Waist sizes

I've read a lot lately about how an excessive waist dimension in humans is associated with serious health problems, like cardiac disease, even if the person isn't obese. And because I had today off and needed a break from writing this afternoon, I measured our dogs' waists.

Polly - 15"

Georgie - 17"

Patch - 19"

Teddy & Jinx - 20" (Teddy and Jinx are a Mutt & Jeff: short & tall)

Berry - 25"

Meg - 26"

Victoria Beckham supposedly has a 23" waist. I fear Meg never may make it as a fashion model unless someone's selling Plus Sizes for Pups.

You can see from these photos that Meg is a hefty old heiffer, compared to trim little Teddy.

P.S. as I was measuring the dogs today, I was reminded of a coworker who told me that she knew it was time for her to go back to work after having a baby because she found herself weighing her houseplants before and after watering them (while her baby was napping)

Weight problems

Almost my entire life, my mother would refer to my obesity as "your weight problem". You could almost hear the quotation marks in her voice. Then I lost 90 pounds and robbed her of a big conversational topic. But that's another story.

The 9 Dogs story is that Meg and Jinx both have weight problems. I don't have a canine BMI chart but Meg has got to qualify as obese, while Jinx is too skinny. Berry's pretty hefty too, but his weight seems to suit his stocky, muscular body while Meg's weight is just...porky. Teddy is smallish but just right. Jinx, the tallest pup, is downright scrawny. Or he was until Mr. P. started feeding him a medicinal meal every night (in addition to the meal Jinx shares with his siblings).

The medicinal meal consists of a handful of kibble with a hard-boiled egg crumbled up on it. I'd have to be mighty hungry to enjoy that combination, but Jinx just loves it. He's put on some weight, his coat is shinier, he's more cheerful, and he knows exactly where the hard-boiled eggs are stored in the fridge. Of course, now that he's accustomed to this treat, it's no longer a treat. He will never, ever let us forget that he has to have his daily egg.

The new 9 Dogs Howling security procedures

Since the recent visit of a suspicious, uninvited visitor who wasn't even trying to sell us Schwan's frozen food or share the Good News About Jesus, the 9 Dogs Howling Security Team has changed our security procedures.

The Invasion

A strange orange cat has invaded 9 Dogs. He is extremely aggressive and gets into prolonged yowling arguments with Smoky, our senior cat. He even chased Smoky out of his own garage the other day. Now he is stuck in a tree near the fenced dog yard and yowling about coming down, but when I went to the base of the tree and spoke nicely to him, he yowled louder and went further up the tree.

My theory is that the orange kitty is yet another drop-off. He's been traumatized and he's scared. I do understand that. But I am not lugging Mr. P.'s orchard ladder out there to rescue him only to get bitten or scratched. This kitty is on his own...until he attacks one of our cats...in which case he's outta here.

Beware of Dog

Mr. P. hated my tale of the weird guy coming down our drive. Who can blame him? Around here, skinny, scrawny, dirty, & bad/no teeth = meth addict. So, beware: Mr. P. is on alert. He worked for 21 years as a corrections officer in Connecticut, and he's not going to buy your sad story. Can you spell SMITH & WESSON?

Mouse Patrol

The other morning I stumbled out into the cold garage at 6:00 am with a bucket of hot water (we put hot water in the critters' water bowls to keep it from freezing) and almost stepped on a dead mouse.

I'm an animal lover, but I was not saddened by the sight of a dead rodent.

I turned to the three cats, who were roiling around my ankles and each other in anticipation of breakfast kibble, and said, "OK, whose mouse is this?"

No one owned up to it, of course. As I rationed out the kibble I said, "I want that mouse gone by tonight. I don't care if you eat it or put it in the pasture, just get it out of the garage."

But that night, the mouse was still there, so I grabbed a paper towel and picked it up. Unfortunately it was not frozen. No, it was quite squishy. I put it in the covered garbage can and went back in the house.

The next morning, some cat who shall remain nameless (but who has been caught in the act before) had somehow gotten into the garbage and torn the liner to pieces in her effort to get at the mouse. As I cleaned up THAT mess, I said, "You didn't want the mouse when it was lying conveniently on the floor, but suddenly you wanted the mouse when it was in the garbage can?"

All I heard was yowled requests for breakfast.

9 Dogs Barking

The 9 Dogs Howling ranch is located in rural west Tennessee. Our nearest neighbors are cows. We love it here, but sometimes it's a bit creepy living out in farm country. Although I seem to spend a lot of time telling them to shut up, from time to time I'm actually grateful for my dogs' barking. Like today, when a strange car came down our long driveway, stopped and began honking. Not the mail carrier, not the UPS or Fed Ex deliveryperson, not the gas company or electric company. Who could it be? While the dogs went on Red Alert, I waited in my study to see if someone would come to the front door. After a few moments, I went into the living room and looked out to see a strange, somewhat scruffy man on the porch. The creepy feeling began to overtake me, and I was suddenly glad to see Jinx and Meg hurling themselves at the window with teeth bared. (I just hoped this guy couldn't see their wagging tails). I peeked out the door and asked him, "Can I help you?"

He smiled - no teeth - and said, "I think I have the wrong house."

"Who are you looking for?"

He said something I couldn't understand (lack of teeth may have been hindering his speech).

I said, "Never heard of them."

He just stood there on the porch, smiling. The creep-out factor rose 100%. But by then 6 of the dogs were holllering and slobbering on the windows, and the guy must have figured out that the noise alone was a disadvantage to him, so he finally turned, went back to his car, and drove away.

So this time, I told my crew, "Good dogs!"