photos

I am not having a bad hair day. Here, take a look -- I just took this selfie:

My hair looks normal. Slavic fine, with streaks of gray. What I am having is a bad photo day. I'm in a rut of poor weather, limited outdoor time, few opportunities, low interest. Usually when that happens, I take a few of my standards and call it a day, picture wise. But today, my standards were inexcusably poorly executed, my dog was only modestly cooperative on the morning walk and the winds were howling at speeds worthy of hurricane, so who could blame him. I shrugged it all off as a bad photo day. You will see what I mean.

It was a funny wake up. I dozed on and off in the early hours, hoping Henry would stay asleep. 6 am passed, 6:30, 7... I heard him get up, but he didn't come to my side initially. He went to the window and let out low rumbles at the cars that were pulling out of the garage. Really Henry? You're protesting cars now? 

By 7:15 he finally came over to "wake me." We step out into the hallway. Two other dogs and their owner are just leaving their place. Henry is all woof woofing at them, not meanly, his tail is going full speed, but noticeably and more importantly -- audibly. 

Once again, I am glad our time at the Edge is limited to this one year. My daughters laugh at me, claiming that I am at an age where you tend to focus and obsess on one issue -- any issue -- and I suppose I am now officially fixated on Henry's barking. For a reason! He's such a grand dog and I want the world to love him. An impossible wish, given his loud greeting. 

My sweet gentle Henry, you are not making friends and influencing people! Sigh...

 

(I'm sorry your photos sucked this morning...)

 

Breakfast, calm, delightful.

After our morning time together he goes to doggie daycare, I go to the farmhouse. It's a visit, sure...

... but the real purpose is to keep two appointments I made in the neighborhood. With fencing contractors. 

Here's the scoop: remember Steffi's house? This one:

I was involved in the purchase of it and I saw to it that it was finished properly. And now I'm planning to move into it. Once the person who is currently occupying it moves out. The idea is for Steffi's house to become my next home. The virtues are enormous -- it's a brief walk to the farmhouse, and it doesn't have elevators with strangers riding in them. 

One issue I intend to address is that the house does not have a fenced yard. In fact, it doesn't have much of a yard, period. That is at once an asset (so little work required!) and a detriment (I can't let Henry out for a quick pee). I set up appointments today to get bids from fence people for a side enclosed space. It would just be enough for Henry's needs and my peace of mind.  

I'm quite excited about it all. What's life if you can't start new chapters in it again and again! 

 

And a general comment about living with a dog. If you have ever had a canine pet, perhaps you'll have felt this yourself: that dog will be whatever you want him or her to be for you. A beloved companion maybe, an outpost for your emotions, the tender ones I hope. Or nothing more (and nothing less) than a protector of your sheep flock. A playmate and a lesson in responsibility for your children. The dog is giving you something of himself for sure, but you cannot just take without learning about his quirks and personality traits and adapting yourself to them. Two stories for you. First one: I saw a guy this morning dropping his dog off at doggie daycare. It was a reasonably small fluffy thing. The guy was your poster child for a trucker and not only because he was in fact driving a pickup. Gruff, big, burly. Clothed like Ed only not wearing shorts in the dead of winter (an Ed habit). He cradled that pup in his arms and, not knowing I was watching from inside my car, gave him (her?) smooches all over to say good bye. Maybe he was that way with everyone. Hugs, kisses, cuddles. Maybe he'd be at the front-line of a protest against brutality in this world. Maybe he takes care of an ailing grandmother in his free time. Maybe it's her dog! One thing's for sure -- that dog brought joy and love into his life.

The more subtle point is well made in my second story -- one borrowed straight from the NYTimes today. This one, that I gifted for you. It's about a woman and her dog. one that she takes for walks in a stroller. If you read to its end, you'll maybe take heart as you watch people do nutty or at least unconventional things with their dogs. As someone in the comments said -- cut them some slack, you never know what's going on in people's lives. I would just add to it -- you never know what's going on in the dog's life either. Who he is and how he came to be that way. And why he barks. Loudly.

 

In the afternoon I attend to the other animals in my life. No, not these cats!

They're under Ed's care! I mean the birds outside. From what I see, it's still all about finches, sparrows and chickadees.

You're supposed to clean the feeder on a regular basis. It's a pain, but if you are serious about not spreading bird viruses, you'll do it. I also decided to turn off the camera for a while. The HiBird smart feeder has been working well (as opposed to the previous one which wasn't), but it takes an insane amount of photos. True, they get automatically deleted at some point, but I've been manually deleting them every few days and since I now know that I get those three bird species, with the occasional dove thrown in, I think I can give the camera a rest until the season changes and other birds flock to it. 

 

And in the evening I pick up my beloved Henry. Sweet pup. With a personality. That I am just beginning to know.

with so much love... 

sunshine

That I am not spending the day outside just tells you that I have a streak of laziness running through me. At times dormant, at other times, for example on a January Tuesday -- very much present. It's sunny and warm. 53F/11.5C, which is weird and unheard of and wont be repeated until in March at best. And yet, here I sit. (To my credit, I guess, I did do a 15 minute stint on the balcony again. For the sunshine. I felt like I do when I am in the mountains in the winter and the sun is out. I could almost imagine eating a blueberry tart and maybe sipping a glass of white wine. I have an active imagination.)

Despite yesterday's pledges to myself that I will go to sleep on the early side, I didn't do that. More book reading and puzzle doing. Oh, and I'll admit to watching four episodes of the limited series on Netflix -- North of North, which does give you an inside look at the Inuit culture up in the Arctic circle. I am just not keen on early bedtime when so much pulls at me. I can see myself getting roped into all three again tonight -- the show, the book, the puzzle. And then groan in the morning, because Henry just does not sleep in.

Henry. What a dog! He is so patient with me in the mornings! He wakes me and then waits nearby. No complaints, no yelps, just patient waiting. 

Speaking of waiting, I'm working now on adding the command "wait" in the elevator to the already present "hang back." But is that a good strategy to get him to not pull and bark at strangers? He now tenses up as the elevator doors open. As if I'm asking him to wait because something awful is about to happen. I'm out of ideas on how else to keep him quiet if there are people appearing suddenly as the door slowly opens. Luckily, at 7 a.m. there are rarely people up and about. It almost always is a quiet and calm walk for us then.  

I must say, for all the worrying I do about his rather fierce sounding greeting for strangers, He is far quieter than some of the pooches here. For example, there is a small yappy dog that lives on the ground floor, with the patio doors facing the street. He routinely barks his head off every time he sees Henry outside, for however long Henry is there. The difference is that annoying as the dog may be, he is not scary. Though I do feel sorry for the neighbors. Yap yap yap, nonstop!

Breakfast. Lovely.

My dog. Lovely.

 And big.

 

 

One of my favorite moments is to be with him in the morning, after our breakfasts, and to watch his eyes slowly close in total bliss as I rub his chest and belly.  

 

 

 

Birds outside. Lovely.

Sparrows finches chickadees. 

And here I sit, watching the day unfold. From the inside.

 

When Henry goes to doggie daycare, I do grocery shopping.  And I schedule some stuff that needs to be scheduled (more on that later in the week), and I pay quarterly taxes, and I take out travel medical insurance. There, have I bored you yet? I should have gone for a walk but without Henry by my side, a walk seems so unadventurous!

The kid pickup today is a bit convoluted, but they are both with me for a short visit.

(it's back to Lego for him)

(she's as addicted to these Back to Nature Crispy Wheats as I am)

Snowdrop had an incident in school, about which teachers notified parents, and Snowdrop's mom in turn passed it on to me. Though she is in middle school -- a time of such stress for so many girls -- things have been going rather smoothly for my grandgirl. Aside from the usual small stuff, I heard nothing about mean and denigrating comments. Until today. We talked about it in the car. The funny thing is that the entire incident completely passed the girl by. Must have been the group of kids I don't hang out with -- she said. She calls them the "popular kids" though I never understood this designation, not now, not when my own girls were in school. Sparrow, like any younger child, surely gets his share of older kid stories by coming along for the ride. You can view that as an advantage for him I suppose. Or, perhaps it strikes the fear of God into the poor boy!

In the evening the three of us go to pick up Henry and Goose. 

 

 

 

Their dog is tired after doggie daycare. Mine is hyper! Bouncy, barky, excited. He'll calm down once home, but it usually takes him a while. This is not the time to run into people in the elevator!

And the rest of the evening? Um, no comment. Too engrossed in the stories and dialogues and puzzle pieces. And my dog of course! 

 

 

With so much love... 

 

sunshine and such

I have to stop doing this: reading late. Working on a jigsaw puzzle late. Hanging out with Henry by my side late. Because my pooch does not sleep in the next day to make up for it. My pooch will wake after 6 when the garbage trucks rumble over to pick up trash. And he will come to my side, put his front paws on my bed and wag his tail eagerly, waiting for me to say "good morning Henry!"

Out we go.

My beautiful morning pup!

 

 

 

We have two warm days before us, then we return to the January normal. The kids are off from school and parents have made other arrangements for their care, so I have a day of catching up before me.

First, breakfast.

And a hug.

No, I mean a real hug. With a few belly rubs. He never has too many of those.

 

 

 

Then he's off to play with his dog pals, and I am off to do my run of chores. A haircut, which, as always, is by the Lesser Lake. Remember the Lesser Lake (it's not really called that)? A few bold fishermen who seem to have unwarranted confidence in the strength of the ice cover.

Then the farmhouse for a long overdue visit.

I refrain from commenting on Ed's work on a jigsaw puzzle. (He once thought it was messy. But of course, the play room where he has it scattered is otherwise empty. Of toys.)

He tells me he's catching some vitamin D in the sunlight. But honey, vitamin D does not pour in through glass! It doesn't? No, it doesn't. 

 

Get gas, do a quick clean of the really gross by now interior of the car. And home again.

And what do I do? Go out on the balcony and sunbathe. Yes, sunbathe. I have had surgery on my face less than a week ago because I'd spent too much time out in the sun without protection. The wound hasn't healed yet and here I am sunbathing?? Without protection?

I blame Public Radio and the medical professional interviewed on it: he said, convincingly, that up here in the northern climes, we do not get enough Vitamin D in the winter. Yes, we can take supplements. But he himself still tries hard to be in the sun daily (15 minutes, without protection) because the sun's benefits extend beyond just pumping us with vitamin D. Unfortunately, I was pulling into my destination so I dont quite know what those additional benefits might be (I surely know the downsides!), but still, it sounded good to me. Fifteen minutes with a litter of seed casings and bird poop at my feet. It was, in fact, bliss!

I pick up my exuberant Henry. Happy to be coming home, hungry for his dinner, hungry for some treats and dog stuffies, which he tears apart expertly. It is, in fact, a beautiful evening.

with so much love... 

 

Sunday tales and tails

Henry knew that I needed the time. He was quiet and patient as I burned the light late into the night. He was unusually quiet all morning too. On the couch, next to me, but giving me space.

 

 

Well, head space. I liked the warmth of his canine body next to me just fine.

How do dogs intuit these things? I was in no mood for TV streaming last night. I was not really in a playful state of mind this morning.

I just wanted to finish my book.

A friend of mine said that she thought we all must be immersing ourselves in distractions to avoid thinking about the unfortunate political situations we find ourselves in. That may be true with other distractions, but Maeve Binchy's book alone is responsible for pulling me in so completely that I could not let go of it until I got to the end. 

It's not as if I found myself identifying with the characters, or any aspect of their story. Nor did I especially crave a follow up to their tale, their drama. There should not be a book two on their lives. It would not be interesting. But what a good story it was in the pages of this very first Binchy novel! So good, you'd have to think -- this could only happen in a fiction piece. And yet, of course, bits and pieces of it -- events, feelings, tough breaks, close bonds, pivots -- they happen all the time. To me, certainly. 

I suppose what I loved in the end was the strength of the two main protagonists. Strength, making up for the very real, very human frailty that we all experience at one time or another. Wonderful reading. Really wonderful. (I've already given you the title earlier -- Light a Penny Candle.)

I woke Henry this morning. Not intentionally. Yes, a cough on repeat will wake a dog. Well, at least it was only a few minutes before 7. 

Cold again. That's okay -- it's January.

Breakfast, I read.

When I finish the book (uff! what an ending!), I take Hnery to Prairie Morraine dog park. The huge one just 15 minutes to the south of me. 

It takes us (more accurately it takes me) almost an hour to do the full loop. 

There is a pattern to Henry's behavior: he starts out strong (they all do), then chases only selectively. 

Mostly, he is quiet, but occasionally, if a person pauses near me, he barks. Of course, he's not the only barking dog there, but Henry's barks are like that of a hound -- deep, guttural. So I tell him the usual -- Henry, quiet! Mostly he ignores me. I am reminded of his reaction to people coming at us as the elevator doors open at the Edge. This morning there were 4 Asian people coming out. I'm not sure they spoke any English. I do keep Henry back, away from the elevator doors for just this reason -- if he barks, it can sound frightening. I apologize. I pull him even further away, which probably is a mistake because he resists being taken away from what he sees is his job -- to protect us. But what can I do? I don't want to frighten people. These four were quite taken aback. I couldn't understand their words but I can just imagine their thoughts -- such aggressive dogs here! Of course you'd think that, and there's no use saying that Henry isn't at all aggressive. That he is as mellow as a lamb. But strangers coming at us, at me? He has to let them know that he is a champion at guarding my safety.

I wish he didn't do this. At the same time I feel bad for wishing that. In the park, in the building -- there are dogs that will bark. No one apologizes for them. Today, during our walk, when he did sound off to a passing dog owner, she said to her pup -- look, she's got a barker, like you!

 

 

True and not true. Henry is generally a very quiet dog. When I picked him up at the shelter I asked about that, worrying then that he would be loud in an apartment building. That he would disturb neighbors. The dog attendant said -- I don't think I've ever heard him bark. Yes well, was there anyone for him to protect then? In the first days with me I never heard him bark either. 

Am I even fair to him in always telling him to be quiet (a command that he may or may not yet understand)? I don't know. I tell myself that when I move back to a house (rather than an apartment), I'll ease up on him. But that's still a distant event. In the meantime, too often (probably) I tell him -- good boy for being quiet. Even as I'm thinking -- but isn't he a good boy anyway? Even when he barks at strangers?

 

In the evening, I go over to my daughter's house, bringing with me Sunday dinner. We could have it at the Edge, except that I still cannot bend down and so tidying, stacking a dishwasher -- all these things would be tough for me. 

It's great to see them of course, especially after a rather quiet weekend.

(Sparrow has taken over table setting; he takes it very seriously)

 

Henry loves having the companionship of his BDF (Best Dog Friend). They wrestle. They wag their tails fiercely. They chew fake bones. Henry sniffs for food and too often gets it from kids wanting to form a youthful alliance with him.

It is a lovely evening!

 

 

Maybe you noticed Sparrow's haircut? He had located a pair of hair scissors and thought it would be fun to experiment!

Happy kids, parents, dogs! Tails wagging, kids dancing.

 

 

with so much love... 

 

Saturday flurries

Imagine a dog, a pup really, one who is high-energy, athletic, playful. Yeah, my Henry. It didn't take long for me to figure out that this pup needs a lot of free spirited playtime. On days that doggie daycare is open (most weekdays), Henry has his fill jumping, chasing, sniffing with the other dogs. On weekends and days when he cant go to daycare, I take him to a dog park where, again, he gets his fill jumping, chasing, sniffing. He knows that he needs additional outdoor time for bathroom breaks. He's prompt with those. He understands that this is not play, this is an essential part of his everyday. He's compliant.

Now, how well is that dog, that spirited play loving dog going to do on a long leashed walk? In the city, or where leashes are mandated?

Henry no longer understands these longer walks. They are so rare, that he thinks them to be a burden. An imposition on his freedom. He lets me know by grabbing the leash and pulling it mightily, in the hope that I will free him of it. After all, isn't outdoor time either bathroom time or playtime? Freedom from restraints? Don't I understand that he prefers to fly like the wind? To chase whatever there is to chase? 

I know better than to engage in a tug of war. And yet, what are my options? He is strong. His neck is long and he is perfectly capable of reaching around, even on a harness, and grabbing the leash with his mighty jaw. And in that rope tug-of-war, we are pretty evenly matched. Sometimes I feel he has the advantage because he can hold out longer than I can.

This wont do.

 

I knew Henry would be bouncy the minute I looked outside this morning. My boy got me up at 7, which was terrific. We go out. There is a pretty dusting of snow.

I've been down this path before. We go back in as soon as he is done. We have our lovely morning. Breakfast...

(The amaryllis fell despite the stake, but it sure looks grand as a cut flower...)

A couch moment, with soulful gazes and sweet nothings...

After a brief rest, Henry wants to play. 

I toss him a squeaky toy for a bit. Fine. He chases it. But then he goes to stand by the door. A signal, to be sure. But for what? I put on the harness, we go outside. He does his stuff and then the tugging begins. Eventually I manage to get him back inside. He calms down. I try again. I am determined to take him for a walk. And initially, he is curious and willing.

And then the tugging starts again. 

The conventional wisdom has you stop in your tracks and wait. Bore the dog to death by not moving. Ignore. Don't engage. 

This totally doesn't work if your dog is pulling in a different direction. He doesn't want you to move, he just wants you to take him off leash. Treats? Commands? They're for ninnies! I'm not going to give in so easily! 

One possible solution that I haven't tried yet is taking a favorite toy along to distract him from his tugging and yanking. I doubt that it will work. Other ideas? Up his training and increase the leashed walks I suppose. Ones where he gets rewarded for walking calmly. And eventually, when he and I are old and gray, he will learn.

 

In the early afternoon, I do take him to a dog park. It still is the best option for him. I'm never going to provide him with the exercise he needs otherwise. It's funny -- I'd read (before getting Henry) that a young dog needs no more than five minutes of brisk walking for every month of his life (until he is a full blown adult). At ten months now, this would mean that Henry should get up to 50 minutes and be more than satisfied. This may be true for the average dog. It is most certainly not true for Henry. His long legs carry him far. I'm a brisk walker -- much speedier than your average human. And yet, I'm not speedy enough for Henry. Not when he is feeling playful and wants to release pent up energy. Dog park it is then.

Ed joins us. We all get our steps in!

We try Tati's coffee shop afterwards. I'm still not sure how it is that one can bring dogs inside, but they are definitely welcome and I'm thinking this is a good place to get him comfortable with strange places, strange requirements (shhhh!) and strange people.

We have a wonderful half hour. Henry is plenty tired and he sits between us quietly, trusting that this isn't another one of those places where I'm going to make him step on a scary scale.

(selfie!)

At home, he rests. Forgotten are the pulls and tugs and leash grabs. My dog is the most wonderful dog in the world. Obviously. He's trying to learn. To please. To keep his spirits high. To trust.

with so much love... 

 

Henry Bean and me

Oh that dog of mine! Many steps forward, a couple back. That's great progress, even if at times I have a hard time restraining myself from insisting that he continue forward. As a parent, you know to be gentle with any regression. That there is usually a reason for it. That your child can't help it. That she may be scared or uncertain. Patience is the best tool for you. A calm shrug rather than a push is so much more effective. And kind. 

Why didn't I remember this with Henry?

He woke again just shy of 7. He knows I like him to hang back in the elevator. He hung back. 7 seems to be a popular time to walk your dog. He encountered two this morning. He did not bark.

Such a good boy! 

I always like to finish up my morning routines before I feed him and sit down to my own breakfast. Today those routines were elongated because I had to deal with my wound (in addition to the usual shower, tidying, getting clothed -- you know the drill). The wound from my surgery is, by the way, quite impressive! Hard to believe that a small spot would require cutting my face wide open!

Henry waits. 

Finally I feed the pup, myself...

I snuggle with him...

And then I have an appointment at the vet's for his flu booster.

Henry knows the clinic by now. The first time we were there he was terrified, but by the second time he accepted the staff, and thought nothing of even stepping on the scale for me. 

Today, however, he got scared. He doesn't bark or growl when he is scared. He sits by the door shaking. And he cannot be budged.

Eventually, after lots of coaxing, and some subterfuge, plus a whole cup of baby food, the staff got him behind the counter, gave him his shot and handed him back to me. Great, now let me weigh him!

I am really curious about his weight. I want to know if he is growing, if I'm feeding him the right amount, if he is going to be an even bigger pooch!  

Henry would not step on the scale. I tried, with treats, with baby food, with myself stepping on it. I would not give up! I used commands, persuasion, all of it. Henry just dug in. The staff moved a carpet onto the scale to make it seem like just part of the room. Nope. No go. They told me - come back another time, when he is not also getting a shot. I explained that the shot doesn't bother him, he's just scared of the place. Of being forced to do something that he doesn't quite understand. Besides, I live far away. 

So I kept trying. I hoped someone would volunteer to pick him up. No one did. More coaxing on my part. Nope. He sat by the door putting all his weight into that position. 

By being so insistent, I am sure I made things so much worse for him (to say nothing of the staff who were by now wishing very much that I would go away). Most likely he'll now hesitate about entering the clinic, period. 

I'm not a total idiot. I did not scold or reprimand him. I was smiling and calm. Showering him with treats and praise. But my god, what got into me? Henry did not trust the scale today. Who cares that he was confident just a few weeks back? It wasn't going to work today anyway. Why not just shrug and let it go?

 

We went straight to doggie day care afterwards. All his favorite staff members were there. The door to the outdoor playground was wide open, because the sun was out and it is still quite the warm day (43F/6C). Typically, Henry bounds to the daycare door. Today, he went forward, but he hesitated, looking at me, wondering if there was more uncertainty ahead. 

Totally my fault. I feel like the parent who blamed her child for something that wasn't really their doing. For insisting that the kid sing in the choir even though they can't carry a tune. Or swim across the pool when they're just learning to feel comfortable in deep water. Oh, I can think of too many examples of how we mismanage our expectations! What can I say -- even at 72 I am capable of making upbringing mistakes.

 

I spent the rest of the morning tidying the apartment because today is the day of my monthly professional cleaning. By far the biggest challenge was sweeping up the mess out on the balcony. I didn't do a perfect job, but at least I made a solid effort!

And then comes the bit of luxury -- the cleaning crew washes, dusts, vacuums, I sit at a cafe listening to the buzz around me, enjoying this moment of peace. 

(Return to my apartment: now doesn't it just sparkle??) 

 

 

Friday is "just Snowdrop" day. The girl no longer rushes to the car with a solid grin on her face. Nor is she eager to plunge into the details of her day. And still, rare is the day that when asked, she doesn't give me an "it was fine" answer. Sometimes I get a "great" or "good." Would she tell me were it otherwise? Maybe. Maybe not. With kids, I know not to push.

 

 

 

I pick up Henry at doggie daycare. He, too, appears to have had a "good" day (I'm told). As always, he is thrilled to see me. And as always, he is overexcited to be going home. He barks at a kind pet parent there to pick up her dog. He barks at the management at the Edge -- same two that made him "Pet of the Month" in December, and covered for him when he barked his head off in the first week when I left him alone. Henry, you're doing okay. I understand.

 

Home at last. He gives me his soppy look, eyes pleading for the love that hasn't been his to know until he came home with me.  

 

Cabbage soup tonight. And a Henry by my side. I tell him -- I know you were scared this morning. I'm sorry. I'll do better.

with so much love...