Sweet Saturday

It is a G.L.O.R.I.O.U.S. day in Western Kentucky. Sunny. Warm. A little breeze.

Swede William allowed us to sleep until 6:45 this morning, before he sounded his, "Hey, it's a beautiful morning and time's a-wasting" alarm. (One of the great personal joys of starting this new job is my being able to wake up Swede William for a change. Ha!) Sleeping in until 6:45 felt delicious. Decadent. Ahhhhhhh.

I know that you all are curious about how the new job is going. (I won't ever talk about actual patient care. There are privacy issues that trump all.)

This week I have been in a classroom, although the last two hours yesterday I was on my actual clinical unit, simply observing. I am so impressed with everything I see in this hospital. Their orientation is excellent. People who work there have been there ten, twenty, thirty years, and there are LOTS of employees with that kind of longevity. That says a lot.

Bill and the dogs have done fine. I've been getting home around five. (I don't start the 12 hour shifts until December.) I change my clothes, feed the waggle, and then we go for our walks. Yes it's dark. Less stupid city squirrellies. More C.A.T.s.

Including an all white C.A.T. who wants to be friends with the whippets.

image from http://www.free-images.org.uk/cats/02-white-cat.htm

Who approaches us when she sees us coming. In the dark. Under the streetlights. Like a white baggie on the lure machine, screaming "CHASE ME! GET ME! NANNY NANNY BOO BOO!"

Oh boy.

If I'm feeling a little peaked from trying to absorb the last, oh, 24 years of updates in hospital nursing in, say, eight hours, if my feet are dragging and my head is pounding and my neck is more knotted than my gramma's tatting, well, let that white C.A.T. start trotting toward Sam I Am, Lindy Loo, Swede William and me. I am no longer feeling exhausted, no I am NOT! I am shot through with adrenaline. ZING! My personal catecholamine level is suddenly high enough that I could hop right on up to the tippy top of Mt. Everest and not even notice that it was chilly out.

And that white C.A.T. is one of those souls who 'doesn't take a hint so good'.

"SHEW," I say.

"We're going to EAT YOUR HEAD OFF, you beastly white flukinschmordablueysnorkle!" scream the whippets. (They actually sling all sorts of horrid epithets, vulgarities, and plain old cuss words, I'm ashamed to tell you, Dear Readers. Along with foamy spit and biting anything in their reach.)

We get back from the walks to the smells of Bill's heavenly kitchen miracles. Thanks to the C.A.T. my plate is spared my face falling into it. I am wide awake, and able to enjoy the most delectable delights he has created.

After dinner the dogs drape themselves around the TV room. I sort through the pages of handouts (more than 250 so far) and try to get my 55 year old brain to process what it took in. The dogs twitch and bark in their sleep, no doubt chomping on any number of white C.A.T.s with exaggerated fangs and stinky butts in dreamland.

I twitch and cry in real life. I have always had things come so easily to me. I was born with a brain that could grasp, figure out, problem solve, and retrieve anything I told it to in a snap. I was the pain in the ass in class: first one with her hand up, first one with the right answer. Now, I'm not.

It's scary.

I feel more like the white C.A.T. Like I'm approaching something all friendly-like. Only it wants to gobble me up. And I'm de-clawed.

But. I'll take it one day at a time. There is plenty of support available to me. I am going to the hospital today to use the online study programs available in the hospital's excellent library. I will do everything I can and if it isn't enough, I'll know I tried.

I will hug my hounds when I get back from the library. Then we'll walk in this beautiful sunshine.

You can hug yours now!

No, No. Bad Dogs.

Two stories.

First, a delightful visit by some fellow dog bloggers.

The Barkalotz Boys, Just Harry and Jake, are great good blogging friends of the whippets, and I was eager to meet them and their humans in real life.

There was a problem. I've mentioned the whippets' extreme breedism on numerous occasions. We have had frequent whippet guests, and even an Italian Greyhound or two, and the whippets are quite gracious hosts. They share toys and wag tails and get along just fine. But Harry and Jake are Wire Fox Terriers.

(I hear the whippet owners among you dear readers gasping in horror!)

The whippets have a dog room just off our kitchen. They eat there (when they're not mooching from our guests) and they stay in crates there when we go out. (They sleep up in our bedroom; the dog room is just for short periods when we're not home.) They will also go in there if we have a large number of guests, (like an open house or a gallery show) and the front door and yard gates are going to be open, to avoid escapees. So they weren't surprised when I gave them biscuits in their crates: the table was set and the pasta sauce had been cooking all day.

Then our guests came in.

It was loud. It was not polite. It was ugly.

"Hairy Dogs!!! Sound the Hairy Dog ALARM!!!"

"Idiot Servant do you not see? There are Hairy Dogs in our HOUSE!!!"

I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that the tornado siren could not compare. And that can be heard for 50 miles.

The Wire Fox Terriers were charming, beautifully behaved little visitors. The whippets... well they did finally settle - and quiet - down.

Second story. I used to walk all of the whippets at once, back when we lived at the farm. We walked through crop fields on tractor roads. I frequently ended up on my butt or my belly, when we encountered deer, fox, groundhogs, squirrels, and bunnies. I only walk three at a time, here in the city. Being dragged into oncoming traffic wouldn't be prudent. And I don't want a whippet to get loose. I quickly learned that it was a Bad Idea to walk large groups of whippets in the city, even with extra walkers. Bill would go his way with two, I would go mine in batches.

The whippets behave remarkably well in groups of three. But get six whippets together, and there's a pack mentality. One seventeen year old boy can be charming. Three can be productive. Six are a mob, egging each other on. Like that.

I ignored my own Rule, and accepted Bill's invitation to walk together. It was a holiday. We were enjoying High Spirits.

I walked Very Old Dog and Mama Pajama around their one block, and when I got back, Bill had coats on the remaining six. Off we set, Fat Charlie, Luciano and Delia with Bill. Sam, Swede William and Lindy Loo with me.

It was a lovely walk! I admitted to having Ungrounded Fears. Clearly, the whippets were used to walking in the city now, and we could walk together.

We repeated the whole thing the next day. We were joined by two little Yorkies on their walk, no problem. Good Dogs! Treats all around! And then, just a half a block from home, disaster.

Our neighbor, Keyth, (of Nekked Neighbor fame) was struggling with a large piece of artwork ahead of us down the sidewalk. I called out to him, "Keyth, do you need some help?"

Apparently, this translated into dogspeak as, "Dogs, find something to attack!!!"

And at that very moment, Swede William spied a C.A.T.

It wasn't pretty, dear readers.

I tried. Six years of training dogs to ignore what a thousand years of selective breeding has programmed into their brains. In groups of three, I can say "Look!" and focus their attention on treats in my pocket and away from vermin. In groups of three.

Not, dear readers, not in groups of six.

In their defense, this was a particularly heinous C.A.T. An evil C.A.T. which delights in sauntering just outside the whippets' yard. Loitering just out of reach. Blowing raspberries at them with impunity and pooping in our corner garden, in plain sight.

And there he was. No fence to hide behind.

Down I went.

The whippets' motto is if you can't bite the one you want, bite the ones you're with. So Sammy bit Lindy, Looch bit Charlie, Delia bit Looch.

I said, "Ow."

And then I spewed a long string of Bad Words. Loudly.

Keyth called later to see if I was okay. He's a good neighbor.

We're going back to separate walks, no more than three at a time.

hug your hounds. Even the naughty ones who do what they were bred to do.

Corruption at the Highest Level and Not Playing Fair

Very Old Dog: I don't believe it. There is some kind of mistake!

Lady Maria: There simply has to be an explanation.

Luciano: It's the end of the world! I SAW it with my OWN eyes! DoG have mercy on us all ... what will become of us. Are we homeless? We're homeless aren't we. I KNEW one day we'd be HOMELESS. OOH WAIL...!!!!

Fat Charlie: Any food on the counter?

Mama Pajama: Luciano, stop wailing. If she brings one home, we shall chase it and eat it, that's all.

Delia: Whatever. I'm hanging with my manservant, so what. ever.

Sam I Am: Maybe she needs more hugs. Do you think I didn't give her enough hugs and she went crackers? Humans need so many hugs. She's been looking unbalanced lately. I should have given her more hugs. Oh dear, what to do?

Lindy Loo and Swede William: Not it! Not it! Tag you're it! I got the toy, you can't catch me! I'm going to get you!!! ZZZZOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!


Very Old Dog: Here's the story. The Servant got a blog award. She passed it on, and I guess she had some kind of FIT or SEIZURE and gave it to a C-A-T.

Luciano: Arrrrrrgggghhhh! Say it ain't so, Old Dog, say it ain't so.

Mama Pajama: Loochie, dear, get a grip. [Aside to her brother Fat Charlie: I swear, Looch's Kong is totally unstuffed, if you know what I mean.]

Fat Charlie: Yeah, um, do you smell butter? I think I smell butter.

Lady Maria: That fetid feline said some horrible things. Our Servant will ALWAYS be the crazy dog lady, NEVER the crazy C-A-T lady, but... It is the photograph, I just can't get over the photograph. The one on the C-A-T's blog oh I just can't bear it.




Lindy Loo zooming by: Hey LOOK! That's the picture of the Servant and me when I was a teeny pup!

Swede William screeching to a halt: That's not you, Lindy! That's a CAT!!! Woof CAT ALARM!!

All: WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF EVIL KITTY WOOF WOOF RUFF RRRRUFFF!!! [chaos ensues.]

Very Old Dog: Ah. I knew there was an explanation. Look closely, my dears. The C-A-T has used black magic and foolery and photoshop on us. It magicked itself into Little Lindy Loo's photo. Pretty clever the way it even got the human's big pointy chin just right. Our Servant may be foolish and a do-gooder and a goody two shoes and several biscuits short of a full box, if you know what I mean, but she would never leave us for a C-A-T!!!

Lady Maria: Ah! Very Old Dog you are right as always! GRRRRRR... I see some kitty stew in our future.

Mama Pajama, eyes on fire: Evil Kitty dares to mess with the Whippets?

Luciano, fanning himself: I think I'm going to faint. This was just too much for me.

Delia: What. EVER.

Fat Charlie, licking his lips: Dang, that was a good stick of butter! Our Servant is so kind to leave things on the counter for me. [His eyes light up.] Kitty STEW??? Counter me in!!!

Lindy Loo zooming by from the other direction: There I am! Wasn't I adorable!!!

Swede William, in hot pursuit: Oh Lindy you are getting more adorable by the minute! Ouch! What did you bite me for? Geez, one butt sniff and blammo! HA! I got the stuffie! Neener neener can't catch me now!

Sam I Am, leaning his head into his human's chest: I never doubted you. Not for a minute.

All: C-A-T we're giving you fair warning.

YOU

ARE

TOAST

=======================

We got another award from Marvin in Scotland and from Asta, in New York City, though after that last post they may take it back! (But thank you both for being so kind and generous!)

Here are the rules attached to this award:
1. You must write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. (No fish or bird blogs, they'll just make you hungry)

2. Acknowledge this post.

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

4. Go tell your humans to fork over the treats!

We would like to pass it on to Peanut and Flash whom we think of every day while their dad is in Iraq, Lesley Rigby Tillie's gran who doesn't even have a blog, but leaves nice comments and we can never thank her so we just did, Jake and Just Harry for their masterpiece of an Edgar Allan Paw poem, and Xsara all the way in Slovenia who prove that a beagle can ROCK in agility, and THAT STINKIN C-A-T because he's going to have to think REAL hard about how he's not going to end up as our kitty stew dinner.

hug your hounds