Twilight Series: Canis Familiaris?

It's horrible in Chicago today for weather. Power lines down, gale force winds, trees losing limbs left and right - one woman was even impaled in her own car by a tree limb through her front windshield. It's the worst storm in 70 years, by some professional estimates. 

Despite Toni's major storm fears, we have enough Drama-Trauma on hand that we seem to be doing okay so far. This in spite of the creepy howling winds and ever-present threat of downpours requiring arks for survival.

It's the complete opposite of Thursday, when T2 and I zipped over to the vet. Everyone at our vet loveslovesloves T2, which means T2 love going there as well despite the occasional unpleasantries and indignities that occur there. While we were waiting for our appointment to begin, Julie, who was working behind the desk, commented on how much T2 love to stretch out in the sun.  (She knows this not just from watching them do exactly that on the lobby floor, but also because we have sent numerous photos of T2 over to them. Every photo gets posted, either behind the desk or on the patient bulletin board in the lobby. It's hard to not respond to such an enthusiastic fan club.) She went on to theorize that the sun loves them back, makes them especially beautiful. They're almost like the vampires on Twilight was the conclusion, their fur glittering like diamonds when they're in the sun.

I might not disagree....

We're lovers not fighters

I don't know what it is, but we get a lot of questions about whether we are worried about our dogs killing - killing each other, killing us, killing other dogs in the neighborhood. Not many questions about killing time as yet, but maybe that one will come up someday as well.

Just for the record: we are a peaceable home. Exceptions include rodents - furry-tailed or otherwise - and small and/or fluffy dogs (but really only Téa is opposed to this last, somewhat broad category).

In fact, T2 are most happy when touching each other in some way, be it on a pouf,

or two, 

 

on a bed,

on the couch, 

 playing couch or just in general.

So no, we don't much worry about them killing anything.

Téa's doppelgänger!

Doppelgänger, from German, literally means 'double-goer' but is commonly understood to be an apparition or double of a living person.

Apparently Téa has one—and she works as a puppy nanny!

Thanks to Danielle for passing this fantastic photo along!

The strange conversations we have - Part II

There are dog people...and then there are people who have dogs. I've heard there are other sorts of people as well, people who are not defined in relation to any sort of canine factor at all, but I'm not sure if they actually exist or if it's just a rumor.

We are dog people. Even if we we didn't have dogs in our homes for a long time (until we became a family), Chris and I have always been dog people.

People who have dogs seem to like the idea of dogs, but don't really seem to have any understanding of dogs. Dogs have needs, personalities and quirks. Sometimes dogs' needs are inconvenient (dogs need to go outside on a regular basis to relieve themselves; sick dogs throw up on things...or worse; dogs should see their vet on a regular basis; etc.). Sometimes these needs are time consuming (dogs don't need to just run to the nearest tree and then hustle back in to lie down; dogs need to be mentally and physically stimulated to distract them from finding their own means of entertainment—quite possibly in the form of the nearest shoe or couch; dogs need rules; even dogs who appear healthy should receive vaccines and check-ups; etc.). People who have dogs but are not dog people often assume the dog can operate on the basis of what is convenient to their schedules. They often have poorly mannered dogs, destructive dogs, dogs who are seeking to instill order in the chaos of their home. Generally, people who have dogs but are not dog people seem disconnected from their dogs—probably because they are.

In our old condo building, there was one particular guy who had a dog but who was clearly not a dog person. His dog was small-ish, maybe 25 pounds, with fawn and black coloring, a thick coat and a curled-up tail. It wasn't a particularly adorable dog, nor was it unattractive. I never once saw this guy take his dog beyond the perimeter of our building; and while our building did take up a full city block it wasn't nearly big enough to fully exercise even this small-ish dog. I also never saw this guy pay any attention whatsoever to his dog when they were out together. He was either on his mobile phone,smoking a cigarette or chatting up some woman who I have come to assume was his girlfriend. 

His dog had horrific manners—snarling viciously and barking at dogs who were still as far as half a block away or more. This used to scare the bejeezus out of Toni (no matter that she could have eaten his little head in a single bite, if so inclined). If we ran into the guy and his little Tasmanian Devil on the stairs, things were even worse. The dog was even more hysterical in close proximity and the guy seemed to have no idea that standing stock still and hoping it wasn't happening was really not the right response. We usually had to retreat back up to our floor and wait until we heard the fire door close behind him went he went to his floor.

When we brought Téa home, it didn't take us long to figure out that she had her own issues with leash aggression. We opted for a different approach to the guy's: we actually contacted a trainer and learned to help her manage her issues better so that every walk wasn't a nightmare. One day after we'd gotten the aggression issue in hand, I was out with T2 when we saw the guy and Taz approaching. We weren't able to cross a street nor could we turn back the way we came (too many dogs everywhere), so we decided to stop and sit on the corner, waiting for him to pass. Surely he wouldn't exacerbate the situation by coming close or stopping to talk, right? Wrong.

The guy walked straight toward us. His dog, not surprisingly, began its beast-from-hell impersonation, which escalated in direct proportion to how close we were to him. Téa was trying to be good, she really was. But she likes to engage. She's not a "turn the other cheek" kind of girl. She's more of a "what the f*** did you just say to me, jerkoff?!" kind of girl. The guy stopped about seven feet from us (which was good, since everyone on our team was on a six-foot leash) and then he just stared. His psychotic, slathering, fixated furball was desperately trying to twist its way out of his control, which he probably didn't notice since it was a small-ish psychotic, slathering, fixated furball and he was a big-ish guy. First he stared at Toni, who dutifully pretended none of this was happening. Then he started at Téa. In the eyes. For a long time. And just when I was about to ask him to move it along, please, there was nothing here to see, he finally opened his mouth to share this little tidbit of wisdom: "That one (nodding his chin at Téa) is really intense. Really intense." 

And then he walked away, psychotic, slathering, fixated furball dragging after him like a mitten on a string.

Temp for Hire

I do the home office thing. In fact, I haven’t been to my company’s offices (any of them—we have two in Chicago’s Loop and nearly two hundred around the globe) in nearly three years. I’m not complaining, believe me. 

But sometimes it’s hard to really feel connected with my colleagues. We talk on the phone frequently. We instant message each other and exchange emails 24 hours a day, depending on where in the world everyone is. (For the record, when we’re all at our home bases we have one senior manager in Florida, one part-timer in the UK, two plus design team members in South Africa and me in Chicago.) When someone new joins our team, we share PowerPoint introductions of ourselves to put some personality behind the voices on the phone.

Of course, in addition to the rest of my life (and I do have one, I swear) some of the things I talk about besides work are the antics and activities of T2. I tend to refer to T2 as my officemates. They do actually fill a role similar to that of work friends, minus rehashing the latest television show—which I’m never up to date on anyway. When I need to step away from my computer for a breather, instead of going for coffee, we go for a walk. If I have to run one of them to the vet, I book it into my calendar just like I would any other meeting. When the weather is nice, we even “go to lunch” together, which essentially consists of me eating outside with a book while they work on their tans or their squirrel alert program.

When we brought Téa home, I introduced her to the team as our new temporary assistant. Later I upgraded her to a temp-to-perm position and finally sent out the official note welcoming her to the home team on a permanent basis. Last winter, we had an emergency foster situation with a sweet little pit we named Georgia. She was the fill-in while T2 were on PTO (paid time off, for those of you outside of the corporate, acronym-laden world). They spent their PTO at sleepover camp (as we like to call our boarding facility); three large females in one small condo is akin to too many cooks in the kitchen…on steroids. Most recently, we had little Scooby on the home office team—our intern.

I thought T2 weren’t really listening, and that even if they were listening it didn’t much matter since I am certain they only speak a little English (“dinner,” “walkies,” “sit,” “off,” to name a few). However, I’m starting to think that maybe they’re paying more attention than I realized….

Téa learns about social networking.

Isn't it break time yet? Coffee? Chicken jerky?

Management supervises.

The story I was going to write...

 I was going to post the story below under the title T2 + W = A new adventure:

Taking a cue from their blog heroes, Ms. M and Mr. B., T2 have agreed to welcome in a fellow pit bull who's down on his luck at the moment.

With his mush muzz and sweet personality, Willis probably won't be with Project Rescue for long before finding his forever home. While he waits, he'll be joining us at our home for a little pampering and TLC (and probably a little bullying from the two sweetest, bulliest bullies I know).

As T2 and I waited for our first introduction, we had a chat: 

• No terrorizing the new guy.
• If you feel you must run him through an initiation ritual, you may not re-enact the one in which Toni knocks a tooth out on Téa's head. In fact, no initiation rituals involving the vet are allowed.
• Rudeness will not be tolerated.
• Sharing is encouraged (including squirrel duty in the yard, couch time in the evenings and treats). There's enough for everyone.
• Just because we have a guest, this does not mean the usual rules and regulations go out the window. If we're going to help Willis, we're going to start by setting a good example for him.
• Please keep in mind who is the alpha dog at our house. (No, it's not you.) (No, it's not you either.)

I think we're on the same page, as the "neutral ground" intro went without incident...despite Téa's best efforts to show him that she's a bit rude and bossy. 

More to come.... 

Instead, I am happy to report that we seem to have become some sort of quirky good luck charm for foster dogs. Willis is the third of three pit bulls who were slated to stay with us as fosters but who instead went on to their forever homes before they even came for a visit. 

We're better than rabbits feet—and more humane!

I could be wrong, but...

I'm fairly certain this isn't what my great-grandmother had in mind when she lovingly and painstakingly needlepointed this chair.