It Never Pays to leave Telluride

 

 

It never pays to leave Telluride.  Owner and I arrived back in town ready to roll on Monday. We’d journeyed with curly haired as far as Durango and left him at the airport for his flight to Canada.  He had some important stuff to take care of up there so she kissed him good bye, I rubbed around his knees a little (it’s how we do it) and then we took off for home.

Disaster struck. Owner’s phone wasn’t working or curly haired’s wasn’t working and so  his frantic calls asking us to return to the airport to grab him never arrived.  There he was stuck in Durango with no car, no airplane, no family, no Canada.  After journeying back to Albuquerque he called again to let us know what had gone down. Curly’s a patient guy but even I could hear his consternation over the phone. Don’t forget that last week his important trip to England and to Dimi’s graduation in Vermont got scuttled due to volcanic ash, whatever that is.

I was only in Telluride  18 hours and owner was chasing  after my hind end with some sort of plastic container.  She needs to learn to chillax. So what if I peed in my bed a couple times in the truck, big deal.  I was stressed; I drank a lot; I’m an old lady.  You’ve heard of shrinkage right; well this was leakage.  She whisked me off to the vet where they too chased me around with plastic containers near my nether regions.  I’m not a fan of attacks on my personal hygiene. They got a few drops and that’s it.  Now we are waiting to see if I’m sick. Sick and tired of them all making a big deal out of nothing is more like it.

It only gets better.  Next owner dropped like a rock with her altitude migraine. Ice bags to the head, boiling showers to  relieve pain in her sinuses, crawling around weakly from bed to couch to bed to couch.  Pill popping on a level I’ve never attempted also took place.  No go.  She knows better than to leave this paradise; six weeks at sea level did her in big time. If those guys in Texas want to hang out with her they need to move up here. She can’t take these air pressure changes.  Sometimes I heard her moan, “sell the condo, sell the condo,” but surely she can’t mean it.  She loves it here. I know she’ll smarten up when she feels better.   Owner for Pete’s sake just set up an appointment with Jolana Vanek as soon as you know you are coming to town.  She always makes you feel better with her little oxygen chamber.

Then Lane arrived to whisk me off to dog camp. She took one look at my coat and noticed I look a bit like a giant jigsaw puzzle.   Some nice black bits are linked up to some large brown bits in quite an attractive pattern. Personally I thought I was just turning a bit more cinnamon to highlight my chow status.  One look is all it took and she pronounced me a thyroid dog.  What the hell is a thyroid dog?  Yes, I put on four pounds in just under six weeks and my coat went to hell in a hand cart (could it be that drastic shave that took place?)  but thyroid dog? Don’t forget it was so darn hot down there that I could hardly drag my butt around the building in a tight little circle so naturally I gained some poundage.  

Owner is leaving me for a few weeks and for this I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I knew no vet could get their nasty little hands on me.  However, Lane called the Telluride vet. They were too busy to see me; hurray!  Next, she told owner she’d take me to the Norwood vet. Foiled again, me that is, I  just know they are going to stick one of those picky things in me to drain my blood. Lane used to be in my good books but now I’m not so sure we are friends.

So sorry guys.  With everything that has been going on we didn’t get out with our camera much.  Owner is more concerned about feeling better before she begins her three flights to Maine to visit Benj.

OH! there’s another reason we’re all a bit down. At first glance you too will think it is good news. Benj is dropping College like a hot potato. Owner bought a new dress to celebrate.  She was so glad to see the end of that girl. College, who  also goes by Bates,  has had her hooks into Benj for four years now and enough is enough.   Excitement ruled the roost because we knew he’d come home again and hang out in Telluride.  No…..that darn kid had to go and find himself another girlfriend.  Now he’s crazy about Job.  What kind of name is that for a girl? Job lives in Boston so Benj went and got himself an apartment so he can see her every day.  We are all feeling abandoned. Sick, tired, and abandoned.  It’s enough to give owner another migraine.  See ya later.

Yoga Woodlands Style

 

This Texas heat is killing me guys.  My wants and needs are minimal…..an icy wind and  a heartfelt shiver starting  deep inside my chest cavity would  feel so good.  Heard we are making the big trek back to Telluride in a couple days….oh boy, I can’t wait. Damn!…I’m naked? Shivering will be on my agenda for sure, won’t it. 

 

 

Well to be perfectly fair to owner she does put her heart into everything.  Take her and her yoga practice for instance…she tries.  She’s been trying for three years now and she still can’t scratch her head with her leg.  For Pete’s sake I’ve been doing that since I was a puppy and I have never been caught in a yoga class yet. I’m not against instruction in principle just don’t particularly believe it is necessary.  Yours truly can also do a pretty quick twist and catch a fly on the  end of my tail…bet she can’t do that either.

 

Recently she had a huge breakthrough.  She managed to get from  an anticipatory “standing on  head” position, to the tripod near the wall, to the tripod away from the wall, to actually standing on her head…oh crap, near the wall. Was she content…no! Instantly she was working on the anticipatory pose for manipulating herself feet first into a handstand.  She doesn’t fool me for a minute. Figured it out yet?  The only way this woman can have her boobs sit anywhere near where they sat twenty years ago is when she’s upside down. You are likely to see her getting her groceries as she walks on her hands, upside down and dialing her phone with her toes, oh the list goes on.

If her pictures didn’t exist it would be hard to prove she’s ever been to a class.  True, not as much moaning and groaning takes place as she crawls out of bed in the morning – perhaps the word should be “slithers” as she’s really getting up only to look for  another dark place to hide. Morning person she is not. (note to self, Christmas idea….giant rock for owner) And for those who are curious…no she’s not a night  person either.  She’s always admitted freely she’s an 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. person.

Every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday she’s been leaving me in charge of curly haired while she goes to Sam’s.  This is a nice time of year because he has jasmine growing up the telephone posts, up trees, in his garden,and  the back door. The heavenly odour wafts in the windows as the students sweat their way through yet another Ashtanga class. Who wouldn’t enjoy that?   Sam says he did it to make the place look nice and to enjoy the scent ….pretty sure he did it to disguise the incredible body odours that result in his studio. Me…I’m into stinky.  My advice would be  cut the jasmine increase the B.O. 

 

 

Once you remove your shoes, you are welcome inside.  Be warned, Sam is a certified torturer from some secret sect of yogis.  He can work on you mentally as well as physically.  Apparently you can be in a tortuous position and he will come over and move your knee more to the right or more to the left and then twist your left shoulder so it thinks it’s your right shoulder….or, hey, why not have him push your shoulder under your kneecap (don’t laugh….he’s the man for the job!).  He looks like a gentle soul, amiable, encouraging but it is all a big facade.  Owner tells me that she has heard  muted evil chuckles  from his lips after he’s done a particularly nasty torquing of yet another uninitiated student. But hey…they go back and they go back and they go back and NOT ONLY THAT….THEY PAY.  You couldn’t ask for a more reasonable price though is what owner says and she should know…she seems to love giving Curly haired’s money away.

 

To be fair, Sam doesn’t let himself off lightly.  If you can get one shoulder under your knee, he practices to get two.  If you can balance precariously in a side plank with your arm up, he can do it and hold the other  leg in the air and gently grab his toe with his fingers.Plus, he looks peaceful.  It’s the peaceful bit that confounds me about humans.  I can do my downward dogs  with a sad frown or employ an angry stare; peaceful doesn’t really enter into my thoughts. Owner tells me you have to keep breathing calmly and deeply while all this yoga posturing is taking place.  I, on the other hand, sometimes  hold my breath while I scratch, just because I can.    Rosena apparently never holds hers.  It looks like that girl could be related to my aristocratic canine lineage with the way she can place her leg behind  her head.  She’s very in touch with her animal side. GRRRR!

Pretty much all of these moves, from what I HAVE OBSERVED AROUND THE HOMESTEAD are down the road for owner, a lonely windy hundred mile road. For  Curly haired….HA!!! never in a month of Sundays but then he can run better than I can (mind you I AM SEVENTY in HUMAN YEARS…and so what if Jim Braden can still run like the wind, I’m just a normal old dog.)

 

 

So on owner plods.  She’s working hard on shoulder to knee stand.  BIG MISNOMER she says since it is really KNEE IN FRONT OF THE SHOULDER STAND.  There are many components to the asana but she is at step one….get the feet up, breathe, and then manage to sit back on her ass without falling like a ton of bricks and cracking the studio floor.  From what I hear…..well, i can’t tell you everything!

Must add, however, that owner is perplexed at how two other Ashtanga students , Sue and Marti, conveniently managed to miss photo night. And  Wojtek? Where were you…don’t give some cokcamamy story that you were on a plane to Paris for fifteen hours…no one buys it!  See ya later.

 

 

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Baby it’s hot out here

 

Find me on facebook….Telluride Dog Blog….up to 76 fans now….come on guys get your friends to sign up and  MAKE MY DAY! To readers in Indonesia, Lithuania, Poland, Hungary, Korea….you do make my day because I can’t imagine how you found me!

It’s so hot around here I have to sprawl…doing the tail tuck because yesterday a little guy called Ben really wanted to ring my bell…plus it is a more pleasing aesthetic.

 

Well pictures do lie!  I hate rawhides.  I NEVER eat  them. Who has been spying on me is what I want to know!  Some paparazzi must have been lurking around Michelle’s  with her camera just waiting to catch me in the act.  OK…so I stole it from my new pal Louis.  I wasn’t planning on eating it; I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  They taste like…..well, like rawhide if you want my honest opinion.  (is it the dead cow’s hide or his feet that I’m chewing on….makes me want to be a vegetarian).  You wouldn’t want to live on the things.  Personally I much prefer potato chips or Thanksgiving turkey to snack on but owner rarely breaks down on her “no people food” rule! 

 

As you know I’ve been stuck in this damn apartment for over a month now.  The British lady next door accused me of using her garden area as a toilet.  I mean PUHLEESE…is that with those English dogs do, do they have no class?  Has she got her blinds closed when that little Boxer down the way runs over to lift a leg here and there.  Until I got here he ran this joint but I’m here now and those days are gone.  Humans are so damned stupid. The reason I like to lie on the British lady’s patio and have  an occasional wander into her apartment is to stake my claim.  That Boxer needs to know I control the eastern end of the apartment block.  My gang  colours are red, duh! obvious from my red collar eh? and unless you are wearing red….STAY THE HELL OUT.  I think that dog wears some weird multi-coloured braided thing, completely passé.

Anyway, back to Louis.  He’s a well loved dog.  He’s 10 1/2 and can still roller blade with his “reddy”…..(his big guy has red hair). Up and down they zoom until Louis is pooped out.  There is lots I could say about Louis and poop but he’s a friend so let me just say he’s a sneaky devil.  He made a bet with me that he could really embarrass his owner with an old  standad dog joke and you know us dogs…we love to lord it over humans where poop is concerned. —he won the bet.   Louis and I laughed so hard we had to run to the back end of the garden to run our “sillies” out.  Nothing like a good guffaw with a friend I say. 

He’s a Basenji.  Did you know that Basenjis are African Royalty or they used to guard  African Royalty or one of them saw an African King once – from a distance.   He told me the whole story but it was  so darn hot out that his chatter went in one ear and out the other. Get this though…the guy can’t bark.  He has no BARKER. I didn’t even hear him squeak.  To get what he wants he just runs away whenever the door opens.  Isn’t that sly….once they get him back home he gets whatever he wants because they are so grateful he’s back in the fold. He never has to say a word.  I’m going to try it which means  I have to figure out how to get out of the darn hallway of the apartment building. 

The point of telling you about Louis is to bring up the subject of Lucy. She’s wanted now but she had a long hard time on her own until my friends Jim and Karen adopted her.  Now she leads the life of luxury.  I heard owner ask Karen to describe Lucy in one word and this is what she said….Grateful.  Isn’t that lovely.

I’ve walked a mile in Lucy’s shoes and sometimes I get  blasé about my extraprdinary life and forget to be grateful.  I just take mountains, snowflakes, clear rivers, leaves to chase, sundappled patios for granted.  And then I get brought back to Texas!  But ever onwards with Lucy……

I got in from my playdate with Louis and lo and behold there was a letter waiting for me.  Lucy hardly ever gets her paws on the computer so this was a novelty. Unfortunately,  she’s a newcomer to technology due to her deprived early years so, alas, no photo. Maybe next week I will have one.  I decided to share her letter with you. Since I’ll be in town a lot this summer I hope to hang out in Lucy’s back yard. Hope she likes me!

Hi Casey,
I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet each other on Monday.  I think we could have had a blast!
Until we can get together, here is a little intro:  Things are so much better for me with Jim and Karen.  I can’t tell them about my history but they researched it as best they could.  I was born at one of those darn puppy farms and then sold to a pet store.  My first owners loved me at first and taught me some doggie dos and don’ts but then they tired of me.  Maybe that was because I had had two litters and they thought that was enough.  During this time the men around me were pretty hateful and I still exercise caution when one of them is around.  I was almost glad when they gave me to Cocker Rescue.  That is where my new family found me!  Three cheers!
We are going to Colorado in a few weeks.  This will be a new experience for me.  Maybe we can sniff each other after your travels and our return.
Woof,
Lucy
P.S.  I will try to get Jim to send a picture.  Everyone says I’m pretty cute

There really can be happy endings.  Look how  old Don Juan finally found a new family.  He’s so damn happy he hasn’t dropped me a line.  I guess he didn’t love me as much as I thought he did.  I had a happy ending after my abandonment too,  but no dog had as happy an  ending as old Shiprock.  Shipper is one tough dude and he can wear the Superman costume whenever he wants because if he weren’t so tough he would never have survived his first six months on the planet. 

 

Shipper was rescued at about 6 months old. He was very close to  death as he lay by the side of the road outside of Shiprock, New Mexico.  Something had pierced the underside of his jaw leaving a gaping hole that went through to just underneath his tongue.  (Water leaked out the bottom of his jaw when he drank.)  It appeared he had been living on roadkill as there were rabbit bones lodged in the incision, and an unGodly infection had resulted in such deterioration of his jawbone  it appeared to have been broken.  Lauren couldn’t leave him there so brought him home to nurse him back to health.  Given the state of his wounds and his precarious health even I, a dog, can imagine the love and compassion this took.  

Wounds are ugly.  Owner can’t even look at chickenpox so she’d have been useless if this had been me by the side of the road!  Lauren never intended to keep Shipper. She planned to nurse him back to health, find him a home, and move on with her own life.  Well, let’s say it has been about ten years, maybe longer…and she still hasn’t found him another home.  Shipper says she can drive him up the wall sometimes and he feels he’s been darn nice by not finding HER another home too!.  Stalemate.

Shipper thinks he’s so smart because he can balance a cookie on his nose before he tosses it into the air to eat it.  I like to dance around his face pretending I’m going to steal it.  Drives him insane!

Dear Readers, before I leave you I have a bone to pick with you. I have been living here for a month and not one of you warned me about something really frightening that could happen to me here.  Not one of you dropped me a line and said….”Casey beware!”  Look what happened to me!!!!!!! And it is your fault.  See ya later.

 

Young dog get outta my life……

 

I’ve been spending some time suntanning lately.  I should probably wear sunscreen so I don’t wrinkle in the next few years. But you know me… prefer to hope that my thin coat will protect me from those bad rays. I know Boris used to wear sunscreen on his snout but not yours truly.    Hilariously owner actually rubbed that sunscreen tube over her own lips one day forgetting that it existed solely for running over Boris’ runny nose. You should have heard her  yelp when she realised what she had done. Talk about ROFL and basically LMAO….(man, I am quite the up-to-date dog, eh?)

Anyway, above is a shot of me lying in the new miniscule area we call our garden.  If I’ve told her once I’ve told her 100 times…take off the damn collar.  I do not want tan lines around the neck. 

Friends dropped by the other evening.  Every topic under the sun was up for grabs.  No one sat on the fence.   Sometimes fence sitting is a good place to rest and owner should perch their more often.  At least Curly-haired says that she should.  

One topic came up that is near and dear to my heart.  Older lusting after younger.  Whether you are a human or a dog you get sick and tired of being older and having the “other sex” only look at the young ‘uns.  Our guest was lamenting that  while she’s in the market for a nice guy, all the men her age (40 ish would be a number) are only interested in the 25 year olds.  It just isn’t right. Dogs do it too.

When I add up the times I’ve been out and about and those old boys barely give me a sniff, well it breaks my heart.   No, they are gallivanting as close as possible to  some young perky behind.  I see them sucking in their paunches as they check the pretty things out  while sitting  back on their old arthritic haunches.  They look ridiculous and so damned obvious.  Some wear those big old “punk” collars so they will look extra studly.  For God’s sake what do these old boys think they are going to talk about with these young pups.  Let’s face it….way worse for us dogs.  In human years I’m SEVENTY…and I have to endure the indignity of watching my fellow “aged” pals chase bitches that are barely SEVEN years old in human terms.   Humans have laws against this and  it is  high time we dogs rise up and voice our disgust at the behaviour of some of our fellow canines.

For Pete’s sake I may be too old to have puppies but I’m good at snuggling and pillow talk.  Those old dudes could barely stand up on their hind legs if they tried and we all know that that’s what it takes in our world.  Stupid old boors….they wouldn’t know good pillow talk if they stumbled over it in the street.  I can hear it now…”oh Big Billy I went out with my owner today for a good ten mile run.  What did you do….. huh, huh?”  “Oh well sweet Jezebel….I managed to blindly find my way to the mailbox and leave a dribble”. Of course deliberately forgetting to add that that short trek took all the energy he had  so went straight back to a sunny spot to lie down. He needed  to gather his strength to eat dinner with his snaggle teeth. And if these young things think that old Mr. Hotdog is hanging around to raise another litler of puppies….think again ladies.  

Just contemplating this stuff raises my dander.  It brings back fond memories of my six weeks of snuggling with old Don Juan.  Now there was a dog that got it.  He never looked sideways once he met me. He was in it for the long haul.  Why didn’t we keep that sweet guy when we had the chance.  So what if he had to pee every two hours and who cares if he got owner up at 4:30 a.m. to go outside in blizzards to leave some pee mail…..if that’s what he needed, that’s what he needed. Oh Donny boy, where are you now? I could use a little head nuzzle and some  friendly lip licking.  My goodness you knew the way to an old pooches heart.

Don was a victim of the “n” word.  Horrible to think about because a gentler soul has never lived.   The “n” word needs to be banned from all vocabulary.  Barbarity, barbarity, barbarity.  It repels me how easily it slips from the lips of some people as if were acceptable to say.   Me….I have never been able to get over the stutter that starts when I try to say the word.  nnnnnnn……nnnnnn…..gee….I can’t even write it down.    NEUter.  There, got it out, that’s the last time you’ll see that from me.

 

I’m not against the concept, Lord knows we don’t need more homeless  and abandoned dogs roaming our city and country streets.  It is the harsh tones  of the word.  Even human males have been known to cross their legs when they hear it. 

I’m thinking we simply need to give the process a new term. A new advertising campaign needs to be invented and I’ve got a plan.  Benj taught me a song one summer when he returned from Camp Pathfinder up in Northern Ontario.  I guess it is a big old canoeing song or something.  Can’t resist though….here’s a video to show you how  Benj spent 10 summers of his life.

AS usual I’ve gone off topic.   Just had to get that little video in there so you can see the kind of area owner grew up in.  It explains her love of wilderness and Telluride-like environments.

Anyway, to get back to the “n'” word.  My thinking goes like this.  We could use this old camp song Benj loved so much as he did the long three week canoe trip  along the shores of Lake Superior.  I’m thinking of using the term “free balling.”….and stealing the melody from Tom Petty.   Just imagine the peace of mind dogs would feel as they headed off to visit the “v”  (gee, we have a lot of swear words in dog, don’t we)…..knowing they were only heading out to free their balls, not slice them off forever and ever, Amen.  Yup, think I need to start working on this.   We can prevent unwanted pets and create a stress-free thought process for all dogs heading off to the good ol’ vet.   As for me….I’m spayed. See ya later.

Paws by any other name

Adapting is part of a dog’s nature.  I’m getting there.  Living inside this small space  has its advantages.  While home my people are never more than a tail’s width away from me.  My coup to take over the chesterfield has been successful.   It has been so successful that now owner lays out a blanket for me to lie on when  she’s away. Used to be I would dart for cover when I heard the key in the lock so they wouldn’t know I’d been up on the forbidden couch….now I don’t even lift my head.  Dozing, I give a cursory glance as they come through the door and pretend I hadn’t even noticed they were out.

They feel so guilty that I don’t have a verandah to lie on (there is one but I used it to wander into the neighbour’s apartment) that they pretty much take me everywhere they go.  This will end soon as temperatures inside the car can soar quickly and knock me off.  In fact, if they try to take me in the car when it is much hotter than today, you will hear my claws ripping the carpet as they pull me towards the doorway.  Got to get outta here is my mantra but not on pain of death!

Claws.  Hmmph.  There’s a a topic.  Claws are part of paws.  Paws are our equivalent of feet.  Feet have been the topic of the week.  My paws get sore too, you know.  Perhaps if I had a big wedge of glass in my foot we’d go see the vet, otherwise the only kindness shown to my feet is when I’m allowed to wander in the grass beside the walkway.  Owner on the other hand is boring us to tears with her tales of woe.  To make everything sound authentic, she has seen an orthopedist, a podiatrist and a neurologist.  They all agree.  Surgery, surgery, surgery and the sooner the better if she wants to walk anywhere for any length of time. (Italy, cobblestones, walking all day….wheelchair anyone?)  

I’m all for her feeling better but it will mean eight or nine weeks of me living here in Texas. This is the state of my birth and I’m nothing if not loyal but during the heat of the summer it won’t be fun.  AND owner will be  unable to get me out and about to smell the flowers, so to speak.   Woohoo, you can guess how excited that makes me feel.  Us dogs have a saying….JUST SAY NO (to litterboxes).

Today she spent some time with the neurologist.  After picking her feet with pins he declared that yes she had lost some feeling in her right foot. Now wait a minute….LOST some feeling?  I don’t get it.  All she does is moan and whine and complain about her foot hurting!  Get it straight owner…one or the other lady.  Either you don’t feel anything or you do. You are not going to get my sympathy for two diametrically opposed sensations.  Which is it going to be? 

So I sit here and delicately lick at my paws.  There was some really great urine in the grass today and I managed to bring some home with me.  Do they bring those horses in just to keep us dogs excited or what?  Anyway, what she can’t see (or obviously smell!) doesn’t bother her.  If she doesn’t leave a note to tell Curly I had a big walk at three, he ‘ll feel guilty I was inside most of the day and take me out for another big walk at five.  Now how to hide that pen?  See ya later.