Brief report on The Magnificent Ghost:
Ghost spent Sunday night at the emergency hospital. I came home to find him not trying to jump over the gate. Panic! He was lying down in the mud room, got up really hesitantly, limping badly on the left hind. His expressive face just miserable. No vomit, diarrhea or blood in sight. My heart beating out of my chest, speed dial to the vet, called around to find one without a wait. His tummy distended and hard. Bloat?? I got him to limp to the car and broke all speed limits.
Hustled straight in to X-ray. Ages later, the vet comes in with a funny expression on her face. Oh no! He swallowed one of Allie's sharps! He's dying! She shows me the xrays. A huge black sausage almost the size of his whole abdomen! Even weirder-looking from the side: textbook view of large intestine, distended and filled with gas! The galoot can't move because he's full of hot air!!
Almost $400 and a great deal of flatulence later, a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed little stinker (!!) sashays out to play up to everyone in the waiting room, who declare that he ought to be in the movies (they have no idea!!), thoroughly licks the face of a delighted child, offers to eat a chocolate Lab, and gets smacked by a cat. Mals!
Still have no idea what he ate, other than Sascha's hi-calorie food. I got rid of the chicken that Allie killed, haven't seen any other corpses. Will need to get job with vet soon. What will they get up to next?
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
The Secret of Mal Success; or: The Gig is Up
Reverend General Reign,
The tale I am about to impart, dear General, will confirm once again that on the scale of intelligence, at the very lowest end, we may find:
3: Rhodesian Ridgeback mixes
2: Malamute Males, immature age
1: humans
I blame myself, of course, for not training That Young Sprout, The Magnificent Ghost, as he styles himself, more rigorously in the fine arts of Malamute behavior. In my defense, however, there is not much there to work with, as you shall see.
Our story unfolds before the following background. Our humom has long been faced by two puzzling and apparently unconnected conundra:
a) The M. Ghost eats only about 1.5 cups of Natural Balance Fish and Sweet Potato a day, and yet he stubbornly remains somewhat, aah, shall we say, portly
b) Sascha the Rhodesian Ridgeback x, now in her senior years, and still alive despite my best efforts, eats more than 4.5 cups of food daily, and remains skin and bones.
Yesterday, Sascha, while dashing after a squirrel, crashed into a concrete block and cut herself (much to my glee, of course). At feeding time, humom shut Sascha in her run as usual, but this time, she stayed with her to make sure she was okay. Well, who should come frisking around the corner, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but the Magnificent Ghost, licking his chops after a full meal.
The Idiotic Ghost proceeded to lie down next to Sascha's run, lift up a corner of the chain link that he had previously loosened, extend a long and chubby paw, hook Sascha's almost-full food dish toward him and proceed to scoop out mounds of Sascha's high-calorie food. All this, mind you, in full view of humom, who was not only laughing her head off, but passionately regretting the absence of a camera.
Now if there is one thing I have tried to impart to the Idiotic Ghost, it is that We Work By Stealth. Humans are incredibly stupid, but even they catch on if we pull our stunts right in front of them. T'uh. My exasperation was so great that I almost didn't bother to dispatch the hen that wandered into our yard. Almost, but not quite. A few silent, economical moves, and goodnight, Irene. Will that Ghost ever learn to live up to his name?
Over to you
Your most humble and obedient servant
Guerillera Alexandria
The tale I am about to impart, dear General, will confirm once again that on the scale of intelligence, at the very lowest end, we may find:
3: Rhodesian Ridgeback mixes
2: Malamute Males, immature age
1: humans
I blame myself, of course, for not training That Young Sprout, The Magnificent Ghost, as he styles himself, more rigorously in the fine arts of Malamute behavior. In my defense, however, there is not much there to work with, as you shall see.
Our story unfolds before the following background. Our humom has long been faced by two puzzling and apparently unconnected conundra:
a) The M. Ghost eats only about 1.5 cups of Natural Balance Fish and Sweet Potato a day, and yet he stubbornly remains somewhat, aah, shall we say, portly
b) Sascha the Rhodesian Ridgeback x, now in her senior years, and still alive despite my best efforts, eats more than 4.5 cups of food daily, and remains skin and bones.
Yesterday, Sascha, while dashing after a squirrel, crashed into a concrete block and cut herself (much to my glee, of course). At feeding time, humom shut Sascha in her run as usual, but this time, she stayed with her to make sure she was okay. Well, who should come frisking around the corner, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but the Magnificent Ghost, licking his chops after a full meal.
The Idiotic Ghost proceeded to lie down next to Sascha's run, lift up a corner of the chain link that he had previously loosened, extend a long and chubby paw, hook Sascha's almost-full food dish toward him and proceed to scoop out mounds of Sascha's high-calorie food. All this, mind you, in full view of humom, who was not only laughing her head off, but passionately regretting the absence of a camera.
Now if there is one thing I have tried to impart to the Idiotic Ghost, it is that We Work By Stealth. Humans are incredibly stupid, but even they catch on if we pull our stunts right in front of them. T'uh. My exasperation was so great that I almost didn't bother to dispatch the hen that wandered into our yard. Almost, but not quite. A few silent, economical moves, and goodnight, Irene. Will that Ghost ever learn to live up to his name?
Over to you
Your most humble and obedient servant
Guerillera Alexandria
Thursday, October 12, 2006
What, if anything, intimidates your Mal?
Guerillera Alexandria here.
We had quite the storm yesterday. I, myself, rather enjoy the
occasional stroll through a downpour with gale-force winds,
accompanied by the steady cursing of my humom and the sounds of our roof shingles tearing off. That goofy redhead Rowan lies down for a pleasant snooze in the rain, snuggled up next to his dogloo, which he only frequents in 100 degree weather. However, when it comes to that young sprout, Ghost, or as he styles himself, The Magnificent Ghost, one is almost ashamed to be of the same breed. Yes, he is large and sturdy, full of masculine bravado, struts around with his chest thrust out and paws the dust like a bull. But let there be a few drops of rain, or, heaven forfend, a clap of thunder, and our macho male dashes whimpering into the house, into the nethermost reaches of his crate, where he curls himself up into the tiniest possible ball (no mean feat, considering his girth), and cries piteously until the last drop has fallen and the sun is out again. >sigh<. I really don't know where I have gone wrong.
Guerillera Alexandria, mentor of The Magnificent Melting Ghost, signing off
We had quite the storm yesterday. I, myself, rather enjoy the
occasional stroll through a downpour with gale-force winds,
accompanied by the steady cursing of my humom and the sounds of our roof shingles tearing off. That goofy redhead Rowan lies down for a pleasant snooze in the rain, snuggled up next to his dogloo, which he only frequents in 100 degree weather. However, when it comes to that young sprout, Ghost, or as he styles himself, The Magnificent Ghost, one is almost ashamed to be of the same breed. Yes, he is large and sturdy, full of masculine bravado, struts around with his chest thrust out and paws the dust like a bull. But let there be a few drops of rain, or, heaven forfend, a clap of thunder, and our macho male dashes whimpering into the house, into the nethermost reaches of his crate, where he curls himself up into the tiniest possible ball (no mean feat, considering his girth), and cries piteously until the last drop has fallen and the sun is out again. >sigh<. I really don't know where I have gone wrong.
Guerillera Alexandria, mentor of The Magnificent Melting Ghost, signing off
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Strange tastes
As befits Texans, the cats adore guacamole, it's one of the things they'll open the fridge for if I've made a fresh batch. All the dogs drink coffee (like they need it!) and Sascha the Ridgeback mix esp likes eggnog (as do the cats, yeehaw). The Mals also love asparagus, with predictably stinky results, broccoli, cauliflower. Allie will eat a whole package of Stella D'Oro breakfast treats (for humans). I haven't caught any one in the act but one of the dogs opened the fridge in the mud room and eggapaloosa ensued.
Rowan the Red Mal, however, gladly passes up anything with an iota of nutritional content in favor of anything made of plastic or latex. I have to hide shopping bags and dispose of packaging material and such out of reach, none of the garden tools have handles, pails are pathetic scraps hanging from forlorn handles -- it's amazing how much plastic there is! Do not get me started on packing peanuts. He is one weird dude.
Almost as bad as the cat who licks the emulsion off photographs ...
Rowan the Red Mal, however, gladly passes up anything with an iota of nutritional content in favor of anything made of plastic or latex. I have to hide shopping bags and dispose of packaging material and such out of reach, none of the garden tools have handles, pails are pathetic scraps hanging from forlorn handles -- it's amazing how much plastic there is! Do not get me started on packing peanuts. He is one weird dude.
Almost as bad as the cat who licks the emulsion off photographs ...
Friday, September 08, 2006
Rowan the Red is blooded
Rowan the Red is a goofy little boy, all floppy paws and grins. He spent several years living in a crate in someone's garage, so he doesn't know much about being a dog, playing with toys or the like. His favorite pastime has been eating plastic and playing frisbee with the food dishes. Until now.
About 5 in the morning, we were torn out of bed by the sounds of World War Three in the back yard. Huge crashes, screeches, growls, scramblings ... I ran to the door, and there stood Sascha, looking at me with totally submissive and angelic big brown eyes. Immediately I realized that something catastrophic had happened. I grabbed a flashlight and ran outside, and there was Rowan, proudly tossing around his first half-dead cat.
I know, Malamutes are predators. Rowan is my third and I've fostered several. In the abstract, hunting is fabulous and primal, and will be useful when the apocalypse comes ;-). But I just can't stand seeing cats killed. My soulmate Allie is a prodigious huntress, but was trained not to eat the indoor cats. But I know that my cats would be toast if they ever stepped paw outside.
Is there any way to train Mallies not to eat outdoor cats??? Even ones that are suicidal enough to jump a 7-foot fence?
About 5 in the morning, we were torn out of bed by the sounds of World War Three in the back yard. Huge crashes, screeches, growls, scramblings ... I ran to the door, and there stood Sascha, looking at me with totally submissive and angelic big brown eyes. Immediately I realized that something catastrophic had happened. I grabbed a flashlight and ran outside, and there was Rowan, proudly tossing around his first half-dead cat.
I know, Malamutes are predators. Rowan is my third and I've fostered several. In the abstract, hunting is fabulous and primal, and will be useful when the apocalypse comes ;-). But I just can't stand seeing cats killed. My soulmate Allie is a prodigious huntress, but was trained not to eat the indoor cats. But I know that my cats would be toast if they ever stepped paw outside.
Is there any way to train Mallies not to eat outdoor cats??? Even ones that are suicidal enough to jump a 7-foot fence?
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Everything Bagel
Humom says I have delicious breath, onion-garlicky. Those yummy round things are a little rubbery for my taste, but oh the sweet chewy innards, the slightly salty skin and the overpowering richness of the toppings -- and let's be honest, it's all about the cream cheese ... Humom was doing the Distraught Human dance (it's NOT very graceful, she should look in the mirror sometime) yelling "Oh Allie, your kidneys and pancreas!!! You DIDN'T" But oh yes, you see, I did.
Now she's threatening to start eating all meals OUTDOORS .... but fear not, as long as you try to fast me, I shall find a way ... Guerillera Alexandria over and out
Now she's threatening to start eating all meals OUTDOORS .... but fear not, as long as you try to fast me, I shall find a way ... Guerillera Alexandria over and out
Warning re: Sarah's Tribute
Dear doggie friends, please take a moment to watch Sarah's beautiful video tribute to her wonderful Malinois (previous post), but have that stack of handkerchiefs ready to hand! Forget the paper tissues. And you'll need a big glass of something and a strong shoulder to cry on afterwards. It's one of the most beautiful. happy little slide shows I've ever seen and it cuts like a knife. Music: Tracy Chapman.
Now go kiss a dog.
Now go kiss a dog.
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