Sculpture by Luigi

Today, Luigi reached a pinnacle in his career as a plopper.
Though all dogs are ploppers, few reach the precision that Luigi has
of making art from his plops.

Behold, Luigi’s sculpture.

Behold, the artiste, Luigi.

Ingredients of scupture?
Yesterday’s marrow bone.

Helen, proud Dobermom

Update on the Stray Cockatiel

I haven’t seen the stray cockatiel around in the trees since last week.  I took the bird cage off the table and put it back on its chair.  I emptied the seeds in the safe spot where a couple doves come to eat whatever seed I have to spare and Luna watches, drooling.  Now I have seven pounds of bird seed, so I will dole out some seed every day.  I want to make sure the doves eat all of the dole and don’t leave any leftover to attract rats or other varmints.

The cockatiel isn’t around, but a mockingbird is doing a good job of adding the cockatiel tune to her repetoire.   I hope the bird found its way back home.

Helen

The First (and maybe last) Fort Doberdale Grooming Ritual on Doberdad’s Day

OK, I admit it. I totally over-extended myself today. Yes, I did.

I thought I was going to clean everyone’s ears with my nifty blue bulb and ear cleaning solution, then spray the Frontline on the strategic tick points on each dog, and call it a day. But what happened when I got started on this project? I thought, “Oh, now that I have the table set up, I think I’ll bathe everyone, too. Then I’ll go to Costco.” Costco did not happen. A severe sunburn happened. One sore body happened. Costco? No.

Here’s who started it. The Frenchmann. He was first on the table. He is very cooperative. Just don’t ever touch his toes. Especially thinking to trim the nails. Just thank DoberGod that he has a gait that keeps his toenails naturally short, or I’d be in dern trouble. Ginger followed, and Leissl came in third to start this first annual DoberDad’s Day Ritual.

Here is the trio warming up the Drying Station. During the towel drying, Taylor ran over to me. I think she was concerned she needed to be doing something. As an Aussie, that’s her nature. She looked ready to attack the towel, so I explained to her I didn’t need her help and she could go back to the shade. That explanation seemed to work.

When I finished the first three bathers, I needed to fill a jar with juice and soda water. The shakes were coming fast, and I still had more work to do. That seemed to do the trick, so I contineud on.

After the drying part was done, I sprayed each paw, between toes and back paw pad, under their pits, front and back of ears, and all around the neck with Frontline Spray. The topical doesn’t work anymore. The topical is easier, so I guess that’s why it stopped working. I don’t spray the whole dog because so far, the ticks seem to go after the areas I described above as spray zones. I have not found a tick on the midsection of the Fort Doberdale Squirrel Posse yet. Though rescues I’ve hauled in have sometimes had them everywhere. The ticks down south are miserable. I even sprayed the baseboards in the house again, and washed all the pet bedding. I’m exhausted. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Here is Annie B. She is an incredible dog genius. I’m not kidding. She found the best spot on the campus to be shaded. Would you look at that beautiful brainiac at work waiting her turn. OK, a little hiding may be going on there. She’s a multitasker extraordinaire. After I bathed her, which was basically in the middle of the count, she even dried herself! Now that’s using your noggin. Meanwhile, this is about where my eyesight started to wane. I was thinking to blame the Frontline spray. I should have used goggles when spraying it on, I suppose. However, I have another idea that this may have been when the sun started to burn through my eyelids, thus causing my eyeballs stress. Blurred vision anyone? I felt like I just needed to peel off the coating of waxed paper that must have fallen onto both my eyes. Nevertheless, I had work to do and continued on.

Raven took her bath well, but I knew it was coming. It? The sass. That dog cannot do anything without a rant. Today was no exception. She gave me what for when she was standing at the Drying Station with nothing else to do.

Taylor and Regis were the last of the FDSP to have the beauty treatment. The poor dears. I was so tired by then, they were lucky I didn’t fall on them. The reason they were last was because Taylor seemed to enjoy reclining and cooling off under the bath table where it was good and wet and muddy. That was not my preference for her after bathing. And Regis is an old Doberdude who is not capable of going on that bathing table. I have to bend over to bathe him, and that’s heck on my back. I usually bathe him among the first ones, just to get the back strain out of the way, but today I did a reverse. I sat on a stool, though. And got him watered and sudsy and rinsed. Ears clean, Frontlined, and he was the period on this long day of gussying up everyone.

There were treats involved, of course. When the first half of the FDSP was fluffed and done, they were escorted into the house, put into crates, and I doled out marrow bones to each.

After the second set was done, I did the same thing, but they got theirs outside. You can imagine the thrill seeing Oliver enjoying his treat in the hole he dug. Regis had a good grip on his and enjoyed it outside, and later inside because he’s a slow muncher. Taylor enjoyed hers behind the broom, until she decided to take it for a walk to see how the other bones looked.

How long did this ritual take? From the 1 o’clock hour till the 6 o’clock hour. I do confess to stopping to take some pictures and do laundry. Make my juice drinks and put a hat on when I figured I was going to die from heat stroke. The ritual took longer than I thought, but it’s done. So am I. And besides me, Taylor is done, too. We both need to think about using sun block the next time this hot bath day idea comes to fruition. But tonight, I put aloe vera on the both of us.

On DoberDad’s night, everyone is fluffy and fuzzy, and I’m sore as heck. I can’t move my body or touch my face without wincing. But I’m living in a country where I have the freedom to spend my day this way and write about it as I like. Life is good.

Helen