Whatever you call it

In the morning I go outside and thank everything. I light some sage, marvel at whatever the sky is doing, and start my list of grateful*. Bodie comes with. 
Mr. "more play now even if we just did what's next look at all the stuff in the yard why is that bird--squirrel!--there's a goat at the neighbor's! fireworks scary heard something in my dish..." sits quietly with me, sniffing the air. He never moves once he's done his business and come back to sit with me. Sometimes we're out there quite a while but he stays.Even at one year, newly arrived and manic.
Recently there may have been some confusion, as Chet the Dog would say, about a fire in the fireplace with the flue closed. Perhaps some smoke alarms. Bodie stopped coming outside with me, bolting as soon as I lit the sage. After several mornings alone I now go outside sageless, he pokes his head out the dog door soon after just to make sure, then comes out to sit with me. Dog's gotta pray, too.
Recently we noticed his big heart displays outside his body as well. Oh come on, humor me.

Happy New Year!

*Animoush list: Fur, wings, heated blankets/beds, gifted surgeons, the morning ritual, paws, kibble, call and response good-night sighs, shelters, treats, tongues, purring, tails, Chloe, Homer, Katie, Ruxen, Bill, geese flying in formation in near darkness, Christmas ball, Prickly, Cow, Halti, Danette, peanut butter, auto-feeders, car towels, Salmon oil, animal statues, neighbors, snow...

Worth it

This kind of goes on a bit long. And filled me with anxiety as I hate to see an animal snared by anything. And the video's shaky. Doesn't matter. It's the tail wag. And the name of the guy and... just watch all the way to the end...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LStvpvxqHGM

Boy, turkey, dog

Not a corny joke, actually; good story. 

And ANOTHER thing!

That voice you hear may be yours joining in.
http://video.msn.com/video.aspx?vid=f32e4309-24ae-4fa6-bf83-89f19ffa8f98

Courtesy of my wonderful neighbor BWren.

Comfort to Newtown

Doing what they do the way they do it so particularly, stunningly well. 

http://thebark.com/content/bringing-comfort-newtown-conn
From The Bark Magazine

Pleasure

If you ever want to cheer yourself up about humanity go to a waiting area at an airport or train station. While there are certainly a number of stiff awkward greetings the majority of them are spontaneous, warm, and completely  unfiltered. You can tell by the eyes. When critters are happy, they close them.

What's that got to do with animals? No filter ever.

 

Every single beast

Every single being in this video is so beautiful. You will cry, it will be all right.

http://vimeo.com/15184546

Thanks to Vicki GH for the link.

Leave it alone

It is my consistent  luck, combined with a bit of conscious noticing, that when I am particularly perplexed, something often comes from the animal world to provide a little perspective. I was saved again recently when Ann and I had the extraordinary honor of housesitting for our friends in a small town whose location I shall keep secret so that it remains small.
I swear this town has been frozen in time, circa 1964. The streets are wide so kids and dogs roam them, it's right by the Sound, there is one store, and throughout a whole long weekend I did not hear one grass blower. Even the occasional lawnmower seemed to blend in with the sound of the wind and the water and happily buzzing bees.

We found ourselves there because of the odd phenomenon that if you know how to give rectal valium to a dog your stock goes up—at least with certain dog owners. And so we came to be hosted for a lovely weekend by dog Fox and cat MC.
MC let us share the loft.

While we were a little nervous to be on deck for a dog with seizures again, we also knew too well what it’s like to try to get away for awhile when your dog might need rectal valium quite suddenly. All we knew was that Fox had a brain tumor that had caused two seizures, but they'd been easily traceable to heat and stress. Fox merely had a little trouble walking, was all. The house turned out to be a log cabin, by the water, and within two hours' drive. We were sold.
When we wandered up the driveway we were greeted by loud barking. We grinned and entered the yard where a white dog leapt to his feet, fell, lurched in our direction, fell, then lurched a few feet more before we simply came to him, calling his name, letting him smell us. I have to admit we also did the classic double-take to each other over his head: what have we gotten ourselves into?

That night after dinner Holly took us around the neighborhood with Fox. Every 10 feet or so she’d haul him up by his harness when he fell, or head him off if he got too near a ditch. All the while she nonchalantly kept up a steady patter about his care, the neighborhood, the history of the town, her cabin, and so on. The looks Ann and I shared over Fox’s head grew into alarm as we watched our strange procession cover a square mile of town, all fraught with ditches, cars, and fading light.

That night we crawled into bed in the upstairs loft with MC, with a window slightly open “so you can hear Fox in his doghouse if he has a seizure.”

We spent the night fitfully, relieved that Holly wasn’t leaving until the next morning, and clearer now why she’d demurred when we’d offered to host Fox at our own house. 

The next day as the school bus sounded in the street, Fox leapt up from his spot in the yard, lurched and fell and lurched and fell all the way out the gate to the middle of the street to greet the kids. After the bus left, Holly did, too, explaining the rest of the routine: snack then walk then sleep then snack then walk then dinner. We were puzzled as to why there was such a routine and why she seemed not to have much hand in how that went.

From the minute Holly left Fox patiently trained us. We watched him fretfully, wincing every time he fell, stunned that we could actually hear his jaw clack when he hit the pavement. Then up he’d go, lurching off, smelling everything, clearly the alpha dog about town. 

That can’t be much of a life, I thought to myself.

The poor dog, Ann thought to herself. 

A one...

a two...

...and a three!

Off we went, or rather trailed, because it soon became clear that Fox had his entire day well planned. His route was clear, and our picking him up by his harness was merely a luxury that he appreciated but could do without easily.

He never took us on the same walk twice. He’d been a feral dog and knew every inch of the territory, which turned out to be pretty large. What’s more, everyone in the neighborhood knew him and they gazed at us curiously if a bit protectively (of Fox). We figured we’d see a few pitying shakes of the head when we met the neighbors but on the contrary, everyone greeted him with gusto and loved to tell us their part of his story. Over the course of a few days I learned exactly “what kind of life” Fox has:

Dance up the street, get treats from human friends, sniff the bush where the new dog pissed, poop at the neighbors' house, investigate car—fur friend!—turn the corner using the entire intersection, drag humans up the street to the farm, listen to turkeys, smell turkeys, crest the hill in a long, diagonal lope, sniff the ditch–fur friend!—duck into the bushes for a pee, human friend—treats!—turn around slowly, training Ann and Caitlin to walk on either side for balance—cat!—play chicken with the cars, new yard, fence down, chickens! my gate! trundle in, water bowl brought up to mouth, nuther treat, find sunbeam, get scratched behind ears, pass out for a long nap, lurch out gate, pee, return and flop down, legs massaged, find shade, sleep all day—school bus!

Etc.

I am not ready to stop sniffing... 

Our routine was set by the second morning. After the long, stimulating walk Ann and I were on our own for the day to nose around the beach, find hidden paths and learn all we could from the local newsletter posted at the one store. It took me awhile to discern what exactly was different about the signs of life from those in a big city:
When something was repaired, there was only a new board, not a whole fence. Things didn't "match." Nothing was "perfect." Yards were in progress, cars might be on their last legs but were used, and in interesting configurations, neighbors stood in the street talking to one another while cars waited. And kids were in abundance, not one accessorized with ear buds or gazing down at something digital. A pile of dirt in the middle of one street slowly disappeared over the course of several days, everyone just drove around it.
The thing that had perplexed me before I left: Aging, injury, brains letting go, illness, loss, the usual things I have no control over. At the other end of the weekend a mantra emerged: leave it alone. Everything I’d been grinding away at had to do with trying to change the course of life, of nature, of time. And when you simply stop doing that stuff, what kind of life does that leave? Quite a real one. 

Thank you Fox, MC, Holly, and John for a wonderful weekend. We can’t wait to come back. 

Ready to go.

Matins

Every morning when I drive to work I am moved, anew, by the site of a man doing his morning workout on the dock by the lake. He does push-ups, sit ups, jogs in place, all in the rain or shine. I mean, really, rain or... I often notice what isn't there. He isn't in spandex, just jeans and a T-shirt. He doesn't have some kind of gadget attached to him to verify that he is indeed, exercising. He doesn't have a hat. He doesn't have a special Northwest jacket. It's a nondescript one, usually lying on the dock beside him. Sometimes I can hardly make out his shape in the driving rain.  

The other part of the picture is a bird. Always. I used to think there was one gull who followed him. A kind of companionship borne of many mornings together. But sometimes it's a pigeon, sometimes a crow. One time there was a heron. Why? I love to speculate. Maybe because humans rarely stay in one place doing something without making noise. 

Kola

He was my buddy. A gift. A warrior on his path. 

I have written this post in my head for weeks but there is no right way to do it.

He succumbed to one final seizure, the whole thing lasted less than 90 seconds. He knew when to arrive and when to leave.

At first it was simply outrageously unfair, and all I could think about was robbery. Of future, of present, even of past, because now all memories are colored by his quick departure, the disbelief at it being about 10 years too early, if anyone were to check with me first. But then there was a shift. And there was communication. And there has been some peace. For which I am grateful. 

So he is both gone and he is here. He was both brave and a sacred clown. Looked at strictly from his point of view, he found the right house, the right people to help him do his work, and he moved leaps and bounds in a short amount of time. He wasn't in his body when he came to us. No one knew he was funny. He had no idea what it felt like to be welcomed back into the world after a seizure; it was obvious he had been punished. His gratitude was boundless, and so, soon, was ours. 

Here's another thing, and the reason I decided to say anything at all: if you ever wonder if writing a quick email or sending a card helps the grieving, it does. Ann and I are so grateful for all the outpouring of support, the words both clever and simple, the steady checking in, the endless listening to both our outrage and our joy. Thank you so much for your kindness. It always does help. 

Toksa ake, our kola Kola.

Now, there's a sendoff...

A worker at a lion park says goodbye to his charges on his last day The only question I have is why he would leave...


Cubs say goodbye.


(Thanks to PamF for the link!)

To...

To owls, to cats, to musicians, to filmmakers, to bloggers, to brain, to heart, to life.

(Thanks to Sarah B for the link!)

Watch to the end

A lovely, gentle dance. At first it is mere food-luring, yet another trick to get some footage. And then...

(Thanks to my friend Jan for sending.) 
See more about the filmmaker here. 

If a deer swims up to you...

Sent by many folks to me (a good sign!) and verified by many news stories.


Update: Hmm, I didn't notice that in the Animal Planet version of this story, they left out a key line. The usual censorship that contributes to the objectification (fear, and loathing) of animals. So I'm publishing the whole story here, as it came to me and told in Tom's own words.


Best Fishing Day Ever

Tom Satre told the Sitka Gazette that he was out with a charter group on his 62-foot fishing vessel when four juvenile black-tailed deer swam directly toward his boat.

"Once the deer reached the boat, the four began to circle the boat, looking directly at us.  We could tell right away that the young bucks were distressed.

I opened up my back gate and we helped the typically skittish and absolutely wild animals onto the boat.  In all my years fishing, I've never seen anything quite like it.

Once on-board, they collapsed with exhaustion, shivering.

We headed for Taku Harbour. Once we reached the dock, the first buck that we had been pulled from the water hopped onto the dock, looked back as if to say 'thank you' and disappeared into the forest.

After a bit of prodding and assistance, two more followed, but the smallest deer needed a little more help.

This is me carrying the little guy.

My daughter, Anna, and son, Tim, helped the last buck to its feet.  We didn't know how long they had been in the icy waters or if there had been others who did not survive. My daughter later told me that the experience was something that she would never forget, and I suspect the deer felt the same way as well!"

Way better version.

It Came Upon a Midnight Bleary

A little holiday story for y'all. Have a great and peaceful week!

Legend has it that at midnight on Christmas Eve, the animals talk

Instead of descending on the parents one year for Christmas, we stayed nearby in Port Townsend, WA, so our elderly Red Heeler mix could be with us and not upset their new kitten. We found a hotel that, despite being right by the water, had reasonable rates and charged only a small fee for Molly the dog. 

We had tucked in for the night and were fast asleep when Molly vibed me with that particular Staring Dog skill designed to wake humans up. An audio escalation can accompany The Stare and this was the case. Since she usually holds it all night I knew that the holiday treats had probably taken their toll, and if she’s urgent I’m urgent. So I opened the door and let her out, thinking she’d just totter to the gravel area and pee. 

As I stood outside in my pajamas and bare feet I marveled at the clear, cold sky filled with clusters of stars and then noticed in my reverie that Molly had taken off! I knew it was bad if Miss-13-Year-Old-Thing was running that fast; I only hoped she’d find a place soon so she wasn’t spewing as she went. Her deafness and the late hour precluded any hysterical shouting so I shot out the door after her, only vaguely aware of the gravel, the cold, and bare feet. All I could see was the tip of her white tail lifted high (a bad sign) and her roto-legs pumping.

I think I’ve failed to mention that the temperature was about 25 degrees.

Finally she found a spot and went into her stance but I didn’t see anything happen; before I could get close enough for confirmation she took off again. Normally she’s too sleepy to do much at that hour so I couldn’t tell if she was in distress, invigorated to her thick-haired soul by the cold or just possessed by the holiday spirit. I corralled her back towards the room so I could at least get boots and coat. As is usual at night she was collarless, so rather than gently guiding her by the collar I had to nudge, straddle, and flail at her until finally we wobbled up to the room. She was still urgent so I announced to my beloved the need to turn the light on—always a welcome announcement at 3 a.m. I found collar, boots, and coat and we shuffled out again. 

A block later I realized I was walking briskly, still anxious. I made myself slow down. Blessedly shod, I began to relax and count my blessings. My inner voice that knows everything began talking:

I’ve got a coat. She’s got a collar. We’re outside. We’re just fine and we’ve got everything we need.  

I took in my surroundings now. I could see that all was aglitter with frost: boats, trees, rooftops, wooden railings, as if we were walking in a sparkling village from another time. The moon shone bright and high in the black, clear sky. The sound of water lapping against the docks drew me, my eyes darting to anything illuminated by the lunar light. I could hear masts shifting quietly, lanyards clanking softly against them. Punctuating the rows of dark docks were colored lights on some of the boats. There was not a human sound. A perfect stillness, occasionally broken by the soft chirps and calls of some kind of night bird. Molly was beyond happy, smelling new smells and very, very alert, her old cataract eyes straining to see everything at once, so lit up and so clear.

As we walked along the docks I became aware of a huffing sound close to the water. A seal? We drew closer to investigate, and then heard a splash. A dark shape spilled over the dock. Uh oh, raccoons, I thought, and moved away from the bushes. Raccoons are no longer cute in the city—I felt protective of Molly and strained to see. But I heard another splash, and then a huffing sound, and then a kind of clambering up the dock—puzzling, because raccoons don’t move that fast. Splash, clamber, huff. Repeat. At the end of the dock a small light slowly blinked, and in the occasional weak illumination I could see the whole dock moving. Whatever it was, there were many of them. I peered as hard as I could, wishing I’d brought a flashlight. 

Then one shape stood up, then another. Finally the culprits revealed themselves: eight or nine very busy, curious otters! Their tiny little chirps and calls were the “night birds” I’d been hearing at the edge of my consciousness; clusters of them swarmed all over the docks.

We stood for a long time watching the busy scene—I can verify that otters never stop moving—and then headed back to the room. Molly was still ears up and trotting, but this time I was very much with her.

(c) Caitlin Sullivan

Fawn rescued

This comes from my fellow Humbled Herd-er Terri. It came without any author attribution but there is video at the end. Here's what the person wrote:

"On the morning of May 18th, 2011, my wife noticed a deer in our yard that appeared to be frantically looking for something in the rocks that form a wall at our property line in Brush Prairie, WA. We went out with our neighbors but didn't see anything. The deer wouldn't leave our yard.

We went back to our house and watched, after a few minutes the deer came back.

Where the deer was concentrating we could hear a fawn crying in the rocks. We moved some of the rocks and smaller boulders and saw the fawn's face among them. He had apparently fallen into a crawl-through in one of the gaps and was now trapped. The larger boulders were too heavy to move and we didn't want to have the rocks cave in on the baby.

We called our Clark County Fire District 3 and a team came out to help. One of our neighbors took some video of the rescue, which I edited into this short clip."

Enjoy!

Cowboy + Dogs = Happy Ending

Seems like if you used to lasso you never forget how. Jesus Villanueva used to rope cattle in Jalisco 30 years ago; the skill came back when he spied two dogs trying to get out of a canal near Yakima, WA. The sides were too slippery and the owner had been desperately running alongside for TWO MILES. A deputy was trying to rope them but no luck, so Mr. V. got each one of them on the first try. Read more about it.

Welcome to Animoush

Here is the first post to this blog. Do you like it? We can see how it goes.

This is my cat Dimitri. I've been with him since 1995.

Dog Carlo on the left. Been with him since yesterday. Seriously. Seattle Animal Shelter's finest.

We lost our beloved Molly (on the right) in March and in the process lost the presence of Dog in the household, too. So "in the fall" was when we were going to find another friend to round us out again. Moral: Never go to a Kill Shelter with an intention just to look.