The devil made her do it

Sophie, worn out after chasing squirrels

Some doggie demon got inside Sophie this morning. She woke me early by barking at some critter outside my closet (praying it was really outside and not in the closet). I got up thinking I’d let her out, she’d come right back in as she usually does, and I could go back to bed for that extra twenty minutes. Cancel that as wishful thinking.

Jordan says the squirrels were insane this morning. I say so was the dog. The border collie half of her came out in full force. She jumped at the fence, barking and squeaking—seriously, she gets so excited she sounds like a squeaky toy. And she raced from one corner of the yard to the other, like a whirlwind. My calls of her name and my bribes of “Cheese, Sophie, cheese!” fell on deaf ears. She did not even glance at me. Like a child in the midst of a tantrum, Sophie was so caught up with the squirrels, she shut all else out of her world.

           There was a time when I let her have her fun. She was, I figured, getting good exercise. But I learned better. For one thing, there’s been a lot on our neighborhood email about controlling barking dogs. And then there was the time I let her run all morning. By evening, she was limping a bit. By the next morning, she was clearly sick, though I didn’t know what was wrong. An emergency trip to the vet revealed torn pads on her paws. An expensive bill, a shot, medication, and a lotion we had to put on her paws for weeks or so it seemed.

Our yard has grass, but there is a large area of ground cover with fairly tough stems and there are small areas of deconstructed granite—where grass just wouldn’t grow. Soph runs over all of that with gay abandon and frequently disappears into that tiny strip between our house and the neighbor’s. I’m fearful of even investigating what’s back there!

This morning, after half an hour, Jacob came out to get her inside, but he had to stalk her. She kept running, whereas she normally would have run right up to him. He finally got her and literally shoved her inside the cottage. I closed the door tightly, told her no cheese because she hadn’t come when called, and went back to bed for that stolen twenty minutes. Sophie, who never gets up on the bed when invited, decided she wanted to snuggle. She leapt up on the bed, dirt and all. But she doesn’t snuggle well—she wiggles, and she soon tired of it and jumped down.

But I was not to have peace—she was still in frantic mode. She’d come to the side of the bed and bark demandingly; then I’d hear her race through the cottage to stand at the door and squeak in excitement. She kept this up until I finally got out of bed. Believe me, I scolded. I knew, rationally, that she had no idea why I was raising my voice, but she knew she was in trouble. She turned her head away from me and wagged her tail hopefully. When I went about my morning routine—from brushing my teeth to washing the pot left from last night and putting away the dishes, she was right at my side.

At one point I reached out a hand and asked if she wanted to be friends, but she wasn’t ready to forgive me (see how that shoe got on the other foot?). She backed out of my reach and stared at me. Then she went back to her squirrel watch at the door.

As I write this, it’s eleven in the morning, and I am at my desk working. Guess where Sophie is? Peacefully asleep in a chair. The doggie demon must have departed.

PS: I took an afternoon nap, because I’d missed that sleep this morning (and because I always take a nap). But I wasn’t to have peace even then. The yard crew, who should have come yesterday, came today. To do our house and the neighbors meant they and their machines were here for an hour. Sophie barked the entire time.

Tonight she is subdued. Repentant? I’m not sure.

 

Two plumbers and a dog—not an easy combination

Several years ago a bookstore set an old manual typewriter on a desk, put a stack of clean white paper next to it, and left it. The predictable happened—people came by, stuck a sheet of paper in, and wrote whatever was on their minds, from poetry to predictions, and maybe even a few curses. Someone with an even better idea collected those tidbits and compiled them into a book. My son-in-law Brandon is a bibliophile and likes odd, offbeat books, so of course I got this one for him one Christmas.

I was reminded of that book recently when I saw a picture of a battered, old metal desk someone has set out on a rise in the desert outside Alpine, Texas. The desk has a chair, some paper, and I guess a few pens or pencils. Hikers are invited to stop, enjoy a magnificent desert scene laid out before them, and jot down their thoughts. They say there is never a waiting line, because even if the desk is occupied when you arrive, no one stays long. Seems to me it might be worth a trip to Alpine, just to sit at that desk.

But you have no idea how I longed for the solitude of that lonely desk as I sat at my desk this morning. I’ve recounted my plumbing saga recently, but today was a new chapter. Keith, the plumber who has done all the work on my house for years arrived, with his helper, Adam,. ready to roll up their sleeves and attack the blockage.

First the camera, which involved such high-pitched whining noises that I took my hearing aids out and worried about Sophie’s sensitive ears. Then, from the sound, they snaked a roto-rooter kind of thing down into the pipe—and Sophie went crazy, sure that there was an animal in the bathroom that she had to frighten away with her barking, which was so frantic it was almost as high-pitched as the machinery had been. Sophie is technically a medium-sized dog, neither big nor miniature, but when she gets carried away, she sounds for all the world like yippy tiny dog—not pleasant.

By the time, Keith and Adam were both working outside, so she was free to go in the bathroom. But when she gets in the bathroom and barks, it acts like an echo chamber. A bit cowed by the noise, she spent some time under my desk, which was preferable—I could reach down and calm her with a loving hand. But then some noise outside, some small change, would send her charging into the bathroom to bark or up on the couch where she could look out at the area where the men were working. She barked so much she ran herself dry and drank an entire bowl of water. Then, of course, her frantic took a new direction—she need to go outside. I was hesitant to let her out because I thought she’d bother them, but I had no choice. Luckily, I got her back inside fairly easily.

Through all this noise, I managed to knock out almost 900 words of a proposal for a new project. In the quiet of the evening, I’ll re-read and see if it makes any sense at all—I have my doubts. When Keith and Adam went to lunch, and I tried to sneak in a nap. They never returned, but as soon as I settled in the bed, the yard guys came with their noisy equipment, which also drives Sophie into a barking frenzy. Lesson learned: if I confine her in the bedroom with me, with both doors closed, she suddenly goes quiet. What a great thing to learn.

The plumbers will be back tomorrow, but first there will be professional diggers. That sends a bit of a chill through me.  The broken pipe—probably original to the house—is buried deep in the caliché rock on which all the houses on our hill sit. It’s not easy or quick digging. But Keith assures me once the digging is done, he can fix it pretty quickly. There is light at the end of this dark tunnel.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Update on Luke

Sophie and Luke aren't exactly best friends yet but they have progressed to playing tug of war, which is really cute. Accompanied by blood-curdling growls on Sophie's part and silent concentration from Luke. For the first week or so, he didn't bark, and I thought we had a non-barker. I've since learned that's typical of rescue dogs. Now he barks a lot because he takes his responsibilities as guardian of the house very seriously--sometimes in the middle of the night. Last night Jordan spent the night, and Luke went wild when she got up to use the bathroom, then again at 5:30 a.m. when she got up to organize their garage sale (read on). Unless I'm quieting him, Luke barks at strangers, and he still barks at Jacob, which scares Jacob particularly when he gets in and out of bed with Luke in his crate.
But Luke is adapting to the house. If Sophie didn't provoke him, he'd be a great house dog--well, with a little training and relaxation. He frequently paces from room to room, though occasionally he'll settle down by my side. When he's off wandering in the house I have to watch because he has trouble discriminating what is his from what is mine--a remote is one victim. Forget rubber toys--those left over that Scooby had for years and Sophie has had for three and a half are now destroyed. Knotted ropes work best, as in the picture above.
Luke loves his crate--maybe because I sometimes feed him there (he's always ravenous), maybe because other times I lure him there with his pills wrapped in a bit of cheese, and possibly because it's a refuge from Sophie. But he happily goes prancing in and doesn't try to escape while I fiddle with the door.
I've had Luke four weeks and two days, and I think he's a different dog--beginning to feel more comfortable. When he barks, I praise and reassure him, and I spend some time just stroking his head and face (I don't want anyone else to do that!) and telling him he really does live here.
Today was the great garage sale--my street gets much more traffic than theirs, so Jordan and Christian beg and plead and I give in. My house was a disaster the last two days, filled with more junk than I can imagine. I did just what I threatened--hid in the house all day. Because the kids were in and out, I left the dogs in the back yard until early afternoon. Amazing the amount of work I got done--including getting a needed picture of a Coney Island dog before I served it to Christian. Kids think they did fairly well on the sale though there's a lot left. Anyone want a '50s modern wood table with an inlaid dentil pattern on the ends of the drop-down leaves? If I had room, I'd keep it. Jordan and Christian are exhausted. I feel just fine, thank you very much. And here's another shot from last night: