the day before

Poor Wednesday: never to stand out as it chugs along at the tail end of November. It'll always be thought of as the day before Thanksgiving. People talk about food -- to be eaten tomorrow. They bake, they shop, they pack things up. For tomorrow. These days, they're thrilled that kids have the day off from school (it wasn't a day off back when) -- no hustling them out in the morning -- until those kids start pestering and clamoring for attention.  Weather speculations abound: will is be icy? Windy? Will flights be cancelled? Everyone hates traveling on this day and yet it is (according to Flight Aware) the most traveled day of the year.

Today, this Wednesday before Thanksgiving really got pummeled from all sides by a squiggle in the Polar Vortex, sending unseasonably cold weather our way for the holiday weekend and beyond. People are saying -- not since the 1960s have we had this in Wisconsin on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. 

There are snow flurries, there is wind. Such a wind! I did not sleep well last night (my fault, don't ask) and I waited for it to be 6 a.m. not because I wanted to prolong my time in bed, but out of principle. Let's not keep pushing wake up time, my dearest Henry. Wait.

He waits.

And now we are out and it is indeed so cold. 

 

 

I should have put a sweater on him, except I was in some zombie state that did not allow me to think and make decisions, so Henry and I both suffered. Not for long though. We did not stay out beyond the necessary potty run. 

Breakfast. A dilemma for me: should I drink coffee or should I try to catch up on sleep? Not a hard decision. I want that jolt of caffeine. I want our routines. 

Yes, as I eat my oatmeal, Henry "hides" his dental chew.

This is his last day at doggie daycare for a while. (They close for the long holiday.)  And it's not a full day there either. But, I'm eager to get him in to play by mid morning, so that he'll get his movement in for the day.

I stop by my daughter's to drop off a toaster oven and a roasting pan. It's great to see a relaxed, pajama'd household. One of the kids is a little off in health so he is resting extra hard. Another is bouncing around, looking for playmates. The third -- well, she asks if she can hang out with me today.  I tell her all that I have to do -- drive over to the bakery to pick up tomorrow's dessert. Laundry. Fill up with gas. Oh, and my daughter would so like it if I took Goose over to daycare on my way to wherever. Wherever happens to be in the opposite direction, but no matter. Snowdrop and I take the pooch and do my errands, ending up at the Edge, where I fix her lunch and she reads and we read and it's so mellow and relaxing that honestly, I think this will have been my calmest moment of the day. Of the weekend really.

I take her back home, run over to the grocery store, and then make my way back to claim Henry. He needs a bath. These are his doctor's orders. So that he would rid himself of stuff he likely carried with him from the shelters still. I know, I know, he had a bath already. The goal is to thoroughly cleanse him, inside and out. I had a hard time finding a grooming place that still had openings this week. (The vet assistant told me -- oh, you can just bathe him yourself... Seriously? My easily scared dog that had a hard time accepting the shiny floor in the lobby of this building? In a bathtub? Ha ha ha.) The one service that did fit him in is sort of like a Spa. Not that I wanted this to be a 3 hour ordeal (for I am sure Henry will regard it as such), but this is the only way they work with dogs. So I drop off my perplexed pooch and continue with my errands. Pet store to get probiotics for his gut (another recommendation). Walgreens to get Tums for my gut. And every time I stop at a store and especially a pet store, I am tempted to add a bag (or two) of treats for Henry. There's one that has turkey and cranberries. Not for today, because today is just the day before. But for tomorrow! Oh tomorrow!

When I finally retrieve Henry, he does indeed look clean and shiny. No surprise there. All those treats for a shiny coat I've been pumping into him seem to do the trick (or, he simply has that kind of a coat). I bring him home so he can rest. But because he just had a bath (with a lot of resistance, I hear, especially toward the bathtub), I do put on his jacket. It is way too big. Henry is long, so I go extra large, but he is skinny so that the jacket hangs like a blanket on him. Not that he protests. I can almost feel his shrug: she must know what she's doing with this.

 

The day is not done. We have our weekly training class in the evening.  

(ready!)

 

Goose, the young family's dog, is in the same class, with the dad and Sparrow spearheading his training. Only two people are allowed per dog, but Snowdrop really wanted to join in on this and so I let her partner up with me to train Henry. 

(he got lots of belly rubs from her)

 

 

On the one hand, it's easier for the dog to have one trainer to pay attention to, but I'm not trying to make this easier for Henry. Getting him to completely relax with people who are not me is important. For my pup, taking instructions from Snowdrop is a new way for him to relate to her. And so I back off a little and let them work on some of the commands. (He's smooth as peaches on so many of them -- sit, come, stay, touch, eyes on me -- all done seamlessly. But getting him to lie down will take weeks. No, months. Years maybe. Workin' on it!)

 

 

 

Oh, Henry, you lead a rich and full life. I am so happy for you!
 

with so much love... 

one foggy November morning...

If Henry was tired last night, he was certainly not tired this morning. Up at 5, then 5:30, then finally 6 -- my breaking point. Alright, you ridiculous pooch! You with the sweet face and soulful eyes!

I'd left the tree lights on because it really is lovely to see the delicate glow in the room next door, and then to get up to the full spectacle of a tree in an otherwise dark room (because yes, Henry, it is still dark outside).

Only in the photo do I see that one segment of a different sort. In real time, they're all the same. Go figure.

It is a very foggy morning. Really foggy! No one is out yet. Just me and the black dog. 

 

 

And somehow it's a happy walk. I don't know why this pup puts a bounce into my morning routines, but he does. Henry wakes up joyful. It's contagious, really it is.

And now come the remaining routines: his breakfast, mine. The hiding of the dental chew. Me finding it. 

An hour-long snuggle, half his torso resting on my lap...

And it's time for daycare. Our kids should clamber to go to school with such enthusiasm. (Well, perhaps today they did: it seems to be pajama day for the entire school system. For reasons not entirely clear to me, kids of all ages love pajama day.) 

Me, I go to the farmhouse. I'd left some stuff there. Wrapping papers. A roasting pan. And I need the printer for a return label. And I'm returning the now empty pots from the balcony. And a Christmas tree stand that I dont need for a fake tree. I truly believed that I took most everything I would ever need with me to the apartment when I moved in mid September. And here I am, carting stuff back and forth, as if I'm still split between two households. Maybe by next summer, I will have settled down for good. Which, at my age, is doubtful, but hey, one can dream.

In the afternoon I think about what constitutes a real wreath and what constitutes a fake one. We are not allowed to hang fresh holiday wreaths or branches on our doors. It falls into the category of fire hazards, much as live Christmas trees. I can understand the rule about trees, but the rule about door hangings puzzles me. I have a wreath that is a "forever" wreath. It's not fresh. The juniper twigs are dry. So if not fresh, then it's okay, right? But if the issue is with the possibility of fire, then of course dry twigs would burn rapidly, much more so than fresh ones. So, if you have a wreath made of sticks, is that not permissible? And if you have a completely fake one, how is that safer? Paper burns. Platic burns as well, releasing toxins into the air. So do any number of other materials. Yet, truly fake wreaths hang gingerly from doors left and right. And how would anything catch fire in the long corridor anyway? The door is made of wood. Surely the door would burn no matter what is hung on it. 

In the end I choose a total fake. The logic behind it? Oh, I just want to be a good citizen not a source of controversy here. Bad enough that my once quiet Henry barks at ax wielding strangers in the hallways. May as well not add fuel to any fire. 

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. She is now heading into a six day break from school. She is not complaining.

We pick up both her dog, Goose, and my Henry. Two exuberant hounds, eager to take on the world. But not today. Henry and I click into our quiet evening routine: he eats, I eat, he eats a bit of what I eat. He naps, I read and write. And think about November: it's going out with a fury. Looking at the weather forecast for the next ten days, I note that we will stay below freezing every single day, as far as the eye can see. The heated garage never looked so good!

with so much love... 

food for thought

I am reconciled to early morning walks with my dog in the dark now. I may coax my Henry to go back to sleep for another hour, but what's the point, when I myself cannot go back to sleep after a lovely wake up greeting from him? Unless it's before 6, I get up.

The morning walk doesn't have to be long because Henry is quick to settle his affairs out there, but I always give him a bonus stroll and today it was to Squirrel Hill.

(a dark dog on a dark morning)

On our walk back to the Edge, we run into Carol. I met Carol at one of the social gatherings here and I found out that she likes to baby-sit residents' dogs. This is useful information because there will come a time when I have to go out in the evening and don't want to spend $80 for an overnight boarding just for a quick bite with Ed, or with the fam, or whatever else might pull me out of evening hibernation. Carol, therefore, is a person I want to court as a solid mate. However, Henry, who has never met her, has other ideas. As she approaches, he goes on alert. Woof, woof, WOOF! Henry! It's okay, have a treat! Take it down a notch! Carol is sympathetic, but she tells me -- Nina, don't push it. Next time he'll recognize my voice. (turning to Henry) -- I'm not going to hurt her. Carol, Henry is a boy. Oh I know. But he's barking because he wants to protect you, not himself. He's letting me know to stay away from you!

So that's what's going on! I had assumed he barked out of fright. And I wondered -- he getting so confident with people he knows. Why is he getting worse with strangers? Carol gave the ready answer -- because with each day, he feels closer to me and wants to be sure no harm comes to me. I can just imagine his thought process: poor helpless old human, innocent to the core, so easy to knock down by a mean one out there, I need to fend them off! Woof!

At the apartment, he eats, I eat. 

 

 

I give him his dental biscuit, he buries it in his bed. I find it, he tries burying it in the couch. I find it. Then in the spare chair's woolly cover. Why, Henry, why?

 

 

It's back to doggie daycare for him this morning. I use the time to take out the pots of annuals from the balcony and dump them in a nearby field. To pick up some more green beans (don't ask). And to test the holiday lights. 

And finally, I use the time to sit down with my Thanksgiving recipes and set up a cooking schedule. I'm late this year because the big stress of getting a perfect turkey out on the table is off of my shoulders. My son-in-law is doing the meat. I'm left with the sides. These are so set by years of repetition that I really should manage without much fuss. Well, except the cheesy hasselback potato gratin. Why I ever introduced that into the holiday menu is beyond me. Total pain to make and nothing can be done in advance except maybe the grating of the two cheeses. And it is beloved now so there you have it.

 

Sparrow pick up time!

Wait, what's this? Their Goose -- a dog even bigger, or at least heavier than Henry, is in need of a few sheltered minutes while his home is being worked on? Sure! Come on up! 

I cannot imagine two big dogs in the apartment, tearing at each others toys, but Henry is in daycare. Goose smells him of course, and enjoys sampling his various chewies. 

And yes, I put up some lights on the tree. Just to see if I like them there. And now I can see now why people purchase trees with lights built into the branches. On a thinly branched tree like mine, it's hard to hide the wiring. Nonetheless, in the evening, the glow is lovely. 

Snowdrop pick up time!

(Yep, tree is up. Work in progress.)

 

 

Gaga's house inspires endless reading. And munching.

Henry pickup time!

He and I come home to a twinkling tree. If I thought this would catch his interest, I was wrong. He's indifferent to the whole enterprise. Maybe it's because he is concerned about the lingering smell of another dog here. Maybe it's because he seems extra tired tonight. Or maybe it's because fake Christmas trees are just not his thing.

with so much love... 

the Sunday before holiday chaos

It's a quiet day. I expect this will be the last quiet Sunday this year. Between Thanksgiving meals and visits, a granddaughter's birthday, kid performances, and of course Christmas itself, which this year spans two weekends, as it falls squarely on none. Oh, did I neglect New Year's Eve? May as well be a Sunday -- it's part of the whole winter holiday blowout. So, today is quiet. And maybe that's not such a good thing.

Here's the problem: Henry, being a dog, is fitting into the patterns of his home. I am quiet. The music is gentle. Even the TV volume is set on quiet. All this is terrific for him, as he is easily spooked by sudden movement or noise. Hides behind me, if that's even possible. Barks, shakes, retreats. Of course, none of this happens at home because, well, I'm quiet. Slow. Steady. On the other hand, I've noticed that the sudden appearance of people, especially coming in or out of the elevator, totally spooks him. Woof! Woof! Henry, chill! They are not here to clobber you! I have to wonder -- were I more jumpy, loud, bouncy, with sudden movements, banging around like a young person, wouldn't he grow used to that instead? I'm doing him no service by being... quiet.

Well, so it goes. I will do a lot for this pup, but I cannot become a different person.

Henry is up early today. He tries for 5:30. I put him off. Tries again at 6 -- I give in. Maybe he just really has to go. 

It really is quite dark still at 6:15. Our sunrise today is at 7:01 a.m. And of course, the world out there is very very quiet. My pooch strains his ears to pick up sounds of movement, of life. Much of it in the tall grasses of a field he loves to sniff out. In the rare event he sees a passing human, he is on alert. Woof, woof! Henry, you're safe. They're not here to attack you. My sweet Henry thrives on reassurance.

Okay, Henry. Morning has broken...

Breakfast. I eat slowly, he eats like a speed demon, then plays. For a dog who likes quiet, he sure seems to like loud squeaks. 

A quick nap on the couch and I pack him in the car for our big outing. To Prairie Morraine dog park.

We do the big loop. The sun is out, the day is magnificent! 

 

 

 

Ed would have come, but he's using this last great day of the year to do his bike ride. So it's me and the pooch. Well, many pooches.

(my dog is... fast!)

(...and beautiful)

A quiet Sundays means that in between the dog park racing and the calmer neighborhood walks, there are lots of naps. Not mine. I'm busy with holiday planning. When Henry is awake, I tell him that I really want a better closeup of his soft face. With the mistletoe collar. He is such a patient fellow!

(want a cup of holiday coffee, my sweet pooch?)

  

As a reward, I take him out again to the Penni Klein dog park. The smaller one close to me. And again my very athletic pooch plays with a ball.

The dog visitors there are few and at this hour they usually are accompanied by old guys -- maybe taking the dog out while the wife cooks? Maybe living alone with Bud or Nellie for company? Bud and Nellie are often not very good at dog play and Henry has learned to avoid squabbles by simply moving forward. The old men rarely take the full walk. They throw a ball and Bud will bring it back. We can safely remove ourselves into the further corners of the park.

Ed calls just as we come back home. I tell him that I cannot talk now because I am about to Zoom with Bee in Warsaw -- my only adult contact for this day. He laughs and tells me -- I have had no adult contacts today or yesterday, You're it! Oh my solitary guy, I hope I live long enough to give you that one adult contact as we get even older! 

Evening. I forgot to plan a dinner for myself. I have a backup plan: a frozen meal. A quinoa bowl! How about that, I've stooped that low -- pulling out a frozen dinner and popping it in the microwave! Tomorrow I'll do better. Tonight, it's Basil Pesto Veggie Bowl. (It tastes even worse than it sounds.) Eh, who's to know, right? Dogs don't spill secrets.

 

 

with so much love... 

Henry, Henry, Henry

Yes, this is my weekend: it's all about the pooch, Henry. My mutt, my hound, my big, strong and fast dog. Everything I do on a Saturday and Sunday is with him in mind. I have not worked hard on leaving him alone (we're still only on one minute) and so he comes with me wherever I go. Which of course means I only go to doggie places. Too, I need to fit in two solid runs for him each day if I want him to get the dose of movement that makes for a happy pup. So, if you don't like dogs, or at least do not like reading about a life with a dog, then Ocean is probably not great for you on weekends. I make no apologies, because I really don't choose the topics here -- they seem to choose me. If my day turned out to be full of skunk adventures, you'd be reading about skunks. 

Henry woke me at 6:25 today. I forgave the five minute earliness, because I was right smack in the middle of a dream whereby I had taken some recreational drug (believe me, so not my thing!) and found out too late that it was loaded with fentanyl. How I should dream about something so tragic and unrelated to my existence is beyond me. My usual "unfortunate event" dreams are about missing a flight or not leaving a hotel room on time. Really!

It's cold outside this morning. 28F/-2C. Frost on grasses. 

I hesitated about putting a sweater on Henry. I know he doesn't need it yet, but he seems not to like the cold and so why not? Well, these decisions are better made at some other time, not in the minutes after I wake up. Let's say that my cut off point will rest at 25F/-4C going forward. In any event, today he relies on his own coat. 

Breakfast. 

 

 

 

I give him a dental stick to chew on after his meal. This has been standard procedure now, but I have noticed that he is not especially enthusiastic about dental sticks, no matter what the "flavor." In fact, it is the only edible item that he takes willingly enough, but then proceeds to hide it -- in the crevice of his bed, in his toy bin, behind a couch cushion. Is he afraid I may take it away from him? Henry, you are very poor at hiding things. I know all your secret places!

(my lap dog)

We have an appointment this morning. You wont believe what I signed him up for! A photo with Santa. I could have chosen one with the Grinch, but I do not get the point of that. Okay, I dont really get the point of me paying for a photo with Santa either, but the event was organized as a fundraiser for rescue animals at Shelter from the Storm -- the shelter that brought me Henry. Of course I want to support them!

Since the photo session is to take place at the Community Vet Center (which is linked to Shelter from the Storm) on the east side of town (I live on the west), I virtually pass the farmette to get to it. Ed wants to come along (he likes the place because it's where he had all the cats spayed at a very low cost!), so I pick him up and we head to this Santa Paws event at the Vet Center.

It's a good thing that Ed is there with me. Henry really likes Ed and feels safe around him. I think it's only because both of us were there to protect him that Henry (eventually) allowed himself to be manipulated into position in a small room, with a bizarre human dressed like no one he'd ever seen, having no dog skills whatsoever (aren't Santas supposed to love animals?), with another human standing behind, dressed in clothes that someone thought to be elf material, with a fixed pasty smile that stayed there no matter what was happening in the room. 

Because Henry has good sit-stay skills ingrained in him, I could coax him (eventually) into this tableau. For a few seconds. The photographer snapped away and finally said -- I think this will do, showing me her best photo. Well, you got the Santa and the Elf, but my Henry is cut in half. I thought she would bang me over the head with her camera for that comment, but she agreed to try again, despite the fact that howling dogs were waiting for their turn. In a few days she will email me her efforts. In a few days?? Why wait when I have my own version of the morning's event! Here you are, Santa, hanging on way too tightly to Henry's beautiful mistletoe collar (purchased for the holidays), the "elf," and my beautiful, exquisite and ever trusting of Ed and me Henry. 

Afterwards, we went went out back so that Henry could relieve himself. We came upon a coop with roosters (probably rescued roosters) and Henry is absolutely fascinated by chickens of any sort. This was a high point for him.

 And from there, we drove over to the dog park that's next to the farmette. Another high point!

(finally, I get to see his mistletoe collar)

 

 

Freedom!

Oh, how my dog romped!

We dropped Ed off afterwards, and returned home. Warm and cozy, so very welcoming after a very chilly outing.

(what happens when a dog is too big for a couch...)

(my idea of a noon snack...)

As Henry napped, it struck me that I should put up the Christmas tree with him watching. He hates being surprised. True, I've never put together a fake Christmas tree before, and I had already gotten Ed to agree to come over sometime to do it with me, but on the other hand, I'm not sure when that "sometime" would be, and though you may think it's early for a tree, I'll agree only that it's early to decorate a tree. As I said in a previous post, these trees are expensive this year! May as well enjoy it in this period before Christmas. And teach Henry to enjoy it as well. Or at least be indifferent to it.

I had purchased a tree that's tall but sparsely branched. The main room in the apartment is small. You don't want to overwhelm the place. Nor do I want to block the light coming in through the balcony window. 

It was amazingly easy to put together! They supply the stand. You literally snap three pieces together, and push back the branches, and you're set! Wow! I may never go back to a live tree. I have officially become an "old person!"

And because I did the job with Henry watching, he really was quite okay with the new addition. He routinely eats bits of the rosemary bush in the bedroom. He shows no interest (so far) in nibbling on the fake tree branches. (The tree seems big, but the minute you stand Henry next to it, it seems small!)

Of course, Henry does need (according to me) a second romp in the later afternoon. That's easy: we go to Penni Klein, our nearest dog run. There, he meets Henry. Yup, the only other dog there today is also a Henry.

My Henry finds a ball and tosses it for himself. A dog that has had to in life to play ball by himself. 

 

 

 

And of course, it's dusk by the time we return to the Edge.  Henry is happy to nap. I am happy that he is happy to nap. We've practiced "touch" and I'm starting on my own to get him thinking about "lie down." He deserves a break from everything! And I want to read my mystery novel!

 with so much love...