West Coast Correspondents Hard At Work

From Sunday, November 8th: the West Coast Correspondents hard at work, helping their dad watch football.

Top to bottom:

Ziggy

Fritz

Lionel

ZZZZZZ. I feel the same way about football, guys.

3 Little Puppies Left

Last weekend we gave away most of Blackie's puppies in the Wal-Mart parking lot, until a Wal-Mart employee hiked out to tell Mr. P. that selling/giving away anything in their parking lot is not allowed (not that day, anyway - it seems to go on every other day).

It was torture to watch those little guys go. Except for the wonderful couple who came to our house and chose one of the black/brown boys (as they drove away, the puppy was snuggled up against his new mom's ample bosom, with his head tucked under her chin), I couldn't begin to guess whether the people taking the pups would be good parents. But eventually you tell yourself not to agonize over it. Maybe the pups won't get star treatment in their new home, maybe they'll get put to work as a hunting dog, but probably it will be better than living in a cold, wet ditch.

Now that we have only 3 Little Puppies, it's much easier to give them individual attention, and they appreciate the lack of competition for loving and food. This weekend Mr. P. will try to give them away in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart in a nearby town. If that doesn't work, he says we'll have a couple extra "outdoor dogs". If these last 3 puppies go to new homes, we think the one who'll miss them the most is Miss Kitty.

We got rid of it

After advertising in the local paper and putting signs on our cars and at the end of our driveway, we got rid of a puppy today.

That sounds so awful to me. Maybe because of hushed conversations I overheard in the girls' bathroom in high school, that went like this:

"I heard Janice got pregnant."

"But I heard she got rid of it."

This was long before abortion was legal, so getting rid of a baby then was even more of an ordeal than it is now.

So, we got rid of a puppy today, but we think he went to a good home - a dog lover who already has a golden retriever but wanted another dog for her kids. She chose the biggest black male puppy (unnamed by us).

So that leaves 10 puppies. One less mouth to feed. One less tail to wag when I come home.

Weaning the Puppies

Yesterday when I was feeding the Little Puppies, the sound of kibble hitting the feeding dish called Blackie into the garage to investigate. She is trying so hard to stay out of reach of the puppies (to wean them), but she just couldn't resist the kibble. As soon as she arrived, the puppies abandoned the food and headed for Blackie's teats. The first one to attempt to nurse got growled at. When he tried again, she snapped and growled at him. He cowered on the floor, ears back, whimpering, and my heart broke for him even though I know Blackie needs to do what she's doing. Then I had to laugh because as the rest of the puppies swarmed around her, Blackie stomped over to her box and hopped in so they couldn't get at her. If you look at the photo in my October 22nd post entitled Box Hab For Dogs, you'll see why.

Finding homes for the puppies

We worry a bit (OK, a lot) about finding good homes for all these puppies. We'll put up signs at area animal hospitals and we'll offer them in the Wal-Mart parking lot (where many kittens and puppies are given away), but 11 is a lot of puppies. Our local animal shelter is always embroiled in (negative) controversy, but I suppose the leftovers could go there.

Part of the challenge is that the yellow pages of our small-town phone directory are so unhelpful. When we first moved here and I was having trouble finding the necessities in our new community (anything from takeout pizza to dry cleaners), I asked a coworker how to find merchants and services when they're not listed in the yellow pages. She explained, "Most people around here don't bother with the yellow pages. Customers already know where to go for pizza or whatever, and if they don't know the phone number, they look it up in the white pages. So just ask me if you need something; I'll tell you the best place to find it."

That's worked out OK for the most part, but while this person knows a lot, she doesn't know everything. Since living this area, I have discovered that when you need something, you must tell everyone you meet about it. They don't mind at all: they love knowing your business, and they love sharing their own intimate knowledge of this small southern town. Of course, you sacrifice your privacy, but I'm getting over that.

So, in addition to publishing this blog and telling all my friends (local and out-of-town), coworkers (local) and relatives (out-of-town) about the puppies, I have also told casual acquaintances and perfect strangers. I've told the barristas at the coffee shop, the support staff at my dentist's & chiropractor's offices, my acupuncturist, my massage therapist, my aerobics instructor, my hairdresser's mother, most of the physical therapists at Baptist Rehab, and more, and this strategy may eventually pay off.

Last week one of my coworkers told me about a local woman (I think she went to school with this girl's sister, or something like that) who is very involved in animal rescue and takes animals to a no-kill shelter in Clarksville, TN (nowhere near us, but it's good to know about). And I actually know this animal rescue woman. Well, not exactly, but close enough. She is married to my dentist's son (also a dentist), so I know exactly where to go for her contact information.

Yummy Worm Medicine

Here I am with the recent arrival, called Butterball by me and Tugboat by Mr. P. He has decided to stick around despite the rigorous diet, exercise, and medication program at the 9 Dogs Howling Resort.

We wormed 10 of the 11 puppies today (1 of them was MIA, but showed up later for supper), with an audience of Blackie, Goldie, Smoky and Miss Kitty. Thankfully, none of the Little Puppies screamed when the medicine dropper went in their mouth, the way the Big Puppies did when they were teeny (the Big Puppies made such a fuss about the worm medicine that ever since then, when they eat or chew on something they're not supposed to, I tell them, "No, no! Ick! Tastes just like worm medicine!"). But it was a chore nonetheless. Here is the procedure:



1. Collect worm medicine and a bathroom scale.


2. Enter garage and shake the puppies out of the crate by tipping it on end.


3. Grab a puppy before it gets away.


4. Remember that you need to weigh yourself without the puppy. Hand the puppy to your partner, who says, "Are we ready yet?"


5. Weigh yourself and, while groaning about the weight, search for a pencil and paper (should have thought of that before).


6. Grab the puppy and weigh again. Calculate the difference between your joint weight and your single weight. "Um, 1XX.6 minus 1XX.8 is, dang, why didn't I bring a calculator out here? Well, about 6 pounds."


7. Stick your finger in the side of the puppy's mouth to pop open its jaw and clamp its mouth shut again after the medicine goes in. While waiting for the puppy to swallow (it's amazing how long they can go without swallowing), tell it how smart and adorable it is.


8. Put the puppy in the empty crate and shut the door.


9. Grab another puppy and repeat steps 6-8. Grabbing the next puppy gets tougher and tougher as the little devils retreat under the tractor, behind the rakes, and out into the asparagus patch.


10. Tell the imprisoned puppies, who are howling, to get over it.


11. Scratch your head. Was that 11 puppies we just dosed, or only 10? "I think the girl is missing."


12. Fruitlessly search the asparagus patch, under the shed, by the cow fence, down the driveway.


13. Take the (howling) puppies out of the crate one by one, checking their sex, while your partner counts.


14. Ten puppies, including the girl, got dosed. All we know about number 11 is that he's black. The black puppies look pretty much the same, so who knows if the missing one will ever get dosed? Better luck next time!


15. Take the scale back inside and disinfect it while your unlucky partner wipes worm medicine off his shirt.

Nobody Loves Me

Polly: Georgie, are you awake?
Georgie: Zzzzzzzz.
Polly: Wake up. We need to talk.
(Editor: Four words guaranteed to put any man to sleep.)
Georgie: Arfrmmp.
Polly: Don't you think Patch is getting kind of stuck on herself since she started sleeping indoors? I mean, it's all about Patch now. Isn't Patch darling cuddled up in my purple blankie? Isn't Patch a good girl? Does Patch want a biscuit in bed? Shhh, Patch is sleeping.
Georgie: Who's Patch?
Polly: It's just not fair.
Georgie: Zzzzzz.
Polly: Nobody loves me any more.