Broken Hearts and Farewells

I haven't posted in a long long while. I was too busy living to write about it. I've had lots of ideas, but no urge to type. I find now that I must.

Over the time I blogged, something that started as a business and craft site very quickly became Guess What The Dog Did. Bander has always had a way of doing that, making everything revolve around him.

I've posted endlessly about his fears, his quirks, his anxieties and his need for prozac. I've shared his surgeries and his truly mind-boggling level of financial support. There are also things I didn't say much about, and I hope they were understood - his dignity, his endless patience, his courage, and his unbelievably sweet disposition. Along with his high level of dependence on us, came a level of trust in everything we asked of him. He was a perfect gentleman in restaurants, at the vet, or in noisy crowds.

Yeah, that's past tense you're reading. Because he is crossing the bridge tomorrow, and we are already reeling with pain and loss.

With Bander's death, the blog ends.

Old Dog, New Tricks

When we got the Bander-Boo, he was terrified of cars. Since he's also afraid of rain, thunder, airplanes, being left alone, firecrackers, and Wes Craven films, this isn't a big surprise.


Well, we got the chance to take a drive just for funsies the other day. And you know, there's hope for Bander the Neurotic Wonder Dog yet. Because look at this:





Is this the face of somebody who's afraid of cars? No, in fact, this is the face of somebody who has figured out that we're in the drive-through waiting for cheeseburgers.

He didn't get one, don't be silly.

He gets McNuggets.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, I announced this in my newsletter, so I guess it's time to put something on the blog. Just to make it official in multiple places.

I'm closing up shop at the end of the year.

I realize that this has gone through the grapevine and might not be news, but I also keep getting messages from people who want to know WHY, so I suppose I can explain a bit.

I had originally planned to make soap full time. And for the first half of the year, that's exactly how life went. Then came the oil spill, and the economic blow to the community. Long story short, I got a full time day job.

So Jesse and I are both working full time, and I was back to running the soap business at night. Which is exactly what I did for the nine years before this.

And perhaps you see the problem before I saw it. I pretty much chucked everything and changed my whole life, moved from one coast to the other, all so I could have a life instead of the endless round of work/sleep/work that California had become.

I needed some time to live, to enjoy my wonderful hubby. To pet the dog until I wore the fur right off him. Maybe take a walk, or have a day off. What was the point of this big move if I was going to be locked in either the office or the soap room every single day?

Don't get me wrong, I'll miss the business. But I'm missing my life. And I can always start another business, while this one life is all I'm going to get. So one job, with a little massage on the side (something else I miss doing, and have no time for right now) - that's a schedule that allows me some time to breathe.

And sit.

And possibly read a book.

Or work on a painting.

Or do a little sewing.

I'll spend the next couple of months using up the materials I have on hand, and selling off the ready stock, and then I'm going to sit in the park and watch Bander chase squirrels.

It sounds completely peaceful.

EEEEEWWWW

Okay, it's going to be another post without pictures. That's because I'm kind and considerate and don't want to squick you out.

Because here's the thing: summer in Florida includes mandatory visits of Palmetto Bugs. If you've never seen one of these beasts, the first thing you should do is spend 20 minutes or so thinking about how lucky you are and then congratulate yourself for living somewhere reasonable.

Palmetto Bugs are Florida cockroaches. They're 2-3 inches long, not afraid of light, and they FLY. The effing monsters FLY. They also run toward you if you startle them. And they bite.

Bander is horribly confused by them. At first, he thought they were mice (yes, they're that big). One got in the house last night and he started chasing it until he actually got close, and then he got all big eyed and ran away. When a bug is big enough to scare away a hundred pound dog, it's pretty big.

I used my patented Palmetto Bug killing technique, which is to flap my hands like a wounded chicken and do my Special Roach Dance while I scream for Jesse to come kill it. When he isn't home, I either stun them with a broom and sweep them away - since I don't have to get any closer than the length of the broom handle - or, if I miss with the first whack and make the giant bug angry, I run away. Since they fly and I can't, this involves a lot of panicking and slamming doors. Of course Jesse is reading this while I type and keeps reminding me that they can crawl under the doors and now I'm afraid to ever sleep again unless I can find some sort of combo jammies/beekeeper getup.

Bugs are gross.

Uninvited Guest

A few days ago I wandered out into the back yard where Bander was relaxing, to find an unexpected visitor. It was a Miniature Pinscher that lives a couple of blocks away.
If you're not familiar with the MinPin, they look like tiny little Dobermans:


They're little dogs, about the size of Chihuahuas. Now, we have a large yard, and the fence is not in the best condition. We've repaired any holes that Bander might get through, but since Bander is about the same size as Tom Hanks this just meant a few planks. If we want to patch all the holes that Little Dog can get through, we'd pretty much have to replace the entire fence. Since we have a really big yard that's a big expense, and we're renters, so forget that idea.

I know where Little Dog lives. I've taken her home a couple of times, but she gets out of her own yard just as easily as she gets into mine. Her owners haven't been home when I went by, but you can see evidence of many, many attempts to patch each and every hole. Clearly they're failing, since all the other neighbors have told us that Little Dog runs all over the neighborhood all the time.

Lately, though, she comes straight to my house. I'm pretty sure that Little Dog is in heat and she seems to have chosen Bander as her life partner. This is a poor choice since I estimate that Bander outweighs her by 85 pounds, and he lacks some of the essential equipment for the job. He was neutered before the rescue group even put him up for adoption, so Little Dog has missed the window of opportunity by oh, four and a half years or so.

This does not keep her from trying. She dances around Bander and wags wildly. He's not so happy to have other dogs in his space. but seems to tolerate small ones better than big ones. He hasn't tried to eat her yet but I bet he's considering it.



She's showing signs that she'd like to live here, although she's clearly well fed and cared for, and we are NOT in the market to own a highly active but not terribly bright Little Dog, particularly one that is an escape artist.

Right now Bander and I are hiding inside with the doors closed pretending that we're not home, while Little Dog prances around impatiently on our back porch. I hope she finds a different boyfriend soon, because I'd like to go outside at some point this summer.

The Sky is Falling

Have I mentioned that the dog is afraid of thunder?

Well, welcome to springtime in the South.


Tuesday night we had some intense rain and thunder in small cells, which scared the bejeebers out of Bander-Boo. He generally reacts by huffing and pacing and panting and trying to get our attention. Jessie can sleep through the antics, but I'm a light sleeper and I can't. On the basis that at least one of the three family members should get a decent night's sleep, I always get up, take the dog into the living room, and close the bedroom door. The dog then proceeds to get on my very last nerve while keeping me awake until the weather clears.

Tuesday, that was bad, but not awful - I ended up going to bed at 10:30, getting up at 2:00, going back to bed at 4:30 and getting up again for the day at 6:00. Five hours, rocky but manageable.

Except that it rained and thundered again last night. Started at around 10 pm and didn't stop until 4 in the morning. So I fell asleep at 4 am and got up for the day at 6:30, a very short 2 1/2 hours later.

Guess what's predicted for tonight?



I can't be mad at the dog for being afraid. He's not doing it on purpose. And the most effective way, we've learned, to handle his fear is to ignore it. Not to comfort him or yell or do anything at all.

And I can't be mad at the dog today, either, because dogs don't go "ooo, I bet she's just cranky over last night, or that time I said mean things about her sister." Dogs are the ultimate Zen masters - they live in the NOW. This is why punishment in general doesn't work well as a training tool, because dogs just don't connect past actions to current reactions.

All Bander knows today, right this minute, is that he's tired, too. He didn't sleep any more than Mama did. He tried to find a quiet place in the yard but didn't get much farther than the back steps.

I am doing my very best to be patient. But god help people who cross my path. I will therefore stay home today, and prep for the coming storm. By napping, if I'm lucky.

My God, A Day Off

I've been locked in the soap room for a solid six weeks now. Except for the days I'm locked in the wrapping room. So I was really thrilled to take an actual entire day off.

Jesse and I are still exploring the area, so we decided on a drive. Bad dog-parents that we are, we took Bander to doggie day care for a bath and some baby sitting. Then we took off to take a look at one of the resort areas, Perdido Key.

Perdido Key looks mighty fine from the air, and not so shabby from the ground. It was a little surprising that the beaches were dead empty - even on a Wednesday in February, in California you'd never get an empty beach.

We were driving east (toward the top of the pic) along the water, noticing how we seemed to have the place all to ourselves. We'd gone out with some notion of getting lunch or something, but a lot of the restaurants were still closed, so we kept heading east until we crossed over into Alabama. (This includes driving through, I am not making this up, Floribama.) We finally paused in Orange Beach, Alabama, for coffee and beginets.

Beginets are one of my favorite things about living in this area so far. It's like a donut lived a saintly life and then came back as something better. And then that something better got deep fried and sprinkled with several pounds of powdered sugar. Jesse had never eaten a beginet, and kept arguing that we could get mayonnaise at home. I swear he goes deaf sometimes just to spite me.

So, I knew that beginets were delicious. What I didn't know is that it's not advisable to eat them in a moving car, and certainly not while wearing dark clothes. Because the minute that you hit a bump, this hot fresh delicious confection turns into Satan's Fritter of Doom and bounces out of your hand and leaves powdered sugar donut prints down the front incline of your clothes, so that if you go out in public for the rest of the day everyone will be able to look at your shirt and secretly condemn you for being a sloppy eater while simultaneously being jealous of the beginet that you obviously had earlier. Plus you attract ants.

We tried to get past the problem by eating faster. Bigger bites, simultaneously. Jesse found that his sugary bite glued itself to the roof of his mouth, rendering him unable to speak and warn me not to take a big bite. Which is too bad, because I took a giant bite and then inhaled or something and accidentally sent about six pounds of sugar rocketing up into my sinuses from the inside. If I had only had a blowhole I would have looked like Old Faithful.

We pulled the car over and got out, hoping to stop wheezing and finish our breakfast but the wind whipped the box top out of Jesse's hands and then plastered me with a drift of sugar from head to foot. We threw the damn things away.

We were stopped at a perfectly lovely state park but I was pretty bitchy about being lightly glazed so we didn't stay for too long. Approximately a nanosecond. But Jesse did take a photo to prove that we were there.

Anyway, we drove home, had a late lunch at a decent (but not wonderful) Mexican restaurant, and picked up the dog. He had been bathed and perfumed and smells like a big green apple with horrible breath. Plus we smelled like donuts but didn't bring him any so there's a sort of cloud of resentment and Jolly Rancher dog farts in the house now.

I think it's time to go back to work.

Neighbors, and Why I Usually Hate Them

We've been pretty quiet for a few days, I know.

We're finishing up with the unpacking chores, plus unpacking and inventorying for the business, and getting a new workroom set up, all while Jesse is job hunting. Then there are the supply orders, which are a) enormous, at least by my piddly standards and b) urgent, because we were out of everything and I am due to reopen. It's a LOT to take care of.

While this is going on, we learned something. Fireworks are legal in Florida. This is something I never considered, because when we lived in California, anyone with a firecracker would be shot on sight. One spark during dry weather and half the state would burn down. So it never even occurred to us that you could buy fireworks everywhere. There's an aisle for them in the supermarket, for pete's sake.

This is only a problem because it turns out that we live directly across the street from three hell-born urchins. If you saw Talladega Nights, and you remember the two unwashed brats that were in that movie, you can picture these kids. I've never seen their parents. What I do see is a six year old - maybe seven - out in the front yard every evening after school, with a shopping bag full of firecrackers and a lighter.

And of course, it turns out that the dog is afraid of firecrackers. I have no particular desire to be the lady who runs around the neighborhood telling all the kids to knock it off, but seriously, you let your second grader spend all his free time trying to earn the name Nine Fingered Willy?

I do know that their house is on the market, so I can only hope that they move on to torture somebody else. Or it's going to be a long, cranky summer.

Happy New Year, too!

Well, happy-ish.

I am sad to report that things did not work out with Sandy. The two dogs started out tolerating each other, then moved on to being grumpy with each other, then open dislike. Within a couple of days we were experiencing physical violence, and had to break up a couple of nasty dogfights. Sandy actually bit Bander, which stunned me - they're both so very sweet with people, but hoo boy, not each other.

I talked to a couple of experts and got confirmation of my fears - that the best course of action was to return her to her owners, and give up on the adoption attempt.

I hated doing it. She was a great dog, and as far as the people part of the equation, we were an excellent match for her. But the stress was just too much for Bander, and the poor guy has been through too much to have his home turn into a place where he gets attacked.

So she's back with her former owners. They'll be looking for a home where she can be the only dog. If you want a great girl that loves kids, and don't have a dog right now, drop me a line and I'll hook you up. In the meantime, she gets all my mojo for a good home.

Bander's Christmas Present

Meet Sandy.

Although we might change her name, because it's too close to Bander and they don't know which one we're calling. She's a half-lab, half-St. Bernard girl, about 2 years old. She's a good 30 pounds smaller than Bander-boo, which puts her at about 60 pounds.

Of course, just because we got him a girlfriend doesn't mean that Bander is entirely on board with the idea.

They're learning, and having the usual jostling for position. Well, actually, Bander is quite clearly the alpha, which doesn't surprise me a bit; but she's young, and has to learn not to be in his face all the time. It's only been 24 hours, and she's here on a one week trial, so we have time to see whether they work it out.

They do well chasing squirrels together. Bander spots them and barks, and Sandy runs over to see what all the fuss is about.

Connectivity!

Aaaaaand we're BACK!

A big shout out to The Geek Squad and our new router, and once again we join the computer age. Just in time for another rainstorm with dog antics, and just in time to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

I might have more to say later, but right now I have to go deal with giblets. And probably the rest of the turkey while I'm at it.

(I may live in the South now, but I refuse to deep fry the damn thing. I will, however, serve biscuits. Mmmmmmm.)

Dog Heaven

Well, we picked up the keys to the new place this morning. The rooms in the house itself are smaller than we thought, but the floorplan is great and the garage/laundry room is ideal for my soaping needs.

The best part of the whole thing, though, is the yard. The wonderful yard. The front yard has this huge amazing beautiful tree:

Best part?

Dozens of squirrels live in the trees. As far as the Bander-Boo is concerned, this is winning the canine lottery. He was the happiest he's been since we loaded up the car a week ago.

I love the climate here, even rainy and foggy like it's been. We'll see how the summer goes, of course, but so far I'm really feeling good about things. This has been a long roll of the dice, but I think we did well. Change was upon us no matter what we did, so there was nothing to do but embrace it.

We'll see how we feel once hurricane season arrives.....

Finally...

Maybe we can sleep tonight.

The long and winding road

So, you know that we hated our time in El Paso.

Two things you need to know about what happened next:

First, El Paso is barely over the edge of the Texas state line. It’s damn near New Mexico, at least as far as geography goes.

Second, Texas is big.

Vast.

Wide.

A complete pain in the ass to drive across.

However, since we had accidentally holed up in El Paso like bats in a cave, we were behind schedule.

We made good time today – 550 miles of it. From El Paso, we’re now in San Antonio, and in a MUCH nicer hotel.

The storm is over, the dog has relaxed, and all is well. Of course, we have thunderstorms waiting for us during the rest of the week, but we’ll cross that horrifying panicked dog bridge when we come to it.

In the meantime, we’re taking an extra day here to rest after the long day’s drive. We went through a part of the state called Hill Country – a much greener and prettier terrain than we’ve seen so far. If you’ve never traveled across the American Southwest, you may not realize how much desert there is – but trust me, there is an endless expanse of cactus and dust storms and sad dried up lizards. It’s nice to finally see the landscape changing.

Jessie and I are driving in separate cars, which is a pain in the ass because there are a lot of things to talk about and we’re too brain damaged to remember what we wanted to say long enough to get to the next rest stop. Among other things, we’ve seen a lot of cars with California plates, loaded up with the family belongings. Apparently we’re not the only rats leaving the ship.

I also saw a pickup truck loaded down with the back end of a pickup truck, towing a trailer made from the back end of a pickup truck which was holding a couple more back ends of pickup trucks. I guess there’s a thriving market for pickup butts out there.

And just in case anybody is wondering about yesterday’s dog panic – he’s better today. And yes, he’s on anti-anxiety meds. He’s seen a trainer (clicker method). We’ve consulted a veterinary behaviorist. I have indeed heard about Bach Remedies, DAP collars, and I’ve tried a vet recommendation of using Benadryl to sedate him.

As far as I can tell, he’s impervious to everything with the possible exception of a big rubber mallet, and I’m going to try that next.

We're Still on the Road to Morocco.

Oh dear Zod.

Passover El Paso...
...Passing El Paso...
...Pass the El Paso sauce...
...El Paso de la gone.

Any of these would have been better titles than:
Eleven minutes into yesterday, the Dog, the occasional center of our tiny universe, began to pace. Not surprising, as there was a storm a-brewing outside. We were at four thousand feet above sea level, or so, the winds were fierce and the walls were thin.

Pacing begat huffing, which begat panting, that begat twitching. This in it’s turn began a chain of dog bedroom olympic events:

1. Jump onto the bed. Points for distance, height and accuracy. If you can land on someone’s privates or sore spots, gain additional points.

2. Breathe Fire. Marks for huffing directly into the face and/or drool hitting between the eyes.

3. Sitting, timed event. Cumulative, bonus points for sitting on someone’s head.

4. Freestyle dance. Artistic expression, avoid the Russian judge.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

We tried everything we could think of to get and keep the dog calm. Jackie even tried going to the truck to see if that would convince him. Some time around three, we taped our eyes open and tried to make for better ground.

Which brought us to El Paso.

We were originally planning to have lunch and continue to Fort Stockton, I think it was, but ended up in a Motel, hoping to catch a few hours and press on. Another windy room, and Jackie was way too exhausted to continue.

So we stayed for the day.

It may be a lovely town, but what I saw off the I-10 did the city no justice. Abandoned buildings, the smell of industry, incessant trains, a giant sign pronouncing that Jesus Lives. It reminded me a lot of downtown L.A. or the back side of the San Pedro docks, sans the water.

Then I turned on the t.v. to hear that dry cleaning chemicals, rocket fuel and other crap was found in the local water. Not a pretty snap shot, sadly.

With winds gusting to 100 mph, w decided to stay the night, and let everything subside. We tackled the dog in shifts, alternating walking, and resting and sleeping and whining and bemoaning our lot, for something like 24 hours, without the cool ticking clock thing from that show.

The motel had cable, and HBO, even, so we watched ‘Taken’. A fun once movie, in my opinion, although it was on two or three times. Then we watched something with Brad Pitt that was absolutely fascination and engaging.

The winds died, and all of us passed out. At 5:30 this morning, we showered and escaped El Paso.

Did you know the speed limit during the day is 80 MPH in Texas?

Yeah, not fast enough.

We're on the Road to Morocco, Fer Shur

Captain's log, Stardate, somewhere in Arizona.

The dog is lost. No, he didn't jump out of the truck, he just can't find a proper piece of grass in all the rock gardens. He's apparently gonna hold it until we cross the mighty Mississip for some true personal time. That, and nothing smells right, I'm sure. I could have sworn the whole back end of California smelled like propane and propane accessories.

Thus our dog has this sad expression as we set down for the evening:

Were in the local motel; they advertised it as being in a town, but it really is a glorified truck stop with room service. I always thought that it was an elitist's exaggeration when all the tough guys, the wise guys, the paisans, et al, made fun of the local talent's marinara sauce turns out they were actually right.

Not that I'm an expert, but I ordered fettuccine alfredo and I got spaghetti noodles with (breakfast biscuit) gravy, and a few chicken fingers tossed in. Jackie says chickens don't have fingers, so Gods only know what they're really made out of, but my bet is either chicken butts or that little rubbery flappy thingy on chicken legs.

We're tired, there's some Carrie Underwood thing on the t.v. (the other choices being Telemundo recaps), the dog has claimed the bed and Jackie is soaking in the tub.

Did I ever tell you that wherever we went, we got the special extra tall toilet seats? The kind that make you think you're a little kid again? Yeah, the tradition continues.

-Jesse

Everybody Loves the Bander

I think I mentioned earlier that Jesse and I went out of town for a few days. We met my mom and her husband in Carmel-by-the-Sea, one of the most gorgeous little towns I’ve ever seen.

Carmel is tiny, one mile square, and it’s known for being one of the most dog-friendly places in the world. We tested the boundaries, because Bander went on the trip with us, and we took him everywhere.

EVERYWHERE.

If you want a lot of attention, I recommend getting a big white dog with soulful eyes and putting a bright red cast on his leg. Then go for a very slow walk. Honest to god, people were pulling over and jumping out of their cars to look at him. Then they’d say something stupid, usually a variation of this: “Oh my god! Is he OKAY?” while staring at the cast.

Well, to be quite honest, no, he isn’t okay, which is why he has a cast on. But I spent money I didn’t actually have yet in order to get him terrific medical care so that he would be okay someday, and that’s why I dress like a bag lady and he has a big red cast. But Carmel is lovely and I was in a good mood so I didn’t say that.

I did briefly toy with the idea of looking at the dog in horror and screaming to Jesse “Honey! The dog has a cast on his leg! When did that happen? Who did this to him?”

I also considered saying “Oh, he’s perfectly fine, but I’m trying to train him to limp so I bandaged him up.”

Since people were eyeballing me suspiciously to make sure I wasn’t a dog-abuser, I didn’t do either of those either. I just told the story of him jumping off the roof to try and follow our cars and then watch their eyes well up. The dog and I can really work a crowd for sympathy. If I had had the foresight to have Jesse pass a collection plate, we could have made out like bandits.

Anyway, Bander got to go everywhere, and be the king of Dog Mountain. Even his 'doggiesitter' du jour, thought their matching casts were cute.

He sat in various restaurants, and servers brought him plates of diced grilled chicken, generally serving him before serving us. He sat inside the Post Office, under the “Service Dogs Only!” sign while I waited in line to mail a package, and the line would have moved faster except that the employees were all petting him instead of opening another window.

He laid in the middle of a king size pillowtop bed, managing to hog the entire thing. I swear he was smiling while he did it. He got petted by strangers so much that he had bald spots where the hair wore off. The B&B where we stayed took his picture for the guest book. If I hadn’t had to sign the credit card slip, they never would have noticed I was leaving.

Then he took a fistful of Benadryl (wrapped in liverwurst by his sneaky mama) and snored in the back of the SUV all the way home.

He had a much better time than we did.

Everybody loves the dog.

Bander, the Bionic Dog

You may have noticed we haven't mentioned anything about Bander getting the cast off yet. After a week with no improvement, we shelled out money for some MRI soft tissue scans, and learned that the damage to his wrist was a lot worse than anyone thought - as in, he snapped every single connecting ligament.

That gave us three options, per the vet - one, very expensive surgery. Two, amputation of the leg. Three, put him down. Since both two and three were impossible, unthinkable, and just generally not happening, we went for the expensive surgery. This involved fusing the affected joint and inserting a steel plate to stabilize the whole thing.

It's been eight weeks now, and here are the first x-rays of the nearly-healed repair job:































Impressive, no?

The downside is that we still aren't allowed to walk him much, and he needs another four weeks in the cast. He always had a lot of energy to burn, and has a bad case of cabin fever, so any little behavioral problems are magnified a million times. The separation anxiety that caused him to jump off the roof in the first place? Yikes. Bring on the puppy Prozac! (so not kidding, here.) And some training. And he needs company while we're at work.

So. He now has a vet, an orthopedic surgeon, a behaviorist, and a pet sitter. The freakin' dog has a staff of FOUR. I, of course, just have Jesse, but since he only has me we just order each other around a lot and nothing gets actually done, because we're too busy catering to the dog.

It's a good thing he's cute.

For Bander's Blog Buddies

Just a quick pic, for those who miss our dog.

A Quick Bander Update

It's been a few days, and he's gone through a couple of splints. He's like the rest of the family, tough on things. He's not as sad as he was, although on his last trip to the vet, they decided to try and used a couple of sheep worth of padding and a bit of green tape to keep it together.

So here he is all happy, on the way to the vets.

Since then, he's been more tired. But I think that's because without the splint, he feels the ankle/paw soreness more. I guess it keeps him from doing further damage; it must be working, because he certainly has spent more time not trying to drag me across the planet.

In fact, he's spent all his time doing what he does best; being a doorstop. This is where he stayed for about an hour, before I had to carry him down the stairs. He's not allowed up or down them, so if he wants to hang out with me while I do stuff, I've gotta carry him.

But he's adapting. I mean, he found the most comfy place in the house, and staked his claim.

So if'n you're wondering how he doing, he's a little better and a little more shrweepy.

It'd be nice if I could work this hard.