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...

 

pickups

It is a day for pickups. A whole bunch of them. Luck has it that the weather has improved. The entire weekend is looking good. Qualifier: for November. A cold snap comes after, but I'm prepared. Henry is prepared. Indeed, I will be very disappointed if I have no need for his adorable button up jacket this month. But today, the thermometer says we are just at freezing. The grass is just a little icy-wet -- not his favorite.

 

We do a short walk.

(home at last... to very squeaky rabbit!)

 

 

Henry's habits ebb and flow at this age. He has quit leash biting. He pulls now only for critters, and to get out of the elevator (workin' on it!). On the other hand, he has picked up a new habit of barking at distant people, with or without dogs. Who in daycare taught him that one? My quiet pooch who, thankfully, just about never barks in the apartment has a resounding bark outside. Big dog, loud voice. A playful bark can be nipped. A warning bark? Not so much. Henry has enough guard dog genes in him that he can't help himself. The best I can hope for is to limit it to a handful of good woofs and then let him know that I heard, I appreciate his concern, now let's move on. Or, like this morning, I can divert him and go back inside.

For breakfast.

We stay a few minutes on the "touch" command, which he does not especially like, because it makes no sense to him to go for the open and empty hand ,rather than the one holding the treats. (Workin' on it!)

I drop him off so that I can continue with my pickups. A pickup of some meds from the Vet Clinic. (Nothing of great note, just the usual dog stuff.) Of some stuff at the farmhouse: Christmas decorations! The little electric oven that will be needed for the Thanksgiving meal. The car is filling up! 

(ah, the nakedness of farmette lands now...)

 

 

Here's a novel errand: I go over to Steffi's House. Remember that one? It's right near the farmette. I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on it and I realized that I should do something about the lawn. At the farmette we do not recognize the concept of lawn and we do nothing about the grass that grows wherever it decides to grow. We mow paths through it and occasionally I've been inspired to create meadows of wildflowers here and there. That's it. But Steffi's House has the all-American lawn, albeit in small amounts. Here, you can see it in this photo.

It's not as robust as its neighbors' because I am not robust in keeping up with it. Indeed, I wonder if fertilizing it this late makes any sense at all. You can't stimulate roots with deep freezes nearly every night now. But, I've got the stuff for it so I borrow Ed's seed spreader and I do my bit for appearances sake, knowing damn well I'm merely adding to the problem of lake pollution. Someday I'll rip that whole bit of grass out, you just wait and see!

From there -- to the grocery store. Veggies for Thanksgiving. Stuff for post-Thanksgiving brunch. I haul up from the car a crate of Christmas decorations, four grocery bags, a milk jug and the Christmas tree stand, because I do not know if fake trees come with their own stands. I use a little wagon they have here for moving stuff. I pile it high. It spills. I reload, picking up scattered groceries. Upstairs I unpack it all. I swear I bought two packages of green beans. Where is the second one?? Uff, it's time to pick up Sparrow!

Since it's just him today, I feel he deserves a special treat. An outing to Hubbard Diner. Where he chooses a slice of mocha cheesecake. Which I know he wont like but I also know better than to argue with a 7-year old about taste preferences. 

I don't mind that he doesn't finish it. I do grumble a little when he then begs for a different selection. Like, maybe a beloved cookie. I will let you guess if I held firmly to the principle "you picked the cheesecake, you're stuck with that."

 

We come to the Edge, he helps me pick up packages in the mail room. Sparrow is very eager to help nearly always. So when he then begs to go to the fifth floor to look out on the terrace, I agree to take a detour to it. 

 

 

Then I see him take a napkin and toss it over the railing. Sparrow, what are you doing?! I want to see it go down. Oh, my dear, that's not a science experiment, it's littering! I send him to the apartment and run downstairs to pick up the napkin, which, of course, I cannot find. Well, at least it will eventually disintegrate. 

In the apartment, he reads quietly in what he calls "his room." Toward evening, I return him home, then hurry back to the Edge. The local internet-cable company is sponsoring a pizza party, with reps there to tell you about their fantastic cable packages. I pick up two slices of pizza to take upstairs, noting that I already have your internet services. I dont bother admitting that I had cancelled their cable within a day of getting it. I hate cable. But hey! No need to cook dinner tonight!

And now I rush over to doggie daycare to pick up Henry. 80 dogs at day care today and he is the next to last to go home. I felt like the parent whose child waits for the ride when all the friends have already gone home. Oh, don't worry -- the doggie daycare provider tells me. He had so much fun!  Still, 5:55 is too late. For me, if not for him.

When we come into the apartment, Henry is hesitant. Something is not right. It can't be the smell. My pooch is very familiar with Sparrow's scent. Something doesn't look right. He sticks to the kitchen and the doorway. What's the matter Henry? 

Ohhhhh... It's the Christmas tree stand. You hadn't seen it here before. You mean I have to introduce you slowly to a Christmas tree stand??

(yes...)

We work on touch. Henry, your snout, on my hand: touch! But why -- he seems to be asking. Why touch an empty hand, why bring in a strange object into our home, why feed me medicine (even though the wet food was in fact yummy), why not share your pizza with me, why?

Oh, Henry! Relax, my dear boy. We'll get through this quirky and incomprehensible yet wonderful life together. Don't you worry. I'll help you, my pup, I promise. 

 

 

with so much love... 

typical November

This is the weather that to me, is the trademark of November: cold, gray, drizzly. Dark mornings, dark late afternoons. What's there to like?

Well just ask Henry! He wakes at 5:30. I tell him he is a nice doggy BUT, we are not done with the night. He returns to his bed for another hour and tries again. Good boy, Henry! Let's get going!

It's not raincoat weather but everything is indeed wet. Henry doesn't mind. Happy to be out, happy to be sniffing, happy to be listening hard.

Do all dogs listen as much as he does? My pup will frequently pause and just listen, perhaps attempting to decipher sounds I myself could not possibly hear. This is when I can use my camera with him.  I just wait for my pooch to go Zen on me.

We're back. He waits for me to do my morning routines and then we eat breakfast. He gobbles his before I even take all the fruits out of the fridge. 

Of course he chooses his squeakiest toy to play with. Henry, some people in the building aren't up at 7:15! Maybe you should tone it down a bit? I say this affectionately. I don't really want him to tone it down. The walls are thick. My pup is exuberant. We are in a warm, cozy home. Lights are on, dispelling any thoughts of that dark, gray, drizzly day. I catch the headlines but then quickly switch to music. How about Joyful Classical? 

And yes, we practice training. He's good at sitting on command, he's great even at staying. But "touch" was a new one for us. I concentrate on that. The goal is to have him come over and touch my hand with his nose. Not in search of treats, though he is amply rewarded when he scores a hit. The point is to get him to follow my hand when I ask him to do so.

He remembers none of it. His eyes are on the treat bag. Eyes on me, Henry. Okay, he knows that one. But his nose is far from my hand. Touch doesn't happen. 

We start again. From scratch. 

(shouldn't we do couch time instead?)

 

 

In the late morning, Henry is back at doggie daycare. That's great. I would not enjoy a dog park romp. And those muddy paws! How do you wipe down a dog after a walk in wet dirt? Best leave that worry to the daycare people.

I have one of those routine appointments one tends to have at my age (a scrape of the face if you must know) and because it is in the early afternoon, I cannot pick up Sparrow. The idea is for me to go from the doc's office to his home and from there we will drive over to pick up his sister. That's the plan. I see that I have time after the appointment to pick a box of free dog foods at Mounds Food Store. They offer these to dog owners who adopted rescue dogs. A marketing ploy if I ever saw one, since they know people who love their dogs will I never leave a pet store without adding things to the basket. This time I add more treats (training requires a LOT of treats) and also toothpaste. $12 for the toothpaste. Chicken flavored. The clinic suggested it. I tut-tut-tutted that one at check out, but I think the clerk was not paying attention to my tuts. I guess if you see a shopper with blood flowing down her cheek, you'd be a bit distracted by it. I put my dirty hand to my wound to stem the flow wipe my hand on my sweatpants, pay quickly and make my way back to the clinic.

Amazingly, I still  made it in time to pick up Sparrow and we aren't even late for picking up Snowdrop. She had a bit of Middle School girl drama, and Sparrow, too has his troubles, and of course, I've been rushing back and forth and I do so hate rushing. And there's the weather! It's rare that the three of us are all in a funk. I think we need a treat. We go to Clasen's Bakery.

It's not yet time for their big gingerbread house to be open for business. That's fine -- we are not yet fully in the Christmas season after all. But I need to stock up on cookies while Henry is at daycare, and I suggest that the kids pick up a treat for today, a treat of their choice 

I should have learned by now not to give an open-ended invitation to pick whatever they want. Because they cant decide. And pick things that are actually many treats wrapped into one package. And so the negotiations begin.

But it's worth it. I'm stocked up on cookies. They're stocked up on sugar.

In the evening we pick up Henry. 

Hey, my darling dog, should we practice touch? Don't look so puzzled. We'll start at the beginning...

 

 

with so much love...