"Stairs", #inktober52, #inktober

 

Seriously, I’ve tried writing a post for weeks.  I just couldn't keep my concentration through a whole page of typing because I have acquired a puppy who NEEDS my full attention all the time – except of course when she’s getting in trouble.

My blog silence actually started with stairs.  The deck steps were bad and I replaced them with the invaluable assistance of a friend and Bro3.  My helpful friend pointed out other things I needed to fix.  Bro loaned me a ladder with a stern directive to clean gutters.  I caulked, mortared, painted, stained… I can’t even remember all the things I did.  What I know for sure is that I was tired at the end of every day and didn’t feel like writing.  I was also so stressed about the US election that I couldn’t think straight or say nice things in a post.  Thank God we can put that stress behind us, as long as the current president doesn’t blow up the world before January 20, 2021.  Thanks to everyone who voted for that happy outcome!

I grieved when my last dog died about a year ago.  I didn’t start looking for a new companion right away, and then everything shut down because of Covid.  I searched rescue websites for months before I saw my new baby at Rescue Village in Geauga County, Ohio.  She is currently about 14 pounds and about 5-6 months old of every breed in the rainbow.  Great!  I love mutts.  The vet suggested she might be part whippet and said Pup will probably be about 25 pounds as an adult which is plenty big enough.  She’s a soft, cuddly, wiggling delight who is lovely in every possible way.  In case you can’t tell, I adore her.  Life feels good and normal because I have a puppy.  She runs up and down the deck stairs many times in a day and I’m glad I fixed them. 

I wanted to write a gushing post about her since I got her, but I’ll admit she’s tired me out.  We walk miles every day and my knee is killing me.  She’s made friends at the park and learned some basics.  She was housebroken in a day, walked nicely on the leash in another day, sits, and lets go of things on command.  She definitely gets “NOOOO!!!!”, but that doesn’t stop her from doing a bad behavior again behind my back.  We play fetch and she helps me pick up sticks in the yard.  Our next lesson is “SHHH!!!!”  She has a bark that can shatter steel 3 miles away and she uses it to alert the world to squirrels or to her abandonment.  She’s also learned she can use her voice to boss me around because I run to shut her up before someone calls the police on us.

I’m sure she was neglected and pretty sure she was abused before me.  The rescue people told me she had lived her short life in a kennel and “knows nothing!”  That last bit definitely proved true.  I saw her reaction the first time she saw grass.  It’s hard to imagine, sad, but a delight at the same time.  She discovered dried up dandelions and loves to make them explode.  She chews on my fennel and oregano in the garden and has the freshest dog breath.  I take her to the woods or river and everything is new and wonderful.  Every person or dog is a new friend.  Except, there was one guy.  She was afraid of him, and it occurred to me he was the guy I called the cops about last year for hiding in the woods to watch high school girls.  I have a smart dog.

She's mistrustful and uncooperative with picture taking

She had some absolute meltdowns when I first got her.  It was more than a cry for attention.  She actually sobbed in my arms when I left her for a few hours.  She cried in her sleep and I stroked her and said it was alright, the bad days are over.  The longer I have her, the fewer bad dreams she has, but she still gets upset if I have to go out without her.  Now she has dreams about the park and playing with the neighbor boys too.  I always wonder about the idiots who think dogs don’t have feelings.  Of course they do! 

The drawing above is the only thing I’ve drawn lately, and that was using my sleeping pup’s back for an easel.  It’s also hard to type with a warm puppy on my lap, forcing me to stretch to the keyboard to type with one finger, and she makes me take play breaks, but really, I’ll make an effort to post more often.

Wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving!  Stay safe and healthy!

"Cabin 2"

Almost 20 years ago, I petted Stella, Bro2's roommate's nasty little Jack Russell Terrier.  "This dog is pregnant", I said.  "No, no", Bro replied.  Never mind he had an unfixed dog in his apartment as his humanitarian effort to help the overcrowded dog pound and Stella wasn't spayed.  Bro laughed at the thought they could even get it together since Stella was tiny and the pound dog was enormous.

Really, when are people going to start believing me when I say stuff?  About a month later, Bro confirmed Stella's pregnancy and begged me to take a coming puppy.  I had an old Dalmatian and didn't want one, but gave Bro a chance.  I typed 2 single-spaced pages of requirements and said if a puppy was born that fit all of these needs I'd take it.

I was very specific.  I'd had years of b/w spotty dogs so I wanted a brown dog with a long tail, floppy ears, black nose, female, small like Stella, but with the pound dog's nice personality.  I knew the puppies would be Pisces and demanded one with an Aries ascendant so it would be able to stand up to my grouchy, old Dalmatian.  I wanted a good bark for security reasons.  On and on and on.  I wasn't trying to be reasonable.  I didn't really want a puppy, but I got one anyway.  She was too young to leave Stella too, just 4 weeks old, but Bro was in the Navy and got shipped to Bahrain so I had to take her.

Since she was so young, I paper trained her.  That's a helpful skill for a dog to have anyway since it gives an option if I'm away from the house too long.  I've never had any trouble training puppies, but this was the stupidest puppy ever.  Little turds were dropped just off the paper.  Little puddles on my wood floor.  I'll admit, I lost my patience and screamed about this after a few months.  No puppy should take that long to train.  Then, I caught my evil Dalmatian dropping puppy-sized poops on my floor, just missing the paper.  At least then my screaming was at the right culprit.  It's my everlasting shame that I yelled at my puppy for something she didn't do.  I apologized many times about that.  The Dal quit messing the house once she was busted.

My puppy was a devoted little dog.  Once, I went swimming in Lake Erie with a couple of friends.  We left all of our dogs on the deserted beach.  The other dogs ran around the beach like dogs do, but my tiny puppy swam out to me through the pre-storm choppy waves.  I was pretty far out and didn't see her at first.  I swam as fast as I could to rescue her.  She was exhausted and lay quietly in my arms as I used my old life saving skills to get her back to the beach.  I promised I'd never leave her on the beach again.

She managed my schedule and told me when to eat, when to work, when to watch TV.  She kept the groundhogs and rabbits under control until she got too old to chase them.  She daintily walked around my art piles on the floor.  She happily went on my de-littering walks in the neighborhood and did some pretty serious hiking with me through the years.  She was always sweet.

The first thing I do every day is fill her food and water bowls.  Today, they weren't there to fill.  I didn't know how to start my day.  I forgot to eat supper last night and almost forgot to brush my teeth.  I keep expecting to see her under my feet.  I'm lost and sad because my roommate of almost 20 years is gone.  I held her as she died and she wagged her long tail.  I sang her our song, "I love my dog, I love my dog, and my dog loves me!"

Some people don't understand how tight we get with our furry friends, or see why we'd want to care for another who will always be dependent like a child.  One person told me to quit having dogs since my heart breaks when they die.  People like that can't feel the love and companionship my puppy gave me through the years.  It's worth today's loss, though I'll miss her more than I can say.  I hope she's there to meet me when it's my turn to go to the other side.

She did have floppy ears except when there were varmints in
the yard or I was taking pictures of her.

The art above is an old doodle from when she was young and perky.  It doesn't have anything to do with a cabin other than taking her camping, but then IF is still falling behind on Friday words.

"Fuzzy"

Bro2 got a Cavachon puppy.  I really should've taken a picture because he's extremely adorable even though he's so tiny it seems kind of silly to even call him a dog.  The cat towers over him and seems confused by ricocheting ball of energy flying around the house.  The picture below is somebody else's dog, but gives you an idea of general cuteness.

The original "owner" said she didn't want him anymore.  Bro had to take him for a bath and haircut before they could even go home together because the puppy's fur was so filthy and matted.  This makes me insane, but now the puppy is warm and fuzzy with his new butch haircut.  Bro even bought him a coat so he won't get cold on their walks.  They're going to be very happy together, so I guess all's well that ends well.  I was happy to visit and soak up puppy love and kisses.

I love puppies but I think my next dog might be an older animal.  Hopefully one who is already housebroken and doesn't chew on important things or walk through art projects.  Mostly I hope my ancient dog still has a few years in her.  I hope she likes playing with Bro's new puppy.  If not, she and the cat can cuddle in a corner and cast disapproving looks across the room until the little beast grows up and settles down.

I'd like to wax poetic about warm and fuzzy thoughts but my brain is jammed on the fact that I have a very hard deadline to meet.  I'll have to work through the weekend and my brain isn't helped by the fact that I'm having a hard time getting started on it.  The layout is approved, everything is set to go... and inertia.  I want to finish my latest painting instead.  My energy is pulled in opposing directions and nothing is getting done.  I hate that when that happens.

It will all work out.  I always meet deadlines.  It's just a question of how crazy I'll make myself before I get into a Zen state of productivity.  One of the things it took me a very long time to accept is that starting a project before my mind is on it is often pointless.  I blow time on "shortcuts" that take more time in the end as I laboriously fix things.  It's best to just do it right the first time.

This feels like a beginner's problem, but I suspect a lot of us do it.  We aren't machines.  We need to take time to cuddle fuzzy puppies, take a walk, or take a bath, or whatever it takes to blow off our procrastinating energies.  I guess the joy of maturity is knowing when we have a bit of time to waste and the confidence to know we can make up for that waste through experience?

You can think of it like Christmas shopping.  Some people have all their gifts in July.  Some by December 1.  Some wait until Christmas eve or even January.  The important thing is to know what you can live with and what others will accept -- and with that I'm feeling a whisper of positive deadline Zen...

I hope you are all enjoying the holiday season!

The last of my tomatoes from the garden!  Picked green to ripen inside,
this is the first time I've made them last until December.

"Dog"

I look at my curled up lump of a dog at my feet and search for inspiration.  She sighs.  An ear twitches.  She sinks deeper into sleep and twitches a foot.  I watch her belly go in and out with each breath.  That's it.  She isn't offering any more inspiration than that unless it's for me to take deeper breaths and relax too.  Course if I got up and said "Let's go for a walk", she'd be up and bouncy in a split second, which I think is pretty incredible since she's ancient.  I hope I'm doing as well when I'm her equivalent age.

I couldn't think of what to write next so I got up to refill my glass of iced tea.  I bashed the glass on the doorframe, sent glass and ice flying in a noisy crash, and my puppy lazily got up to see what I'd done.  She sniffed an ice cube and wandered outside.  The glass didn't break, thankfully.

I was making a sandwich when she came back inside.  She hovered hopefully underfoot.  I dropped a bit of cheese and pointed at it before carrying my sandwich back to the computer and everything became as it was before.  Old dogs are so easy.  We have a rhythm.  We understand each other.  She leaves my art piles alone.

Lacking any blog inspiration, I go back to watching her breathing.  In out, in out, I match my breath to her's and get myself into a dopey hypnotic peacefulness.

In this relaxed state, I remember recently painting a portrait of my cousin's cat.  A cat is close enough for a "dog" post, right?  I sent the painting as a congratulations gift because she recently finished her law degree.  I'm impressed.  She's roughly my age and clearly is still tackling new challenges.  That's inspiring.  Makes me want to quit watching my dog breathe and do something inspirational too.

I also painted a portrait of my niece who recently graduated with her masters degree.  She likes Asian things and bleaches the ends of her hair blonde, or blue, whatever.  This isn't my usual kind of painting, but I enjoyed making it.  I hope she enjoys having it.

Shaking myself out of my hypnotic dog watching, I did have weather excitement this week with a microburst of tornado like winds, hail, and thunderstorm.  Trees and branches came down.  The top of a tree came down next door, flying over their garage but stopping short of their house and cars.  Really, it could not have come down more nicely.  It even just missed flattening my gooseberry bushes and hibiscus.

The neighbor next to them had a tree take down the electrical lines and we were all out of power for a day.  When the electric company came they asked to saw up my next door neighbors' downed tree so they could bring their equipment in the back yards to rescue the electric lines.  This was a huge relief as they're 2 older sisters who don't do chainsaws.

I thought the excitement was done, but no, I woke up to fire trucks and lights flashing.  The grounded wires sent electricity into the ground which traveled into the garage of the neighbor 3 doors down.  The garage smoldered and smoked, but no serious damage.  Really, I think everything turned out as luckily as it could for a micro tornado and it caused the neighbors to socialize when they were out with their dogs.

"Surveillance"

It’s funny how my mind goes sometimes.  “Surveillance?”  I thought about my job watching numbers, and then went out for lunch, went shopping… and somewhere along the line, probably during my inner rage that an artichoke costs $2.50, I envisioned my puppy with Mad-Eye Moody’s electric blue eye.  (That’s a Harry Potter reference for those of you who still haven’t fallen in line with popular literature.) 

“Constant vigilance!” is my puppy in a nutshell.  She patrols our borders and sits on the deck so she can survey our domain in a sweeping, penetrating gaze.  Indoors, she sits on the arm of the couch like a sphinx with an unobstructed view out two windows so she can protect me from children and squirrels.

The other day my brother and I were watching tv, each with our own side projects.  We’d been quiet a while when Bro said, “Did you know Penny caught a groundhog?”  Yay!!!  I hate those blasted varmints.  I put a lot of money into groundhog barriers and barricaded the garden with fence and other defenses, and the stupid things ate my broccoli anyway.  Grrr….

I responded with “I hope you gave her positive reinforcement!”  Bro looked a little disgusted and patted her on the head with an insincere “Good dog”.  I gave her a much more enthusiastic “Good dog!!” and ruffled up her fur.  She strutted with pride.*

After a while Bro said “Did I mention she brought it in the house?”  Well no.  “Where’d you put it?”  “I didn’t put it anywhere.”  “Why didn’t you get rid of it?!”  Bro pointed.  Dead groundhog neatly placed on the floor equidistant between us.  Eww.

Penny reminds me a lot of the original dog, Cindy.  She was half beagle, half poodle.  Her cuteness was on the order of a Llaso Apso, but she was much tougher.  Despite her stubby little beagle legs, she willingly swam across the river and patrolled the woods with me.  She was an outside dog, and aside from her annual haircut, grooming and baths weren’t part of the plan.

Everybody loved Cindy the same way everybody loves Penny.  They share(d) the same “of course everybody loves me!” attitude towards life.  Life must be good as a cute dog.  Both dogs listened to my troubles with the same kindness in their eyes.  Sometimes Penny lets me hold her like a baby and kiss her forehead, which smells a lot better than when I crawled into Cindy’s doghouse and cuddled around her.  It didn’t matter.  I’ll always remember the happiness I felt when my face was snuggled into her sunshine and river fur.

The Penny portrait is a rework of a previous doodle, but even though I bet you think I just whipped out this Cindy portrait, I actually put some thought into it, remembering her endearing qualities.  Sadly, there just aren’t many photos of her around, but her loving brown eyes and soft pink tongue live on in my heart J

*Note: While I care for most wildlife, my pup has permission to kill bunnies, groundhogs, and deer because they’re as friendly to my garden as a bulldozer.  She dutifully leaves my birds alone, and we only had one squirrel incident.  I’m pretty sure the squirrel survived, but now our yard is curiously squirrel-free.

"Lost"

Everything was fine in my 20s except I didn’t have a dog, and life just isn’t good enough without one.  My BF said “Fine.  Get a dog, but it has to be purebred, male…”  His list of requirements was an insurmountable barrier, and that he knew it was evident in his self-satisfied smile.  I was the lowest person on the totem pole in an art studio and supporting BF in his dream of starting a business.  How was I supposed to pay for a purebred?

My mornings at the studio started with the dog section of the classifieds.  Purebreds were $300-500, and I didn’t have it.  Months went by.  BF was happy.  I was determined.  I finally found a listing for Dalmatian puppies for $110.  Okay!  I didn’t care if I had to eat lentils for a month.  I’ll pay $110!  I quickly called the number and found out that in a litter of 13, there was only 1 male.  “Please hold him for me!” I begged the woman.  I called BF and shared my joy.  We made plans to pick up the puppy after I got home from work.

BF made me call the woman again before we left the house to make sure she still had the male.  No, she didn’t, but she still had a dozen beautiful little girl puppies.  BF said “No, it has to be a male”, and I did something I had never done before.  I cried to get my way.  Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t start crying to get my way.  I cried because I wanted a dog.  The getting my way part was sitting in the middle of everything so BF had to see me crying.  The more he tried to ignore me, the more I cried.  He eventually relented.  He said we could go “look” at the puppies.  No promises, “just look”, and then he got a box and an old towel to put inside it.  I knew we were doing more than “looking”.

The puppies were a scene from 101 Dalmatians, spilling out all over the woman’s garage.  The proud parents checked us out, and Papa Dalmatian showed off by running around the expansive property in the twilight, a white and black blur, while one puppy made it clear to me that she loved me more than all of her sisters.  I was in love.  BF could’ve said “no” in that moment and I would’ve put him out on the street.  I’m pretty sure he knew it too.  We brought Ivory home.  BF loved her too, and we eventually got a male to complete the set.

So what’s all this got to do with “lost”?  If you’ve ever had a Dalmatian, you wouldn’t ask.  Sometimes I’d remember watching Ivory’s dad running in the fading light and realize that I should’ve seen his beautiful power as something to dread.  Dalmatians have to run.  They were bred for it.  They also don’t like running in circles.  They run in straight lines, and things like railroad tracks, roads, and fences aren’t going to stop them.

One time, BF took the dogs to work with him, but they didn’t come when he called them.  He slept in his truck hoping they’d show up, but they didn’t.  He came home alone with his tail between his legs, and I quickly printed up flyers (already on the computer from the last escape) and got my little brothers to help me pass them out.  “Look pitiful!” I told them as my desperation reached new levels of panic.  We drove up and down streets and handed out the flyers to anybody we saw.  I forced a flyer on one old man, and he insisted he hadn’t seen my dogs.  “Woof!”  I barreled past him and found both of my dogs locked up in his fenced backyard.  I can’t believe he lied to me in front of my two adorable little brothers.  The dogs almost looked sorry for an instant, but they never learned their lesson.  I kept the LOST flyer filed on the computer.

This picture is a Polaroid transfer, which is a pretty cool process of floating the emulsion of the photo off of the paper and floating it onto a different kind of paper.  You can get some cool techniques out of the process, but this print is pretty straight forward.  The other photo is of Ivory and one of my little brothers when they were both little and cute :)

"Expired"

I almost skipped Illo Friday’s word of the week because “expired” isn’t where I want my head to be right now. It brings to mind expired coupons, sour milk, and people who have passed out of my life. I like to make happy art instead of skulls and crossbones, yet the word also nudged me more into creative thinking than the previous words because it isn’t in my comfort zone.

I did this picture as a quick oil sketch on canvas board in preparation for an actual painting. I usually don’t like making fussy, perfect preliminary drawings. I like to wade right in and start painting, especially with oils because they are so easy to move around or erase if things aren’t going well. In this case, I liked the sketch because it seemed to capture the personality of my 16-year-old Dalmatian in a way that I didn’t think a finished painting would. Freya is suspicious of cameras, as you can see in the photo. It’s always been hard to get a good picture of her even though she is a very pretty dog.

Freya is still around, but she’s definitely past her expiration date. She hobbles around like an old lady, makes messes in the house, and generally annoys me while at the same time I’m upset that she doesn’t have much longer to annoy me.

I won’t bore people with adorable dog pictures and stories. Let me go the other way and say don’t get a Dalmatian! I’ve had them for years, and I know that people get the happy little puppies without realizing that that bundle of fur is going to grow into a very strong dog who will run away from home no matter how much they love you or how many treats you give them. They run in straight lines for miles, across busy streets, and down train tracks. They go over or under fences, and figure out how to slip their collars. They demand your attention, and are too damned smart for their own good. They steal the covers off the bed if they think you’re sleeping too long, cry when you go out, and generally act like however much love you can give them isn’t nearly enough. They shed constantly.

They have been over bred, and often have hearing problems, bad hips, and bad tempers. Unfortunately, too many end up in the pound because people didn’t realize what they were getting into. If you want one despite my warnings, check out the web for a Dalmatian rescue in your area, because despite all of these warnings, they can be great dogs for the right people. Preferably people who live in the woods without fences or small children.

My brother gave me Penny when I said I was tired of spots and wanted a small, brown dog. She likes to go to the park too, but can’t walk more than a mile or two without getting tired. I’ll probably break down and get more Dalmatians eventually.

Thanks for the comments.
Freya died May 29, 2010