It Was Not I

Here’s a picture of the baby, in one of his favouritest rooms: the kitchen.

I would like to set the record straight: Fergus did not chew the bottom of that cupboard door.

You can see it’s been chewed by someone. But, despite all the colours of paint we used in this apartment, we never once painted the cupboard doors. And this door was painted after it was chewed.

Q.E.D.

(We won’t mention the corner baseboard at the foot of the stairs. )

Beach Babies

The yellow-sailed windsurfer to the right of the ball gives a sense of scale.

It was all the way up to plus four (39°F) today, so E.g. and I took the dogs to Cherry Beach.

We hadn’t been there since the Autumn. I had been afraid that Cai would plunge right into the frigid water and get sick. We needn’t have worried, however; the lake was solid ice between Cherry Beach and the Leslie Street Spit.

There were, in fact, three young men out there parasurfing. We’ve watched people do this before, skipping along the waves harnessed to a banana-peel-shaped parachute, but we’d never considered that this could be a winter sport. The adventurers were criss-crossing the ice at a tremendous pace.

Not only was there that entertainment, but the sun was actually shining! It took us a moment to remember the name of it. “What’s that thing in the sky? It’s too early for the street lights to be on.”

We walked around the snow-covered beach three times, about 15 minutes per round. Cai and Fergus rushed here and there, meeting other dogs of various sorts, including a Vizsla named Dexter. E.g. asked me about the lyrics to an old camp song, “Kumula, kumula, kumula vizsla”. I said I didn’t know.

On the final round, we made the mistake of telling the boys that we were now heading for the car. That’s when Fergus, chaser of all things moving, finally noticed the parasurfers. Off he went like a dart.

Cai wasn’t too sure what to do. He’s been repeatedly told off for intercepting Fergus’s fun, and besides, the pup was already fifteen lengths ahead of him. He looked at us, he looked at Fergus’s retreating tail, he whined a little.

Then the solution came to us. We called each of our furchildren by name, in the nicest, loudest sing-song voice possible, once. Then we ran in the opposite direction, as hard as we could go, with Cai at our heels.

Fergus never made it onto the ice. He screeched to a halt in front of me, his whole body quivering with pride at having caught me so quickly.

Naughty, Naughty, Naughty

Route 666: The Road to Perdition.

On Saturday evening, I was naughty. As I sat in one corner of the sofa, a pint glass of lovely craft-brewery ale beside me, crochet hook in hand, Fergus batted his Cardigan eyelashes at me, and I caved. “C’mon up, Fergus,” I chirped, patting the couch cushion, and on up he came. Cai, on the dog bed at my feet, whined in indignation before returning his attention to his chew toy.

You see, the dogs have recently been given some training which includes a ban on sofa-sitting. (You may recall that we bought new dog beds for them.)

Fergus sniffed my face. Aww, the wittoo wuvems, I thought, until he started crossing my lap, still sniffing, and I realized he was inhaling the fragrance of my beer. We like to try different brews, none of which Fergus had ever cared a whit for. This one, though — Great Lakes Brewery’s “Devil’s Pale Ale 666″ — fascinated his olfactory lobe.

On the premise that my action would either cure him or commit him, I dipped my little finger into the brewski and proffered it to the pupster. Oops, it tasted as good as it smelled. I chuckled and said “No more!”, and Fergus settled down with his head on my knee.

A few minutes later, Cai rolled his chew toy under the bookcase. If there were a human-training school, Cai would get A-plus in Tedious Whining. It works every time.

Because a big swath of crochet work was on my lap, rather than standing up I bent from the waist and so pulled the toy out without fully getting off the sofa, just shifting forward a little.

While I was bent forward, Fergus moved to fill my spot. “Hey, little guy, that’s my seat,” I said with my benevolent-but-firm voice. Then I heard lapping.

Was it a double play on the boys’ part? Did Fergus see his chance, and make the best of it? Did I hear the voice of the Almighty just now, rumbling, “Oh Turtle, you are so busted” ?

PS. I decided to end the story here, and then checked my word count: 333. I hope this means I’m only half evil.

Dogpatch

All photos below were taken by E.g.; Turtle trimmed ‘em.

“Dogpatch” is the name of a lovely little off-leash area at the Brickworks. Dogpatch is a collaboration of the City of Toronto, the Toronto & Region Conservation Authority, and the Humane Society of Canada. We went there this morning.

Fergus enjoyed himself…

…as did Cai. Ten-thirty in the morning, but look at the length of their shadows! Still winter, all right.

A little terrier named Josephine joined the fun for at least half a lap. It takes about eight minutes to stroll the perimeter while the dogs loop-the-loop among the trees. You can see the main building of the old brickworks here; it’s now used for things like a weekly produce market in the summer. Out behind it are extensive, nicely landscaped (and waterscaped) grounds. People were walking and cross-country skiing there this morning.

Whew! Time for a breather. Another neat thing about the place is the birdfeeders. Without the distraction of leashed pupsters, I was able to notice American Goldfinches, Black-capped Chickadees, and — surprisingly — a Northern Mockingbird. The dogs saw lots of nice snow to roll in and twigs to chew. It was a win-win situation.

Romping together in the snow seemed somehow a lot more fun, and a little less snarly, than playing in the living room. I’d rate Dogpatch five kibble treats out of five.

Together Time

Cai asleep at my side, the sign of a successful walkie. (Blue thingy is my knee. )

This morning, E.g. decided to take Fergus to work with her. Cai and I seized the opportunity for a little one-dog hike. We enjoyed ourselves, something  I can’t say for every other dog we met.

First, we explored a new park. There was a sign saying that this was an off-leash area, between the hours of six and ten in the morning and six and ten in the evening. Good to know for future reference; we had left home just before eleven. We followed the circular path, Cai trotting happily at my side, being an absolute angel while I negotiated the icy patches.

On one side of this walled park, there is a gateway that leads onto a trail. We were just coming up to the gateway when a dog walker entered the park and released her five charges, who came bounding up to Cai. Hmm.

The trail itself has signs at either end stating that dogs are to be kept on leash. The dogwalker started down the trail, five large dogs flinging themselves out around her. Whatever.

Cai waited patiently as I picked my way to better footing. This took a couple of minutes, because the beginning of the trail is quite steep. Then it joins an old closed road, and the walking is easier. The road slopes down to a tributary, crosses it, and then turns sharply and follows the water.

When we arrived at the tributary, we saw a little wire-haired dog in an orange jacket running back and forth around the angle. It wouldn’t approach us. I listened, and could hear someone calling “Stella! Stella, come!”

Following the human voice, I found the same woman we had met in the park. I asked her what Stella looked like. “She’s a Golden Retriever,” was the reply. O-kay.

On we went. Soon we met — guess! — another dog walker, calling “Rambo! Rambo, come!” I asked her what Rambo looked like. “He’s a Jack Russell, in an orange coat. He’s gotten behind the fence. Rambo, come!” Oh, right, the fence with the big sign on it that says “Danger, do not enter” , I got it.

On we went. I noted the downed  power line at the right side of the trail, parts of it at chest height for big bouncy breeds. I also noted a man, another dog walker, with a dog on leash — and two others off leash, one getting soaked in the frigid tributary. Thirty paces more down the path, we met a pug limping along on three legs, presumably part of the group we had just come across. Lovely.

On we went. I started counting the used poopy bags at the side of the trail. The final one was in sight of the garbage can in the parkette a hundred paces away.

We came into the parkette, and I went to check the sign just to be sure I hadn’t been mistaken about on-leash and off-leash areas. No, this was on-leash territory, all right.

Cai and I were just turning away from the sign for the return trip when a van pulled up and stopped near the garbage can. The driver opened his side door and four big dogs tumbled out. Not a leash in sight, let alone safety harnesses for the car ride. Good thing they were five car lengths from the busy highway.

And little Cai trotted at my side, and for all the ice he never pulled me off balance even once. Good dog!

When in Doubt, Sleep

Maybe I should try writing that Country song I promised Urban Thought if I ever fell down a staircase — you know, a hurtin’ song. My favourite uncle died while the Christmas card for him was still sitting here on the table. A stranger attacked my blog and said terrible things about me. Cai has a stomach bug, and Fergus a cold, so treat-driven walkies training has been curtailed again. When I dragged myself out of the house this morning for a change of scenery, I found out I wasn’t able to pay for the two career books I had picked up. On the way home from that humiliation, I was addressed by a street person who, when I didn’t respond, thumped a large branch on his park bench. Stunning. Simply stunning.

But never mind. I think I’ll join Cai in a moment, maybe with one of those career books. 

You see, I called E.g., and she said to meet me at the coffee shop near the bookstore. She bought me a bagel sandwich, and then we went over and I showed her the books and she bought them for me.

And I did get the dishes done between the bookstore humiliation and going back out again. And there’s leftovers in the fridge for supper tonight. And I sent my wonderful son a cheque as a graduation gift: he has finished an eighteen-month intensive program to become a surveyor. He’s already working for a large organization, currently building a new highway. And he likes his job. And I’m so proud of him. And I’m so glad he’s at least 21 years ahead of me in knowing what he wants to do for a living.

Whoa! Where’d that sunbeam come from?

Wet Above, Wet Below

Hello, blogfriends! Here are a few photos from yesterday. It was raining, and the dogs were bored, so E.g. and I decided that if everyone was going to be wet anyway, we might as well take them to the beach. (Interestingly enough, unlike the trip to a dog park commemorated by a blurp photo, neither Cai nor Fergus made any post-beach regurgitations. )

The Longtailed Ducks, returning from up north, are back in Toronto for the winter.

This thing was just left hanging, presumably all weekend. Do you ever feel like that?

Fergus and Cai in the backseat, with a blanket over them both. They snoozed while E.g. popped in for some groceries.

The Longtails again. I was really pleased with this photo. Oh, and, yes, the horizon of Lake Ontario isn’t level… Oops… well, whatever.

Auguries of Innocence, Revisited

• To see a world in a blurp of sand,
• And a heaven in whole-wheat flour,
• Hold my life in a paper towel in my hand — ?
• I need to get out for an hour.

Many thanks to William Blake and his poem, “Auguries of Innocence”.

“‘Get him this,’ the clerk said, ‘It’s indestructible,’ the clerk said.”

Two Beautiful Boys

Fergus with post-op bunnykins.

Today’s post is dedicated to two blogfriends, Goodbear and Shelley.

Goodbear has been feeling despondent lately over a combination of her older dog Codybear’s illness and her puppy Pickles’s barking. I’d like to help remind Goodbear of why she has two dogs, by saying nice stuff about my own two.

Shelley is mourning the loss of her partner Chris, who died on Friday. You might want to pop over to her blog and pay your respects. I’d like to assure her that our two little Cardis, whom she helped bring into this world, give us such joy.

…

At 07 30 this morning, E.g. and I walked Fergus over to the vet’s office. Three times this month Fergus has gone for blood tests (the first two had shown mild bacterial infection) , so he was a little reluctant to follow the vet tech into the back room a fourth time. Little did he know that those uncomfortable needlepricks had been merely the preliminaries to what would occur today.

If you’ve been following my blog, you’ll know what happened: Fergus, now a ripe seven months old, was neutered. 

Our newest furchild, you must understand, has always been quite the little stud muffin. He was two months old when we brought him home from Shelley’s. Within the week, he was already attempting lewd things with Cai. Most people thought it was funny; Cai didn’t.

When I would take tiny Fergus on potty breaks, he would growl and lunge at anything on wheels, especially little girls on bicycles. Most people thought it was funny; the little girls didn’t.

Last week at 9 pm, as E.g. and I were bringing the boys in from a potty break, we all got in the elevator with a mild-mannered resident. We told the dogs to sit, like we always do. Within seconds, Fergus broke from his sit and grabbed at the man’s denim pantleg. Most people I told this story to thought it was funny; E.g. and I didn’t. E.g. scooped up Fergus and carried him down our long hallway and into our apartment, and I shut him in his crate without a word. Shelley didn’t think it was funny either, and sent us the link for the NILIF program (more about that in another few days) .

Shelley also agreed that, in addition to firmer training, neutering might help our macho mite.

Well.

Just before suppertime tonight, Cai and I met E.g. at the vet’s. The vet tech spoke to us about Fergus’s post-op care — the meds, the restriction on play, what to watch for. “It’s quite common for well-endowed dogs, such as yours, to show a little extra swelling and redness,” She explained. E.g. and I looked at each other with a big grin. We both think the NILIF program will go quite well, now.

…

With Fergus — umm — preoccupied today, I took Cai over to the dog park for some one-on-one. It was very cold and windy, so no one else was in the dog park — perfect! Cai’s eyes were bright, dark buttons as we changed the routine with every toss of the toy. We did sit, down, wait, left, right, and heel. We played for 50 solid minutes. When we got home, Cai had a quick splish in the tub, and then curled up in the papasan to sleep until 5 pm.

At that point, it was time to go to the vet’s. Attaching Cai’s collar and leash, I said, “Okay Cai, we’re going to find Fergus and Gillian now.” And that marvelous little dog trotted perfectly on leash, through the main park where the dog park is, without veering towards the morning’s source of play, but straight on through. He knew the streets to take, where to turn off, and we arrived at the vet’s office just ahead of E.g. I was so proud of Cai.

Sitting here four hours later, writing this, it has suddenly struck me that Cai hasn’t been at the vet’s since Saturday, when we took Fergus for his latest blood test. Cai didn’t go with us this morning.

What beautiful, amazing children we have.