. And there was the mistake.

The amount of tension on the leash makes a huge difference in how Brew reacts. When his harness is tight around his chest, he lunges forward and wants to attack. When there is no tension he almost literally seems like a different dog, a bit nervous and timid, but in no way aggressive or threatening. This is not just a Brewster thing. I learned in an obedience class that all dogs respond to tension in the leash by becoming tense themselves. Understanding this basic little factoid was what made it possible to successfully introduce Brewster to Bertie Sue way back when. 

So at Dad's last visit, when Brewster felt the tension in the leash, it caused tension in him, and he wanted to lunge forward. I knew that I was causing the problem, but I couldn't make myself stop doing it. I knew if I released the tension, he would charge up at Dad for just a second, and the image of snarling Brewster was just too much. I wound up holding Brewster the entire time Dad was at the house, afraid to put him down.

Today I was determined to do better--not that Brewster would do better, that I would do better. When Bert ran up to give Dad his hello kisses, Brewster and I kept right on coming. Brewster tried to pull forward, but I kept coming, too, so the leash was slack. And I swear to you I saw this thought bubble forming over Brewster's head: "You aren't going to pull me back? You mean I could actually run up and bite him if I want to? Um . . . I think I'll go check out this piece of grass over here. Here's a rock that needs to be sniffed. This dandelion must be peed on immediately." And Brewster spent the rest of the visit ignoring Dad entirely, which is fine because Bertie Sue hands out enough luvins for four dogs. I promise, no one has ever felt neglected since Bert came to live here.

Hence, today's moral. You've heard the saying that life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it, or something like that. So it is with dog training: The trick to improving a dog's behavior often lies in the handler's willingness to change his or her own behavior. Brewster didn't do a single thing differently at today's visit versus what he did two weeks ago. I was the one who changed my technique to get different results. And, whereas two weeks ago, I spent my time restraining an angry little demon dog, today I spent my time reassuring a nervous but generally calm and certainly not dangerous sweet little angel of whom I am very proud. Worth it.

My Name is Bertie SueBell

Insert snackies here.

Hey, you guys! It is Me! Bertie SueBell! Guess what, you guys! It has been a WHOLE YEAR since I got my Forever Home! My MamaLady said I could use the clicky things to tell you all what I was thinking about, and what I am thinking about is snackies all my names. Most people only get one name, but I'm a special kind of person, so I've had a bunch. I used to have a name that nobody knows, and I'm not telling because it's not very important anymore. When I got lost and got sent to dog jail, things were going pretty bad. The HumanPeople at the jail weren't mean to me or anything, but I didn't like them very much, and they didn't have the resources to help a pregnant, scared, sick DogPerson like me. So some bad stuff was about to go down,* but then Mama Janet from Pals Animal Rescue got me sprung from the slammer! Mama Janet said I was beautiful (which is true) and she thought I would like HumanPeople better when I wasn't in jail anymore (which was also true), so she took me to her house and she said my name was Cricket. And sure enough, I wasn't scared anymore, and pretty soon I wasn't pregnant anymore either! Mama Janet took good care of me while I took good care of my puppy, and then when I got him all finished up, I moved to Mama Jean's house. Mama Jean called me Cricket Sue, and I liked that a lot, mainly because Mama Jean loved me a bunch, just like I was one of her own dogs.

I heard a rumor that some cats live here, too, but I haven't seen any.

But then I came to live with my Forever MamaLady, and she says my name is Bertie SueBell. She says I am named after Albert Einstein because of my crazy furs, but I think it's because I have all the smartnesses and lots of relativities like my Brother Brewster and my Aunt Maddie, who are Pals Dogs, too, and my Cousin Miles, who is not in our Pals Club, but is a good guy anyway. So I think Bertie SueBell is my best name so far, and I think I will keep it, even though sometimes the MamaLady yells, "Alberta!" in that screechy tone that means I'm supposed to quit eating cat poop in the yard. I mean, really, what does she think it's there for?

Here are me and Brewie not barking. Much.

But most of the time my name means good things. After all, I have important Bertie SueBell jobs to do now that no one else could do as well as me. Mainly I have to take good care of Brewie and the MamaLady. Brewie is a DINOS, which really just means he's a big ol' scaredy-dog, and it's my job to show him that it's okay to be brave and meet new people. Brewie watches what I do, so when I decide not to bark at someone, he knows he doesn't have to bark, either. When we go visiting somewhere, I always walk in first to show Brewie there's nothing to be afraid of. And when we go on walks together, I show him how to be brave when we walk past fences with dogs yelling at us, and we never yell back. Almost never. Mostly.

You can play Snuzzles in the grass, too.

And would you believe I even had to teach that Brewie how to play chase? When I first moved in, I kept running away and he would just sit there and stare at me. What a dork. But he figured it out eventually, and now we take turns chasing each other around the house. The MamaLady says it's a good thing the floors are already all scratched up, but I heard her tell someone that she'd rather have happy dogs and scratched-up floors than fancy floors and no dogs, so I run a lot to help her out. And Brewie even taught me something, even though I have much more smartnesses than him. He likes to play a game called Snuzzles, which is just rolling around in blankets and stuff, and I don't really get it, but Brewie likes it, so I roll around with him so he won't feel dumb for playing such a silly game all by himself, kind of like when you have to play Uno with your little brother, even though you'd rather be playing poker.

My most very important job.

I also take good care of the MamaLady by hanging out with her all the time in case she needs me to sit on her lap so she can give me good pets. It's a big responsibility, but I am up for the challenge. Sometimes she doesn't even know she needs me on her lap and I have to noodge my way on, but all my hard work is worth it. MamaLady says she feels better when she pets me, and I can see why because my furs are beautiful and soft now. She also says I help her by making her laugh all the time, even though I am very serious about all my important jobs. MamaLady says I should be the star of my own cartoon show, which I think is probably a very serious, important kind of show on the noisy box about how to be good at important DogPerson-type jobs.

I have all the beautifulnesses, too.

So I think that of all my names, I like the one I have now the most and I will keep it. MamaLady says that of all the Bertie SueBells in the whole entire world, I am the Very Best, and since I have all the smartnesses, I know she is right about that.

*A note from the MamaLady: Sometimes people are indignant or angry that the staff at the Wichita Animal Shelter was going to euthanize a beautiful, friendly dog like Bertie Sue. I think that's kind of silly. The staff at the Animal Shelter and the Kansas Humane Society work so hard to save as many animals as they can, and they have extremely limited resources. They simply cannot save every animal who crosses their threshold, and I have no doubt that Bertie Sue appeared to them to be aggressive. (Even in the best of times, Bert doesn't like to be bothered when she's resting and isn't shy about telling HumanPeople to Back Off.) It would've been too much to ask the WAS and KHS to invest the time and money into an aggressive mother dog who would have to nurse for six weeks and who might never be adoptable. So instead of being angry, I choose to be grateful that the WAS was able to get Bert off the street in the first place, and that here in Wichita we have an organization like Pals Animal Rescue that can step in and rescue at least a few of the dogs who can't do well in a shelter environment but can be rehabilitated in a home. Everyone worked together to get my Bertie SueBell to me and Brewster, and we're so glad they did. We need her!

Things Begun

I started the hat, but I didn't like my yarn, so I've been crocheting instead.

My favorite thing about granny squares is that you can combine the most hideous colors and no one even blinks. I don't know why that is, but it's true. Granny squares exist in an alternate universe where the standard rules of beauty don't apply. Which is not to say that there aren't some arrestingly beautiful squares out there, too. I'm just not skilled enough yet to make them. Give me a minute. . . . 

***

I started Wolf Hall, but I finally had to admit to myself that I just do not give a flip about sixteenth-century political intrigue. I also have a hang-up about historical novels. I love them as long as they place fictional characters inside real events, but when you start trying to fictionalize real people, I get antsy. Did that really happen? Is that what she would've said? And I start to resent Mantel coming along 500 years after the fact and trying to impose some sort of artistic theme or meaning on the lives that Cromwell and Henry and Wolsey and Anne and Katherine and the rest were likely just trying to get through.

Mantel's an entertaining writer, though. If you don't have my historical fiction hang-ups and you do have at least a minimum level of interest in sixteenth-century English politics, please enjoy yourself. Me, I've started The Tiger's Wife, because I think I probably will give a flip about "mysterious circumstances surrounding [a] beloved grandfather's recent death." And I'm a sucker for a "stunning debut novel." And it's been sitting on the to-read pile since last year and I'm getting tired of blowing cat fur off it.

***

I finished a copyedit and started another, because that's how that goes.

***

I started two classes, one of which will be done in two more weeks, and another that's a full semester.

***

I started several walks.

 Finished 'em, too. 

Bertie Sue's Grab Bag Sweater

On Saturday I realized three things: (1) There's no way the Christmas knitting will be finished by Christmas. It's just not happening, so there's no point in busting my rear over it. (2) It's going to be pretty nippy this week, with highs in the 20s. (3) Bertie Sue does not have her own sweater. She's been borrowing Brewster's ski coat, but it doesn't fit her very well.

So I dropped the Christmas knitting for about 6 hours to create Bertie Sue's Grab Bag Sweater.

In addition to being a grab-bag in the sense of using up yarn scraps, it's also kind of a grab-bag pattern. Following a real pattern just seemed like too much of a thing, so I cobbled together patterns I already had in my head. The nice, wide neck that doesn't squoosh tender doggy ears is actually the cast-on for the Nancy Lindberg Christmas Sock, and the increases for the leg holes are the thumb gusset from Ann Budd's Basic Glove Pattern. (Those are both Ravelry links. If you're not already a Ravelry member, you probably don't care anyway.)

Then I just kept knitting in the round until it was long enough under her tummy, cast off half the stitches, and then knit flat until it was long enough to cover the puppy butt. Generally, Bert was patient with the try-on sessions, but there was a point on Saturday night where she had had enough, so she started demonstrating some pretty effective passive resistance.

Don't worry about Brewster. In addition to the aforementioned ski coat, he has a warm hoodie and two store-bought sweaters to keep his tushie warm. He won't be freezing this week, either.

Now, back to the Super Secret Christmas Knitting!

Happy Holidays from Chez Furry Pants! 

Stay Warm!

Watch Your Nose!

Like most mommas, I want so badly to believe that my little ones, four-legged though they may be, are smarter than all their little friends. Unfortunately, evidence demonstrates otherwise. Last night, for example, Bertie Sue spent several minutes determinedly trying to get underneath a blanket she was sitting on top of.

And then there's the door.

The back porch sliding door has a storm door that I only shut when it's cold. Yesterday I shut it, which means that when the dogs go out, they have to wait for two doors to open instead of one. They can't seem to remember this. They've each bonked their noses three times apiece, now. I'm hoping this will help:

I know they can't read. But I'm their momma, and I believe they can learn. I dare you to tell me otherwise.

Update: So far from bonking his nose, the sign worried Brewster so much that he had to back up and watch it suspiciously for a bit before he could get near it. I forgot that sometimes doorways are scary, and something different is likely to cause more than usual trepidation. But at least he didn't bonk his nose. 

Insomnia: A Play in One Act

Characters:
--Bertie Sue: A mutt.
--Brewster: Another mutt.
--LadyPerson: The mutts' human.

Setting: A suburban bedroom, 3am, during a thunderstorm with hail.

Bertie Sue: LadyPerson, there are loud noises! LadyPerson, what are those noises? LadyPerson, why don't you make those noises stop! LadyPerson, I do not like the loud noises. LadyPerson, I will get under the covers with you until the loud noises stop. LadyPerson, scoot over, I want to be in the warm spot.

Brewster: Snore.

The End.

Second Childhood

This morning the dogs were sitting together on the bed while I was getting myself together. When I turned around and looked at them--saw them with "fresh eyes," as it were--I had a sudden and distressing realization.

When I was a little girl, we had two dogs. One was a cocker spaniel-poodle mix named Saucy. She had curly black fur, and was a bit wild.

No, this isn't her. This is Brewster, a dog with black, curly fur who is a bit wild.

The other dog we had when I was kid was a Shetland sheepdog named Lady. Lady's fur was straight and brown down her back with a white collar, ruff, and feet. She liked to have a good time, but she was more restrained than Saucy.  

Not Lady, either. This is Bertie Sue, a dog with sheltie-like markings who enjoys a good game of Chase, but thinks Brewster overdoes it with the barking.

The moment I had this realization, I called my mother. Her only comfort was, "Well, Lady and Saucy were bigger." Can anyone recommend a good therapist?

I'm So Busy I Don't Even Have Time to Write This!

I had lunch with my sister this week, and even though I've been so busy I barely have time for basic chores, I couldn't remember what any of it was so I could tell her about it. (OK, I just don't want to do chores. It's almost the same thing as not having time for them.)

So I've been trying to remember what it is I've been up to for the last few weeks. I know about 70% of it had to do with these two:

The Equal Opportunity Neighborhood Watch (i.e., evil boogeymen had better look out--and so should neighbors walking around in their own driveways and minding their own business)




The family bonding could not possibly be going any better. We've had a few snippy moments, but nothing at all concerning. In fact, I'm completely charmed by the gentle, restrained growling from both dogs that is so different than the all-out "I'm gonna rip your face off!" snarling that I'm used to when Brewster faces a stranger. The puppy gate came down on their third day together--because they took it down. When I tried to leave the next day with the gate in place, I sat in my car in the garage with the car door closed and motor running, and I could still hear howls of such heartrending sadness that I couldn't stand it. The gates came down for good. They've both done an excellent job of setting their limits and then forgiving each other when they're crossed. They don't love each other yet, but they are becoming friends. Bert has a bad habit of shoving Brewster out of the way when she wants something he has, and Brew has a bad habit of trying to hump Bert that seems to be fading as he gets used to her presence and as Bertie gets further and further past her recent pregnancy and spay. Families just have to overcome these little character flaws.

We have taken walks, we have worked on "Sit," and Bertie is trying really hard to teach Brewster how to play "Chase." Brew is usually a pretty quick learner, but "Chase" seems completely beyond him. I have faith, though. Bertie is persistent and Brewster is curious, so sooner or later, he'll figure it out.

In between all the doggy goodness, I'm working on two copyediting projects and keeping up with the Southwestern faculty orientation class. That class is no joke, but worth every minute. When I realized how much effort that class was going to require, I was indignant. After all, I've been teaching on and off for about seven years, now. But sometime during the first week, I remembered that I like being a student. And there is a lot of new software to learn, so despite the imposition, I'm glad they're actually taking the time to show us this material in depth. Every other teaching job I've ever had has basically consisted of being handed a room number and class meeting time. These folks actually want to help me do a good job. What a novel concept.

And of course there has been knitting. But it's all gift knitting and none of has been seen by the recipients yet, so I can't post that yet. And I've decided that this year, I'm going to keep up with the The Morning News Tournament of Books. I might as well, since it doesn't seem like KU's going to make it very far in their tournament. Instead of NCAA tournament socks, I can knit book tournament socks. So far I've added The Tiger's Wife and State of Wonder to my reading list. That's as soon as I get Bleak House out of the way. So I'm going to go get on that.

I'll leave you with one last shot of Miss Alberta Sue, who is turning out to be annoyingly camera shy, but does occasionally oblige with the perfect pose:

Look out, World. Bert has her eye on you.

Chez Furry Pants: No Vacancy

Bertie Sue has been with us about a day now, so it's long past time that I start annoying you with photos!

First, Bertie's bio: She's about 3 years old, weighs 12 pounds, and, no, I have no idea what breeds she is. The most reasonable theory is probably some kind of pug/border terrier mix. What I do know is that she is a Pure-Bred Awesome. (And possibly part mountain goat.) Update: Someone on Facebook says she's a Brussels Griffon. I still say Mountain Goat.

Bertie was picked up as a very-pregnant stray and taken to the Animal Shelter. She was going to be euthanized because of aggression, but PALS got her out and, lo and behold, she is really a very nice dog. If you were uncomfortably pregnant and stuck in a scary kennel, you'd be aggressive, too! She had her puppy a week after she left the shelter, spent 8 weeks nursing him and generally being an awesome momma, and then they went their separate ways. As far as I know, Bert's puppy, Little Guy, is still available for adoption as of this writing. He's about 11 weeks in this picture, but is now 13 weeks. Update: My grandpuppy, Little Guy, went to his forever home in late March! Yay, Little Guy! We send you all our love!

Why did I name her "Bertie Sue," you ask? Well, have you ever seen a mane of fur more likely to make Albert Einstein's hair stand on end? And "Sue" is an homage to Bertie's awesome Foster Momma, who has the habit of tacking "Sue," among other things, onto all of her dogs' names. For example, I look forward to one day meeting Chihuahua-Extraordinaire PeteySueBobElvis. And anyway, I figure, if the Sue fits, wear it. (Yep. I said it. Deal with it.) 

"Now, wait a minute," I hear you saying. "You just wrote a whole series of blog posts about how you had to take Brewster to a reactive dog class because he's so fearful. How can you bring another dog into the house?" It was because of that class that I had the confidence to adopt Bertie. Working with the trainers, and especially with the trainer's dog, Gracie, helped me learn how to introduce Brewster to a new dog slowly and carefully. Brewster and I met with Bertie (formerly Cricket) and her Foster Mom twice in a neutral location (a pet supply shop). They got to check each other out without a lot of pressure. When Foster Mom brought Bert for a home visit, they parked in a church parking lot two blocks from my house and Brewster and I walked up and met them. The dogs got to see each other again, then we all drove home and walked into the house together. Once he realized that Bertie was the same dog he'd met twice before, Brewster never once showed any aggression. In fact he "approved" the adoption by giving Bertie a play-bow, the international doggy symbol for "Let's play!" I had never seen Brewster do that before, and it was all I needed to see to know that he would love having a sister. In the 24 hours that Bertie has been here, Brew has yet to show her any aggression. That doesn't mean there won't be any spats whatsoever, and it will be several days or even weeks before I go off and leave them alone without a baby gate between them, but so far it's looking very, very good.

Does that answer all your questions? Then without further ado, Bertie's first day with us:

Far be it from me to anthropomorphize my dogs or force them into nonsensical gender roles. But Bert did recognize right away that the pink bed was meant for her. It brings out her eyes, no?

Bertie meets a Kong and is simultaneously confused and delighted.

Maddie came over to help us watch the KU-Mizzou game. To get into this club, you have to be a PALS dog. 

To make up for having to live with another dog, Edgar gets some of the good MommaLady luvies, which are widely recognized as the best of all the luvies. Kudra, on the other hand, is still downstairs. I expect we'll see her in about another 24 hours. (Why the look of bored disgust on the MommaLady's face? This photo was taken toward the end of the first half. She was more cheerful an hour later.)

That's it! As I assured my horrified neighbor, there are now four pets living in this house, and we are taking down the vacancy sign. It will be a long, long time before anymore four-legged people cross our threshold. Probably.