Patsy Porco

Posts Tagged ‘Dogs’

Foul-Weather People

In Humor on September 9, 2016 at 7:20 pm

Awhile ago, during the anthrax scare—when government officials were receiving anthrax-laced letters—there was a rush on hardware stores for duct tape and plastic sheeting, as well as backorders for gas masks.

My husband and I didn’t buy into the panic, figuring that if chemical gas grenades were dropped into our neighborhood, plastic sheeting around our windows and doors probably wouldn’t keep it out. And we weren’t really sure we wanted to survive. We’re not industrious enough to want to help rebuild our society.

A friend of mine, however, bought everything she could get her hands on, and ordered gas masks for her family. I asked her why she wanted to survive a civilization-ending attack. She asked me why I didn’t. She didn’t have an answer, other than she didn’t want to die. My answer involved my being too lazy to start over. I didn’t state the obvious—that we’re all going to die eventually—for obvious reasons.

Then my friend mentioned that she read that bomb shelters would be built by the government to house people during bombings. I told her that, even if this were true, she and I wouldn’t be among those chosen to live in them.

“Why not?” she demanded, quite affronted.

“Because we don’t have any special talents that a new civilization would need to begin again, and we can’t have children anymore. There is going to be a need for young women who can breed, and we’re not that.”

I think the conversation ended then. What could she say? What I said made sense to both of us; we couldn’t have kids, and a post-apocalyptic world would have little need for IT managers or proofreaders.

Years later, I’m rethinking my argument. I have a very special skill that might be needed. My face predicts the weather. When it’s very humid, the right side of my head explodes in pain. This happens right before the humidity appears, too, so my head could be used to predict storms or something.

I also have Reynaud’s disease, so when it’s very cold and damp, several of my fingers lose all circulation and turn dead-white. But, by the time that happens, it’s already apparent that it’s cold and damp, so I’m waffling on the usefulness of that particular talent.

One concern I have is that there are many people who have steel plates in their heads and others who have arthritis, and they can also predict the weather with some accuracy. Dogs are also great predictors of thunder, lightning, and rain, and they’re cheaper to feed than I am. I’d better start work on my marketing campaign about why my head is a better weather-indicator than joints, steel plates, and dogs.

Then again, like I said before, I don’t want to rebuild. It makes me tired just thinking of all the work that will need to be done.

I think I’ll just stick with my original plan and ignore what’s going on around me. If that leads to the end of me, well, that will be that.

They’ll just have to find somebody else with a barometer face.

barometer-1297523_960_720

 

A Dog’s Life

In dogs, Golden Retriever, Humor, pets on May 22, 2016 at 7:55 pm

I love my life

A Lesson From My Dog

In dogs, Golden Retriever, Humor, pets on May 22, 2016 at 3:52 pm

Anywhere Is A Good Place To Have a Great Time

Dirty Dog

In dogs, Golden Retriever, Humor, pets on May 21, 2016 at 3:15 pm

I haven’t taken our Golden Retriever, Rudy, to Norwalk’s Cranbury Park for several years. I used to take him all the time, but then we fenced in our yard to cut down on his daily escapes, romps through the neighbors’ yards, and mad dashes across busy streets. Instead of going to the park, we’d open the back door, throw out some biscuits, and out into the yard he’d go. I would occasionally still take him to the park, but then I stopped because he always got dirty … much dirtier than any of the dozens of dogs there at any time.

Today, though, I had him in the car with me and we were in the neighborhood of the park, so I decided to take him. Cranbury Park allows dogs to be off-leash in an area called “The Orchard,” as well as on the trails. I figured that now that he was eight years old, he would be slower than he was when he was a puppy, and I’d be able to stop him before he jumped in the creek.

I was wrong.

I'm not dirty enough yet. 05212016

That sure was fun!

It was worth it, even if I have to have a bath now.

A Life-Changing Conversation

In dogs, Humor, pets on March 12, 2016 at 11:00 pm

I went to Walmart the other day with my brother, Gus, and my dog, Rudy. We left Rudy in the backseat of the car with two half-opened windows, and walked toward the store.

Gus was very disturbed by my leaving Rudy alone in the car. “Somebody is going to call 9-1-1 on you.”

“Why?” I asked. “I’ve seen lots of dogs left in cars in parking lots.”

“But,” said Gus, “their owners all get reported to the police. It happened to Katy Perry when she ran into Starbucks and left her dog in the car.”

“Really? How long could she have been in Starbucks for someone to worry about her dog’s safety?”

“Probably five minutes,” Gus said. “But that’s enough for some animal people.”

I’m an animal person, and I have no problem with Rudy’s being in the car,” I said. “He loves watching people, which he wouldn’t get to do at home.”

“I know that, and you know that,” Gus said, “But there are a lot of do-gooders out there who will think you’re being cruel.”

“But, I’m not!” I said, apparently in a loud voice, judging by the stares from people walking past us. “He’s happy and comfortable. People call the police when they see a dog in a car with the windows up during the summer, when it’s hot. It’s winter now.”

Gus shook his head. “I know it’s winter, but it’s a warmish day. Someone is going to think he’s too warm.”

“The windows are open and it’s almost 50 degrees. He’s not hot and he’s covered in fur, so he’s not cold. Nobody is going to report me.”

“Let’s just wait and see,” Gus said. “If we come back and the car is surrounded by crying women and flustered police, then we’ll worry.”

“Things sure have changed since we were kids,” I said. “Mom said that when I was ten-months old, she and Dad parked outside a store in New Hope, during the summer, and left me in the car for an hour, with the windows rolled up. When they came out, she said I had sweat pooled under my eyes and my face was beet-red.”

Gus rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing that they raised us in the 1960s. If they did that today, they’d both be in prison.”

“You’re right,” I said. “And since I’m the oldest, the rest of you would never have been born, what with them being locked up. What would have happened to me? I could have been put into the system and become a passed-around foster child.” We walked up to the store’s entrance pondering this.

“Or,” I said, as we went through the automatic doors, “I could have been adopted by millionaires who would’ve bought me a BMW and sent me to Harvard.”

Gus laughed. “Don’t laugh,” I said. “It could’ve happened. But probably not. Anyway, isn’t it interesting to think about how one action can change the course of many lives?”

Gus looked at me. “I think I’ll go back to the car and sit with Rudy,” he said. He turned and went back through the automatic doors.

dog in car

 

 

 

Dog Days

In dogs, Humor, pets on June 24, 2015 at 11:03 pm

Our Golden Retriever, Rudy, got his summer shave today, and he is pissed. Because I am an American and speak American English, when I say “pissed,” I mean “angry.” I almost said “mad,” but he’s not a mad dog, as in crazy/rabid; he’s merely a livid dog.

If I were in the U.K. and spoke English English, then when I said that he was “pissed,” I would have meant that he was drunk. But I’m not, and he isn’t. If he were, it would be perplexing because the only dog bar in town, called “BarDog” to confuse PETA, is closed. While it took them awhile, PETA finally caught on (when one of their dogs tried to duck in for a cold one during his walk) and took action.

At BarDog’s subsequent auction, I was fortunate enough to win the “Dogs Playing Poker” photograph that had been blown up and hung waist-high, above the bar, which was very low, for obvious reasons. Dogs don’t sit on stools. This “Dogs Playing Poker” was original in that it was a photo of actual patrons playing poker, but again, they don’t sit on stools or on chairs, so it showed them the way they really play: by sprawling on the floor with cards in their mouths.

But, back to Rudy. This is his seventh year of being shaved, but he never gets used to it. He always comes home in a foul mood. Eventually he forgets that he had a haircut and everything goes back to normal. But in the meantime, he’s very unpleasant to be around. I would slip him a nip to cheer him up, since his watering hole is shuttered, but I’m afraid he’d tell his dog friends and one of them would have an owner who would object and then we’d be back to square one, except my square would be a cell.

So, until then, I guess he’ll live under the dining room table. His plan is to not come out until his hair grows back, but we all know how well that plan works. Rudy 06242015

Rudy the Bad-Bad Golden

In Christmas, Christmas, dogs, Golden Retriever, Humor on December 26, 2014 at 11:46 pm

Rudy, our Golden Retriever, has spent the day lying low. If he could become invisible, he would; in the absence of an invisibility cloak, he attempted to blend in with the furniture (see photo below). As well he might. They say that you have to reprimand dogs immediately when they break the rules, because they won’t remember their transgressions the next day, or even the next hour. They are wrong. Rudy knows he’s in big trouble. Maybe he doesn’t remember why (he does), but he knows better than to ask for any special favors today … or even breathe too loudly.

Rudy 12262014

Rudy’s disgrace occurred yesterday, Christmas Day. My sister, Valencia,* her husband, Mike, and their children, Lana and Jack, invited our family to Christmas dinner at their house in New Jersey. Valencia insisted that we bring Rudy. They have a two-year-old yellow Labrador Retriever named Ozzie. Valencia assured me that the two dogs would get along wonderfully, even though they had never met.

At first, it appeared that my worries were for nothing and that Valencia was right. The dogs were initially wary of each other, but then they sniffed each others’ hind quarters and settled down. I had brought two enormous rawhide bones for them; one was pure white and one was a darker tan. I gave the lighter one to Rudy and the darker one to Ozzie. The kids and I took the dogs into the yard and tossed a ball around for them to fetch. After awhile, we went back into the house. In the kitchen, the dogs were just standing around the kitchen table when Ozzie decided that he needed to demonstrate who the alpha dog was in their house. So he started to mount Rudy. It happened in an instant and if you missed it, like my sister and brother-in-law did, you wouldn’t have known what set off the ensuing dog fight in the kitchen. Rudy, who is generally too lazy to bark for more than attention or food, bared his teeth and snarled. His snarling turned into angry barking at Ozzie. Ozzie barked back in equal anger. We were able to separate them before limbs were torn off. Poor Ozzie was at loose ends. It was his house and he deserved to call the shots, but this seven-year-old Golden seemed to think that he was the boss.

We tried to get the dogs to make up, which was just plain ridiculous. They don’t exactly kiss or shake hands. But, in time, they were able to co-exist in the same space, although they kept their distance from each other. In any event, they seemed peaceful, so we went back to preparing the dinner. Rudy went to the door to go out. Valencia let him out and noticed that he had Ozzie’s bone. He went out and hid it somewhere and came back in. Ozzie then had to go out with Rudy’s bone. Then the fun really started. Rudy went to Ozzie’s pile of Christmas presents and grabbed his stuffed animals and slobbered all over them. Then he went outside, found a big mud puddle and rolled in it. Before I was able to drag him into the house, he grabbed Ozzie’s bone from where he had hidden it. Back in the house, he headed for the living room, where he plopped his filthy body onto the floor. I cleaned him and the floor up while he gnawed on Ozzie’s bone, with Ozzie observing the proceedings from a safe distance. Then I went back into the kitchen.

My nephew, Jack, who had a fever and was resting on the couch, called me back into the living room. He thought that I should know that Rudy had vomited on their rug. Back to the kitchen I went to get cleaning supplies. As I cleaned up the pile, it became obvious that this wasn’t real vomit. It wasn’t slimy or anything. This looked like Rudy had filled his mouth with chewed up rawhide and water and spit it out.

Then it was dinner time. I filled Rudy’s bowl and Valencia filled Ozzie’s. Ozzie decided that Rudy’s dry kibble was far superior to his, so he bogarted Rudy’s dinner. Rudy sniffed at Ozzie’s bowl and rejected it, even though it had his favorite wet food mixed in with the dry kibble. Instead, he took a big gulp of water and disappeared from the room. Moments later, Jack called me back into the living room to point out another pile of rawhide bits sitting in water.

You have to realize that dinner preparations were in the works, and appetizers and drinks had been put out for us and their neighbors, so this subplot was evolving in the midst of revelry. Not everyone was aware of it, just the kids, and the mothers, who had to subdue the dog-induced mayhem.

After awhile, we all sat down to dinner and had a wonderful time. My brother-in-law is a wonderful cook and my sister is a marvelous hostess. We decided to ignore Rudy, who periodically turned up with Ozzie’s stuffed animals, Lana’s stuffed animals, and anything he could stuff into his mouth and contaminate. Ozzie was always in the same room as Rudy, but never too close, as if he were saying, “Look, I’m a good dog. I’m nothing like that horrible Rudy.” All in all, it was a great day. I don’t think Rudy will be invited back again, but I’m hoping we will.

* Valencia isn’t her real name. My mother never would have named her after a type of orange. The other names were changed, as well, but not as creatively.

Jumping for Joy

In dogs, Humor, pets on October 30, 2014 at 12:36 am

RudyAnyone who has ever had a dog knows how hard it is to change a dog’s regular food. So, when you find yourself out of it one night, and don’t feel like going out  to get more, you’re often forced to offer human food to your four-legger, or a bag of doggie biscuits. Dogs are always willing to eat any kind of human food or canine treat, but just try to give them a new kibble. They’d rather starve than do more than give it a dismissive sniff.

So, the other day when I was in Walgreen’s, I remembered that we were out of dry dog food for our golden retriever, Rudy. Walgreen’s carries his particular brand, but only in small bags which cost three times as much per pound as the large bags that I usually buy elsewhere. Looking for something to tide him over until I could get to a grocery store or Walmart, I spotted Kibbles ‘n Bits, and they were on sale, so I bought a bag.

I was a little nervous when I got home and poured it into Rudy’s bowl. I suspected that he’d take one look at it and walk away. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He watched me with great interest as I put out his food and water bowls. Then he went over to sniff his new food. Rather than ignore it, he started jumping up and down with glee. He literally leapt for joy before scarfing down every morsel. When he was finished, he jumped up and down some more.

I should have been relieved that I didn’t have to go out again to get his normal food. And I was. But I also suspected that I had just fed him a big bowl of cookies.

Red or White with your Kibble?

In dogs, Humor on October 5, 2013 at 4:13 pm

Our Golden Retriever, Rudy, likes wine.

Initially, I was worried about his newfound sophisticated taste because grapes are said to kill dogs, or at least make them sick. It turns out, though, that wine agrees with him. He even came back for seconds.

Before you call the ASPCA or the National Association of Vineyard Police, I’ll tell you what happened. The other day, red wine was accidentally spilled onto the kitchen floor and he lapped it up. Then he sat in front of me, very politely, on his haunches, which told me that wanted more.

He is a very nice, albeit very rude, dog who only uses manners when he wants cheese — and now, apparently, wine. He’ll also behave for a hunk of crusty bread.

Oh my God! My dog is French.

Dogging My Steps

In Humor on September 28, 2013 at 5:27 pm

Our Golden Retriever, Rudy, has been following me around for the last hour. He’s always very interested when I do something new. I guess the only way to get rid of him is to put away the vacuum cleaner.

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