Whoops - I thought this had posted this morning. Sorry about that!
I guess I don't have to tell anyone the result of the Olympic men's hockey game?? What fantastic fun to watch...especially since we ended up with the gold!
Now I'm going to check out the closing ceremonies!
Original post:
Last night I was sitting in front of my home computer reading about the huge earthquake in Chile, reflecting on being fortunate as to live here instead of there….and it happened. It sounded like a huge truck rolling inside the house. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it seemed to go on and on. Not being used to that kind of thing, our first instinct is not to duck and run outside, but rather to sit and listen, wonder and wait.
I should have seen it coming – the dogs had been acting nervous, wanting outside, then immediately back in again. I suspected there were deer wandering around outside, and the last thing I imagined was an earthquake. It’s such a rare occurrence here, although I can remember the animals reacting the same way when we had earth tremors a couple of years back.
Hummm…interesting that it happened just when I was thinking about it. Maybe I should think about having a visit from Brad Pitt, or George Clooney….LOL!
What with the storm causing havoc with electric power (read: “the absence of”), the fascinating moments of the Olympics, and our working extra hours for the tax season, I have been unable to post for a couple of days. I’m on my way back to the office now, and want to get home in time to watch the Canada/USA hockey game for gold, so will post this chapter of my Bud Saga, and be on my way.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The End!
My friend had called on a Thursday night, which meant that I would have to take Monday off work if I was to keep my promise to pick him up. It was easier than I thought. My mood was not the best at the office on Friday. I was mentally counting off the days until doom – I’d be leaving the dogs and the bush. My boss remarked that I was oddly out of sorts, and asked me if I was feeling okay. Bingo!
“No,” I replied. “I think I’m coming down with something. There’s a flu going around.…” And so the stage was set. After all, it wasn’t a total lie. Maybe heartache wasn’t a valid reason for missing work, but I really didn’t feel okay.
The dogs and I spent the weekend roaming the bush, me nostalgic, them innocently gleeful for the time outdoors. The walks were only interrupted by the packing of my personal stuff that had accumulated during my stay. I had four boxes ready, and was slowly filling my backpack and the two suitcases, leaving them lying open on the floor upstairs, putting in clothes as I took them out of the dryer, or as I picked them up here and there around the house.
My mom, who had been a frequent weekend guest, called on Sunday night. I spent some time on the phone with her, but her attempts to comfort me failed. When we finally hung up, I realized that Bud had pulled his disappearing act again. I found him upstairs – surrounded by most of my clothes that he had dragged out of the cases onto the floor. Was he trying to tell me something? Nothing was chewed except one of my dollar-store slippers, which he still held between his paws when accosted. It was the one I’d been wearing when I’d booted his butt outside during our confrontation. Okay, I guess that’s understandable. Instead of getting on his case, I walked over, took it away, and hugged him. He was overjoyed with the cuddling....and probably now associated destroying a slipper with good behaviour. Well, it wouldn't be mine he’d be chewing in the future. My friend would just have to deal with it.
I called in sick on Monday, and was at the station when my friend arrived. He looked exhausted. He tried to make conversation during the drive to the house, but I could see it was an effort. I cut him off
“Hey, man,” I said quietly. “Just leave it. You’ll be home shortly….you can have a sleep….and we’ll chat later.” He visibly relaxed, and said nothing more until we pulled into the lane and stepped out of the car. Bud was in the window, looking out at us with his dead stare. My friend saw him, and stopped in his tracks.
”Maybe you had better go in first,” he said pensively. “Bud might not remember me.”
I couldn't help it – it was payback time. “Aw, go on. You’ll learn to love him again. Just give him a chance!” He caught my innuendo, and laughed, but still shoved me gently ahead of him when we opened the door. Bud came quickly to us, his eyes fixed all the while on my friend. There was no wag to his tail when he pushed past me to sniff at the newcomer. We waited. It took a minute, then the pit’s demeanour changed.
Don’t let anyone tell you that a dog has no memory. It’s NOT true. The gentle words, “Hey. Budinski....you miss me?” was like a shot of adrenaline for Bud! If you have ever seen an ecstatic dog, this was one! He was all over my friend, excitement in his every move. Ben and Beef, recognizing the master’s voice, had come running too, and pure bedlam followed. My friend let it go on for a few minutes, then he spoke.
“Enough. Quiet down, now.” He didn’t raise his voice. The dogs, even Bud, immediately went to lie down in their places. I stared at them, especially at the pit. In spite of us liking each other now, I still had to talk strongly to that darned mutt to get him to listen to me! And here he was, perfectly obedient!
“You little Sh*t!” It came out involuntarily. “How come you don’t listen to me like that?” Using my attention as an excuse to get up, Bud pranced over to me, fawning his apology. The hypocrite!
My friend stood smiling at our interaction for a moment, then turned to take his bags into his bedroom. Giving Bud a last insulted “Humph!” I pointed to the couch, and the little Sh*t actually did what he was told. I heard the shower come on, and I busied myself preparing a hot meal.
It was only later when we were installed by the fire, coffees in hand and the labs at our feet, that my friend asked me if I was in a hurry to return to the city.
“If you could stay on for a bit, I’d appreciate it,” he told me.
“How much of a bit are we talking about?” I asked. He held my gaze long enough to make me uncomfortable before answering.
“Maybe forever. I think that’d be good. If it’s okay with you.” What?? Speechless, I stared back at him. I guess my expression made him realize how blunt his words had been.
“Right. That didn’t come out so good. Look, I know we’ve tried this before, and it didn’t work out. But things have changed. I’d like to have another go at it.” Stunned, I sat and listened as he told me how long he had been thinking about this, how he could tell I already loved the place and the dogs, and how certain he was that I was the only person he would want around on a permanent basis, how he wanted me to stay. I was silent, my mind in turmoil, as I listened to his words.
My friend knew me well – it was time to leave me alone. He stood up, told me to take my time making my decision, then bent to kiss the top of my head before going to bed.
I’m really not sure how much longer I sat there motionless by the fire. I do know that at one point I got up, poured my cold coffee down the sink, and opened a beer. I can remember counting the cans to see if there were enough of them in the fridge to get me drunk. I’ve heard people suggest ‘sleeping on it’ when there is a decision to be made. Maybe, except I can’t sleep when my emotions are at their peak. I returned to the rocker.
My friend’s character was not run-of-the-mill. It takes a certain type of person to be able to do the work he did – and that type was not easy to live with. One minute he would be there, the next he would be gone, and no explanation would be forthcoming on his return. He had settled down for awhile, trying a normal routine, buying the house and the dogs, but obviously was back in the field or my ‘babysitting’ would not have been necessary. However, there was no question about his loyalty, or his charm. We were very close, even more so after the short period during which we had been intimate. That part of our relationship had ended by mutual agreement a couple of years ago, and I had moved to the city, only coming back for the occasional weekend stay. We would, however, speak on the phone nearly everyday. Ours was a typical case of ‘can’t live with you, can’t live without you’.
Suddenly the beer went flying out of my hand. I hadn’t heard Bud’s approach, so wasn’t prepared for him ramming his big head under my arm. He would do it often when wanting attention, and it never failed to catch me by surprise. I didn’t scold him this time. Instead I grabbed and hugged him close, burying my face in his warm neck. He twisted and licked at my ear. The labs, wanting in on the action, got up, vying for their share of petting. I gathered them around me, embracing each in turn. I don’t have to lose them…nor leave this place. I can stay if I want to.
Did I want to? Was I ready to change my life again? I knew I loved my friend, and that some of the time we would get along great. But when we didn’t, it would be hell. Both our attitudes would need more than a little change if it was to work, and I wasn’t sure either of us would be willing, or able, to accept the fact. I had heard of people staying together because of children, but because of dogs? The thought made me smile. I still hadn’t decided, but cuddling them had relaxed me, and had eased my mind enough so that I got up and headed for bed. I would try the ‘sleeping on it’.
I hadn’t been in bed long when I heard a creak on the stairs. Who was coming up here? I waited, watching the corner. He peeked around at me. Strange – he’s not done that before.
“Come here, Bud.” He wasn’t prancing as usual either, but came to me with his head down, his tail only wagging slightly. A picture of a dog in misery, definitely not the cocky pit. He licked my hand before getting as close to me as he could, then stood there quietly, his weight heavy against my arm, as I stroked him with the other hand.
Who knows what a dog is thinking? I could only deduce that his master coming home meant, for him, that I would be leaving, and he was doing his best to show me that he didn’t want me to go. Probably I used his actions as an excuse to make the decision that I had wanted to make all along.
I leaned over and kissed the top of his head, much as his master had done to me. “Okay, you win,” I whispered. “I’ll stick around. I’ll even stop calling you a little Sh*t. I like Budinski better. How’s that? You good with that?”
The lick on my ear told me he was. Emotions at peace, we both settled down for sleep. Tomorrow would start a new chapter in our lives, and we would face it together. Me and the ‘scary’ pit-bull.
The End
Epilogue
We’re still living in the bush, and wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Bud, though more mature, hasn’t lost his ‘in-you-face’ attitude, and continues to amaze visitors with his tenacity for chasing rocks or ice up and down the hill. Ben is still with us too, and we do our best to make things easier for him, because he can no longer move around like he once did. Our walks are shorter.
I lost my lovely old Beef three years ago, and cried for days after burying him beside the path we had strolled together.
There has been a new arrival – a young pit we called “Grumpy”, and this time I knew what kind of training was needed. The result? He is one of the sweetest and most unimposing dogs I have ever met. Obviously my perception of the breed has changed drastically, as does that of anyone meeting my dogs. Pit-bulls are like any other animal or child – they give back whatever they have been given, be it love, or be it anger. Vets, or any connoisseur of animals will agree - the master makes the dog.
To soothe my uncertainty that things would work out, my friend sold the house to me. It is now my own home. The basement has been renovated and contains his attractive, complete apartment, so we can share the house, and the dogs, but each has our own space. And we’re still the best of friends. Him – the dogs – and me.
***********************************************************************************
I should add a second epilogue. Ben died after this story was written, and is now buried beside Beef here on my land. And, as I mentioned in a former post, the star of this piece, my Bud, has been diagnosed with cancer. He is still holding up. He does sleep more, but enjoys the extra spoiling by his mistress. We’re taking it day by day.
Gotta run! Hoping your weekend is a good one, and sending you a huge SMILE!!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 19
Beautiful! As much as snow is an inconvenience for many, when one is standing at my window this morning looking out at my mountain, the demons can be forgiven. The scene is awesome. Of course, it would be even more so is one could stay inside and admire it all day…which is not the case. It’s out to brave the traffic we go, some of us having to shovel and clean the car before attempting to ram through the banks the plough left right in the driveway entrance. The joys of winter are slightly tempered by the extra effort needed to get to where we need to be, LOL! Gotta love Canadian winters!!
We have finally had a breakthrough in the Healthcare market. Yesterday we scheduled the first of our nurses. Because much care is used when screening our candidates, the inevitable result is that their work is appreciated, and that means being called back, which is exactly what happened. We received 5 more requests before the end of the day. The ball is rolling.
I need to be on my way, so here is the next chapter in the Bud Saga.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – Leader of the Pack
I can’t even describe how I felt exactly. Many emotions went jet-streaming through my body. Astonishment? For a heartbeat. Fear? Certainly. But the predominant wave that washed over me was insult, immediately replaced by anger. An overwhelming, white, cold, very still, very dangerous type of anger. How DARE he?!!! Then I lost it.
It started out softly “You little SHIT!!” but the last word came out a high pitched roar! I’m sure he was as surprised as I was when I attacked him And I do mean attack!
It happened so fast….one moment I was standing there, the next I was on him, the ‘Budwacker’ swinging into his face. He snarled and lashed out at it, catching it in his powerful jaws, but he’d reacted too late. My other hand was already wrapped around his choker collar, and I pulled up hard! With strength I didn’t even know I possessed, I lifted him so high that his feet were off the floor. I was still smacking him wildly about the head with the torn residue of newspaper, each slap accompanied by a screeched ‘How DARE you?!’ He turned and twisted, struggling to get his head back around, trying to escape, until the snarling gave way to gasps for air. I kept him up and away from me, then half-carried, half-dragged him to the patio door. In spite of his choking, he fought me every step of the way. Hauling him off the floor again, I violently shoved the sliding door open and threw him outside, landing him a swift kick on the butt to help him along. I was wearing those dollar-store slippers, so the action hurt me more than it did him, and I was limping when I went to sit down on the couch after slamming the door closed. I was swearing loudly, shouting through the glass at him, releasing all the pent-up frustration of having endured his attitude for those many weeks. The labs, totally awed by such a scene, cowered as if to sink out of sight.
Shaking from both anger and the exertion, I stood up, limped around the room, sat down, over and over again, constantly giving him a piece of my mind. He stayed sitting outside the door, watching me, the rain pouring down on him, thunder and lightning playing out behind him. And he was going to stay there. No way was he coming back in the house!
It took me at least two hours to control my emotions. The pit had not moved, and I could see he was trembling. His short fur was poor protection against the cold, wet rain, and I suspected that the force of the storm, and it was a bad one, was scaring him, but I didn’t care. Like a petulant child, I sat on his couch, knowing that he could see me there. Every now and then I would look out at him and give him the finger….the universal ‘bird’ sign….and taunt him that he wasn’t so smart now, huh? And a few other choice phrases that I won’t put into print. I made a point of caressing the labs and telling them they were good dogs, knowing that Bud was still watching. All very churlish, I know, and if anyone could have seen my antics, shadowy in the candlelight, they may have found it somewhat disturbing.
I finally relented when he started to whine, then began those short, single yelps he had used in the cage. I made him wait a little longer, letting him watch as I rolled up ‘Budwacker the Third’. I had it in my hand when I slid the door open, and motioned him inside. He entered slowly, his head down, and his tail between his legs….nearly. Keeping me in view, he trotted over to the couch, but didn’t jump up. Instead, he turned to look at me, waiting. Whoa, what’s this? He’s asking permission?
He was soaking wet, but I had a point to prove, both to Bud and to myself. “Get up there and lie down. Now!” He obeyed immediately, and lay there quietly for the rest of the evening, licking the water from his fur, glancing at me warily every time I moved. I ignored him, determined that he know I was serious. There could only be one master in this house.
I was exhausted when I crawled into bed, and expected to fall to sleep immediately. Instead, memories came unbidden to keep me awake. I was a child on the farm, and had received a ‘lickin’ from my grandmother for something I had done. Each time that it happened (all of them well-deserved….I was a brat), my grandmother would come to my bedroom when the house was quiet. She would sit beside me and explain why the punishment had been meted, then hug me and assure me that she still loved me, that now we had turned the page, that everything was okay.
I don’t believe in coincidence – there was a reason for suddenly remembering this particular scene. I reluctantly got out of bed and went downstairs. I could hardly see in the dark, but knew Bud was watching my approach. I walked over to the couch and sat beside him, then reached casually out to fondle his ears. I talked to him softly, repeating the same words I had been told so many years ago, all the time stroking him gently. He sighed audibly, then lowered his head, his nose touching my knee. I leaned back into the sofa cushions. This was good.
For the first time, there was no revenge pooh on the floor the next morning. I awoke, stiff from having fallen to sleep half sitting, half-lying, on the couch. Bud was curled up beside me, his head warm on my hip. When I moved, he looked up at me and yawned. I had to smile; his expression reminded me so much of a groggy child.
In a perfect world, Bud and I would now be insta-friends, there would be no more contest between us, and no further use for the ‘Budwacker’. But Bud was his own dog, and although both our attitudes had changed enough to make a lot of progress, it didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of work. The website had said obedience training was a “must” for pits, and it was true. However, I could tell that I was no longer just the babysitter….there was an element of respect there now. Although he would never be as obedient and as compliant as the labs, he at least paid attention and, most of the time, would go along with what I wanted. Happily, the revenge poohs became a thing of the past.
On my part, I began to see his qualities, which far outnumbered his faults. When I started to show him love, he returned it with everything in his huge heart. The night after our episode, at my request, he came to join the labs and myself by the fire. He stood leaning against me with all his weight as I scratched behind his ears, then offered me his thanks with a lick on the hand. Then, being Bud, he forced his way in closer, pushing Beef aside. He had to be nearer to me than the other dogs….the prime spot would now be his.
From that night on, he would greet my arrival by grabbing a mat (any mat!) and shaking it, while prancing around like a trotter. It was his way of saying he was happy to see me. When we took our walks, he would follow along with us for a little while, then return to doing his own thing, chasing stones up and down the hill, keeping an eye on our whereabouts so that he could join us when he felt like it.
Since the ‘intruder’ event (who, by the way, never dared come back!), Bud had not shown aggressive behaviour to anyone else. He didn’t have to. Most people, whether they knew him or not, would stay in the car and honk the horn for me to come outside before opening the car door. Just the sight of him, with that dead stare, was imposing enough. However, once visitors met him, they would admire his tenacity, and be amused by his antics with the stones and his energetic play. Because I was not going out in the city hardly at all anymore, friends and family would often come to spend the weekend – what’s better than escaping to the country during the balmy summer days? Many evenings were spent outside around a campfire, and the dogs enjoyed it as much as we humans did.
The months went by. My friend would call whenever he got the chance, and I would update him on his beloved dogs, and the developing closeness with his mother, Helen. He still did not have a definite date for his arrival, so was comforted to hear that I had settled in, things were going well, and that Bud and I were finally friends. There were subtle insinuations of ‘I told you so’ in his comments, although he never dared to come right out and say it.
The crisp fall weather had arrived, and we were back to me rocking in front of the fire, this time surrounded by three dogs instead of just two. Bud had forsaken his couch, preferring instead to sit leaning against me or with his head heavy on my feet. Some nights I would turn up the CD of Ozzy or AC/DC, and the four of us would dance around the room. The dogs loved it! I rarely watched television, but when I did, Bud would stretch out on the couch with me, with Ben on the floor right under us, and the comical Beef sitting his butt on the edge of the sofa, much as a person would do. It was a warm and peaceful existence. We were a family now, and each of us flourished within it.
It was the third month of winter when my friend phoned to say he was coming back. He would arrive in four days, and asked me if I could pick him up at the station.
“Of course! This is great! I’ll be there!” I hung up and turned to the dogs. “Your master’s coming home! Hey, guys, he’s coming home!” They caught the excitement in my voice and started to jump around me, tails wagging. Bud grabbed up a mat and shook it wildly. It was celebration time. Or was it? My friend’s arrival would mean my moving back to the city.
I sat down as realization hit me hard. I had come to regard this place as my home. I felt as if the trees, the rolling mountain, even the muddy garden were part of me now. And the dogs….
My heart caught in my throat. The thought of leaving them was almost too much to bear. I looked at them - Big Beef, the way he thanked me after eating by rubbing his huge head against me like a cat, his amusing position when he’d sit his butt on the couch, and his barking and hopping up and down, front legs stiff, as he encouraged Ben to find the stick in games of ‘Fetch’. Then Ben, the most obedient and intelligent dog I have ever known – he who should have worked with the police, because he was so quick to grasp what was wanted, and could find anything – he who noticed and would bark at anything new, be it a person, or an object moved from it’s usual place in the yard to another location. And Bud – especially Bud. As much as I had hated him, I now loved him dearly. Not coming home to him each night was unthinkable.
Sensing that something was not right, the labs came to me, shoving their heads under my hands, offering their comfort. Noticing their actions, Bud dropped his mat, pranced over to us, and rammed his head under my arm, clamouring for attention. I tried to hug them all to me at the same time, burying my face in the fur of first one, then the other. It didn’t dry my tears, nor change the facts. This was not my home, and we would no longer be a family. We had four days, then I would be leaving. It was breaking my heart.
I took a deep breath. Okay – unpleasant – bite the bullet. I needed to prepare for my friend’s arrival, and for my departure, both physically (it was unbelievable how much stuff one can gather in few months….there’d be a lot of packing to do) and even more so, emotionally. I hugged the dogs to me again. This is not going to be easy
But fickle Lady Fate was at it again, and even as I struggled to stabilize my emotions, events were taking place that would send them hurtling through the roof.
(To be cont’d)
Yep, there’s more, but we’re nearing the end of this story. Looks like I’ll have to hunt around for something else to write about, LOL.
Have a good day, folks. Whether you like the snow or not, try not to think of its inconvenience. Instead, take the time to look around and admire at least its beauty; it will surely make you SMILE.
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
We have finally had a breakthrough in the Healthcare market. Yesterday we scheduled the first of our nurses. Because much care is used when screening our candidates, the inevitable result is that their work is appreciated, and that means being called back, which is exactly what happened. We received 5 more requests before the end of the day. The ball is rolling.
I need to be on my way, so here is the next chapter in the Bud Saga.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – Leader of the Pack
I can’t even describe how I felt exactly. Many emotions went jet-streaming through my body. Astonishment? For a heartbeat. Fear? Certainly. But the predominant wave that washed over me was insult, immediately replaced by anger. An overwhelming, white, cold, very still, very dangerous type of anger. How DARE he?!!! Then I lost it.
It started out softly “You little SHIT!!” but the last word came out a high pitched roar! I’m sure he was as surprised as I was when I attacked him And I do mean attack!
It happened so fast….one moment I was standing there, the next I was on him, the ‘Budwacker’ swinging into his face. He snarled and lashed out at it, catching it in his powerful jaws, but he’d reacted too late. My other hand was already wrapped around his choker collar, and I pulled up hard! With strength I didn’t even know I possessed, I lifted him so high that his feet were off the floor. I was still smacking him wildly about the head with the torn residue of newspaper, each slap accompanied by a screeched ‘How DARE you?!’ He turned and twisted, struggling to get his head back around, trying to escape, until the snarling gave way to gasps for air. I kept him up and away from me, then half-carried, half-dragged him to the patio door. In spite of his choking, he fought me every step of the way. Hauling him off the floor again, I violently shoved the sliding door open and threw him outside, landing him a swift kick on the butt to help him along. I was wearing those dollar-store slippers, so the action hurt me more than it did him, and I was limping when I went to sit down on the couch after slamming the door closed. I was swearing loudly, shouting through the glass at him, releasing all the pent-up frustration of having endured his attitude for those many weeks. The labs, totally awed by such a scene, cowered as if to sink out of sight.
Shaking from both anger and the exertion, I stood up, limped around the room, sat down, over and over again, constantly giving him a piece of my mind. He stayed sitting outside the door, watching me, the rain pouring down on him, thunder and lightning playing out behind him. And he was going to stay there. No way was he coming back in the house!
It took me at least two hours to control my emotions. The pit had not moved, and I could see he was trembling. His short fur was poor protection against the cold, wet rain, and I suspected that the force of the storm, and it was a bad one, was scaring him, but I didn’t care. Like a petulant child, I sat on his couch, knowing that he could see me there. Every now and then I would look out at him and give him the finger….the universal ‘bird’ sign….and taunt him that he wasn’t so smart now, huh? And a few other choice phrases that I won’t put into print. I made a point of caressing the labs and telling them they were good dogs, knowing that Bud was still watching. All very churlish, I know, and if anyone could have seen my antics, shadowy in the candlelight, they may have found it somewhat disturbing.
I finally relented when he started to whine, then began those short, single yelps he had used in the cage. I made him wait a little longer, letting him watch as I rolled up ‘Budwacker the Third’. I had it in my hand when I slid the door open, and motioned him inside. He entered slowly, his head down, and his tail between his legs….nearly. Keeping me in view, he trotted over to the couch, but didn’t jump up. Instead, he turned to look at me, waiting. Whoa, what’s this? He’s asking permission?
He was soaking wet, but I had a point to prove, both to Bud and to myself. “Get up there and lie down. Now!” He obeyed immediately, and lay there quietly for the rest of the evening, licking the water from his fur, glancing at me warily every time I moved. I ignored him, determined that he know I was serious. There could only be one master in this house.
I was exhausted when I crawled into bed, and expected to fall to sleep immediately. Instead, memories came unbidden to keep me awake. I was a child on the farm, and had received a ‘lickin’ from my grandmother for something I had done. Each time that it happened (all of them well-deserved….I was a brat), my grandmother would come to my bedroom when the house was quiet. She would sit beside me and explain why the punishment had been meted, then hug me and assure me that she still loved me, that now we had turned the page, that everything was okay.
I don’t believe in coincidence – there was a reason for suddenly remembering this particular scene. I reluctantly got out of bed and went downstairs. I could hardly see in the dark, but knew Bud was watching my approach. I walked over to the couch and sat beside him, then reached casually out to fondle his ears. I talked to him softly, repeating the same words I had been told so many years ago, all the time stroking him gently. He sighed audibly, then lowered his head, his nose touching my knee. I leaned back into the sofa cushions. This was good.
For the first time, there was no revenge pooh on the floor the next morning. I awoke, stiff from having fallen to sleep half sitting, half-lying, on the couch. Bud was curled up beside me, his head warm on my hip. When I moved, he looked up at me and yawned. I had to smile; his expression reminded me so much of a groggy child.
In a perfect world, Bud and I would now be insta-friends, there would be no more contest between us, and no further use for the ‘Budwacker’. But Bud was his own dog, and although both our attitudes had changed enough to make a lot of progress, it didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of work. The website had said obedience training was a “must” for pits, and it was true. However, I could tell that I was no longer just the babysitter….there was an element of respect there now. Although he would never be as obedient and as compliant as the labs, he at least paid attention and, most of the time, would go along with what I wanted. Happily, the revenge poohs became a thing of the past.
On my part, I began to see his qualities, which far outnumbered his faults. When I started to show him love, he returned it with everything in his huge heart. The night after our episode, at my request, he came to join the labs and myself by the fire. He stood leaning against me with all his weight as I scratched behind his ears, then offered me his thanks with a lick on the hand. Then, being Bud, he forced his way in closer, pushing Beef aside. He had to be nearer to me than the other dogs….the prime spot would now be his.
From that night on, he would greet my arrival by grabbing a mat (any mat!) and shaking it, while prancing around like a trotter. It was his way of saying he was happy to see me. When we took our walks, he would follow along with us for a little while, then return to doing his own thing, chasing stones up and down the hill, keeping an eye on our whereabouts so that he could join us when he felt like it.
Since the ‘intruder’ event (who, by the way, never dared come back!), Bud had not shown aggressive behaviour to anyone else. He didn’t have to. Most people, whether they knew him or not, would stay in the car and honk the horn for me to come outside before opening the car door. Just the sight of him, with that dead stare, was imposing enough. However, once visitors met him, they would admire his tenacity, and be amused by his antics with the stones and his energetic play. Because I was not going out in the city hardly at all anymore, friends and family would often come to spend the weekend – what’s better than escaping to the country during the balmy summer days? Many evenings were spent outside around a campfire, and the dogs enjoyed it as much as we humans did.
The months went by. My friend would call whenever he got the chance, and I would update him on his beloved dogs, and the developing closeness with his mother, Helen. He still did not have a definite date for his arrival, so was comforted to hear that I had settled in, things were going well, and that Bud and I were finally friends. There were subtle insinuations of ‘I told you so’ in his comments, although he never dared to come right out and say it.
The crisp fall weather had arrived, and we were back to me rocking in front of the fire, this time surrounded by three dogs instead of just two. Bud had forsaken his couch, preferring instead to sit leaning against me or with his head heavy on my feet. Some nights I would turn up the CD of Ozzy or AC/DC, and the four of us would dance around the room. The dogs loved it! I rarely watched television, but when I did, Bud would stretch out on the couch with me, with Ben on the floor right under us, and the comical Beef sitting his butt on the edge of the sofa, much as a person would do. It was a warm and peaceful existence. We were a family now, and each of us flourished within it.
It was the third month of winter when my friend phoned to say he was coming back. He would arrive in four days, and asked me if I could pick him up at the station.
“Of course! This is great! I’ll be there!” I hung up and turned to the dogs. “Your master’s coming home! Hey, guys, he’s coming home!” They caught the excitement in my voice and started to jump around me, tails wagging. Bud grabbed up a mat and shook it wildly. It was celebration time. Or was it? My friend’s arrival would mean my moving back to the city.
I sat down as realization hit me hard. I had come to regard this place as my home. I felt as if the trees, the rolling mountain, even the muddy garden were part of me now. And the dogs….
My heart caught in my throat. The thought of leaving them was almost too much to bear. I looked at them - Big Beef, the way he thanked me after eating by rubbing his huge head against me like a cat, his amusing position when he’d sit his butt on the couch, and his barking and hopping up and down, front legs stiff, as he encouraged Ben to find the stick in games of ‘Fetch’. Then Ben, the most obedient and intelligent dog I have ever known – he who should have worked with the police, because he was so quick to grasp what was wanted, and could find anything – he who noticed and would bark at anything new, be it a person, or an object moved from it’s usual place in the yard to another location. And Bud – especially Bud. As much as I had hated him, I now loved him dearly. Not coming home to him each night was unthinkable.
Sensing that something was not right, the labs came to me, shoving their heads under my hands, offering their comfort. Noticing their actions, Bud dropped his mat, pranced over to us, and rammed his head under my arm, clamouring for attention. I tried to hug them all to me at the same time, burying my face in the fur of first one, then the other. It didn’t dry my tears, nor change the facts. This was not my home, and we would no longer be a family. We had four days, then I would be leaving. It was breaking my heart.
I took a deep breath. Okay – unpleasant – bite the bullet. I needed to prepare for my friend’s arrival, and for my departure, both physically (it was unbelievable how much stuff one can gather in few months….there’d be a lot of packing to do) and even more so, emotionally. I hugged the dogs to me again. This is not going to be easy
But fickle Lady Fate was at it again, and even as I struggled to stabilize my emotions, events were taking place that would send them hurtling through the roof.
(To be cont’d)
Yep, there’s more, but we’re nearing the end of this story. Looks like I’ll have to hunt around for something else to write about, LOL.
Have a good day, folks. Whether you like the snow or not, try not to think of its inconvenience. Instead, take the time to look around and admire at least its beauty; it will surely make you SMILE.
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 18
I’m sure it has happened to each of us at one time or another; be it in a crowded theatre during a show, standing in the line at the bank, in a church or funeral home…. or anywhere you are attempting to be quiet and dignified. Someone (usually whoever is with you) says or does something that strikes your funny bone, and you start to laugh, or in my case, giggle. Then you can’t stop. No matter how hard you try to come back to serious, or how many people turn around to stare at you, the sounds bubble up and out, and keep coming. Hiding your face, closing your eyes, trying to think of something else, holding your breath to subdue the noise…nothing works. You’ll probably end up snorting and, clutching your stomach and, at a certain age, you may have to tightly cross your legs too!
And what a blissful feeling, both physical and mental, when you finally come back to earth. Nothing beats a good fit of laughing!
There were at least twenty of us crowded into the doctor’s waiting room. It was a hodgepodge of ages and nationalities, as is often the case for busy specialists who are located downtown in the city. Some of us were flipping through month-old magazines; some seemed to be dozing; others just sat patiently – and all of us, no doubt, wishing we could be somewhere else. Beside me was an elderly couple chatting quietly in Italian. Even without hearing the words, and at the risk of generalizing, anyone could have recognized their culture. Both were short, well endowed, and typically dressed; he somewhat flashy in shirt, pants and polished dark shoes, her wearing the longish black dress with a cardigan the same colour, black stockings and shoes, thick hair streaked with grey wrapped up in a bun, and those long, manicured, bright fingernails.
I can’t speak their language, so don’t know what he said to her. She started to laugh…and couldn’t stop. She did her best to conceal it, but no one could ignore it. Tears began streaming down her face, she was bent over nearly double, attempting to hide behind her hand, then behind the magazine she was holding. Her shoulders were jiggling, and she would gasp for air, manage to stop for a second, take one glance at him, and away she’s go again. He was asking her “What? What did I say?”, but it was evident she couldn’t answer him. He looked at me, shrugging his shoulders, lifting his hands in a gesture of helplessness, by now a grin splitting his face too. Her mirth was contagious. More than one person looked over and smiled. Some of us, me included, started to laugh out loud with her. When she finally staggered to her feet, a handkerchief dabbing at her eyes and mumbling about finding bathroom, more than one of us were fumbling in a pocket looking for tissue. I loved every minute of it!
I apologize for not posting yesterday – I just couldn’t find the time. Kilroy doesn’t like being left in the lurch, I know, so here’s the next chapter of my Bud Saga.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – The challenge
High season at the office thwarted my good intentions to shorten work hours and spend more time exercising the dogs. From mid-March right through April, each employee was required to do overtime. Tax season was always busy. It didn’t help that the company was attempting to cut costs by hiring less staff, and to increase profits by acquiring more clients. Those of us in permanent positions paid the price.
There was also the extra time consumed by commuting to and from the city which, on any given day, could increase from one hour to three. Rush hour was to be avoided if at all possible, but lately it seemed that it started much earlier, and just never seemed to end.
Then there was the constant rain. Spring had teased us for a couple of weeks, only to disappoint us with day after day of sunless, grey skies and chill, damp weather. Even the dogs, when put out alone, would be right back at the patio door, dripping wet, barking to come in. There were often thunder storms. The labs would cringe with each roll, trembling and huddling as close as they could to my feet. I’m sure they would have crawled up onto my knees if they’d been allowed, they were that frightened. Bud, on the other hand, became hyper-active. He raced around continually, jumping over furniture, always into something, driving both myself and the labs to distraction.
Boredom, the lack of exercise, the weather and work fatigue, and probably the electricity in the air, plus the pit’s determination to assert his head dog status – it all contributed to high stress levels in each of us. Looking back, I can see how our confrontation was inevitable.
The cracks of lightning and the drum of thunder echoed loudly in the mountain bush that night. It was already late when I got back from the city, tired and hungry and uptight, only to find that hydro had once again went off. There would be no hot meal or warm bath to soothe the day’s hectic activity. The dogs were high strung, the labs right behind me with every step, so that I couldn’t turn around without nearly tripping on one or the other of them. The pit was bouncing around, harassing the already nervous labs, or grabbing whatever was at eye level - cushions, dishtowels, anything, then running like mad with it through the house. His size and strength were such that, whenever he hit or sideswiped some object, it would go flying. My scoldings, and even threats with the ‘Budwhacker’, were having little success in calming him down. I was at my wit’s end, and had counted to ten so many times it was beginning to sound like a chant.
Bud got on Ben’s case big time. When the snarling started to get serious, I interfered, ‘Budwhacker’ in hand. I hollered at both of them to GO LIE DOWN! Ben immediately slipped off to the corner to flop onto the floor, and Beef, although not involved, did the same. The pit paid no attention at all. He didn’t even look at me. He went after Ben again. When I yelled a second time, he bounded away and up over the couch, then, in a flash, jumped back over it again, heading full pin for Beef this time. I’d had it!
“STOP! NOW!” I bellowed, and went after him, wielding the ‘Budwacker’ like an axe in the air. He turned towards me, stood his ground solidly, the bull-stance before the crouch. His lips went back over his teeth, and he began to growl…..a low rumbling that increased in volume in sheer seconds. Taken aback, I stopped, gaping at him. He was serious, and we both knew it. That dead stare met mine, the challenge heavy in the air. At that precise moment, it was do or die.
(To be cont’d)
Gotta go – the demons have done their trick, and the traffic will be slow this morning. Have a good day, y’all! Wear that SMILE, and if you get a chance to laugh your head off, don’t miss it!
Luv from the bush in Quebec
And what a blissful feeling, both physical and mental, when you finally come back to earth. Nothing beats a good fit of laughing!
There were at least twenty of us crowded into the doctor’s waiting room. It was a hodgepodge of ages and nationalities, as is often the case for busy specialists who are located downtown in the city. Some of us were flipping through month-old magazines; some seemed to be dozing; others just sat patiently – and all of us, no doubt, wishing we could be somewhere else. Beside me was an elderly couple chatting quietly in Italian. Even without hearing the words, and at the risk of generalizing, anyone could have recognized their culture. Both were short, well endowed, and typically dressed; he somewhat flashy in shirt, pants and polished dark shoes, her wearing the longish black dress with a cardigan the same colour, black stockings and shoes, thick hair streaked with grey wrapped up in a bun, and those long, manicured, bright fingernails.
I can’t speak their language, so don’t know what he said to her. She started to laugh…and couldn’t stop. She did her best to conceal it, but no one could ignore it. Tears began streaming down her face, she was bent over nearly double, attempting to hide behind her hand, then behind the magazine she was holding. Her shoulders were jiggling, and she would gasp for air, manage to stop for a second, take one glance at him, and away she’s go again. He was asking her “What? What did I say?”, but it was evident she couldn’t answer him. He looked at me, shrugging his shoulders, lifting his hands in a gesture of helplessness, by now a grin splitting his face too. Her mirth was contagious. More than one person looked over and smiled. Some of us, me included, started to laugh out loud with her. When she finally staggered to her feet, a handkerchief dabbing at her eyes and mumbling about finding bathroom, more than one of us were fumbling in a pocket looking for tissue. I loved every minute of it!
I apologize for not posting yesterday – I just couldn’t find the time. Kilroy doesn’t like being left in the lurch, I know, so here’s the next chapter of my Bud Saga.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – The challenge
High season at the office thwarted my good intentions to shorten work hours and spend more time exercising the dogs. From mid-March right through April, each employee was required to do overtime. Tax season was always busy. It didn’t help that the company was attempting to cut costs by hiring less staff, and to increase profits by acquiring more clients. Those of us in permanent positions paid the price.
There was also the extra time consumed by commuting to and from the city which, on any given day, could increase from one hour to three. Rush hour was to be avoided if at all possible, but lately it seemed that it started much earlier, and just never seemed to end.
Then there was the constant rain. Spring had teased us for a couple of weeks, only to disappoint us with day after day of sunless, grey skies and chill, damp weather. Even the dogs, when put out alone, would be right back at the patio door, dripping wet, barking to come in. There were often thunder storms. The labs would cringe with each roll, trembling and huddling as close as they could to my feet. I’m sure they would have crawled up onto my knees if they’d been allowed, they were that frightened. Bud, on the other hand, became hyper-active. He raced around continually, jumping over furniture, always into something, driving both myself and the labs to distraction.
Boredom, the lack of exercise, the weather and work fatigue, and probably the electricity in the air, plus the pit’s determination to assert his head dog status – it all contributed to high stress levels in each of us. Looking back, I can see how our confrontation was inevitable.
The cracks of lightning and the drum of thunder echoed loudly in the mountain bush that night. It was already late when I got back from the city, tired and hungry and uptight, only to find that hydro had once again went off. There would be no hot meal or warm bath to soothe the day’s hectic activity. The dogs were high strung, the labs right behind me with every step, so that I couldn’t turn around without nearly tripping on one or the other of them. The pit was bouncing around, harassing the already nervous labs, or grabbing whatever was at eye level - cushions, dishtowels, anything, then running like mad with it through the house. His size and strength were such that, whenever he hit or sideswiped some object, it would go flying. My scoldings, and even threats with the ‘Budwhacker’, were having little success in calming him down. I was at my wit’s end, and had counted to ten so many times it was beginning to sound like a chant.
Bud got on Ben’s case big time. When the snarling started to get serious, I interfered, ‘Budwhacker’ in hand. I hollered at both of them to GO LIE DOWN! Ben immediately slipped off to the corner to flop onto the floor, and Beef, although not involved, did the same. The pit paid no attention at all. He didn’t even look at me. He went after Ben again. When I yelled a second time, he bounded away and up over the couch, then, in a flash, jumped back over it again, heading full pin for Beef this time. I’d had it!
“STOP! NOW!” I bellowed, and went after him, wielding the ‘Budwacker’ like an axe in the air. He turned towards me, stood his ground solidly, the bull-stance before the crouch. His lips went back over his teeth, and he began to growl…..a low rumbling that increased in volume in sheer seconds. Taken aback, I stopped, gaping at him. He was serious, and we both knew it. That dead stare met mine, the challenge heavy in the air. At that precise moment, it was do or die.
(To be cont’d)
Gotta go – the demons have done their trick, and the traffic will be slow this morning. Have a good day, y’all! Wear that SMILE, and if you get a chance to laugh your head off, don’t miss it!
Luv from the bush in Quebec
Sunday, February 21, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 17
In spite of this pesky cold, which seems to have taken residence in my body for ages now, I have slept well for the past three nights. Happy as a pig in mud, I am! Ask any insomniac how it feels to get a good, long sleep, and the answer will be the same. Glorious!! We don’t question it; we just thoroughly enjoy it when it happens.
I had a chance to stop in and see the bro, Bird, yesterday afternoon. Fran was there too, and we chatted for an hour or so. Bird was actually looking pretty good, in spite of his weight loss. Fran had attacked his ‘junk room’ (what a job that must have been!!), and his bedroom; now both places looked neat and tidy. That, alone, can make one feel better.
The guys fixed the water problem in no time at all yesterday, without cost involved, so that was a bonus. It did, however, put off the laundry duties until today. I also have some office work to catch up on, so will be heading to the city shortly. I don’t want to get back home too late, so will leave you with the next chapter of the Bud Saga, and be on my way.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - the referee stint
It was a Saturday morning when Bud’s cone was removed. The vet proclaimed his paw to be nicely healed, and we headed back to the house, Bud chained securely to the safety belt in the back seat of the car. The smell didn’t shock me this time. I was expecting it, so had prepared with blanket, a plastic sheet, and newspaper. I also had the ‘Budwhacker’ riding shotgun. I pulled over and the pit stayed out of the way while I cleaned up, stuffing everything in a plastic bag. He ignored my repeated “Bad dog!” until I accompanied one of them with a smack on the seat. He immediately lay down, pretending he would behave. Like that will fool me, you little Sh*t?
It was a beautiful day, spring tantalizing us with her subsequent arrival, and the dogs and I had been outside for two or more hours. I was using a spade to make drains for the melting snow, the labs were nosing around in the garden, and Bud was busy digging stones out of the ground.
I really don’t know what happened – I imagine that Ben picked up a stone that Bud was wanting. Suddenly they were fighting! Ben was a meaner opponent than the complacent Beef but, once again, the pit didn't back down. My yelling at them to stop fell on deaf ears. We were too far from the water pails, so I took the only option available. I started swinging at them with the shovel, keeping at arm’s length to avoid danger, and screaming their names to STOP!
They each took a couple of good whacks before breaking it off. Still hollering at the top of my lungs, I brandished the tool first at one, then at the other to make them back away and stay apart. I pointed to the house and Ben, the heat of the battle over, obediently limped in that direction. The pit just moved further down the garden, then sat to lick his wounds, shaking his head briskly every other minute.
Upset and trembling, I followed Ben inside and assessed his condition. He had a cut under his eye, and his leg was torn open just above his back left paw. I brushed the mud from his shoulder, checking to see if I’d damaged him with the shovel, but I couldn’t tell. I called the vet, put Ben in the car, then went to check Bud. He wouldn’t let me come near, but I finally coaxed him into the house. He had difficulty climbing the gallery stairs, though I could see nothing on his legs. His ear was torn and bleeding, but not profusely. After lapping up some water from the pail, he hopped up onto the couch and lay down, panting heavily. I didn’t want to risk taking them both in the car at the same time. It would be a relay visit, I decided, and Ben would go first.
How do you explain to a professional animal caregiver that you can’t keep your dogs from fighting? I sure in hell don’t know, so I bluffed it. A bone, I said….I think a dumb neighbour threw them a bone, and they got into it. I didn’t tell her I had stopped it with the shovel because, thankfully, she didn’t ask.
Ben’s leg needed stitches, the eye wound was superficial, and the x-ray showed nothing on his shoulder other than bruising. The worst damage was done to my friend’s running bill, which was starting to add up significantly. Maybe my babysitting services were going to cost him more than he’d bargained for!
When we got back, the pit was showing no further sign of injury, other than the slit in his ear, and that was not dangerous. Good, I don’t have to go back there! This time it was with Ben’s food I mixed the medication. I watched them both closely, but it was routine as usual. Neither of them showed a grudge…it was like nothing had ever happened.
The next day Bud wouldn’t get off the couch, even for food. He could hardly stand up. The vet did ‘emergency only’ on Sundays, so I doled out aspirins and waited until early Monday morning. Calling the office to warn them of my absence, I threw a blanket over the pit and, slightly apprehensive, picked him up to carry him to the car. He didn’t protest. In fact, his being so quiet is what freaked me out. This was not good.
After the examination, a young male vet gave me the prognosis. It was infection, and needed to be treated not only with medication in pill form, but also with an antibiotic ointment, which was to be rubbed on the wound.
“What wound?” I asked. I had checked Bud’s legs, but hadn’t found any. I can still see that young man’s face, his mouth working like he had an itchy nose but was too courteous to scratch.
“Uhm…here.” And he put his hand up between the pit’s back legs. I looked at him in stunned disbelief.
“You gotta be kidding!” I gasped. His mouth was working faster than ever. The bugger was trying to keep from laughing aloud!!
“He has been bit on the penis, and now it’s infected,” he said. “Uhm…you need to treat the wound with this ointment twice a day.”
I looked from him to the dog, then back again. I was aghast, and I’m sure the distaste showed on my face. The vet's expression turned serious.
“It has to be done. If not, the infection will progress, and it could severely damage the dog.” He lifted Bud off the stainless table, then turned to hand me the tube of ointment, not daring to look me in the face. I stared at him, but any comment running through my mind at that moment was kept to myself. I was far too polite to tell the young man where to go, and what to do when he got there.
I’ll gloss over this part of the story, except to say that I did stop at the pharmacy before leaving town and bought some rubber gloves. If it’s unpleasant, you bite the bullet and get it done. By the third day, all I had to do was tap the pit on his hind quarters with my finger and say “Bud, assume position!” He would quite willingly turn his back and stand quietly until the procedure was completed. And, I swear, that damned dog would turn and grin at me before walking away!
I received a rare phone call from my friend during the week. After listening to my complaints about the pit, midway through which he said “It seems you just love to hate Bud!”, he got a real kick when I told him about the treatment. I think I made his day. He was still laughing as he hung up the phone.
Spring had arrived. I bought and installed a doghouse, so most days I could leave Bud tied outside to a long chain while I was away. He didn’t like it much, but was able to move around, and with the warmer weather, the dogs and I spent more time outdoors in the evenings.
Although not best friends, and I still had the impression that Bud regarded me as his caretaker only, we managed to co-exist without too much fuss. He was reasonably obedient, but didn’t lose that ‘in-you-face’ attitude. I watched him carefully with the labs, and would step in with the ‘Budwhacker’ whenever the play got too intense. The last thing I wanted was another dogfight.
But the next attack would not be directed towards the labs. The pit still considered himself to be head dog, and I was the only member of the pack to constantly challenge his authority. His next target would be me.
(To be cont’d)
I don’t know what your weather is like right now, but the Demons are dancing here. Snow has been falling for a few hours now – just small flakes – but already the ground is covered with a fresh, new blanket. One can barely see my mountain through the haze. Winter is back, and I’m wondering if I should do the trek to the office or not. Even if the traffic is lighter, the road conditions will surely make everything slower. I’ll have to think on this one.
In the meantime, sending you wishes for a happy day, a big SMILE, and reminding you to spread it around. Catch you tomorrow!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
I had a chance to stop in and see the bro, Bird, yesterday afternoon. Fran was there too, and we chatted for an hour or so. Bird was actually looking pretty good, in spite of his weight loss. Fran had attacked his ‘junk room’ (what a job that must have been!!), and his bedroom; now both places looked neat and tidy. That, alone, can make one feel better.
The guys fixed the water problem in no time at all yesterday, without cost involved, so that was a bonus. It did, however, put off the laundry duties until today. I also have some office work to catch up on, so will be heading to the city shortly. I don’t want to get back home too late, so will leave you with the next chapter of the Bud Saga, and be on my way.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - the referee stint
It was a Saturday morning when Bud’s cone was removed. The vet proclaimed his paw to be nicely healed, and we headed back to the house, Bud chained securely to the safety belt in the back seat of the car. The smell didn’t shock me this time. I was expecting it, so had prepared with blanket, a plastic sheet, and newspaper. I also had the ‘Budwhacker’ riding shotgun. I pulled over and the pit stayed out of the way while I cleaned up, stuffing everything in a plastic bag. He ignored my repeated “Bad dog!” until I accompanied one of them with a smack on the seat. He immediately lay down, pretending he would behave. Like that will fool me, you little Sh*t?
It was a beautiful day, spring tantalizing us with her subsequent arrival, and the dogs and I had been outside for two or more hours. I was using a spade to make drains for the melting snow, the labs were nosing around in the garden, and Bud was busy digging stones out of the ground.
I really don’t know what happened – I imagine that Ben picked up a stone that Bud was wanting. Suddenly they were fighting! Ben was a meaner opponent than the complacent Beef but, once again, the pit didn't back down. My yelling at them to stop fell on deaf ears. We were too far from the water pails, so I took the only option available. I started swinging at them with the shovel, keeping at arm’s length to avoid danger, and screaming their names to STOP!
They each took a couple of good whacks before breaking it off. Still hollering at the top of my lungs, I brandished the tool first at one, then at the other to make them back away and stay apart. I pointed to the house and Ben, the heat of the battle over, obediently limped in that direction. The pit just moved further down the garden, then sat to lick his wounds, shaking his head briskly every other minute.
Upset and trembling, I followed Ben inside and assessed his condition. He had a cut under his eye, and his leg was torn open just above his back left paw. I brushed the mud from his shoulder, checking to see if I’d damaged him with the shovel, but I couldn’t tell. I called the vet, put Ben in the car, then went to check Bud. He wouldn’t let me come near, but I finally coaxed him into the house. He had difficulty climbing the gallery stairs, though I could see nothing on his legs. His ear was torn and bleeding, but not profusely. After lapping up some water from the pail, he hopped up onto the couch and lay down, panting heavily. I didn’t want to risk taking them both in the car at the same time. It would be a relay visit, I decided, and Ben would go first.
How do you explain to a professional animal caregiver that you can’t keep your dogs from fighting? I sure in hell don’t know, so I bluffed it. A bone, I said….I think a dumb neighbour threw them a bone, and they got into it. I didn’t tell her I had stopped it with the shovel because, thankfully, she didn’t ask.
Ben’s leg needed stitches, the eye wound was superficial, and the x-ray showed nothing on his shoulder other than bruising. The worst damage was done to my friend’s running bill, which was starting to add up significantly. Maybe my babysitting services were going to cost him more than he’d bargained for!
When we got back, the pit was showing no further sign of injury, other than the slit in his ear, and that was not dangerous. Good, I don’t have to go back there! This time it was with Ben’s food I mixed the medication. I watched them both closely, but it was routine as usual. Neither of them showed a grudge…it was like nothing had ever happened.
The next day Bud wouldn’t get off the couch, even for food. He could hardly stand up. The vet did ‘emergency only’ on Sundays, so I doled out aspirins and waited until early Monday morning. Calling the office to warn them of my absence, I threw a blanket over the pit and, slightly apprehensive, picked him up to carry him to the car. He didn’t protest. In fact, his being so quiet is what freaked me out. This was not good.
After the examination, a young male vet gave me the prognosis. It was infection, and needed to be treated not only with medication in pill form, but also with an antibiotic ointment, which was to be rubbed on the wound.
“What wound?” I asked. I had checked Bud’s legs, but hadn’t found any. I can still see that young man’s face, his mouth working like he had an itchy nose but was too courteous to scratch.
“Uhm…here.” And he put his hand up between the pit’s back legs. I looked at him in stunned disbelief.
“You gotta be kidding!” I gasped. His mouth was working faster than ever. The bugger was trying to keep from laughing aloud!!
“He has been bit on the penis, and now it’s infected,” he said. “Uhm…you need to treat the wound with this ointment twice a day.”
I looked from him to the dog, then back again. I was aghast, and I’m sure the distaste showed on my face. The vet's expression turned serious.
“It has to be done. If not, the infection will progress, and it could severely damage the dog.” He lifted Bud off the stainless table, then turned to hand me the tube of ointment, not daring to look me in the face. I stared at him, but any comment running through my mind at that moment was kept to myself. I was far too polite to tell the young man where to go, and what to do when he got there.
I’ll gloss over this part of the story, except to say that I did stop at the pharmacy before leaving town and bought some rubber gloves. If it’s unpleasant, you bite the bullet and get it done. By the third day, all I had to do was tap the pit on his hind quarters with my finger and say “Bud, assume position!” He would quite willingly turn his back and stand quietly until the procedure was completed. And, I swear, that damned dog would turn and grin at me before walking away!
I received a rare phone call from my friend during the week. After listening to my complaints about the pit, midway through which he said “It seems you just love to hate Bud!”, he got a real kick when I told him about the treatment. I think I made his day. He was still laughing as he hung up the phone.
Spring had arrived. I bought and installed a doghouse, so most days I could leave Bud tied outside to a long chain while I was away. He didn’t like it much, but was able to move around, and with the warmer weather, the dogs and I spent more time outdoors in the evenings.
Although not best friends, and I still had the impression that Bud regarded me as his caretaker only, we managed to co-exist without too much fuss. He was reasonably obedient, but didn’t lose that ‘in-you-face’ attitude. I watched him carefully with the labs, and would step in with the ‘Budwhacker’ whenever the play got too intense. The last thing I wanted was another dogfight.
But the next attack would not be directed towards the labs. The pit still considered himself to be head dog, and I was the only member of the pack to constantly challenge his authority. His next target would be me.
(To be cont’d)
I don’t know what your weather is like right now, but the Demons are dancing here. Snow has been falling for a few hours now – just small flakes – but already the ground is covered with a fresh, new blanket. One can barely see my mountain through the haze. Winter is back, and I’m wondering if I should do the trek to the office or not. Even if the traffic is lighter, the road conditions will surely make everything slower. I’ll have to think on this one.
In the meantime, sending you wishes for a happy day, a big SMILE, and reminding you to spread it around. Catch you tomorrow!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 16
I was right – the wood was 30$/cord MORE expensive than in the spring. Fortunately, I only need 3 cords to finish the winter. Even more fortunate is that the farmer who sold it to me was a gem – he and his wife came to deliver, exactly on time, and the wood is much better and the cut is varied; small starter pieces, burning pieces, and all-nighters for stoking. He is making me a good deal for the 20 cords I’ll buy at the beginning of spring too. Everything happens for a reason – if I had not run out before the end of winter, I’d have ordered from the former dude who sells for more per cord, with poorer quality.
I also got another little surprise, not so pleasant. My water pipes in the apartment downstairs sprung a leak. That had to be fixed immediately, no matter the cost, so Leo is here today with pieces and he & Heinz will attempt to do the job. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the bill won’t be too high. So the pay cheque was received on Thursday, and I just waved ‘bye-bye’ as it flew right by me. Ah, well – you can’t win ‘em all.
I have some groceries to pick up, and want to stop in to see how my brother is doing, so am leaving you with the next chapter of my Bud Saga.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - A new beginning.
I stared at the empty cage. It stood there, a blatant accusation, its emptiness the result of my incompetence. During the frantic drive to the bush, I’d rejected the nagging fear that I was too late. There was no denying it now.
Slowly I walked over and sank down onto the couch….Bud’s couch….the guilt overwhelming. My face was buried in my hands, and I think I was mumbling “I’m sorry” for the third time when I heard a noise. I looked up. I waited, holding my breath. Silence. Was my desperate mind playing tricks on me?
“Woof!” That sounded like Beef’s “Let-me-in, please” bark! I jumped off the couch and went quickly to the patio doors. Nothing. But I was sure I had heard…..
”Woof!” It came from behind me. I swung around. Of course! Helen always shut them in the basement. I ran to open that door, and the labs came swirling around me, their greeting more exuberant than usual. I knelt and hugged them gratefully, at the same time trying to peer past them to see below. I knew it even before my eyes confirmed it. The pit wasn’t there.
Not sure how long they had been shut in, I slid open the patio door, and both labs hurried outside. The phone rang. It was my son.
“For someone who promised to be careful, I see you got there in record time.” Then without the sarcasm, “I finally reached them on the cell phone. They’re on the way back from the vet’s now. They should be at the house in another fifteen minutes.”
I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. So it was over.
My son’s voice was worried when he spoke again. “You gonna be okay, mom? You sure you want to stay there?”
I took a deep breath. “Yeh, I guess….” I swallowed again. I had to ring off before he could notice my state. “Look, I need to check on the labs.” His reluctance was evident, but he told me to call if anything, then hung up.
Fifteen minutes, my son had said. Panic again. Before facing them, I needed some alone time. I grabbed the flashlight, opened the door and hurried out to join the labs. Beef and Ben would show no censure for the outcome of my selfish, scatterbrained actions, but would welcome my company, and that was exactly what I needed right then.
The light snow danced in the torch beam as we traced our regular path through the trees. If only we could turn off pain like we do a light, I grieved. And my misery is nowhere near to what my friend will feel when he hears what’s happened to his favourite dog. His ‘baby’.
My eyes were tearing, and after I stumbled the second time, I turned back. We stopped at the top of the hill, the one where the pit spent hours romping with his pieces of ice. As we stood there in silence, headlights swept through the trees above us. Helen and my comrade were back.
I stored the flashlight in my coat pocket, then sat down on the edge, my legs stretched straight out in front. “This one’s for you, little Sh*t,” I murmured, and shoved off with my hands. Down I flew on the seat of my pants, the tears flowing freely now, their path warm on my cold cheeks. I could hear the labs barking and ploughing their way down with me, and we all ended up in a heap at the bottom. I lay there for a moment, then pushed them away so that I could rise, trying to pull the light from my pocket. I had it in my hand, and had just managed to get to my feet when, WHAM! One of dogs hit the back of my knees so solidly that I rolled, head-over-teakettle, the flashlight flying into the great black yonder.
“Hey!” I yelled, and was not quite standing when BANG! Down I went again. I was covered in snow, and totally confused. I had never known the labs to play this rough! On my hands and knees, I lifted my head to look around carefully. That didn’t do much good…it was so dark, but I spotted something…I sensed the motion, and had already ducked before it nailed me. The hit wasn’t square on, so I was able to keep my balance.
“HEY!” I yelled again, scrambling to my feet. I heard laughing. I recognized my comrade’s voice. The flashlight beam came on, shining right into my eyes. I put my arm up as a shield, and, after a couple of seconds, he lowered it. He was still laughing as he asked, “You seem to be in one piece. Are you okay?”
“Besides feeling like a snowman, you mean?” I asked tightly. “And what was that all about? Why’d you knock me down?”
“Not guilty!” he said, still chuckling. “I guess the pit was giving you pay-back for his cage time. Plays pretty hard, doesn’t the little bugger? He heard the barking and came out of the car like a bullet, then disappeared over here. Next thing I know I see the flashlight go flying…with you right behind it!”
My heart leapt as I struggled to understand. Had I heard him right? “The pit? Bud, you mean?”
“Of course, Bud. Why?” When I didn’t answer, he directed the light onto my face again. I guess my eyes told him what I was feeling.
“Oh damn!” he swore softly.” When your son called, I should have told him Bud was with us. Without the cone, he had chewed all the bandage off his paw. We couldn’t get an appointment until late and even then we waited for a good while…” He stopped, then came to put his arm around my shoulders. Once again, the lump in my throat was keeping me silent. “Hey, sorry. You were thinking that we’d had him put down, weren’t you? I can imagine how upset you’ve been.” He tugged on me gently. “Let’s go in and get you warmed up.”
Later, sitting around the fire and sipping hot chocolate, the three of us planned how to improve the situation. Helen was happy I was staying on, more for her son’s sake than anything else, of course, but she insisted on her willingness to help however she could. It was decided that she would stop by and let the dogs out for a bit each day while I was at work. I would make arrangements with the office for shorter hours, so the dogs would get exercise in the evenings too. A tired pit is a happy pit. Adamant about no longer using the hateful cage, I asked my comrade to dismantle and take it with him.
Remembering the dog-lover lady’s suggestion, I rolled a newspaper up tightly, waited for Bud to make a move on one of the labs, then said his name, simultaneously striking the paper smartly on the table. It worked! Startled, he stopped, then slunk back to the couch, watching me from the corner of his eye. We toasted that small success, affectionately dubbing the flimsy discipline tool the “Budwhacker”.
When they left (the cage with them), I sat in the rocker, the labs by my feet, and the pit sleeping on the couch. I studied him, reflecting on the tumultuous events I had lived since Helen’s first call for help. I wasn’t kidding myself….the pit’s behaviour had not changed…but maybe with my new attitude, Helen’s help, and the ‘Budwhacker,’ we would have an easier time of it. I got up to prepare for bed. Bud, ever alert, lifted his head. Remembering my promise, I slowly put my hand out, let him sniff at it first, then rubbed the back of his neck just behind his newly installed cone. A similar touch would get an immediate tail-wag from the labs, but not the pit. He was still, then lowered his head between his paws when I removed my hand. A buzzing fly would get more reaction!
The next few weeks were relatively quiet, compared to what I’d already been through. The cone around Bud’s neck kept him from chewing anything, and he couldn’t really make his teasing of the labs count, although that didn’t stop him from trying. Helen letting them out to run around each day helped drain some of his excessive energy. The ‘Budwhacker’ was doing its job. Every time I needed to wield it to make him listen, he would cringe and move back to the couch. One night I forgot it on the rocker when I went to bed. The next morning, little pieces of newspaper covered the floor. Bud, his expression inscrutable, sat on the couch, his head high. He had destroyed his enemy. Smiling at his innocence, I picked up the Gazette and fashioned a successor, then slapped it down on the table to test it (well, okay…I admit I wanted to show the pit he had lost this round). Bud immediately lay down, his head between his paws, and his eyes averted.
Ah….victory was sweet! But short-lived.
(To be cont’d)
The sun is shining out there today, but if the Weather Network is right, we’re in for lots of snow this coming week. The Demons are back! Contrary to some, I like the little fellows, as long as they leave by the end of March. In the meantime, Canadian winters offer spectacular scenery out here in the bush. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
Have a nice weekend, friends. Mine hast been costly so far, but SMILES are free, so I’ll send you as many as you want!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
I also got another little surprise, not so pleasant. My water pipes in the apartment downstairs sprung a leak. That had to be fixed immediately, no matter the cost, so Leo is here today with pieces and he & Heinz will attempt to do the job. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the bill won’t be too high. So the pay cheque was received on Thursday, and I just waved ‘bye-bye’ as it flew right by me. Ah, well – you can’t win ‘em all.
I have some groceries to pick up, and want to stop in to see how my brother is doing, so am leaving you with the next chapter of my Bud Saga.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - A new beginning.
I stared at the empty cage. It stood there, a blatant accusation, its emptiness the result of my incompetence. During the frantic drive to the bush, I’d rejected the nagging fear that I was too late. There was no denying it now.
Slowly I walked over and sank down onto the couch….Bud’s couch….the guilt overwhelming. My face was buried in my hands, and I think I was mumbling “I’m sorry” for the third time when I heard a noise. I looked up. I waited, holding my breath. Silence. Was my desperate mind playing tricks on me?
“Woof!” That sounded like Beef’s “Let-me-in, please” bark! I jumped off the couch and went quickly to the patio doors. Nothing. But I was sure I had heard…..
”Woof!” It came from behind me. I swung around. Of course! Helen always shut them in the basement. I ran to open that door, and the labs came swirling around me, their greeting more exuberant than usual. I knelt and hugged them gratefully, at the same time trying to peer past them to see below. I knew it even before my eyes confirmed it. The pit wasn’t there.
Not sure how long they had been shut in, I slid open the patio door, and both labs hurried outside. The phone rang. It was my son.
“For someone who promised to be careful, I see you got there in record time.” Then without the sarcasm, “I finally reached them on the cell phone. They’re on the way back from the vet’s now. They should be at the house in another fifteen minutes.”
I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. So it was over.
My son’s voice was worried when he spoke again. “You gonna be okay, mom? You sure you want to stay there?”
I took a deep breath. “Yeh, I guess….” I swallowed again. I had to ring off before he could notice my state. “Look, I need to check on the labs.” His reluctance was evident, but he told me to call if anything, then hung up.
Fifteen minutes, my son had said. Panic again. Before facing them, I needed some alone time. I grabbed the flashlight, opened the door and hurried out to join the labs. Beef and Ben would show no censure for the outcome of my selfish, scatterbrained actions, but would welcome my company, and that was exactly what I needed right then.
The light snow danced in the torch beam as we traced our regular path through the trees. If only we could turn off pain like we do a light, I grieved. And my misery is nowhere near to what my friend will feel when he hears what’s happened to his favourite dog. His ‘baby’.
My eyes were tearing, and after I stumbled the second time, I turned back. We stopped at the top of the hill, the one where the pit spent hours romping with his pieces of ice. As we stood there in silence, headlights swept through the trees above us. Helen and my comrade were back.
I stored the flashlight in my coat pocket, then sat down on the edge, my legs stretched straight out in front. “This one’s for you, little Sh*t,” I murmured, and shoved off with my hands. Down I flew on the seat of my pants, the tears flowing freely now, their path warm on my cold cheeks. I could hear the labs barking and ploughing their way down with me, and we all ended up in a heap at the bottom. I lay there for a moment, then pushed them away so that I could rise, trying to pull the light from my pocket. I had it in my hand, and had just managed to get to my feet when, WHAM! One of dogs hit the back of my knees so solidly that I rolled, head-over-teakettle, the flashlight flying into the great black yonder.
“Hey!” I yelled, and was not quite standing when BANG! Down I went again. I was covered in snow, and totally confused. I had never known the labs to play this rough! On my hands and knees, I lifted my head to look around carefully. That didn’t do much good…it was so dark, but I spotted something…I sensed the motion, and had already ducked before it nailed me. The hit wasn’t square on, so I was able to keep my balance.
“HEY!” I yelled again, scrambling to my feet. I heard laughing. I recognized my comrade’s voice. The flashlight beam came on, shining right into my eyes. I put my arm up as a shield, and, after a couple of seconds, he lowered it. He was still laughing as he asked, “You seem to be in one piece. Are you okay?”
“Besides feeling like a snowman, you mean?” I asked tightly. “And what was that all about? Why’d you knock me down?”
“Not guilty!” he said, still chuckling. “I guess the pit was giving you pay-back for his cage time. Plays pretty hard, doesn’t the little bugger? He heard the barking and came out of the car like a bullet, then disappeared over here. Next thing I know I see the flashlight go flying…with you right behind it!”
My heart leapt as I struggled to understand. Had I heard him right? “The pit? Bud, you mean?”
“Of course, Bud. Why?” When I didn’t answer, he directed the light onto my face again. I guess my eyes told him what I was feeling.
“Oh damn!” he swore softly.” When your son called, I should have told him Bud was with us. Without the cone, he had chewed all the bandage off his paw. We couldn’t get an appointment until late and even then we waited for a good while…” He stopped, then came to put his arm around my shoulders. Once again, the lump in my throat was keeping me silent. “Hey, sorry. You were thinking that we’d had him put down, weren’t you? I can imagine how upset you’ve been.” He tugged on me gently. “Let’s go in and get you warmed up.”
Later, sitting around the fire and sipping hot chocolate, the three of us planned how to improve the situation. Helen was happy I was staying on, more for her son’s sake than anything else, of course, but she insisted on her willingness to help however she could. It was decided that she would stop by and let the dogs out for a bit each day while I was at work. I would make arrangements with the office for shorter hours, so the dogs would get exercise in the evenings too. A tired pit is a happy pit. Adamant about no longer using the hateful cage, I asked my comrade to dismantle and take it with him.
Remembering the dog-lover lady’s suggestion, I rolled a newspaper up tightly, waited for Bud to make a move on one of the labs, then said his name, simultaneously striking the paper smartly on the table. It worked! Startled, he stopped, then slunk back to the couch, watching me from the corner of his eye. We toasted that small success, affectionately dubbing the flimsy discipline tool the “Budwhacker”.
When they left (the cage with them), I sat in the rocker, the labs by my feet, and the pit sleeping on the couch. I studied him, reflecting on the tumultuous events I had lived since Helen’s first call for help. I wasn’t kidding myself….the pit’s behaviour had not changed…but maybe with my new attitude, Helen’s help, and the ‘Budwhacker,’ we would have an easier time of it. I got up to prepare for bed. Bud, ever alert, lifted his head. Remembering my promise, I slowly put my hand out, let him sniff at it first, then rubbed the back of his neck just behind his newly installed cone. A similar touch would get an immediate tail-wag from the labs, but not the pit. He was still, then lowered his head between his paws when I removed my hand. A buzzing fly would get more reaction!
The next few weeks were relatively quiet, compared to what I’d already been through. The cone around Bud’s neck kept him from chewing anything, and he couldn’t really make his teasing of the labs count, although that didn’t stop him from trying. Helen letting them out to run around each day helped drain some of his excessive energy. The ‘Budwhacker’ was doing its job. Every time I needed to wield it to make him listen, he would cringe and move back to the couch. One night I forgot it on the rocker when I went to bed. The next morning, little pieces of newspaper covered the floor. Bud, his expression inscrutable, sat on the couch, his head high. He had destroyed his enemy. Smiling at his innocence, I picked up the Gazette and fashioned a successor, then slapped it down on the table to test it (well, okay…I admit I wanted to show the pit he had lost this round). Bud immediately lay down, his head between his paws, and his eyes averted.
Ah….victory was sweet! But short-lived.
(To be cont’d)
The sun is shining out there today, but if the Weather Network is right, we’re in for lots of snow this coming week. The Demons are back! Contrary to some, I like the little fellows, as long as they leave by the end of March. In the meantime, Canadian winters offer spectacular scenery out here in the bush. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
Have a nice weekend, friends. Mine hast been costly so far, but SMILES are free, so I’ll send you as many as you want!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
Friday, February 19, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 15
I’ve used up my last cord of wood, so will need to find more somewhere this weekend. Sitting by the fire at the end of a hectic day is one reason I enjoy winter. Maybe the biggest reason, and even though I know it is going to be more expensive at this time of year, I’ll have to bite the bullet and pull out my wallet. I’ll wait to look at my municipal tax bill (received by mail yesterday) until the wood is safely stacked in the garage. I don’t want to spend the weekend in complete depression, LOL. I know the taxes will be much higher. The Municipality forces you to complete the renovations to the outside of your dwelling - renovations you pay for, of course – then immediately re-evaluates your house so that you pay more in taxes too. Mind you, there are no services added for the hike in evaluation! Eh bien – at least I have a house to live in. Some are sleeping out in the cold, so I’ll stop complaining.
I had the pleasure of chatting by phone with Kilroy yesterday – it had been a long time! It was nice to hear his voice again. He’s been swayed by the beautiful February weather and was musing about going for a bike ride. I have a feeling the Demons will have the last word there. Not yet, my friend…not yet!
The business awaits, so here is the next chapter of the Bud Saga, and I’m off to work MANY hours so that I can pay for both the wood and the taxes…UGH!
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The move
The weather was sunny and not too cold, so we spent most of the afternoon outdoors. Bud raced up and down the hill a few times, but was less energetic than usual, and I could tell his paw was hurting. By the time we came back into the house, his limp was worse. I fed them, taking care to add the medication to Bud’s bowl, and was relieved to see him crawl up onto the couch immediately after eating. There would be no annoyance tonight.
With the fire burning warmly, the dogs slumbering quietly, and the view of the full moon’s light on the snow covered mountains and trees, I reflected once again on the calm beauty of the place. A person could get really attached to this kind of life. Without the pit.
It was curiosity that led me to the laptop in the little office off the hall. I switched it on, followed the procedure for dial-up internet, and did a search for
pit-bull clubs. I began to read.
An hour later I sat back, perturbed. It was obvious these owners were passionate about the breed. Repeatedly proclaimed were the words courageous, gentleness with loved ones, excellent family companion, with a natural love for people…. it was a whole different perspective on pit-bulls. They couldn’t all be wrong. They LIVED with these dogs. I leaned forward again. The only descriptions there that could be applied to Bud were the “can-do” attitude and the strength. That he did have! And maybe protection, if this morning’s episode with that Mike dude was any indication. The sentence that struck me most was the warning that pits were not a dog for everyone, that socialization and obedience training were a must. So that was why my friend said I was spoiling his dog! Well, what in hell was I supposed to do? I hardly dared approach the pit, let alone try to discipline him.
There was a white board, so I left a message “Help! I’m babysitting a young pit-bull and he’s driving me crazy. Any advice would be appreciated.” I signed off and prepared for bed. I fell to sleep on the phrase that stuck in my mind - ‘pits are not a dog for everyone’. It was the only thing I had read with which I was in total agreement. Give me a loving lab any day!
The next morning started off badly. The hydro had gone off sometime during the night, so the alarm clock didn’t ring, and I got up late. The water pump, powered by electricity, was not working, which meant no shower and no coffee. The clothes I had put in the machine to dry overnight were still damp, but I had brought a limited wardrobe for my two week stay, so I was forced to endure the uncomfortable feeling of clammy wool pants and sweater. Not to mention having to wear snowmobile boots to complete my outfit, the pit having destroyed my dress boots the day before.
To top it off, Bud refused to go into the cage. No amount of coaxing or Cheeto’s would make him budge. Finally, exasperated beyond belief, I grabbed a leftover pork chop (it was to be my lunch) and that he did follow into his jail. When he heard the latch behind him, he whirled back around but, probably from experience, seemed to know there was no way he was getting out of there now. He gazed up at me, his tail down and the meat ignored. He started to bark as I left – short, single yelps. I hesitated, then swallowed hard, but kept walking. As I drove to work, I realized that I hadn’t shown him any thanks for the intruder incident. But, I reasoned ....he did eat my three hundred dollar boots, so we were even.
I was the employee to unlock and open the office most days so could have changed into shoes before anyone arrived. Having to walk in late, decked out in the huge snow boots, was just keeping in synch with the way the morning was going. It didn’t stop there. One problem after another kept popping up, so my mood got progressively worse. When the dog-lover lady dropped by to see me, I didn’t dare tell her that I had given up on the pit. I knew it would lead to words. She laughed about the boot chewing, saying everyone who owned a puppy had lost a couple of shoes the same way.
“He’s NOT a puppy,” I grumbled. “The vet told me he was at least a year old, if not 15 months.” She came back with the ‘pits maturing later than most’ thing, which I didn’t care to hear at all. Just before leaving she asked me if I’d tried a rolled up newspaper.
“It doesn’t hurt them, and the noise alone will often make a dog listen,” she added. “Try it out. It just might work.”
When she left, I sat back in my chair. I needed to go home. Like a tired and wounded child, it was the only place I wanted to be. Because I rarely missed a day, I felt no pangs at telling my employer that I wasn’t feeling well, I would be absent for a day or two.
My son and his buddies were surprised but delighted to see me when they came into the apartment that evening. We sat around the table, eating the Chicken-a-la-King I had prepared as a ‘Welcome me back’ meal, and I entertained them with the ‘Bud’ stories. The others agreed that I was better out of the ordeal, but my son, who knows me well, looked at me carefully.
“Whatever,” was his only comment.
When they went to watch TV, I found myself logging onto the Pit-bull Club site. Wow! The members had bombarded my plea with advice, comments and even some scolding. There were two comments that stood out. The first: “You must realize this is not a lassie breed you are dealing with”. You’re kidding! Tell me something I don’t know! and the second: “He must be shown you are the master. Be kind but be firm. It’s YOUR attitude that has to change!” What? But he’s only a dog! He should be adapting…not me! Insulted, I switched off the computer and decided to make it an early night. I would be sleeping in my own bed. This was going to be heaven!
But it wasn’t. When darkness falls, the bogeyman comes out. First of all, my bed was way less comfortable than the one at the house in the bush - and the city noises were suddenly intrusive. Worse, no matter how I endeavoured to change my thoughts, the image of Bud in the cage, especially his yelps (he had never done that before) would not stop haunting me. Maybe it was me who needed to change my attitude after all. He was just a dog…I was the one with the brain here. Or was I?
After tossing and turning for an hour, I got out of bed. I’d phone Helen and tell her I’d give it another week or two. I’d arm myself with rolled newspapers, and I’d try petting him now and then. He had protected me, after all, and the money left for food would easily purchase new boots. Hey, he had treated them as a meal, hadn’t he?
There was no answer when I phoned her residence. I tried again. Maybe I had dialled wrong. Still no-one picked up. That was weird – she was always at home. Then I called the house, and could picture the dogs sitting alone, looking at the ringing phone hopefully. No answer there either. Okay, my comrade’s cellular. He would know what was going on. When I got his voice mail, I left a message, but now I started to panic. I had told him that I wasn’t going back; to tell Helen it was up to her. It was a statement made in the heat of the moment…maybe he took me seriously. Helen had said she needed a couple of days to prepare for the labs, but she wasn’t the type to waste time. Had she decided on immediate action? If so, the labs would already be tied in her garage, and Bud…Oh no!
Frantically I dialled her number again. After ten rings, I threw down the phone and raced to my room to dress as quickly as I could. Grabbing just the necessities and my car keys, I shrugged on my coat and headed for the door. My son met me there.
“I knew it,” he said. He was thinking away ahead of me. “Leave me the phone numbers. I’ll keep trying to reach them while you drive up. And don’t drive like a fool! You can’t help anybody if you have an accident!”
I nodded my assent. But I lied. I did drive like a fool and, in spite of snowy roads, made it to the bush in forty-five minutes. It was dark and silent, much the same as when I had arrived that first night.
I was praying when I unlocked the door, but no dogs rushed to greet me. I flicked on the light and turned to look at the cage. My heart sank. It was empty.
(To be cont’d)
That’s it for today, folks. Have a good one; don’t forget to spread that SMILE around!!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
I had the pleasure of chatting by phone with Kilroy yesterday – it had been a long time! It was nice to hear his voice again. He’s been swayed by the beautiful February weather and was musing about going for a bike ride. I have a feeling the Demons will have the last word there. Not yet, my friend…not yet!
The business awaits, so here is the next chapter of the Bud Saga, and I’m off to work MANY hours so that I can pay for both the wood and the taxes…UGH!
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The move
The weather was sunny and not too cold, so we spent most of the afternoon outdoors. Bud raced up and down the hill a few times, but was less energetic than usual, and I could tell his paw was hurting. By the time we came back into the house, his limp was worse. I fed them, taking care to add the medication to Bud’s bowl, and was relieved to see him crawl up onto the couch immediately after eating. There would be no annoyance tonight.
With the fire burning warmly, the dogs slumbering quietly, and the view of the full moon’s light on the snow covered mountains and trees, I reflected once again on the calm beauty of the place. A person could get really attached to this kind of life. Without the pit.
It was curiosity that led me to the laptop in the little office off the hall. I switched it on, followed the procedure for dial-up internet, and did a search for
pit-bull clubs. I began to read.
An hour later I sat back, perturbed. It was obvious these owners were passionate about the breed. Repeatedly proclaimed were the words courageous, gentleness with loved ones, excellent family companion, with a natural love for people…. it was a whole different perspective on pit-bulls. They couldn’t all be wrong. They LIVED with these dogs. I leaned forward again. The only descriptions there that could be applied to Bud were the “can-do” attitude and the strength. That he did have! And maybe protection, if this morning’s episode with that Mike dude was any indication. The sentence that struck me most was the warning that pits were not a dog for everyone, that socialization and obedience training were a must. So that was why my friend said I was spoiling his dog! Well, what in hell was I supposed to do? I hardly dared approach the pit, let alone try to discipline him.
There was a white board, so I left a message “Help! I’m babysitting a young pit-bull and he’s driving me crazy. Any advice would be appreciated.” I signed off and prepared for bed. I fell to sleep on the phrase that stuck in my mind - ‘pits are not a dog for everyone’. It was the only thing I had read with which I was in total agreement. Give me a loving lab any day!
The next morning started off badly. The hydro had gone off sometime during the night, so the alarm clock didn’t ring, and I got up late. The water pump, powered by electricity, was not working, which meant no shower and no coffee. The clothes I had put in the machine to dry overnight were still damp, but I had brought a limited wardrobe for my two week stay, so I was forced to endure the uncomfortable feeling of clammy wool pants and sweater. Not to mention having to wear snowmobile boots to complete my outfit, the pit having destroyed my dress boots the day before.
To top it off, Bud refused to go into the cage. No amount of coaxing or Cheeto’s would make him budge. Finally, exasperated beyond belief, I grabbed a leftover pork chop (it was to be my lunch) and that he did follow into his jail. When he heard the latch behind him, he whirled back around but, probably from experience, seemed to know there was no way he was getting out of there now. He gazed up at me, his tail down and the meat ignored. He started to bark as I left – short, single yelps. I hesitated, then swallowed hard, but kept walking. As I drove to work, I realized that I hadn’t shown him any thanks for the intruder incident. But, I reasoned ....he did eat my three hundred dollar boots, so we were even.
I was the employee to unlock and open the office most days so could have changed into shoes before anyone arrived. Having to walk in late, decked out in the huge snow boots, was just keeping in synch with the way the morning was going. It didn’t stop there. One problem after another kept popping up, so my mood got progressively worse. When the dog-lover lady dropped by to see me, I didn’t dare tell her that I had given up on the pit. I knew it would lead to words. She laughed about the boot chewing, saying everyone who owned a puppy had lost a couple of shoes the same way.
“He’s NOT a puppy,” I grumbled. “The vet told me he was at least a year old, if not 15 months.” She came back with the ‘pits maturing later than most’ thing, which I didn’t care to hear at all. Just before leaving she asked me if I’d tried a rolled up newspaper.
“It doesn’t hurt them, and the noise alone will often make a dog listen,” she added. “Try it out. It just might work.”
When she left, I sat back in my chair. I needed to go home. Like a tired and wounded child, it was the only place I wanted to be. Because I rarely missed a day, I felt no pangs at telling my employer that I wasn’t feeling well, I would be absent for a day or two.
My son and his buddies were surprised but delighted to see me when they came into the apartment that evening. We sat around the table, eating the Chicken-a-la-King I had prepared as a ‘Welcome me back’ meal, and I entertained them with the ‘Bud’ stories. The others agreed that I was better out of the ordeal, but my son, who knows me well, looked at me carefully.
“Whatever,” was his only comment.
When they went to watch TV, I found myself logging onto the Pit-bull Club site. Wow! The members had bombarded my plea with advice, comments and even some scolding. There were two comments that stood out. The first: “You must realize this is not a lassie breed you are dealing with”. You’re kidding! Tell me something I don’t know! and the second: “He must be shown you are the master. Be kind but be firm. It’s YOUR attitude that has to change!” What? But he’s only a dog! He should be adapting…not me! Insulted, I switched off the computer and decided to make it an early night. I would be sleeping in my own bed. This was going to be heaven!
But it wasn’t. When darkness falls, the bogeyman comes out. First of all, my bed was way less comfortable than the one at the house in the bush - and the city noises were suddenly intrusive. Worse, no matter how I endeavoured to change my thoughts, the image of Bud in the cage, especially his yelps (he had never done that before) would not stop haunting me. Maybe it was me who needed to change my attitude after all. He was just a dog…I was the one with the brain here. Or was I?
After tossing and turning for an hour, I got out of bed. I’d phone Helen and tell her I’d give it another week or two. I’d arm myself with rolled newspapers, and I’d try petting him now and then. He had protected me, after all, and the money left for food would easily purchase new boots. Hey, he had treated them as a meal, hadn’t he?
There was no answer when I phoned her residence. I tried again. Maybe I had dialled wrong. Still no-one picked up. That was weird – she was always at home. Then I called the house, and could picture the dogs sitting alone, looking at the ringing phone hopefully. No answer there either. Okay, my comrade’s cellular. He would know what was going on. When I got his voice mail, I left a message, but now I started to panic. I had told him that I wasn’t going back; to tell Helen it was up to her. It was a statement made in the heat of the moment…maybe he took me seriously. Helen had said she needed a couple of days to prepare for the labs, but she wasn’t the type to waste time. Had she decided on immediate action? If so, the labs would already be tied in her garage, and Bud…Oh no!
Frantically I dialled her number again. After ten rings, I threw down the phone and raced to my room to dress as quickly as I could. Grabbing just the necessities and my car keys, I shrugged on my coat and headed for the door. My son met me there.
“I knew it,” he said. He was thinking away ahead of me. “Leave me the phone numbers. I’ll keep trying to reach them while you drive up. And don’t drive like a fool! You can’t help anybody if you have an accident!”
I nodded my assent. But I lied. I did drive like a fool and, in spite of snowy roads, made it to the bush in forty-five minutes. It was dark and silent, much the same as when I had arrived that first night.
I was praying when I unlocked the door, but no dogs rushed to greet me. I flicked on the light and turned to look at the cage. My heart sank. It was empty.
(To be cont’d)
That’s it for today, folks. Have a good one; don’t forget to spread that SMILE around!!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 14
Weird things are happening in Blogspot.com. I have not been able to comment on Kilroy’s blog from my home computer for the past few days, so decided to try it from the office. The comment was accepted, but it went to Kilroy’s daughter-in-law in Vancouver, and I didn’t even have her e-mail address!!! A copy showed up in my Outlook Express too. Bizarre for sure. I’ll have to get my computer doc on the problem. It’s no longer just a frustration – it’s a puzzle, and I’m way too curious to let that go!
It’s a rock N roll week at the office, and I expect it will only get worse right up until the end of April. The days are flying by. We’ve been changing duties around some too – and, as usual, you can’t please everyone, so there is slight tension in the air. Some people have difficulty adapting to change, but it can’t be helped. Besides, learning to adapt is character enhancing, so the process is actually a favour in disguise. I’ll wait until it’s over to say that out loud though. With feelings the way they are right now, I am very sure the comment would not be appreciated, LOL.
Here’s the next chapter of my Bud Saga:
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The End?
The phone rang three times before I could dredge up enough courage to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hey there! Wanted to see how you’re doing, and how the pit is recuperating from his battle wounds.” Relief made me faint. It was my comrade who had helped with the dogfight and the cage. But the ID had said ‘Private’?
“Are you on your cell phone?” I asked, my voice still breathless.
“Yeh. Why do you ask?” his voice curious.
“The ID said it was a private caller. I thought it was our friend.” No doubt my voice was trembling.
“ Hey, yeh. I met Helen last night, She told me about his not being able to get back for awhile. Bummer…for both of you. How are you holding up? The pit quieted down any?” His voice was loaded with sympathy, and that was my undoing. The tears started, and try as I might, I couldn’t hold them back. Between gulping and nose blowing, I laid it all on him…the vet’s insinuation of my incompetence, the pit’s mess in my car, Helen calling and the way she had delivered her message, “she was so rude!”, my beer binge and consequential headache, “it must have been the tequila”, then finally the intruder episode and Bud’s reaction. He listened through the whole spiel, now and then making the appropriate comforting noises, until I mentioned the morning event.
“It was Mike, you say?” he asked.
“Yes, and I don’t like that guy much.” I told him the reason Mike had given me for his visit. There was a moment of silence.
“Well, maybe you should be thanking the pit then,” my comrade said thoughtfully. “Mike came into the restaurant just when Helen and I were finishing our conversation last night. There’s no way he could NOT have heard her tell me that our friend wouldn’t be back for at least six months. He knew you were alone there.” Then he chuckled. “But he did arrive too late to hear the horror stories about the pit…guess he didn’t get the welcome he was expecting. I don’t think he’ll bother you again, but I’ll have a word with him just the same.”
Great, so now I have a stalker to contend with too! To hell with this quiet country life. I wanted to get back to my big city where at least you knew the dangers
He was still talking, this time about Helen. “She’s a nice lady. Gotta admit she doesn’t sugar-coat anything before spitting it out. Sometimes it seems rude, but she doesn’t mean it like that. It’s just her German way of saying things, and her accent makes it sound worse. She does have a good heart though, and will help you if you want. She wasn’t calling or going around there ‘cause you didn’t ask, and she wouldn’t want you to think she was checking up on you.” Mmm...okay...if you say so.
His next words were a boon! “Listen, why don’t you stay in the city a couple of days? I’ll go with Helen and look in on the dogs…feed ‘em and let them out. We both think you could use a break, and I’m only leaving on Wednesday. The pit doesn’t know me that well, but if I’m with Helen he should be okay.” I was agreeing before he finished the sentence. Yes, yes and YES!
His tone more serious, he added, “If you decide to stay in the city, I’ll help Helen to close up the house before I leave.” The unspoken words were there... ‘and take care of the dogs…one of them forever’. I turned to look at Bud…but where was he? I’d been concentrating on the conversation, and hadn’t noticed how quiet it was in the house. The labs were lying in their usual spots, but the pit was nowhere to be seen. Asking my comrade to hold on, I put down the phone and went to investigate. I found him upstairs, surrounded by shreds of leather which had once been my expensive winter boots!
“YOU LITTLE SH*T!!” I was livid. He lifted his head, looked at me, then sat waiting, half of the second boot still hanging from his mouth. I grabbed a pillow off the bed and shot it at him. He darted out of aim, then made a beeline for the steps. He stood behind the couch, watching, as I clumped down after him. I was still sputtering obscenities when I walked over to pick up the phone….and saw his neck cone half under the kitchen table. Oh no! With all the commotion yesterday, I had forgotten to put it back on him, and now its condition was pretty much the same as my boots…in pieces. I snatched up the receiver.
“ARRG!” My frustration took over. “I don’t know if I can last until tomorrow morning with that little Sh*t!” I exclaimed. My comrade listened as I vented, letting me wind down. All the while I was glaring at Bud. He, of course, paid no attention, and was already starting to tease the labs who, in turn, were beginning the growl and snap routine.
“I have to get them outside before they all drive me crazy,” I said into the phone
“Okay. But, hey, an idea. There are Pit-bull Club sites on the internet. Maybe you could check them out. Those people know the breed well. They might be able to help you, tell you what to expect…”
I cut him off abruptly. “Never mind! I’m not going to need it! I’m SO outta here! Tell Helen they’re all hers. I’m going to the city tomorrow morning and not coming back. Thanks anyway for your help.” He wisely withdrew, told me he would catch me later, and we rang off.
The dogs were getting noisier, so I put them outside, making sure to tie Bud to the gallery chain. I needed coffee before going to join them, and more aspirin. Damn this headache. And damn that dog! And damn this whole situation!
(To be cont’d)
The sun is out there – another beautiful day. February has spoiled us with such nice weather…and with two gold medals (and more on the way, I am sure) for our Canadian athletes. Ah, life is good!
Sending you my biggest SMILE, and wishing you a terrific day!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
It’s a rock N roll week at the office, and I expect it will only get worse right up until the end of April. The days are flying by. We’ve been changing duties around some too – and, as usual, you can’t please everyone, so there is slight tension in the air. Some people have difficulty adapting to change, but it can’t be helped. Besides, learning to adapt is character enhancing, so the process is actually a favour in disguise. I’ll wait until it’s over to say that out loud though. With feelings the way they are right now, I am very sure the comment would not be appreciated, LOL.
Here’s the next chapter of my Bud Saga:
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The End?
The phone rang three times before I could dredge up enough courage to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hey there! Wanted to see how you’re doing, and how the pit is recuperating from his battle wounds.” Relief made me faint. It was my comrade who had helped with the dogfight and the cage. But the ID had said ‘Private’?
“Are you on your cell phone?” I asked, my voice still breathless.
“Yeh. Why do you ask?” his voice curious.
“The ID said it was a private caller. I thought it was our friend.” No doubt my voice was trembling.
“ Hey, yeh. I met Helen last night, She told me about his not being able to get back for awhile. Bummer…for both of you. How are you holding up? The pit quieted down any?” His voice was loaded with sympathy, and that was my undoing. The tears started, and try as I might, I couldn’t hold them back. Between gulping and nose blowing, I laid it all on him…the vet’s insinuation of my incompetence, the pit’s mess in my car, Helen calling and the way she had delivered her message, “she was so rude!”, my beer binge and consequential headache, “it must have been the tequila”, then finally the intruder episode and Bud’s reaction. He listened through the whole spiel, now and then making the appropriate comforting noises, until I mentioned the morning event.
“It was Mike, you say?” he asked.
“Yes, and I don’t like that guy much.” I told him the reason Mike had given me for his visit. There was a moment of silence.
“Well, maybe you should be thanking the pit then,” my comrade said thoughtfully. “Mike came into the restaurant just when Helen and I were finishing our conversation last night. There’s no way he could NOT have heard her tell me that our friend wouldn’t be back for at least six months. He knew you were alone there.” Then he chuckled. “But he did arrive too late to hear the horror stories about the pit…guess he didn’t get the welcome he was expecting. I don’t think he’ll bother you again, but I’ll have a word with him just the same.”
Great, so now I have a stalker to contend with too! To hell with this quiet country life. I wanted to get back to my big city where at least you knew the dangers
He was still talking, this time about Helen. “She’s a nice lady. Gotta admit she doesn’t sugar-coat anything before spitting it out. Sometimes it seems rude, but she doesn’t mean it like that. It’s just her German way of saying things, and her accent makes it sound worse. She does have a good heart though, and will help you if you want. She wasn’t calling or going around there ‘cause you didn’t ask, and she wouldn’t want you to think she was checking up on you.” Mmm...okay...if you say so.
His next words were a boon! “Listen, why don’t you stay in the city a couple of days? I’ll go with Helen and look in on the dogs…feed ‘em and let them out. We both think you could use a break, and I’m only leaving on Wednesday. The pit doesn’t know me that well, but if I’m with Helen he should be okay.” I was agreeing before he finished the sentence. Yes, yes and YES!
His tone more serious, he added, “If you decide to stay in the city, I’ll help Helen to close up the house before I leave.” The unspoken words were there... ‘and take care of the dogs…one of them forever’. I turned to look at Bud…but where was he? I’d been concentrating on the conversation, and hadn’t noticed how quiet it was in the house. The labs were lying in their usual spots, but the pit was nowhere to be seen. Asking my comrade to hold on, I put down the phone and went to investigate. I found him upstairs, surrounded by shreds of leather which had once been my expensive winter boots!
“YOU LITTLE SH*T!!” I was livid. He lifted his head, looked at me, then sat waiting, half of the second boot still hanging from his mouth. I grabbed a pillow off the bed and shot it at him. He darted out of aim, then made a beeline for the steps. He stood behind the couch, watching, as I clumped down after him. I was still sputtering obscenities when I walked over to pick up the phone….and saw his neck cone half under the kitchen table. Oh no! With all the commotion yesterday, I had forgotten to put it back on him, and now its condition was pretty much the same as my boots…in pieces. I snatched up the receiver.
“ARRG!” My frustration took over. “I don’t know if I can last until tomorrow morning with that little Sh*t!” I exclaimed. My comrade listened as I vented, letting me wind down. All the while I was glaring at Bud. He, of course, paid no attention, and was already starting to tease the labs who, in turn, were beginning the growl and snap routine.
“I have to get them outside before they all drive me crazy,” I said into the phone
“Okay. But, hey, an idea. There are Pit-bull Club sites on the internet. Maybe you could check them out. Those people know the breed well. They might be able to help you, tell you what to expect…”
I cut him off abruptly. “Never mind! I’m not going to need it! I’m SO outta here! Tell Helen they’re all hers. I’m going to the city tomorrow morning and not coming back. Thanks anyway for your help.” He wisely withdrew, told me he would catch me later, and we rang off.
The dogs were getting noisier, so I put them outside, making sure to tie Bud to the gallery chain. I needed coffee before going to join them, and more aspirin. Damn this headache. And damn that dog! And damn this whole situation!
(To be cont’d)
The sun is out there – another beautiful day. February has spoiled us with such nice weather…and with two gold medals (and more on the way, I am sure) for our Canadian athletes. Ah, life is good!
Sending you my biggest SMILE, and wishing you a terrific day!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 13
The doc gave me a little pamphlet which is telling me that women over 50 should be taking 800 UI of Vitamin D per day. I decided to check on label of the One-a-day vitamins I have here, and they only have 200. I guess the rest is supposed to be made up from the sun. That may work; if every week is like the one we just had; if your job can be done outside; if you live in the Caribbean.
My daughter sells vitamins from Usana. I have some of those too, and their Vitamin D content is 500 – much closer to the required daily amount. I will still need supplements, or move to one of those sunny islands…LOL!
Sorry about not blogging yesterday – time was short. It seems whenever I sit down at the computer, an hour or so flies by in the blink of an eye. I’m still pedaling this morning, so will post my next chapter of Bud’s story now and get moving.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – Part 13
The dogs were barking wildly, and a voice was screaming over their noise. “Get back, get back!!”
My heart was in my throat as I leapt out of bed, tripped on the sheets, regained my balance and staggered for the stairs. Halfway down I stopped, then stood hanging onto the railing, trying to make sense of the scene below. The door was open, and a tall man was partially hidden between it and the wall, using the door as a shield. His eyes were fixed on the pit, who was square in front of him with that bull-like stance, teeth bared and his growling snarls so vicious that there could be no doubt as to his intentions. Ben and Beef were right behind Bud, following his lead, also barking and snarling, advancing then backing up, then advancing again.
The man spotted me. “Get him off me! It’s me, Mike! Get that damned thing off me!” My hung-over brain was not operating at full wattage yet. Mike who?
Seeing my confusion, he yelled at me again, his voice pleading now. “Your Friend’s Mike!” he said. “Get the damned pit away from me!”
ME get the pit away?? I was just as frightened of the dog as he was! The pitch of snarling increased a scale. Bud was beginning to crouch, his bandaged leg forgotten. I woke up.
“BUD!” He paid me no heed. I tried again “BUD! SIT!” He didn’t even look at me, but neither did he jump the guy. Not yet. Something had to be done. Immediately.
“Don’t move,” I cautioned the man. Step by step I descended the stairs. The pit threw me a glance, but remained focused on the intruder. ”Bud! Sit, Bud!” He wasn’t letting up. Still saying his name, I stretched my hand behind his head, aiming for the choker. He darted out of my reach, his snarling more intense still.
“BUD! ENOUGH!” I said it with as much authority as I could muster. In the second he hesitated, I managed to grab the choker and hang on, praying that he wouldn’t turn on me. He didn’t, but he was straining ahead so strongly that I knew I couldn’t hold him for long.
“Get out! Get out now!” I hollered. Hugging the wall, never taking his eyes off the dog, the man slipped around and through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Bud lunged, and pain snaked up my arm as some skin from my fingers went with him. I had to use both hands to pull him away from the door, talking to him constantly, my tone as appeasing and calm as a trembling voice can be, trying to settle him down. When he saw the labs run to look through the window, he moved to follow, so I was able to get outside myself. The ‘Mike’ had a foot in his car, but stopped when he saw me.
“What were you doing here?” I was furious. I remembered this dude now. He was a casual acquaintance of my friend, and I had found him arrogant the both times I had met him. I didn’t like him very much then, and even less now. He was honest enough to admit that he had walked into the house without knocking, thinking to surprise my friend for morning coffee, he said.
“I’ll tell him you dropped by. If you ever come back, you’d better knock before coming in. Pits don’t like surprises.” I watched him peel out of the yard before I returned inside.
Bud was still in the window, watching and waiting. I looked at him. Was he to be praised or berated? Or just feared? I’ll put that thought on hold. Right then my thirst was overpowering, my head throbbing, and every part of my body was shaking. I needed to be in my own bed in my own apartment. No dogs, no daily cleaning, no intruders with pits trying to eat them, no more damned hassles! I needed to go HOME! But before all that, I needed a huge glass of water with aspirins.
My self-pity trip continued even after I choked down the pills. I had kept my promise and done my best, I told myself. The pit was just too much. One day he was going to hurt somebody, and did I want to be responsible for that? Or, even worse, be the one he hurt? He was NOT part of the deal when I’d told my friend no problem… I’d be there for him. And he thinks I’m spoiling his dog? Maybe he was right, but what about me? I’d only been here two weeks and the little Sh*t had caused me enough stress to age two years! No, no and NO! It was time to call it quits. I was going home today. I’d call Helen now to give her my decision and the ball would be in her park for a change, and she could inform her son. I refused to let myself imagine how disappointed he would be.
Determined to get it done before the tiny nudge of guilt changed my mind, I went to the phone. It rang before I could pick up the receiver. My breath caught in my throat. The ID gadget was reading ‘Private’.
(To be cont’d)
Wow – as I read this over the memories come flooding back, and I wonder where I found the nerves and energy to handle it at the time. It’s a perfect case of “doing what ya gotta do”. It’s easy to laugh at it now, but was NOT funny at the time.
Have a good day everyone. I can see that the Demons have returned and are doing the snow thing, but remember that we only have a month or so and Spring will be come here – she’ll chase those nasty fellows away!
SMILES for y’all!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
My daughter sells vitamins from Usana. I have some of those too, and their Vitamin D content is 500 – much closer to the required daily amount. I will still need supplements, or move to one of those sunny islands…LOL!
Sorry about not blogging yesterday – time was short. It seems whenever I sit down at the computer, an hour or so flies by in the blink of an eye. I’m still pedaling this morning, so will post my next chapter of Bud’s story now and get moving.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – Part 13
The dogs were barking wildly, and a voice was screaming over their noise. “Get back, get back!!”
My heart was in my throat as I leapt out of bed, tripped on the sheets, regained my balance and staggered for the stairs. Halfway down I stopped, then stood hanging onto the railing, trying to make sense of the scene below. The door was open, and a tall man was partially hidden between it and the wall, using the door as a shield. His eyes were fixed on the pit, who was square in front of him with that bull-like stance, teeth bared and his growling snarls so vicious that there could be no doubt as to his intentions. Ben and Beef were right behind Bud, following his lead, also barking and snarling, advancing then backing up, then advancing again.
The man spotted me. “Get him off me! It’s me, Mike! Get that damned thing off me!” My hung-over brain was not operating at full wattage yet. Mike who?
Seeing my confusion, he yelled at me again, his voice pleading now. “Your Friend’s Mike!” he said. “Get the damned pit away from me!”
ME get the pit away?? I was just as frightened of the dog as he was! The pitch of snarling increased a scale. Bud was beginning to crouch, his bandaged leg forgotten. I woke up.
“BUD!” He paid me no heed. I tried again “BUD! SIT!” He didn’t even look at me, but neither did he jump the guy. Not yet. Something had to be done. Immediately.
“Don’t move,” I cautioned the man. Step by step I descended the stairs. The pit threw me a glance, but remained focused on the intruder. ”Bud! Sit, Bud!” He wasn’t letting up. Still saying his name, I stretched my hand behind his head, aiming for the choker. He darted out of my reach, his snarling more intense still.
“BUD! ENOUGH!” I said it with as much authority as I could muster. In the second he hesitated, I managed to grab the choker and hang on, praying that he wouldn’t turn on me. He didn’t, but he was straining ahead so strongly that I knew I couldn’t hold him for long.
“Get out! Get out now!” I hollered. Hugging the wall, never taking his eyes off the dog, the man slipped around and through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Bud lunged, and pain snaked up my arm as some skin from my fingers went with him. I had to use both hands to pull him away from the door, talking to him constantly, my tone as appeasing and calm as a trembling voice can be, trying to settle him down. When he saw the labs run to look through the window, he moved to follow, so I was able to get outside myself. The ‘Mike’ had a foot in his car, but stopped when he saw me.
“What were you doing here?” I was furious. I remembered this dude now. He was a casual acquaintance of my friend, and I had found him arrogant the both times I had met him. I didn’t like him very much then, and even less now. He was honest enough to admit that he had walked into the house without knocking, thinking to surprise my friend for morning coffee, he said.
“I’ll tell him you dropped by. If you ever come back, you’d better knock before coming in. Pits don’t like surprises.” I watched him peel out of the yard before I returned inside.
Bud was still in the window, watching and waiting. I looked at him. Was he to be praised or berated? Or just feared? I’ll put that thought on hold. Right then my thirst was overpowering, my head throbbing, and every part of my body was shaking. I needed to be in my own bed in my own apartment. No dogs, no daily cleaning, no intruders with pits trying to eat them, no more damned hassles! I needed to go HOME! But before all that, I needed a huge glass of water with aspirins.
My self-pity trip continued even after I choked down the pills. I had kept my promise and done my best, I told myself. The pit was just too much. One day he was going to hurt somebody, and did I want to be responsible for that? Or, even worse, be the one he hurt? He was NOT part of the deal when I’d told my friend no problem… I’d be there for him. And he thinks I’m spoiling his dog? Maybe he was right, but what about me? I’d only been here two weeks and the little Sh*t had caused me enough stress to age two years! No, no and NO! It was time to call it quits. I was going home today. I’d call Helen now to give her my decision and the ball would be in her park for a change, and she could inform her son. I refused to let myself imagine how disappointed he would be.
Determined to get it done before the tiny nudge of guilt changed my mind, I went to the phone. It rang before I could pick up the receiver. My breath caught in my throat. The ID gadget was reading ‘Private’.
(To be cont’d)
Wow – as I read this over the memories come flooding back, and I wonder where I found the nerves and energy to handle it at the time. It’s a perfect case of “doing what ya gotta do”. It’s easy to laugh at it now, but was NOT funny at the time.
Have a good day everyone. I can see that the Demons have returned and are doing the snow thing, but remember that we only have a month or so and Spring will be come here – she’ll chase those nasty fellows away!
SMILES for y’all!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
Monday, February 15, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 12
I’ll be stopping at a doctor’s office this morning before going into work. It’s a private clinic. It seems that since I’ve signed papers stating that the young doctor I’ve been seeing (rarely) is my family doctor, I now need to wait a minimum of 30 days to get an appointment. It’s just as well. Although I did like the doctor, his receptionists are another thing altogether. The past two times I’ve had to deal with them, both on the telephone and in the waiting room, they have been extremely arrogant and rude. Overworked maybe, although I don’t accept that as an excuse from any of the employees at our office. Before I react in kind (read – telling them to stick it!), I’ll just go elsewhere. Who needs the headache? I would just as soon pay, and have peace of mind. I’ve spent more money on things less important than my health.
My appointment is early, and I still have to find the place, so will post the next chapter of my Bud Saga and prepare to leave.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The Phone Call
There was no voice-mail feature on the telephone, but there was an ID gadget, and with it you could see the numbers of the last twenty-five calls received – unless it was from a cellular or confidential number, in which case it uselessly indicated ‘Private’. When we returned from the vet appointment, I checked the list, and ‘Private’ had called six minutes before our arrival. The same ID had appeared when my friend had telephoned two weeks before, so I was reasonably certain that it was his call I had missed. I turned to glare at the pit. “It was your fault! If you hadn’t messed in my car….!” His reaction was typically ‘Bud’ – none whatsoever.
While waiting for my friend to call back, I passed the time by giving the house a good cleaning, preparing a meal for his arrival from the long journey, then gathering up my own things which I threw into my backpack. I was going home!!!
My joy was tempered by the realization that some things here I would really miss - Beef and Ben with their endearing ways; the fantastic view and the long walks under the trees; and especially the perfect calm of those nights rocking by the fireplace, the only sound being the labs’ occasional sighs, the logs crackling in the flames, and the wind in the chimney.
That one snapped me back to reality. Right! It was only calm after the pit would settle down. Or on the weekend evenings, when his forays, chasing his blocks of ice up and down the hill, would so wear him out that he would snooze soon after eating. At this very moment he was already starting to bug the labs. Due to his hopping on only three legs and the cone around his neck preventing any serious nipping, the ruckus was less rowdy than usual. It was time for his medication. I mixed the pills with a bit of canned food, then removed the cone so he could reach the dish and the water pail. When the phone rang, I raced to pick up the receiver.
“So you are there now. He was trying to reach you.” Ah –it was the lady with the impeccable telephone manners!
“Hello, Helen. How are you?” I asked deliberately. There was silence for a moment. She ignored my question. Related to Bud, are you?
“He won’t be able to call you back. I have things I must tell you.” Which she proceeded to do without preamble. As I listened, my knees went weak. I felt myself fold to the floor.
My friend would not be returning today. In fact, there was no set date for his return. The only certainty was that it would NOT be before six months. He hoped that I would stay on at the house, but he would understand if I decided to leave and go home.
“I told him you could not handle the little dog and about all the damage. He was surprised and very upset, more about the dog than his house. That little one is his baby. My poor son nearly cried when he heard about the cage. He said you are spoiling his dog.” She stopped talking. If she was waiting for a reaction, she wasn’t going to get one. I was totally speechless. This can’t be happening! My brain slid into neutral. I barely heard what she said next.
“If you wish to stay with the dogs, I am to arrange for a truck to move your personal things to the house. There will be no cost to you. If you want to leave, I will prepare my garage for the big dogs. They are obedient, so they will be little trouble after they get used to being tied outside. I will need a day or two to prepare for their arrival.”
Tie Beef and Ben outside? But they’ve never been tied a day in their lives!
She continued. “I refuse to keep the little one. He will be put down. My son does not want him to go to someone else. He said that dog has a strong character, and will probably be beaten now that he has become so wild. Then he will become dangerous. My son is very sad, it breaks his heart, but he agrees that it would be better this way. He told me not to tell you, but I think you should know.”
I was going to gag. Her words had sent my stomach all the way to the bottom of my feet, and now it was rushing back up. “I have to go,” I gasped. Something in my tone must have tipped her off.
“Call me back with your decision,” Was her voice breaking? “I will do according to what you wish.”
I think I was kneeling at the toilet before she hung up.The three dogs were standing in the bathroom doorway when I finally lifted my head. They paid attention to anything out of the ordinary, and this counted. Seeing them there, I struggled to my feet and made my way into the kitchen. They followed close behind me.
In spite of my efforts to block it out, bits and pieces of her one-sided conversation flitted in and out …minimum six months… tied outside… put down… breaks his heart…your decision…. And how in hell did it become MY decision??
It was all I could do to keep from screaming aloud. I shook my head to clear it again. This would never do. In a split-second I knew what was needed. I was going to get drunk! Not that I do my best thinking when under the influence…it was a bottle of wine that got you into this in the first place, remember?...but I needed to completely detach myself from this whole thing before I cracked.
I grabbed my coat and car keys. The pit was finally beginning to deduce that these actions meant a stay in the cage. He lay down, trying to make himself invisible. I paused for a second, then left him loose and headed to town. Go ahead, you little Sh*t. Do your worst!
I was back within the hour, AC/DC blaring from the car radio, a six-pack of beer and a half-pint of tequila in the bag beside me. I noted vaguely that the only mess in sight was the torn toilet paper roll, but that was a regular occurrence whether I was in the house or not, so no big deal. I sat in my rocker and cracked open the first can.
Three beers and one tequila shooter later, and the stress level had lowered. Alcohol only enhances one’s mood, of course, and my predominant sense about the whole situation was that it was so sad. - sad for my friend, a true, decent person who cared deeply for his dogs but was unable to be here; sad for me, sitting in the rocker, blubbering and feeling like I was caught between a rock and a hard place; sad for the dogs, because their lives (in the pit’s case, literally) depended on someone (me) who was really not stable enough to resolve all of this (hiccup) damned sadness!
I wasn’t finished the fourth beer when exhaustion set in. I needed my bed. Stumbling a little, I stoked the fire, and started for the stairs. With one foot on the bottom step, I peered at the dogs. I was dimly aware that they had been very quiet tonight.
“Humph! Nice try, you little Sh*t.”
I realized though my haze that I was slurring my words, and then that they had been very mean words. I looked at the three of them. “Okay, guys. I’ll sleep on it,” I promised.
And I did. Sleep. The last thing I remembered was the soft touch of the feather pillow under my cheek.
My waking was much ruder!
(To be cont’d)
Every day has its surprises, and I hope all they’ll be good ones for all of you. Sending you my SMILE!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
My appointment is early, and I still have to find the place, so will post the next chapter of my Bud Saga and prepare to leave.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The Phone Call
There was no voice-mail feature on the telephone, but there was an ID gadget, and with it you could see the numbers of the last twenty-five calls received – unless it was from a cellular or confidential number, in which case it uselessly indicated ‘Private’. When we returned from the vet appointment, I checked the list, and ‘Private’ had called six minutes before our arrival. The same ID had appeared when my friend had telephoned two weeks before, so I was reasonably certain that it was his call I had missed. I turned to glare at the pit. “It was your fault! If you hadn’t messed in my car….!” His reaction was typically ‘Bud’ – none whatsoever.
While waiting for my friend to call back, I passed the time by giving the house a good cleaning, preparing a meal for his arrival from the long journey, then gathering up my own things which I threw into my backpack. I was going home!!!
My joy was tempered by the realization that some things here I would really miss - Beef and Ben with their endearing ways; the fantastic view and the long walks under the trees; and especially the perfect calm of those nights rocking by the fireplace, the only sound being the labs’ occasional sighs, the logs crackling in the flames, and the wind in the chimney.
That one snapped me back to reality. Right! It was only calm after the pit would settle down. Or on the weekend evenings, when his forays, chasing his blocks of ice up and down the hill, would so wear him out that he would snooze soon after eating. At this very moment he was already starting to bug the labs. Due to his hopping on only three legs and the cone around his neck preventing any serious nipping, the ruckus was less rowdy than usual. It was time for his medication. I mixed the pills with a bit of canned food, then removed the cone so he could reach the dish and the water pail. When the phone rang, I raced to pick up the receiver.
“So you are there now. He was trying to reach you.” Ah –it was the lady with the impeccable telephone manners!
“Hello, Helen. How are you?” I asked deliberately. There was silence for a moment. She ignored my question. Related to Bud, are you?
“He won’t be able to call you back. I have things I must tell you.” Which she proceeded to do without preamble. As I listened, my knees went weak. I felt myself fold to the floor.
My friend would not be returning today. In fact, there was no set date for his return. The only certainty was that it would NOT be before six months. He hoped that I would stay on at the house, but he would understand if I decided to leave and go home.
“I told him you could not handle the little dog and about all the damage. He was surprised and very upset, more about the dog than his house. That little one is his baby. My poor son nearly cried when he heard about the cage. He said you are spoiling his dog.” She stopped talking. If she was waiting for a reaction, she wasn’t going to get one. I was totally speechless. This can’t be happening! My brain slid into neutral. I barely heard what she said next.
“If you wish to stay with the dogs, I am to arrange for a truck to move your personal things to the house. There will be no cost to you. If you want to leave, I will prepare my garage for the big dogs. They are obedient, so they will be little trouble after they get used to being tied outside. I will need a day or two to prepare for their arrival.”
Tie Beef and Ben outside? But they’ve never been tied a day in their lives!
She continued. “I refuse to keep the little one. He will be put down. My son does not want him to go to someone else. He said that dog has a strong character, and will probably be beaten now that he has become so wild. Then he will become dangerous. My son is very sad, it breaks his heart, but he agrees that it would be better this way. He told me not to tell you, but I think you should know.”
I was going to gag. Her words had sent my stomach all the way to the bottom of my feet, and now it was rushing back up. “I have to go,” I gasped. Something in my tone must have tipped her off.
“Call me back with your decision,” Was her voice breaking? “I will do according to what you wish.”
I think I was kneeling at the toilet before she hung up.The three dogs were standing in the bathroom doorway when I finally lifted my head. They paid attention to anything out of the ordinary, and this counted. Seeing them there, I struggled to my feet and made my way into the kitchen. They followed close behind me.
In spite of my efforts to block it out, bits and pieces of her one-sided conversation flitted in and out …minimum six months… tied outside… put down… breaks his heart…your decision…. And how in hell did it become MY decision??
It was all I could do to keep from screaming aloud. I shook my head to clear it again. This would never do. In a split-second I knew what was needed. I was going to get drunk! Not that I do my best thinking when under the influence…it was a bottle of wine that got you into this in the first place, remember?...but I needed to completely detach myself from this whole thing before I cracked.
I grabbed my coat and car keys. The pit was finally beginning to deduce that these actions meant a stay in the cage. He lay down, trying to make himself invisible. I paused for a second, then left him loose and headed to town. Go ahead, you little Sh*t. Do your worst!
I was back within the hour, AC/DC blaring from the car radio, a six-pack of beer and a half-pint of tequila in the bag beside me. I noted vaguely that the only mess in sight was the torn toilet paper roll, but that was a regular occurrence whether I was in the house or not, so no big deal. I sat in my rocker and cracked open the first can.
Three beers and one tequila shooter later, and the stress level had lowered. Alcohol only enhances one’s mood, of course, and my predominant sense about the whole situation was that it was so sad. - sad for my friend, a true, decent person who cared deeply for his dogs but was unable to be here; sad for me, sitting in the rocker, blubbering and feeling like I was caught between a rock and a hard place; sad for the dogs, because their lives (in the pit’s case, literally) depended on someone (me) who was really not stable enough to resolve all of this (hiccup) damned sadness!
I wasn’t finished the fourth beer when exhaustion set in. I needed my bed. Stumbling a little, I stoked the fire, and started for the stairs. With one foot on the bottom step, I peered at the dogs. I was dimly aware that they had been very quiet tonight.
“Humph! Nice try, you little Sh*t.”
I realized though my haze that I was slurring my words, and then that they had been very mean words. I looked at the three of them. “Okay, guys. I’ll sleep on it,” I promised.
And I did. Sleep. The last thing I remembered was the soft touch of the feather pillow under my cheek.
My waking was much ruder!
(To be cont’d)
Every day has its surprises, and I hope all they’ll be good ones for all of you. Sending you my SMILE!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
Sunday, February 14, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 11
Another beautiful day! I’ve been trying to keep my mind on the work I have to do, and I’m not having much success. My eyes keep straying to the window. From sticking my head outside when opening the door for the doggies, I know for a fact that it isn’t even cold. A great day for a walk, ski, drive – anything to do as long as it’s not inside. I am also aware that the work I brought home has to be finished…damn!
For some reason, I can’t comment on Google blogs. It’s been happening for a few days now, and I have had no answer from Google support. I guess the keepers of the site studied at the same school as our government officials – they only answer if they think you owe them money. I’m not sure if this problem is just from my home computer…it works sometimes, other times it doesn’t. Nothing can frustrate me more than things that won’t function as they should, especially if it has anything to do with computers. Because I am such an electronic whiz (NOT!!), I realize my hands are tied. I have to depend on others to resolve the problem. Bah. Humbug!
My duties wait, so I’ll get on with the Bud Saga. At least I can still cut & paste!
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – the fight
The dogs and I were outside on Saturday morning when a car drove into the lane. It was my comrade, stopping to see how I was faring with the cage. The dogs rushed forward barking, with Bud, still intense, nipping and jumping on the labs, striving to bully his way ahead. Beef, normally passive, suddenly turned to retaliate, and the fight was on. Although Beef was much larger, the pit did not back down.
Anyone who has ever heard or seen a dogfight knows how horrific it is. Heart pounding, I ran into the house and grabbed the water pails, then came racing out to douse them, one pail after the other. Startled, they hesitated just long enough for my comrade to grab and hang onto Beef’s collar, and I leapt to take hold of the pit’s choker. He ducked back, and I missed but, thankfully, he did move away.
Keeping them apart, we assessed the damage. There was blood everywhere! Beef was cut on his face, his shoulder and chest. Only his thick fur had kept it from being too serious. Bud, on the other hand, was limping, lifting one of his front legs, yelping in pain. He shied away when we approached him, so neither of us dared to inspect it thoroughly. I kept an attentive eye on him for the next hour. The bleeding had stopped, and he looked okay, just slightly favouring his leg, so a visit to the vet didn’t seem warranted.
I was attending a party in the city that night. Even though the pit was abnormally quiet after the fight and the day outdoors, I opted against leaving him loose. The Cheeto’s trick got him into the cage, though I noted that this time he looked up to watch me leave before he had finished eating the treat.
It was great to be with my friends again, and for a couple of hours I caught up on their doings and, in turn, told them some ‘Bud’ stories. Yet, as much as I had been anticipating this outing, I found I wasn’t really into it. I was worried about the dogs. I felt especially guilty about shutting the pit in the cage again. The necessity of having to go to work was a valid reason; the luxury of social ventures didn’t appear so acceptable. When the feeling got too onerous, I said my goodbyes and headed back to the bush.
There was no traffic, but the drive had never seemed so long. Finally I was in the lane. I hurried to open the door and the labs greeted me fondly. Bud watched as I unlatched the cage, but there was no leap out this time. He was limping badly, whining whenever his wounded foot touched the floor. On his second attempt, he managed to crawl up onto the couch, and lay there motionless. I hadn’t yet removed my coat and the gloves, so decided to risk taking a closer look at his paw. He didn’t resist as I peered over him for a better view. Damn! It had swollen to nearly double its size. It was too late for the vet that night, but first thing in the morning I would have to get him attention. In the meantime…I’m not good with pain myself, so I took two extra-strong aspirin from the medicine cabinet, wrapped them in cheese, and carefully placed it on the couch in front of the pit's nose. When he ate it I felt a sense of relief. That should kill some of the pain for a few hours, fellow.
It took forty minutes, nearly half of the Cheeto’s bag, and a little shove on the rump to coax the pit into the back seat of my car the next morning. He was quiet during the drive to the vet’s office. I parked as close as I could to the entrance, then went for help. One of the group came out and carried Bud inside, deposited him on a stainless steel table in a small room, then left, telling me someone would be with us shortly. I studied the pit. He was looking around with curiosity, but drooling copiously and panting loudly between whimpers. When the female vet walked into the room, he attempted to stand up on the table. I shook my head to her query about his being wicked, (I wasn’t sure about that, but cowardly figured she might leave again if I said so) and she put her hand on his back to hold him down, crooning to him softly.
“A beautiful specimen of the pit-bull breed," she told me as she inspected his paw. I guess my “yeh” wasn’t too enthusiastic, because she looked at me, speculation in her eyes before asking, “What happened?”
I explained about the fight as she continued her examination. “We’ll need x-rays.”
When she signalled that I join her again in the room, Bud was sporting a huge band-aid wrapped around his paw and front leg, and a cone surrounding his neck to keep him from tearing it off. The darned mutt seemed to have completely bounced back...highly alert and no longer whining.
“I’ll give you a prescription for antibiotics,” the vet told me. “You’ll have to keep him quiet for a few days, then come back so we can see him.”
Quiet? Bud?
“You can pick up the medication at the counter,” she continued.
“Prozac?” I joked.
“Prozac?” she frowned. “For the dog?” She wasn’t amused. Or maybe my tone had sounded too hopeful.
“We could share.” I gave it another attempt. “Me and the pit.” The vet pursed her lips in disapproval.
“Before getting a pit-bull, potential owners should realize that they are very high-energy dogs. It’s not fair to the animal if the owner is not prepared to deal with that.” she stated.
“I’m not the owner. I’m just babysitting ‘till the owner gets back...and THAT better happen soon!"
She raised an eyebrow. It was clear that she didn’t think my babysitting up to par. Miffed by her censure, I snapped the leash onto Bud’s collar and followed her to the reception counter. She was still standing beside me writing on a chart as I made arrangements for payment through my friend’s bill. Then on a whim...”How much to get a dog put down by euthanasia?” I asked the receptionist.
“It depends on the weight, “she answered. I could feel the vet watching me as I looked down at the pit with deliberate contemplation.
“Eighty pounds or so.” And how’s that grab ya, Miss high and mighty?
When she heard the vet gasp, the receptionist hesitated. “Never mind, I’ll get back to you on that,” I said, and gave them both a cheery wave as I went out the door, pulling Bud along beside me. He was moving pretty fast too, considering it was only on three legs.
We were nearly back to the house when the stink wafted up to the front seat. “Oh, no! You didn’t!” Trying to watch where I was going as I twisted around to look in the back was no easy feat. He had!
Swearing, I pulled over to the side of the road. I had been astute enough to cover the back seat with a blanket, and was relieved to see that his pooh had not touched the seat itself. Grabbing tissue from my emergency box beside the console, I yelled at him to stay back, then reached out to pluck up the mess before throwing it outside. He watched me with the same Bud eyes. The smelly business done, I started driving again.
“You little Sh*t!” I grumbled. “I’ll be so glad to be rid of you! In fact, if I never see you ever again, it’ll suit me just fine!”
Ah – but fickle fate was going to make me eat those words. Because of our delay, I had missed the telephone call that was to change both our lives forever.
(To be cont’d)
It’s a bit of a cop-out, isn’t it? My blogs seem longer than ever, but I’m writing less just by sticking Bud’s story in here. Still, reading it back over is bringing back many, many memories. As you can tell if you read it, not all of those were good ones!
I really hope you are having my weather, and that you are out there enjoying it. It would be nice to know that someone is, even if I can’t!
Happy Valentine’s Day to y’all!! Sending you a big, heart-shaped SMILE!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
For some reason, I can’t comment on Google blogs. It’s been happening for a few days now, and I have had no answer from Google support. I guess the keepers of the site studied at the same school as our government officials – they only answer if they think you owe them money. I’m not sure if this problem is just from my home computer…it works sometimes, other times it doesn’t. Nothing can frustrate me more than things that won’t function as they should, especially if it has anything to do with computers. Because I am such an electronic whiz (NOT!!), I realize my hands are tied. I have to depend on others to resolve the problem. Bah. Humbug!
My duties wait, so I’ll get on with the Bud Saga. At least I can still cut & paste!
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – the fight
The dogs and I were outside on Saturday morning when a car drove into the lane. It was my comrade, stopping to see how I was faring with the cage. The dogs rushed forward barking, with Bud, still intense, nipping and jumping on the labs, striving to bully his way ahead. Beef, normally passive, suddenly turned to retaliate, and the fight was on. Although Beef was much larger, the pit did not back down.
Anyone who has ever heard or seen a dogfight knows how horrific it is. Heart pounding, I ran into the house and grabbed the water pails, then came racing out to douse them, one pail after the other. Startled, they hesitated just long enough for my comrade to grab and hang onto Beef’s collar, and I leapt to take hold of the pit’s choker. He ducked back, and I missed but, thankfully, he did move away.
Keeping them apart, we assessed the damage. There was blood everywhere! Beef was cut on his face, his shoulder and chest. Only his thick fur had kept it from being too serious. Bud, on the other hand, was limping, lifting one of his front legs, yelping in pain. He shied away when we approached him, so neither of us dared to inspect it thoroughly. I kept an attentive eye on him for the next hour. The bleeding had stopped, and he looked okay, just slightly favouring his leg, so a visit to the vet didn’t seem warranted.
I was attending a party in the city that night. Even though the pit was abnormally quiet after the fight and the day outdoors, I opted against leaving him loose. The Cheeto’s trick got him into the cage, though I noted that this time he looked up to watch me leave before he had finished eating the treat.
It was great to be with my friends again, and for a couple of hours I caught up on their doings and, in turn, told them some ‘Bud’ stories. Yet, as much as I had been anticipating this outing, I found I wasn’t really into it. I was worried about the dogs. I felt especially guilty about shutting the pit in the cage again. The necessity of having to go to work was a valid reason; the luxury of social ventures didn’t appear so acceptable. When the feeling got too onerous, I said my goodbyes and headed back to the bush.
There was no traffic, but the drive had never seemed so long. Finally I was in the lane. I hurried to open the door and the labs greeted me fondly. Bud watched as I unlatched the cage, but there was no leap out this time. He was limping badly, whining whenever his wounded foot touched the floor. On his second attempt, he managed to crawl up onto the couch, and lay there motionless. I hadn’t yet removed my coat and the gloves, so decided to risk taking a closer look at his paw. He didn’t resist as I peered over him for a better view. Damn! It had swollen to nearly double its size. It was too late for the vet that night, but first thing in the morning I would have to get him attention. In the meantime…I’m not good with pain myself, so I took two extra-strong aspirin from the medicine cabinet, wrapped them in cheese, and carefully placed it on the couch in front of the pit's nose. When he ate it I felt a sense of relief. That should kill some of the pain for a few hours, fellow.
It took forty minutes, nearly half of the Cheeto’s bag, and a little shove on the rump to coax the pit into the back seat of my car the next morning. He was quiet during the drive to the vet’s office. I parked as close as I could to the entrance, then went for help. One of the group came out and carried Bud inside, deposited him on a stainless steel table in a small room, then left, telling me someone would be with us shortly. I studied the pit. He was looking around with curiosity, but drooling copiously and panting loudly between whimpers. When the female vet walked into the room, he attempted to stand up on the table. I shook my head to her query about his being wicked, (I wasn’t sure about that, but cowardly figured she might leave again if I said so) and she put her hand on his back to hold him down, crooning to him softly.
“A beautiful specimen of the pit-bull breed," she told me as she inspected his paw. I guess my “yeh” wasn’t too enthusiastic, because she looked at me, speculation in her eyes before asking, “What happened?”
I explained about the fight as she continued her examination. “We’ll need x-rays.”
When she signalled that I join her again in the room, Bud was sporting a huge band-aid wrapped around his paw and front leg, and a cone surrounding his neck to keep him from tearing it off. The darned mutt seemed to have completely bounced back...highly alert and no longer whining.
“I’ll give you a prescription for antibiotics,” the vet told me. “You’ll have to keep him quiet for a few days, then come back so we can see him.”
Quiet? Bud?
“You can pick up the medication at the counter,” she continued.
“Prozac?” I joked.
“Prozac?” she frowned. “For the dog?” She wasn’t amused. Or maybe my tone had sounded too hopeful.
“We could share.” I gave it another attempt. “Me and the pit.” The vet pursed her lips in disapproval.
“Before getting a pit-bull, potential owners should realize that they are very high-energy dogs. It’s not fair to the animal if the owner is not prepared to deal with that.” she stated.
“I’m not the owner. I’m just babysitting ‘till the owner gets back...and THAT better happen soon!"
She raised an eyebrow. It was clear that she didn’t think my babysitting up to par. Miffed by her censure, I snapped the leash onto Bud’s collar and followed her to the reception counter. She was still standing beside me writing on a chart as I made arrangements for payment through my friend’s bill. Then on a whim...”How much to get a dog put down by euthanasia?” I asked the receptionist.
“It depends on the weight, “she answered. I could feel the vet watching me as I looked down at the pit with deliberate contemplation.
“Eighty pounds or so.” And how’s that grab ya, Miss high and mighty?
When she heard the vet gasp, the receptionist hesitated. “Never mind, I’ll get back to you on that,” I said, and gave them both a cheery wave as I went out the door, pulling Bud along beside me. He was moving pretty fast too, considering it was only on three legs.
We were nearly back to the house when the stink wafted up to the front seat. “Oh, no! You didn’t!” Trying to watch where I was going as I twisted around to look in the back was no easy feat. He had!
Swearing, I pulled over to the side of the road. I had been astute enough to cover the back seat with a blanket, and was relieved to see that his pooh had not touched the seat itself. Grabbing tissue from my emergency box beside the console, I yelled at him to stay back, then reached out to pluck up the mess before throwing it outside. He watched me with the same Bud eyes. The smelly business done, I started driving again.
“You little Sh*t!” I grumbled. “I’ll be so glad to be rid of you! In fact, if I never see you ever again, it’ll suit me just fine!”
Ah – but fickle fate was going to make me eat those words. Because of our delay, I had missed the telephone call that was to change both our lives forever.
(To be cont’d)
It’s a bit of a cop-out, isn’t it? My blogs seem longer than ever, but I’m writing less just by sticking Bud’s story in here. Still, reading it back over is bringing back many, many memories. As you can tell if you read it, not all of those were good ones!
I really hope you are having my weather, and that you are out there enjoying it. It would be nice to know that someone is, even if I can’t!
Happy Valentine’s Day to y’all!! Sending you a big, heart-shaped SMILE!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
THE BUD SAGA - PART 10
It was something to see all those hopeful and smiling faces as they marched into the stadium, proudly carrying the flags of the country they represent. You could feel the excitement, and I loved watching them. It is one of the only times that strife between peoples can be forgotten for a few minutes – those young men and women are there for sport, after hours and years of working hard to claim their places. Politics and war should have no place in the Olympics.
One thing I questioned about the program was K.D. Lang singing Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”. Lang has a terrific voice, and Cohen is a great Canadian song-writer, but have you ever listened to the lyrics of that tune? I’ve always found them totally depressing; hinting at giving up, losing hope. Who chose that piece, and why? Cohen has written far better things, and Lang’s voice can do justice to whatever you give her to sing.
The lyrics of Garou’s presentation were more fitting, even if he did sing slightly out of tune.
All in all, it was great to watch; a terrific light show, the participation of our native peoples, the minute of silence for a fellow-athlete who fell to his death while training that very morning. Kudos to the organizers!
I’m still working on those financial statements, so will post the next chapter of the Bud Saga, and get back to them.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The cage
The chain obviously not a deterrent, the next morning I left the pit loose in the house with the other dogs. I was expecting more damage on his part, and he was true to form. This time the basket used to carry and store the fireplace logs was demolished, pieces of woven bamboo and wood spread every which way. Corners of two window sills were jagged with teeth marks, and a part of one window frame had been torn down; half of it was lying on the floor, nails sticking out here and there.
When I finished the cleaning, I brought the borrowed cage in from the car and set it up between the two damaged windows. It was a good size, large enough for the pit, but any moving around inside would be limited. I studied it uneasily. I was somewhat claustrophobic myself. Small spaces made me nervous. I didn’t envy Bud, who would be spending from ten to twelve hours in there each day. If I could find a way to get him into it.
Later I pondered the problem as we did our usual thing…me in the rocker, Bud annoying the labs, my constant yelling at him to settle down, and his paying little or no attention. When I opened a bag of Cheeto’s, one of my favourite snacks, the dogs perked up at the sound. “Treat?” I asked them. Tails wagging they gathered around, Bud pushing his way to the front. Fearing he would jump up, I quickly threw a handful away from me. He chased after them, gobbled them down, then turned to look for more.
“No!” I told him. “You’ve had yours!” I gave some to the labs. They gently took the treat from my hand, and sat waiting patiently, but the pit bounded back and forth, trying to get at the bag. “Sit!” I made the motion with my hand as I spoke. He stopped to look at me, his body quivering in anticipation.
“SIT!” I spoke louder. He sat. He stood back up. He sat again. I waited a second, then, wanting to keep all of my fingers, I sent another handful his way. While he was busy grabbing them from the floor, I hurriedly fed more to the labs and put the bag away. Aha, I’ve found the carrot on the stick.
It worked like a charm. The next morning, with a water bowl and blanket already installed in the cage, I called Bud, rattling the Cheeto’s bag. I tossed some into the cage and he dove in after them. I slammed and latched the door. He didn’t look up until the treat was devoured. When he turned and discovered that he couldn’t go any further, he glanced at me for a second, then put his nose down to sniff at the water and blanket. Oddly, I was feeling guilty when I made my exit. Well, you brought it on yourself, you little Sh*t.
Someone invited me for supper, but I refused. All day my mind had been troubled by fleeting pictures of the pit stuck in the cage, my only consolation being that the house, for once, would be intact on my arrival. During the ninety minute commute back to the bush, I worried about his reaction when released. I’d leave on my long, thick winter coat to open the latch, I decided, and wear the sturdy work gloves used to carry in the wood. The heavy clothing should afford some protection if he were to bite.
He watched me as I walked to the cage. He was standing so still, but I could see tremors rippling under his skin. I pulled on the gloves, steeling myself, then opened the latch. He lunged. I snatched his choker and held on. Eighty pounds of pure muscle was twisting and turning and trying to escape as I struggled to pull him towards the door leading outside. It was all I could do to get him onto the gallery. He kept pulling, but I managed to snap the choker onto the chain, my hands sore from the effort. Back in the house, I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. Thankfully tomorrow was Saturday. I would have a two day respite before having to go through that again!
There was a frantic element to the pit’s pestering that evening. He was literally bouncing off the walls, racing at the labs, jumping up and over the furniture, driving both them and myself crazy. Guessing it was a result of being caged for so many hours, I tried to keep my scolding to a minimum, promising myself that I would take him outside and let him run freely for the next two days. I kept the promise, and by late Sunday his attitude was more relaxed.
The next week we fell into a routine. Each morning Bud would follow the Cheeto’s into the cage, apparently forgetting what would happen next. Each night I would drive back, all the way dreading the ordeal of opening the cage door and having to wrestle him outside. His antics were getting wilder and wilder...he just would NOT stop…and I felt like a shrew with my incessant screaming at him, which he mostly ignored anyway. Now it was Friday, and I was looking forward to my friend’s call to tell me he was on his way home, this in spite of my having to prepare him for the state of his house.
But first, the weekend. And what a weekend it was!
(To be cont’d)
I look out my window and see the sun is still here. It’s such a beautiful day. That makes it difficult to stay inside and work. It’s easier when at the office; lack of windows there means I can’t see outside, so there’s no temptation. Maybe I’ll cheat…a little….
Enjoy your day, folks! Share your SMILES – they cost nothing, and not only do they warm the heart of the recipient, but warm your own heart too. It’s a win-win situation!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
One thing I questioned about the program was K.D. Lang singing Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”. Lang has a terrific voice, and Cohen is a great Canadian song-writer, but have you ever listened to the lyrics of that tune? I’ve always found them totally depressing; hinting at giving up, losing hope. Who chose that piece, and why? Cohen has written far better things, and Lang’s voice can do justice to whatever you give her to sing.
The lyrics of Garou’s presentation were more fitting, even if he did sing slightly out of tune.
All in all, it was great to watch; a terrific light show, the participation of our native peoples, the minute of silence for a fellow-athlete who fell to his death while training that very morning. Kudos to the organizers!
I’m still working on those financial statements, so will post the next chapter of the Bud Saga, and get back to them.
YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? - The cage
The chain obviously not a deterrent, the next morning I left the pit loose in the house with the other dogs. I was expecting more damage on his part, and he was true to form. This time the basket used to carry and store the fireplace logs was demolished, pieces of woven bamboo and wood spread every which way. Corners of two window sills were jagged with teeth marks, and a part of one window frame had been torn down; half of it was lying on the floor, nails sticking out here and there.
When I finished the cleaning, I brought the borrowed cage in from the car and set it up between the two damaged windows. It was a good size, large enough for the pit, but any moving around inside would be limited. I studied it uneasily. I was somewhat claustrophobic myself. Small spaces made me nervous. I didn’t envy Bud, who would be spending from ten to twelve hours in there each day. If I could find a way to get him into it.
Later I pondered the problem as we did our usual thing…me in the rocker, Bud annoying the labs, my constant yelling at him to settle down, and his paying little or no attention. When I opened a bag of Cheeto’s, one of my favourite snacks, the dogs perked up at the sound. “Treat?” I asked them. Tails wagging they gathered around, Bud pushing his way to the front. Fearing he would jump up, I quickly threw a handful away from me. He chased after them, gobbled them down, then turned to look for more.
“No!” I told him. “You’ve had yours!” I gave some to the labs. They gently took the treat from my hand, and sat waiting patiently, but the pit bounded back and forth, trying to get at the bag. “Sit!” I made the motion with my hand as I spoke. He stopped to look at me, his body quivering in anticipation.
“SIT!” I spoke louder. He sat. He stood back up. He sat again. I waited a second, then, wanting to keep all of my fingers, I sent another handful his way. While he was busy grabbing them from the floor, I hurriedly fed more to the labs and put the bag away. Aha, I’ve found the carrot on the stick.
It worked like a charm. The next morning, with a water bowl and blanket already installed in the cage, I called Bud, rattling the Cheeto’s bag. I tossed some into the cage and he dove in after them. I slammed and latched the door. He didn’t look up until the treat was devoured. When he turned and discovered that he couldn’t go any further, he glanced at me for a second, then put his nose down to sniff at the water and blanket. Oddly, I was feeling guilty when I made my exit. Well, you brought it on yourself, you little Sh*t.
Someone invited me for supper, but I refused. All day my mind had been troubled by fleeting pictures of the pit stuck in the cage, my only consolation being that the house, for once, would be intact on my arrival. During the ninety minute commute back to the bush, I worried about his reaction when released. I’d leave on my long, thick winter coat to open the latch, I decided, and wear the sturdy work gloves used to carry in the wood. The heavy clothing should afford some protection if he were to bite.
He watched me as I walked to the cage. He was standing so still, but I could see tremors rippling under his skin. I pulled on the gloves, steeling myself, then opened the latch. He lunged. I snatched his choker and held on. Eighty pounds of pure muscle was twisting and turning and trying to escape as I struggled to pull him towards the door leading outside. It was all I could do to get him onto the gallery. He kept pulling, but I managed to snap the choker onto the chain, my hands sore from the effort. Back in the house, I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. Thankfully tomorrow was Saturday. I would have a two day respite before having to go through that again!
There was a frantic element to the pit’s pestering that evening. He was literally bouncing off the walls, racing at the labs, jumping up and over the furniture, driving both them and myself crazy. Guessing it was a result of being caged for so many hours, I tried to keep my scolding to a minimum, promising myself that I would take him outside and let him run freely for the next two days. I kept the promise, and by late Sunday his attitude was more relaxed.
The next week we fell into a routine. Each morning Bud would follow the Cheeto’s into the cage, apparently forgetting what would happen next. Each night I would drive back, all the way dreading the ordeal of opening the cage door and having to wrestle him outside. His antics were getting wilder and wilder...he just would NOT stop…and I felt like a shrew with my incessant screaming at him, which he mostly ignored anyway. Now it was Friday, and I was looking forward to my friend’s call to tell me he was on his way home, this in spite of my having to prepare him for the state of his house.
But first, the weekend. And what a weekend it was!
(To be cont’d)
I look out my window and see the sun is still here. It’s such a beautiful day. That makes it difficult to stay inside and work. It’s easier when at the office; lack of windows there means I can’t see outside, so there’s no temptation. Maybe I’ll cheat…a little….
Enjoy your day, folks! Share your SMILES – they cost nothing, and not only do they warm the heart of the recipient, but warm your own heart too. It’s a win-win situation!
Luv from the Bush in Quebec
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