by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . October 4, 2011 . 5:30PM
As I type this, my favorite dog, Sophie, sits by my side gently licking my hands and distracting me from typing my blog. She lays her head on my chest, looks deeply into my eyes and I can tell that she wants me to know that she loves me and cares for me and won’t I just stop what I’m doing and love her a little back? You’d think this dog was never loved a day in her life, and yet she is spoiled beyond belief. She frequently gets snacks, pets, playtime, hugs and where does she sleep? In my bed. Under my blankets.
With that being said, Sophie is my shadow. Where I go, she goes. Jillian had a little dog whose fur was black as night, if Jillian left to go to work, Sophie was sure to fight. When I leave her, I can walk out the front door and hear the keening cries from the bereft “pea.” Yes, Sophie loves me.
Sometimes, though, all bets are off. One night last week, I was grumpy and tired and had grabbed my book to read before bedtime, as I frequently do. I lay down with my book and my small package of whole wheat peanut butter crackers and finally, finally managed to relax. As I munched my crackers, I read chapter after chapter. Chew, chew, chew, swallow, drink the water. Repeat. I looked up and there was my adoring little dog…with narrowed eyes, cocked ears and a look of pure envy. Her face said, “Give me those crackers and no one gets hurt.”
I had one cracker left. I was hungry, tired and needed my cracker. I slowly put it in my mouth and chew, chew, chew, swallow, water. Sophie looked at me, looked at the empty wrapper and stood up. She walked to the far side of the bed and turned her back to me. She refused to look at me or engage in any kind of cuddling. Yes, I’d just done the impossible: I’d made my dog hate me over peanut butter crackers.
The next day, I woke up to my dog nuzzling my hand and all slights forgotten. I got cuddles, hugs and sweetness. If only all relationships were so simple.
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by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 2, 2011 . 3:01AM
As I came down the stairs, I could hear Sophie’s feet pad the floor as she “danced” in circles. She does this when she’s excited and it had been a more recent occurrence this week, more so than other weeks in the past because she’s had good reason to be happy. My dogs get plenty of exercise and trust me when I say that these little beasties jail-break my back fence on a regular basis. Sophie, in particular, is guilty of this, though, luckily, they confine their breaks to mainly the next-door neighbor’s backyard where they happily yap at the neighbor’s dog who barks mournfully back at them from his enclosed patio.
Lately, though, the weather has been nice and I have made the decision to be a more active person. As such, I have been making it a priority to find reasons to move my body. This benefits Sophie in that she sees me suit up in the sloppiest mom-gear you’ve ever seen, complete with ridiculous slouchy cap, push my headphones into my cell phone and slink out the door like I’m heading off to prison for the day.
Not Sophie, however. The minute I come day those stairs, it is on like Donkey Kong. So, this day, I could hear her start her own routine and I smiled.
I hit the bottom step and her little toenails began to click across the floor towards the door where her harness and leash hang. Water dribbled down my chin as I attempted to hydrate myself while not choking on the scent of the most obnoxious sunscreen ever and I watched her eyes dilate much the same way those of an addict do when they get a fix. Sophie jumped on the couch and begin to whine and do circles, which is her way of telling me, “C’mon, C’mon, let’s go.” As I placed her harness over her head, she gently lifted her paw through the harness on her own to hurry the process. I laughed and turned on the programs that I use on my cell phone that track my progress and give me tunes to listen to while I walk. During this short 15 seconds I thought her little head might explode as she pulled me towards the door. The other dogs looked at us with reproach.
We were met with a cloudy day as Sophie did her dancing circles down the steps to let me know how excited she was to be going on her walk. When I say she turned to me and smiled with a full set of teeth, I’m not exaggerating. She’s started doing this for the entire first two blocks of our walk until she starts to sweat and her tongue lolls out of her mouth and she realizes that walking is work. While I fiddled with my phone and walked uphill and downhill and all over the place, my dog did doggie things. She stared at the blue sky. She sniffed at birds who were bathing in puddles, but left them alone. She considered all forms of anything on the ground leftovers that she could potentially eat unless I caught her in time. This included worms, dead birds and bird poop. Other dogs were cheerfully greeted with a growl and then a playful yap and then promptly ignored. Squirrels, however…
Squirrels were to be chased with reckless abandon. By this I mean that squirrels were to be chased regardless of how hard I tugged and pulled on the leash and if that meant I fell on my backside because Sophie has twisted it around my body, then so be it. Squirrels were the enemy.
Also to be chased were men with their shirts off. Clearly, to dogs, this is a symbol of some form of aggression that will not stand. I had no idea this was the case until Sophie began to chase a half-clothed man and refused to stop until I almost fell into a street full of traffic and I screamed at her. This caused the half-clothed man to look at me like I was the one with the problem and to run even faster in the opposite direction. Sophie merely gave me her doggy grin and trotted back to me as if nothing happened.
Towards the end of our walk, we headed down the path toward home and Sophie cheerfully barked her recognition that we were near. This is the same dog that almost had a coronary that I wouldn’t take her on her walk quickly enough. As we edged toward our mailbox, she looked back at me and smiled her doggy smile. We were home and tomorrow would bring another walk.
There will always be squirrels out there that need to be taught a lesson.
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . December 21, 2010 . 5:08PM
Christmastime is special to me, as it is to most people. I’ve never lost my childlike wonder for the lights, the tree lots, the snow, the gifts, really, any of it. As I grow, though, parts of the holiday that are less enchanted seem to hit me like a truck and I can’t seem to shake them, no matter how hard I try.
I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the last couple of years reading about shelter animals and rescue dogs, and the number of puppies and kittens that are brought back to shelters after the holidays is staggering. I’m not going to get on my soapbox for long, but I would like to make a request in that I’d like for anyone that is considering a puppy this year to consider a couple of options.
One option is to consider a fully grown dog or cat from a shelter or a rescue site. Dogs are often trained and do well with children. They can be just as cute and cuddly as puppies and need just as much love. They are silly and friendly and sweet. They also piddle on the floor a lot less. Cats are independent and don’t need much to be amused. They are easily potty-trained and if you ever wanted to know what to do with empty toilet-rolls, now you know.
If you absolutely must have a puppy or kitten, please find them at a shelter, if you can. Shelters are overrun in the cold weather and the number of animals that are put to sleep is astounding.
Lastly, when you get your new animal, please take care of it’s doggy/kitty parts and make sure it can’t procreate. It helps keep the pet population down and animals from being stuck in poor situations.
My dog, Sophie, is one of the joys of my life. She was rescued by a family about 2 hours from where I live and I wouldn’t trade her for anything. When I’m sick she sleeps by my side. When I wake up in the morning she cuddles me. When I leave the house, she cries because she can’t go with me. As I type this, I sit cross-legged on my recliner. Sophie is at my feet. She wasn’t a puppy when I got her and she’s not the most beautiful dog in the world. I love her tremendously and she is one of my best friends.
You can see my right sidebar for Dogs in Danger, which is a site that lets you know about dogs that are in Kill shelters and need a home near you. You can also donate to the humane society there. You can google for shelters in your area and Petfinder.com often allows shelters to use them as a resource.
Please help save an animal this season. Dogs, cats, turtles, you name it, need a good home. If you choose an animal this year, please be a responsible pet owner.
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 13, 2010 . 5:19AM
Sometimes I hate being a parent.
Blaspheme, right? It’s true. Part of being a parent means that I have to do the hard work such as disciplining my child when he misbehaves or chooses to mess around in class as opposed to choosing to learn and distract those around him. This makes my job as a parent difficult and unenjoyable.
Lately, AJ has been testing his independence and his boundaries at school. This week he forgot something necessary at school and, as such, he ended up going to bed early and his dog was not allowed to sleep in his bedroom. In this house, one thing is always true: Wherever my child goes, so goes his dog. There has never been a more loyal dog than that dachshund to her boy.
What I knew was that the separation of the two was going to hurt one person: me. Why is this? Because AJ was going to go to sleep and I was going to be left with the whiny, leaky eyed dog that would look at the gaited stairs and turn eyes on me that were alternately hateful, pitiful and pleading. This is exactly what happened. She would go to the gate at the stairs and stand there for 10 minutes at a time while looking up at the darkened stairs and waiting for him to come down to get her. When it didn’t happen, she would come to me, grunt sadly and run back to the stairs. Her message was clearly “Please let me be with him.”
I had to say no. Over 100 times in the 4 hours I was awake after he went to bed did I say no. Eventually, she wore herself out and curled up on my legs. When I finally went to bed she calmly waited at the gate for me to allow her up. When I didn’t, she whined at me and watched me climb the stairs. I glanced at her sadly and went to bed.
Two hours later, I awoke and, eyes half closed, headed for the bathroom door. I happened to look down the stairs and she sat there, quietly and patiently, waiting for her boy.
In the morning, I cannot imagine what their reunion was like, but my son has been on his best behavior ever since and she has not left his side. He also has not forgotten a single bit of work since. Sometimes, a reminder of the people we let down by our failures can be the most honest motivator in our lives.
And sometimes people aren’t actually people but the vision of a dog that loves you more than anything standing alone in the dark waiting for you to come for her…
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . June 27, 2010 . 11:41PM
Oh dear. Oh my. Oh good golly.
One of my favorite things about summertime is the storms. The outrageous, amazing, beautiful, loud, house-shaking, booming, scary movie, better wrap yourself in a blanket and have some hot chocolate and snuggle with your honey thunderstorms that hit the South are this wondrous creation that you have to experience to believe. I’ve mentioned my love of the storms while I was growing up in Illinois. There are few things I like better than a good thunderstorm. I like to sit in my car and watch it through the sunroof. Or through the windows of my house. Or if I’m at a house with a screened in porch, that is the bees knees, right there. If a slight breeze is to be had to give me goose pimples, oh goodness, that is about the best to be had.
It’s about my idealized version of heaven.
I do love a good storm.
Not everyone shares my feelings of a storm. No, not everyone.
Not even everyone in my house. The humans are fine with it. Generally, they think of it as a burden to their baseball schedules. Well, with the exception of this human who clearly finds it a delightful slice of life. The turtle and the cat seem to be a-ok oblivious to the storm and think of it as another sound effect to a life of monotony. And 3 out of 4 dogs like to snuggle under the blanket and beg for the hot chocolate.
But that 1 dog…she is an unhappy little noodlehead when it comes to thunderstorms. She’s a much better predictor than the weatherman, bless his heart. I can tell a storm is coming about 45 minutes early. Her ears will perk and the whining starts. She can be in her kennel or in the house.
When she’s out of her kennel, immediately she jumps on the couch and her head goes into my lap. She begs for ear rubbing and looks at me like we are going to die. Right now. She’s serious. Rub her ears because we are going to bite it.
T-minus 20 minutes to storm. Her butt starts to wiggle and she tries to put all 35 pounds of her directly onto my lap.
T-minus 10 minutes to storm. I hear a wailing like that of a banshee who has been caught by a death eater who has just been told this is his last snack and he must om nom nom before lethal injection.
T-minus 3 minutes and counting. She paces the floor like an expectant father while continuing to wail and look at me like I’m a jerk who won’t stop the weather. This includes me looking at her like her voicebox is optional in dogs.
Storm-time. She is back in my lap, shaking like a leaf while I croon to her and whisper all kinds of human soothing noises that dogs don’t understand because, according to my son, “Dogs don’t speak English.” After about 5 minutes, Molly is fine again because, “Oh, hey, it’s just a storm.”
The three tiny dogs are looking at her like, “The big dumb dog just got it, let’s go fight over our chewy!” and the world is again at peace in the house.
Home
Life is like a game. We all have challenges, thoughts, opinions and beliefs. Often, it feels like something out there, life, karma, catty people, or blue shells (for the Kart lovers), seeks to bring us down. Luckily, we always get up. This is where I wear my heart on my sleeve and my foot in my mouth.
