Pam just ate one of my socks!

I had not been to my "regular" laundromat in a long time, because ever since I bought my house, I have one of the greatest perks of all: my own washer and dryer.

But the dog started shedding a few weeks ago, and I was late in getting to the twice-a-day brushing, so tons of clothes and blankets in the house got completely infested with dog hair. A bad thing, when your dog is white / yellow, and all your jackets are gray and black.

Dog hair source (note shedded hair on blanket)

My little home washer and dryer could not make headway against this onslaught, so yesterday I took a huge amount of stuff to the laundromat I used in my renting days. I like it because it kind of feels "space age" - you use a card, not coins; the machines still are futuristic-looking compared to most other laundromats; it's quite clean inside; etc. I had not been there in more than a year.

This trip, I noticed that the owners had named all the machines - the washers were named after characters on "The Office," and the dryers were named after characters on "Seinfeld." I liked it. If only for a few minutes, it brightened an otherwise boring task. Going up to the washing machine, looking to see which one I got - hey, Meredith!.... it was fun.

I crossed my fingers as I loaded my clothes in, hoping the industrial-strength machines would clear the hair. After removing my stuff from the washers, my hopes dimmed - still lots of hair. But when the dryers started going - holy cow, they really did the trick! I'd pull out the lint tray periodically, and there would be mounds of dog hair that had been extracted from my clothes. I'd clean the lint tray, and more would be there the next time. Hooray!

Well, good for me, I guess. But... one dryer - the one that got my quilt and a couple of the dog's blankets - took the brunt of the hair onslaught. Sorry about all that, Uncle Leo.

My dog has sinned

Remember from the last post that Jehovah's Witnesses booklet that my dog knocked in back of the TV stand. Well....

That's the shredded remains of the first few pages. I'm on the fifth day of leaving my dog alone, out of her crate, for a full shift while I'm at work. When I got home tonight, I discovered that she extracted the booklet and gave it some good chewing attention while I was gone.

I found the rest of the booklet upstairs and relatively intact; she apparently carried it up there at some point during the evening.

I don't consider this a major breach of rules on the dog's part, so she gets a passing grade for the night. The only major incident so far was on the first day, when she pulled a Ziploc bag of dog food off the kitchen counter (I had forgotten it was there), tore into it and ate it while I was at work. Aside from that, I've discovered a few things (a boot, a glove) moved around to different parts of the house, but nothing - other than the Jehovah's Witnesses booklet - destroyed.

If they come back, I guess I can legitimately say, "My dog ate it."

Cooped up

It hasn't been above zero here since Monday night. I haven't left the immediate area of my house since then - just twice-a-day walks with the dog (we've kept them short; even she doesn't really want to go out), going out to get the mail and take out the garbage, and a few other trips to the garage.

I wish I could say I've gotten a lot done around the house. I've done some projects, but not a lot. I did find out that my dog really, really seems to like Fritos. She's been clinging to her crate a lot again, but the sound of a crinkling Fritos bag (more so than other "food noises" - I tested) brings her running.

I'm a little worried about my car starting on Thursday when I'm forced to head into town for work. I think this is the coldest weather it has been in, and the battery is getting old. I guess we'll find out tomorrow.

Riddled with guilt

** Writer's note: upsetting post

When I'm out and about and see an animal in potential danger, I stop. I've moved turtles off to the side of highways, corralled loose dogs and called their owners, etc. 

So that's what went through my mind as I approached my house tonight after work. It was dark, and a car was coming from the other direction on my road - a relatively major thoroughfare, with speeds of 55+ mph. Right in front of my driveway, that other driver did something - swerved or slowed down - that drew my attention to... holy cow - there's a black dog right in the middle of the road!

No, I did not hit the dog - I was only going like 15 or 20 mph as I slowed to make the turn into my driveway. I passed the dog and saw it was eating road kill. I had to stop to let the other car pass before turning, and the dog looked right at me, then returned its focus to the dead animal (rabbit, I think). There are a few loose dogs that roam the neighborhood, and I recognized it as one of those; I wasn't sure who owned it.

I drove up the driveway and into my garage, and got ready to go out to the road to coax the dog into my driveway and out of danger. Wait, I thought - even with the full moon, I won't be able to read its tags without a flashlight. I'll grab the one out of the back of the car. So I spent a few moments digging around for, and not finding, the flashlight.

I gave up and walked out of the garage, and got about 10 steps down the driveway when... Oh my God, there's a truck coming really fast... it's not slowing down... I can't look.

There was a crash. The pickup truck kept going into the night. I knew, right away, that the dog was dead. The total silence - no yelps of pain, no whimpering - confirmed it. In the immediate aftermath, I couldn't bring myself to look at the scene.

Twenty, maybe 30 seconds, and I would have had that dog out of harm's way! If I hadn't looked for that flashlight! If I hadn't stopped for a burger on the way home! 

My head was spinning. I started shaking. I was on the cusp of hyperventilating. Still outside, I called my dad and asked him what I should do. I called the sheriff and reported it, and they said someone would stop by. All the while, I could hear other cars, maybe three or four, hitting the dog.

I went in and saw my own dog, tail whipping against the side of her crate, whimpering and barking, waiting to greet me. She needed to go out. I walked lock-step with her as she did her business, and got her back in the house ASAP.

I realized that when I called the sheriff, I had not actually seen that the dog was dead. So I steeled myself up, grabbed the house flashlight and gingerly made my way out to the road. It was about 50 feet down the road, mostly off to the side.

My neighbors across the street have a dog I've heard and never seen; they keep it in the back. I was almost certain it was NOT theirs, but I didn't know for sure, so I knocked on their door. It was after 10 p.m., but the lights were on and I figured they'd wonder about the sheriff's car anyway. It was not their dog. Two more cars hit the dog as I talked to them. It was night, the dog was black... I guess I can't blame them.

About 10 minutes later the sheriff came out. He looked, and there was no collar. He said someone would be by to pick up the body on Monday. It will have to sit out there all day Sunday.

I thanked him for stopping, and felt a bit childish for not being able to look for the tags myself.

I went back in the house. I thought about the times I'd seen this dog, and became pretty certain which home it belonged to. I don't know for sure, but I think the owners are the same people who had another dog, a yellow one, that got hit in front of my house one evening last summer. That dog, miraculously, survived - in part because I drove it to the vet. Its owner had been drinking and was too drunk to drive, so she frantically asked me to chauffeur the both of them into town.

So then I was getting angry. Those idiots! Didn't they learn their lesson? Didn't the sight of their one dog, trailing a mangled back leg last summer as we hustled it in to the vet's office, teach them anything? Apparently not. And, both times, I've been forced into dealing with the aftermath.

It was after 10:30. There was no way I was knocking on that home's door at this hour, given that kind of news and given that I wasn't 100 percent sure it was their dog. There was nothing else I could do.

I flopped down on the recliner, turned on Saturday Night Live (I needed something to laugh at, and, fortunately, it delivered this week), and petted the dog as she rested her head on the arm of the chair. After a while, I got down on the floor, and gave her a hug as she leaned her weight against me. I told her she was a good dog, as the sound of cars passing outside gave me chills.

Dog rivalry

I took Yukon for a walk down the gravel town road behind my property a few days ago. A little ways down the street is a house on the south side of the road, with an open field of untouched snow directly across the road on the north side.

As we approached the house, a big yellow dog started howling. It was tied up, standing in the driveway in the below-zero morning cold. It quieted down a bit while we neared, and Yukon tentatively stepped toward it (though because it was tied up on private property, I wasn't going to let them meet up close).

Just as she stepped forward, the yellow dog launched a massive barking salvo. Yukon jumped back and skittered away down the road. Here is a file photo of Yukon running:

Well, the walk was an out-and-back, so we had to pass by the house again. Right as we got to the driveway, the yellow dog started barking again. Yukon stopped, looked at the tied-up dog, and then leaped out into the open field across the street, jumping and bounding in circles through the snow in full sight of the other dog. She jumped back over the snowbank into the street where I was waiting, and we continued on our way.

It kind of seemed like an "in-your-face" moment aimed at that other dog. Maybe there is some attitude to go along with Yukon's insatiable appetite.

Lesson learned, Vol. 1

Do not create a Facebook page for your dog, and absent-mindedly type the same e-mail address and password as your personal Facebook account. It will overwrite and eliminate your personal Facebook account. Then you will have to sign up again, try to remember all your Facebook friends and re-create your page from scratch. And you will lose your cherished high status in Scramble (college president, I think?).

Lesson learned.

Dreaming, Vol. 2

Last night's dream: My dog was infested with fleas. My house was infested with fleas. Fleas, fleas everywhere.

Possible inspiration: My dog has been scratching a lot - audible at night - but, thankfully, the vet declared her flea-free. I think it's just the dry air in my house.

Karmic payback

Things are going well with the new dog - "Yukon" is her name now - but we had one minor "incident" today.

She is a very sweet, mild-mannered dog. She had been so timid, so hesitant to try new things, that I thought nothing of leaving her alone in the back seat of my car for 10 minutes while a few bags of groceries were in the cargo area. To get back there, she'd have to get up and over the back seat - something it seemed she'd never be willing to do at this point.

Well, she did. And she ate most of a bag of 12 dinner rolls. Fortunately, she left most of the bag; if she swallowed any plastic, I'm sure the doughy rolls will help it pass right through. The photo above shows the offender and the evidence.

I wonder if this is karmic payback for the incident described in an earlier post.

In any case, she is very attached to her crate; that is her default place to be. She comes out every now and then to see where I am, and to explore... though she tends to make a beeline to the crate if I so much at glance at her.

But a few times she has come to sit by me in another room, and today I got down on the floor with her, and she laid down and put her head on my chest. One of the nice things about having a dog.

New dog

Two-year-old yellow Lab. Left with rescue group by family that moved and could not take her with. As of Tuesday morning, she'll be mine, after I've waited almost a decade to have a dog of my own.

Given name: Gadget. I didn't like that name initially, then thought I'd try sticking with it, but now have decided I can't. So, I will be renaming her ... we'll see how that goes.

Now, I have to find a name I like. Pressure's on.

Ethical dilemma

I added about a dozen stale flour tortillas to my compost pile last night, thinking that ravens or other birds would enjoy them today. I've seen ravens scavenging out of that pile many times.

But, I had noticed lately that food had been eaten out of there with some force - that is, it was ripped apart and scattered about. I didn't think much of it until I saw a neighborhood dog chowing down on the tortillas just now.

This is a dog that is allowed to roam free, and on more than one occasion it has run up to about 20 feet from me, in MY yard, and started barking madly. It also harassed the elderly dog I pet-sit for last spring. So, the thought of it throwing up a dozen stale tortillas on the carpeting at its owner's house does give me a touch of satisfaction.

But, now that I know it is eating out of my compost pile, should I stop putting food out there? Put up a bigger fence? Do nothing? I'm not sure.