a doggy Sunday

How much does your dog reflect your personality, or perhaps you reflect his (I'm keeping it male, as Henry is a boy)? It's a question I ask myself in dog parks. There are growling yappy dogs across all genders and ages of course, but on the other hand, I see a number of gruff old men with their gruff old dogs and I wonder if that's just a coincidence. I have said this many times -- Henry barks sometimes at some strangers moving towards us, and I'm not one to say that he picked any of that up from me. Too, I don't see his behavior as giving me permission to bark at people who irritate or scare me. Still, those gruff old men, letting loose their unpleasant dogs without apology or explanation... It can't just be a random pairing.

Of course, Henry has been with me for less than two months. Maybe I'll feel free to  let out the occasional bark after a year with him.

A year with Henry... I feel so lucky to have that in front of me. Many years with Henry if all goes well. Honestly, I had no idea I would love having a dog this much. Yes, I like animals and dogs especially, but I know, too, the burden of caring for an animal that is actually a high demand beast. And I chose a large one. Deliberately. And I love his size! I know I should be firm about his jumping up to greet me -- he can knock me over easily enough if he jumps hard. And yet, I love those greetings where I can give him the kind of hug I would give a person my own size. (He does not jump on other people. That would be a real no no. Well, he makes an exception for Ed too. And Ed, too, doesn't discourage it.) 

Henry continues to sleep now until 6:30. We go out around 7. I consider that sensible! 

It's still very cold -- we top out at 19F/-7C today. On goes the sweater. 

We got a couple more inches of snow overnight. A lovely cover to the urban dirt that inevitably tarnishes the winter landscape. 

For me, there may be such a thing as too much snow (I know for many, any amount is too much), but I dont know what that limit would be. I've never been in a place that reached it. I have loved every snowfall we've had this year. And I wont mind if it continues, so long as we all stay safe and warm.

Breakfast. Henry seems more tired than hungry this morning. A first! 

Should I limit his activity today? As I call Ed to talk this over, I see Henry getting his bounce back. I feel a dog park is a perfect option: he does not have to run there. Many dogs walk slowly, sticking to their humans the entire time.

The dog park next to the farmette is a good option for us: not too demanding, it is still spacious with good trails. And Ed is happy to join us. Which, of course, makes Henry happy.

Despite the cold and the wind, there is such terrific sunshine, that you can't help but love being outside today. At least I can't help but love it. I comment to my friend later in the day that it truly is joyous to take Henry to an off-leash park, and on a sunny day, it's downright effervescent!

Henry shows no sign of wanting to slow down. Snow? So easy to burrow your head in it in search of treasure (I hear Goose found a dead rabbit this way)!

 

After our walk, I ask Ed if I can snitch some of his windshield wiper fluid. He tells me his supply is low, but we can pick some up at Walmart, which is quite nearby. Hmmm... that's a good idea. I can pick up a regular old door hanger for the wreath. The suction hook I afixed to the door, guaranteed to hold up an elephant, could not manage my not very heavy wreath. Oh, good, then I can pick up some mushrooms and apples there as well. 

Now wait a second: we've got Henry. It's not a great idea to have him wait in the car while you do a full blown shopping. You could walk him... Oh wonderful! After the beauty of the dog park he gets a Walmart parking lot. No. 

We go back and forth on this for a while. Henry sits in the backseat and awaits the decision.  I feel like we're having the type of negotiations usually reserved for parents trying to balance kids and life's daily tasks. 

Eventually we decide that we'll park at Walmart, I'll get the wreath hook while Ed waits with Henry, then he'll get the fluid and his few groceries while I wait with the pooch. And we'll top my fluid at the farmette, where I can walk Henry.

Home: I eat "lunch."

 

 

 

Henry wants to rest. If I'm not on the couch, he'll take the pillow.

But as soon as I sit down, he comes up to my side of it. 

This is my writing set up: computer on lap, Henry's head against my hip, his paw caressing my face.

 

 

 

And once again I take him to Penni Klein just before sunset. For his final big run of the day. Without salt on his paws.

("Hmmm... should I run with dogs or hunt for buried treasure?")

  

 

 

 

There was a lovely older couple in the park with their own dog named Henry. I think we've seen them there before. The woman most certainly was a dog lover and she tried in various ways to engage my Henry. All she got out of him was a series of loud barks. Honestly, I think he warms up faster if you ignore him. But I did feel apologetic. She didn't deserve his booming voice. Perhaps the next class for him should be the one where you train your dog to be socially polite. He may be a shy young pup, but he looks and sounds like a very large and very loud dog when you first meet him. Oh Henry...

At home, I took away his Advent Calendar. Today he "discovered" one more treat of a rather suspect nature (if they dont tell you what's in it, it's suspect). A box with treats? Henry became convinced that the best approach is to tear the calendar to shreds rather than follow the ridiculously slow and gentle process of opening one door at a time. 

Me, I kept to my jigsaw puzzle-a-day calendar, but I began to wonder -- what do I do with 25 completed puzzles? Typically I put jigsaw puzzles back in a puzzle box and pass them on to Goodwill. But these little guys -- is it the recycle bin for them? Perhaps next year I'll stick with chocolates.

with so much love... 

 

 

small challenges

Can you keep up with doing a jigsaw puzzle each day (only 50 pieces), without looking at the picture, this month, even if you have a plateful of things to do in December? Can you stand on one foot with eyes closed for all the time it takes to froth your milk for a morning mug of coffee?  Can you get your dog to pee before you reach the end of the block? Can you put up a blog post with a story and pictures every single day for twenty years and counting? 

Each day opens up an opportunity to challenge yourself in small, inconsequential ways. The roof wont cave, the day wont be less wonderful if you fail. And yet you pose yourself these small goals, taunts really, which perhaps will build your confidence and allow you to grow them into bigger ones that actually amount to something. 

Ed and I both like to give ourselves such assignments, though you could say his are not inconsequential, in that he actually finds useful solutions to real life problems, rather than just finding a missing piece to a jigsaw puzzle. But it is the way we are. It is how I move through the day. One small challenge after the next. 

This morning I had to catch up with the jigsaw puzzle advent calendar: doing the big puzzle these past two days meant that I put aside doing the daily small puzzles. And now I am indeed caught up and it means absolutely nothing, except that I have the satisfaction of knowing that I did what I set out to do. (Somewhat perversely, today's puzzle was of a birdhouse, with birds feeding away!)

 

The morning is lovely. I haven't mentioned this because I didn't want to jinx it, but Henry has been getting up at 6:30, which is great: a real progression toward a more decent start to the day. (I am aiming for 7). It's still cold -- the Arctic blast will be with us for a while. It takes me a good ten minutes to fully clothe myself and Henry, but no matter -- it feels great to step out on a quiet morning before the day begins for most.

I think my pooch is very good at mindfulness: he pauses, he takes it in, he finds his center, he moves on.

At least I imagine this is what he is doing.

 

Breakfast, finally with a table plant that meets the moment.

Snuggles. Big time, on the couch. I know these selfies are getting to be repetitive, but I love them and I love the process. And Henry doesn't mind. He thinks, correctly, that this is just something humans do because they don't know any better. 

Ed comes over and we plan our day together. With Henry of course. My pooch loves Ed's visits. Maybe it's because he was here the first night Henry stayed with me. Maybe it's just that Ed moves slowly and smells of good things. But it's a relief. Goose, my daughter's dog, still barks at him. But Henry is all in.

 

The three of us go to Prairie Morraine dog park.

 

 

 

We do the big loop, which takes an hour and gives all three of us plenty of exercise (it's hilly).

 

 

 

Ed and I sometimes walk at a different pace (I'm faster, but then I stop to take photos). Henry, who has yet a third pace (faster than I could describe)  tries to be inclusive. Follow the big man, run to my side, sprint off to make friends with a dog. And sometimes, a solo expedition into the bush to sniff out whatever is interesting out there.

 

 

 

On these dog park walks, I get to see a lot of dog personalities. Mellow, energetic, ferocious -- I've encountered all of them. This particular doggie had it in for Ed. No matter how much Ed tried to stoop down to his level, the dog would not stop growling at him. Nor did he move on. Frozen into a very hypothetical attack. Small dog takes on big man.

 

 

I think Henry was amused by the whole exchange. We did have to move to a different path to free this mini-pooch from his fierce battle with his perceived enemy. That's fine -- there are plenty of ways to explore the park.

 

 

It's always a shame to get Henry back to civilization. Though it is also true that one hour of energetic sauntering is enough for him. I don't want him to develop hip and joint problems later on.

 

(Time to go, you snow-loving dog!) 

 

 

(We did not try for a selfie of the three of us. That would test the patience of both my guys.)

 

 

(Sweet Henry, I think that seat is meant for Sparrow, not a big guy like you!)

 

At the Edge, all three of us have lunch and each lunch is different. You can guess who gets the milky coffee and who gets the chewie. Ed sticks with crackers and cheese.

The pooch naps, we read. That's what I would call an ideal afternoon. Now if only the birds would discover my feeder outside.  That's not a small challenge for me, that's a big one!

 

In the very late afternoon I go to the nearby Penni Klein dog park. One last good run for the day for the pup while Ed rests on the couch.

Henry's in luck -- the dog there is a great match for him: equally energetic and playful, but also good at reading play signals. It's great to watch them, knowing that the enjoyment is shared.

 

 

 

 

 

Come on my boy, time to head home...

 

 

 

(Happy to see Ed still there...)

 

 

In the early evening, just at dusk, Ed leaves. He always has to put away the chickens at 4:30-ish (winter hours!). I ask him if he minds being tied down with that, especially if the chickens are aging out of the egg laying business. But of course, it's rare that Ed would even consider being away from the farmette in the evening hours, chickens or no chickens. No, he doesn't mind setting his schedule by them. Just as I don't mind setting mine by Henry's needs. 

Tomorrow's challenges? Well, we'll see. They say we may get more snow...

with lots of love... 

 

lots of time?

I really do not understand the science of it: When you are working full time and perhaps raising a family, tending the home, coordinating everyone's life, volunteering, cooking -- the usual stuff, you think about retirement as liberation. As a portal to all those leisure activities you haven't had time for, but would so love to savor. Because absent a job and perhaps raising kids, what else is there to do? It'll be an era of indulgence (you think). Finally, you can plan your day around, oh, I don't know -- playing golf or learning how to make pasta the Italian way. 

As I write this, I'm glancing at the clock: how can it be 1 p.m. already?!  In an hour I have to go to pick up Sparrow (and then Snowdrop), and I've done nothing of value. And yet -- I've been so damn busy that I can almost feel the sweat, despite the fact that it's well below freezing today (and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next week, and the week after...)

Of course, I've taken on these projects: Henry fills the time in the morning between 6:30 and 9:30 (at which point I take him to doggie daycare). The walk, our breakfasts, our couch time...

 

 

It's quite special for me, for him too I hope...

(Henry, you do not need to protect me from the children getting on the school bus...) 

 

 

 (ready to go back home?)

 

 

 

... nevertheless it's a chunk of time, and I suppose I should add to that the time I took to return the purchased dog booties -- a really dumb idea for him, he looked ridiculous and was sure to lose them in the deep snow on his first walk. And packaged and shipped off all those doggie sweaters that were too small. Then there's the birding project: I upped the ante today by adding plant life to the balcony with a shiny bauble no less to attract birds. (So far, none of this has worked.)

And of course, there are spiraling tasks indirectly resulting from having Henry and feeding birds. I was in a plant store, picking up some evergreens for the balcony (realizing I could have just snipped some at the farmette, but oh well) and while there, I fell in love with a cyclamen plant. This one:

They are inexpensive and the one I had at the farmhouse was small and pot bound and yet it bloomed nonstop, regardless of the care it received, or lack thereof, and I thought wouldn't it be nice to have one at the Edge as well. Right under the TV, where there's plenty of free space and lots of sunshine. Only after bringing it home did I remember to check if a cyclamen is toxic for dogs. And indeed it is very toxic. So then I checked every single plant in the apartment and spent a good while rearranging them so that none of the killers would be within Henry's reach. Our cats at the farmhouse knew to avoid plants that would harm them. I'm not sure Henry has those kinds of street smarts and I'd rather not find out. 

Each year, sooner or later I break down and pick up a poinsettia for the table. I did that today. I know these are very toxic as well, but they are the best source of lovely color (especially the ones that are not just plain red) in the winter and they will bloom away until you've had enough of them and toss them in the compost pile. Sorry, poinsettia -- you get a few months, okay?

Yes, there was also a quick run to the grocery store -- oh, let me not list all those boring errands that filled my morning hours. The point is, there will always be tasks and errands. And they will fill your time. And no, I don't know how it is that I managed errands and a job and kids etc in the past, but right now, it does feel like life has not slowed down. Maybe a free hour will emerge tonight so that I can finish my puzzle, but maybe it wont, because, well, Henry may want to play. Or walk. Or destroy the Advent calendar for good.

Okay, time to pick up les enfants. 

(not sure why he has shoes on his hands...)

(wearing mom's shoes, mom's coat...)

They haven't been here to play since last week, so it's quite nice to fall back into our routines. But, too, I know they are tired. Late nights, early mornings -- it's a killer combination when you are seven and ten.

They spend a while on their advent calendars.

 

 

 

 

We pick up Henry. They go home. My pooch comes back with me.

At the Edge, he zips straight to his calendar of course. Ha! No treat behind door no.5. It's a toy day. He accepts his fate, because he is that kind of a dog.

 

 

I smile. It's been a good day. And yes, I managed to put the last pieces into the useless but fun holiday puzzle.

 

 

with so much love... 

 

living in the Edge

Is it living on the Edge or in the Edge? Well, I feel that I've had both. I've moved quickly and some would say dangerously into new ventures, and I've gone from living in the farmhouse to living in the Edge. Technically, the apartment complex (there are two buildings) is called the West Edge, but I like my nickname better.

I've lived in, visited, inspected many, many apartment building in my life. But I have never seen a place that cares so much about making its residents happy. The premises are maintained exceptionally well, but I suppose you can say that about many apartment buildings with a competent management. At the Edge, they go further: they are playful in their approach to the everyday. They have seasonal decorations, they organize resident events, they talk to you as you pass their desk in the lobby. And they love dogs. 

I will likely be moving again this summer, but I will surely miss living here. It's that kind of a place. You return home at the end of the day feeling so lucky as you open the door to your apartment. Everything works. Everything is convenient. True, by American standards, the spaces aren't large and they aren't "posh." Right now I don't need large and I certainly don't want "posh." What I have here is perfect for this year of contemplation and reset.

 *     *     * 

It is bitter cold this morning. Just as predicted. -3F/-20C. Well Henry, what can I say: we're having that Arctic blast coming right at us. 

(Henry puts all his favorite toys by our bedroom window. It's his secret special place.)

 

I had purchased additional sweaters for Henry -- they're all too small and have to go back, but this one works. At least for this year!

(at the Edge: a Santa and a tree)

Henry, should have I purchased winter booties? Because your paws seem to be hurting. And the sidewalks have so much salt!  Hmmm...

Upstairs, I feed him, then make oatmeal for myself. This weather calls for oatmeal!

I glance at my bird feeding station. No visitors so far. (The bird you see is part of the metal bird feeder pole.) I'll be patient.

Couch time.

 

(when Henry curls up to sleep, he looks almost normal sized!)

 

And then I drive my sweet pup to doggie day care. 

*     *     * 

A few quick errands and I am back at the Edge. They have set up a hot chocolate station for the residents -- with toppings, treats and quite good hot chocolate. I have the perfect cup for it -- my second new addition!

I stay for a while. It's my social moment and with an adopted dog now, I feel I am one of the pack here, as one resident after the next appears trailing a pooch.

 

  

I discuss the issue of dog shoes. Most dog owners tell me they're worth trying, though not all dogs tolerate them. I feel that this is the ultimate betrayal of Henry's wild canine genetic makeup, but on the other hand, the winter is long and the salt is horribly prevalent, especially in this rather corporate neighborhood. (Residential blocks are less salty by far.) And of course, as this morning's walk demonstrated, Henry's paws are sensitive to the bitter cold. I know Henry will manage without booties. But that is not the question I'm asking myself: I want my pup to have a good and joyful life. Will booties help? Can't tell unless I try. 

*     *     * 

I work on a larger Christmas jigsaw puzzle for the rest of the morning. I got one that is my idea of just lightly challenging -- sort of like the books I'm reading. So, 500 pieces only, and with a lot of detail, so that I'm not stuck with matching endless pieces of sky or some such monotonous background noise. The goal is to be done in two days. 

I am fully aware of the decadence of doing this. For many reasons. Fitting together pieces of a puzzle is so nicely pointless. (Sort of like putting up a bird feeder when there are no birds.) And it is something that Ed and I could not agree on: he hated the mess of it at Christmas time, because he was especially sensitive to the proliferation of stuff around the holidays. All clutter from his perspective. I tried once and then watched him retreat to the sheep shed to "get away from it all." Over time, he tolerated holiday madness much better, but I didn't push it with the puzzles. Nor did I have the time to complete one in two days. But here, I do. And it will be done before he shows up this weekend.

*     *     * 

In the afternoon I have three visitors: my daughter, Sparrow and Goose. 

 

 

My girl needs to borrow something and so they stop by here before picking up Snowdrop. Tonight is the first day of their Shaw performance, but I decided not to go. Yes, I know, this speaks poorly of my grandmotherlyness. What loving elder person wouldn't attend a Shaw play where two of her grandchildren are making an appearance?

Well, this loving elder person! Both of the kids opted out of the assigned larger parts and stayed with minor roles. It is not worth getting doggie babysitting set up for me to watch a three hour show late into the night on the other side of town, where the kids are hardly on stage at all. This is my justification. Both kids are dramatically inclined and their appearances in theater productions are therefore numerous. Serious stuff: Shaw, Shakespeare. I do try to go to most. But not all. Some day when they receive their Oscars, they will not be able to stand on stage and say --"and thanks to my gaga, who supported us wholeheartedly and faithfully attended every performance we were in." 

The threesome stay for just a bit. Enough for Goose to leave his scent. I'm sure it'll drive Henry nuts tonight when he tries to figure out why his home suddenly smells of his best pal Goose and a thorough search will reveal nothing, no other dog at all.

(Sparrow studies my puzzle)

 

*     *     * 

I pick up a sleepy Henry. Was it the cold outside that wore him out? The end of week exhaustion? Or is it that we have above us a Cold Moon  supermoon -- they say we wont see one like this again until 2042. (Were I to live that long, I'd be nearly 90.) 

My tired pooch is not so tired that he forgets about his Advent Calendar. A treat again! A large gingerman cookie. Let's hope it's nutritious, though judging by the treats so far, I can't say I have confidence in that.

 

I'm nearly done with the puzzle (having, according to Ed, cheated all the way by looking at the picture), though I'm not rushing the last pieces. Like the ending of a good book -- the last bits should be savored. Finished maybe with a milky coffee, tomorrow morning.

with so much love...