Root Beer just licked Bel on the eye. Stuff like that has been happening a lot lately. Sometimes, when my glance scrapes the corner of the room, I catch Bel and Charli curled up together, purring.
Christmas has been a lot like that, too. A lot of purring.
Silent contentment. A time of peace.
Back to work tomorrow.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Sitting on a landmine
Black-eyed Lighting (Bel) is a hurricane, a tempest, a storm of maximum cat-pacity, but she is outshadowed by a little hellion of fur, she's outshadowed by Charli.
Our little adopt-a-cat was only supposed to visit. With her tiny pink tongue, yellow eyes and grey streaked tabby coat, little miss innocent stole our hearts. We told our son Josh to leave her at our house for just a little while. She stayed overnight. We adored her. She jumped at our feet when we rolled over in our sleep. She purred in our faces as she snuggled deep into the comforter wrapped around our bodies. She stayed for another day, and night.
We bought her a litter box. It didn't seem fair that she should use Bel's. It wasn't dignifed. Besides, Bel's litter box was high on a shelf in the basement, put far away from a hungry puppy now indifferent to the tasty treats hidden in the sand.
She went home and we cried. We missed her. She was the echo and the reverbation of Bel's former playfulness. The stately queen made way for the princess, and the princess became pampered.
Litter boxes changed to squeeky mice and fluffy puffballs that skittered across the kitchen floor.
And little puss, Charli stayed. Her playfulness welcome and her purrs appreciated.
Now big puss patiently watches little cat, but it is an eerie calm that promises to explode the very next time Bel's little box of sand is claimed as kitten territory.
Our little adopt-a-cat was only supposed to visit. With her tiny pink tongue, yellow eyes and grey streaked tabby coat, little miss innocent stole our hearts. We told our son Josh to leave her at our house for just a little while. She stayed overnight. We adored her. She jumped at our feet when we rolled over in our sleep. She purred in our faces as she snuggled deep into the comforter wrapped around our bodies. She stayed for another day, and night.
We bought her a litter box. It didn't seem fair that she should use Bel's. It wasn't dignifed. Besides, Bel's litter box was high on a shelf in the basement, put far away from a hungry puppy now indifferent to the tasty treats hidden in the sand.
She went home and we cried. We missed her. She was the echo and the reverbation of Bel's former playfulness. The stately queen made way for the princess, and the princess became pampered.
Litter boxes changed to squeeky mice and fluffy puffballs that skittered across the kitchen floor.
And little puss, Charli stayed. Her playfulness welcome and her purrs appreciated.
Now big puss patiently watches little cat, but it is an eerie calm that promises to explode the very next time Bel's little box of sand is claimed as kitten territory.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Big biceps and strong forelegs
It wasn't the eerie howl emitting from who I can only assume were deranged teenagers chasing me that had me running. It was the pull of a leash from a black bolt of pure labradoodle lighting.
The pack behind me howled louder as I yanked my arm back into the socket. "Come on, Rootbeer, stop!" My assertive command sounded weak and nowhere near the calm, assertive statement Ceaser Milan told me to make. Rootbeer turned momentarily and gave me her goofiest grin. I let the leash out a little further and ran to catch up, easily outdistancing the pack behind us.
After a while, I yanked the leash back. My bicep contracted and relaxed. Rootbeer's forelegs bulged and the tendons in her neck stood straight out. My muscles outdistanced her flex today. I won the race
The pack behind me howled louder as I yanked my arm back into the socket. "Come on, Rootbeer, stop!" My assertive command sounded weak and nowhere near the calm, assertive statement Ceaser Milan told me to make. Rootbeer turned momentarily and gave me her goofiest grin. I let the leash out a little further and ran to catch up, easily outdistancing the pack behind us.
After a while, I yanked the leash back. My bicep contracted and relaxed. Rootbeer's forelegs bulged and the tendons in her neck stood straight out. My muscles outdistanced her flex today. I won the race
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tripping on tuna
I tripped on the tin can by the door, something was fishy, but I ignored it. After all, I trip on a lot of things by the front door. After I tossed my work clothes on my bed and shrugged into a pair of shorts, I stumbled over another tin. Still, I didn't get it. The kitchen called so I wandered in and grabbed some salad. I grabbed a tin from the pantry and opened it. Nothing like some yummy tuna.
And then I heard it.
"Kathy."
Dave was downstairs bellowing and I was tagged with go see what's bothering him duty.
I went downstairs and headed towards the back door. I nearly fell on my face. Littered all through the sunroom were 17 tins of cat food. They were chewed on but still intact. I retraced my steps. Back to the bedroom where, on my bed, yep, my bed, were three more cans. In the blanket next to the bed, in the nest created by the nocturnal circular motions of the big black puppy, were a couple more cans. Downstairs - again. The can by the front door- cat food.
The dog had hunted down the groceries and had grabbed a bag full of tinned meat. She had dragged the bag through the house. She had spent time trying to chew through the metal but didn't succeed.
After all of that effort, Root Beer was denied the kitty chow and had to wait for puppy love. I couldn't help it. After all of that work, I had to give her a bite of tuna.
And then I heard it.
"Kathy."
Dave was downstairs bellowing and I was tagged with go see what's bothering him duty.
I went downstairs and headed towards the back door. I nearly fell on my face. Littered all through the sunroom were 17 tins of cat food. They were chewed on but still intact. I retraced my steps. Back to the bedroom where, on my bed, yep, my bed, were three more cans. In the blanket next to the bed, in the nest created by the nocturnal circular motions of the big black puppy, were a couple more cans. Downstairs - again. The can by the front door- cat food.
The dog had hunted down the groceries and had grabbed a bag full of tinned meat. She had dragged the bag through the house. She had spent time trying to chew through the metal but didn't succeed.
After all of that effort, Root Beer was denied the kitty chow and had to wait for puppy love. I couldn't help it. After all of that work, I had to give her a bite of tuna.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
January 1, 2010
Custom made fur coats and weather cold enough to turn your nostrils into mucus-filled Popsicles do not mix well when you're an eager dog and a tradition-loving owner.
For approximately the last 10 years, my family and I have braved the northern wind chill and headed to City Park (otherwise known as Assiniboine Park, in Winnipeg). Without fail, the weather has graced us with the worst it can bring. We have survived wind storms, snow storms and some sleet. It is always cold and it always brings a smile to my face.
I think in the first year we needed to get three children and their new toboggans to the hill, and in Manitoba the hills, at least the good ones, are man made toboggan runs. Our favourite is at City Park. Because the weather was so miserable, Dave built a fire and we had marshmallows and hot chocolate.
Since then, our event has evolved. Now we have hot chocolate, marshmallows, hot dogs, chips, fudge, sometimes alcoholic beverages, sometimes not. Now our extended family joins us. We have had as many as one grandmother, one brother, two sisters, two brothers-in-law, a sister-in-law and six nephews join us. Over the years, babies have hidden in warm trucks and toddlers have been placed as close to the fire as safely possible. And even though our New Year's Day tradition only lasts a couple of hours, it's talked about all year long.This year, our Labradoodle, our custom-coated, hypo-allergic, want-to-be-a-lab but looks-like-a-poodle came with us.
Over the last 10 years, we have dealt with babies, toddlers and windstorms; we have never dealt with a dog that thinks it's a Shepherd, a dog that wants to think it and can stay outside all day long. Root Beer shivered, we put her in the car; Root Beer lifted each paw with a dainty shake, and we put her in the car. Luke was fine. I was fine (I have new boots). Dave was fine. Our nephews were fine and my sister was fine. Root Beer? She's a designer dog with Winnipeg weather aspirations. She won't forget the first day of 2010, and neither will we.
Her paws are still thawing, and when we open the door, she doesn't race through the opening like an under-coated Siberian Husky, she takes her time like an under-privileged orphan with only one small sweater to keep her warm.
She learned her lesson and we learned that a warm coat and some doggie-sized boots aren't a pretension, they're cold weather gear for a lovely dog with a willing heart and designer paws.
For approximately the last 10 years, my family and I have braved the northern wind chill and headed to City Park (otherwise known as Assiniboine Park, in Winnipeg). Without fail, the weather has graced us with the worst it can bring. We have survived wind storms, snow storms and some sleet. It is always cold and it always brings a smile to my face.
I think in the first year we needed to get three children and their new toboggans to the hill, and in Manitoba the hills, at least the good ones, are man made toboggan runs. Our favourite is at City Park. Because the weather was so miserable, Dave built a fire and we had marshmallows and hot chocolate.
Since then, our event has evolved. Now we have hot chocolate, marshmallows, hot dogs, chips, fudge, sometimes alcoholic beverages, sometimes not. Now our extended family joins us. We have had as many as one grandmother, one brother, two sisters, two brothers-in-law, a sister-in-law and six nephews join us. Over the years, babies have hidden in warm trucks and toddlers have been placed as close to the fire as safely possible. And even though our New Year's Day tradition only lasts a couple of hours, it's talked about all year long.This year, our Labradoodle, our custom-coated, hypo-allergic, want-to-be-a-lab but looks-like-a-poodle came with us.
Over the last 10 years, we have dealt with babies, toddlers and windstorms; we have never dealt with a dog that thinks it's a Shepherd, a dog that wants to think it and can stay outside all day long. Root Beer shivered, we put her in the car; Root Beer lifted each paw with a dainty shake, and we put her in the car. Luke was fine. I was fine (I have new boots). Dave was fine. Our nephews were fine and my sister was fine. Root Beer? She's a designer dog with Winnipeg weather aspirations. She won't forget the first day of 2010, and neither will we.
Her paws are still thawing, and when we open the door, she doesn't race through the opening like an under-coated Siberian Husky, she takes her time like an under-privileged orphan with only one small sweater to keep her warm.
She learned her lesson and we learned that a warm coat and some doggie-sized boots aren't a pretension, they're cold weather gear for a lovely dog with a willing heart and designer paws.
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What the nose knows
Root Beer's first bath
