Three Strikes, but still alive.

Ellie walks the river bank under my watchful eye.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

Ellie was very ill twice this Spring.  Both times she nearly died.  I've been very carefully watching her every move on the Chemung banks.

Wrong.

Thursday, it was too hot to go out, but Ellie insisted.  I put her out into the enclosure at the back steps, and sat down to read.  She began digging, and I looked up just in time to see her pop out something white and oval.  I tried to stop her with a command, but failed.  She gobbled the darned thing so fast I couldn't stop her.

Next time I will shove my fingers down her throat to make her vomit.

I stupidly figured it couldn't be anything bad, since it was our own back yard.

Guess again.  In less than two hours she was panting, vomiting and shaking, just like the previous times.  Only problem was, I had gone for my nap and didn't know until after two pm.

Back to the vet the next morning.  Dx:  poisoning.  Likely suspect:  daffodil bulb.

Well, now we've spent about a thousand bucks to learn a difficult lesson.  Ellie is getting her sickness from our own back yard.  Could also be the river bank.  There are plenty of bulbs to be gotten on Foster Island, where she walked the first two times she fell ill.

Ellie must now stay on leash in the summer months.  She has a tendency to disappear into the reeds and out of sight near the Chemung.  She must not leave my sight.

And I thought dogs were able to distinguish poisons, you know, on instinct.

No.  And I could not believe the list of poisonous plants we have in our back yard.  I went to the SPCA site and began listing.  There are even bulbs that squirrels eat, but may still kill my beloved Doxie.  I let it happen three times to my poor baby.

Dare I say:  Never Again?

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Mummy's little girl

Ellie in her beddie, next to my TV- watching seat.

Way too close to losing my little buddy.  Bubble girl that I am, I am convinced that all the dyes in her dry dog food may have caused the problems.

Two courses of antibiotics, and numerous tests later, the vet still doesn't really know what the illness was.

Ellie is better, eating mostly chicken and rice, and we are watching her carefully.  She does not leave our home, except in my company.

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In our declining years

Watching TV with my storm orphan DeeDee.  In kitty years she may be far more elderly than I am.  Sometimes she skitters around like a kitten, which I rarely do.  On the other hand, she's been with us over 12 years, and was a full grown cat when she called on us.  Her fur is back to normal, but I expect that in June, when Frankie, Ellie's roommate from VeggieGirl's apartment, comes for a week, that will change.

For now and for the rest of her life, I indulge her in everything.  Even sitting right up near my asthmatic face.  Her eyes picked up the flash, because Husband RJ was taking the picture.  Those are kitty kisses, and I refuse to Photoshop them back to normal.

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Got my baby back

After an awful scare, Ellie, the RiverDog is back in form.

Pancreatitis, due to chubby, comfortable old age, almost carried her away from us.

We are now very careful about her diet, and are delighted to find that she really likes boiled rice and chicken.

She even goes for impromptu dips in the Chemung, even though I honestly think it must be a tad chilly just yet.

I love her to pieces and can't imagine the river without her.

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Patches' Perch

I got tired of trying to decorate the top of the entertainment center.   You know, Flower, Christmas, Dolls, whatever.

Finally grabbed an old wool scarf and a few books and made a little nest up there with a few toys. 

With a couple of teasing feather toys to lead her, Patches was the first to willingly head up to the loft. 

The final touch was a cat-ladder.  The ladder is used by all the cats to look onto the porch.  Only Patches uses the loft.

Keep in mind that we have an entire room dedicated to their comfort upstairs.  One and a half, actually: the kitty room and half of my sewing room.  Both rooms were vacated by grown chicks who have flown the coop.

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Lucky seven



First gosling sighting of 2012.

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Little Pond

 

Ever have one of those dreams you just can't seem to escape?


I would bet they are typical of people my age.

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Little Pond

So very early!

The HuggaMutt tests the waters in Mid-April. 

This has to be a record.

Happy Spring!

Granddaughter in her departed Grampa's flower beds.

So sorry. So late.

Trayvon Martin died many days ago.  Mr. Zimmerman seems to have gotten away with manslaughter, if not outright murder.

I've been waiting patiently for news of his arrest, but it's taking too long.  I know Trayvon's mother has not been waiting patiently:  Grief and festering injustice are her current portion.

We are not a nation of bigots, but we certainly have our moments of shame, and this is one of them.

The photo of Trayvon in a hoodie could be the child--or more likely now!--the grandchild of many of my friends and neighbors.  Every time I see him, my heart aches more and more.

See, here in Elmira, New York, we have a very large black minority.  I'm not sure what the percentages are, but I can tell you that a huge number of celebrants on St. Patrick's day around here are black.  And they are just as Irish as their fellow-partiers.

Illustration:  when my daughters were teens, a good-sized group of their friends were in a heated argument about bigotry in Elmira.  They were sitting around our living room when I finally caught on to what they were discussing.  As I recall, at least one-third of the kids where mixed-race, as we say around here.  I scanned their faces as they waited for me to throw in my two cents' worth.

I shook my head, laughed and told them I was the only minority in the room.

Every child before me was at least one-quarter Irish!  And the mixed race kids were one-half.  It turned out that the most fully black child had a bigger touch of Green that even I do. 

For the record, my Irish is Ulster:  a mixure of Scottish and English and Protestant Irish.

All those children were family friends and all of them precious to me.  A rash of teenage suicide a few years ago thinned out the boys, all of them white.  All dearly missed.

If we had to worry about our sons and daughters being killed for wearing a hoodie in the tonier neighborhoods...  Well, I find that unthinkable here in Elmira.  If we are White, our neighbors are Black or Hispanic or whatever.  Surely our neighbors wouldn't shoot a neighbor's child?!

Dear God, at least I hope not.

NOW it is spring!

These little blue guys are one of my favorite signs of Spring!

There is one other, but I've yet to film it.  On the other hand, I am happy to report recent activity among the waterfowl that will result in gaggles of goslings!

This year I have two new friends, but I don't know if they'll get together.  I watched a lone brown duck swimming on the river all winter. 

He's with the geese now, along with a new cousin.

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Spring cannot be far behind

Beauty near the trash cans:

Husband RJ's take on March coming in like a lamb.

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Eating with her fingers

I don't know what to say about this.

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Almost winter?

Our squirrel feeder is empty this morning.

What do you mean, "You don't have a squirrel feeder?"

Outside the window, the world is a study in black and white. 

For a short while the house across the street is hidden.


It is already 40 F
(4.4 C)
and the snow will soon be a memory.

Peaceable Kingdom.

Not quite.  What has actually occurred:  new battle lines are being drawn.

Both the new dog and the new cat have insinuated themselves into unusual alliances.

Frankie, the dachshund mix freely mixes with Patches and Bubba, both badasses that ruled with iron claws.

Incie the Double-Pawed, keeps company with both dogs, and bullies Patches and Bubba.  DeeDee is too old to give a damn about pecking order, and cuffs Incie if she approaches, but will now cozy up to Patches.  Bubba has decided that Ellie is no longer anathema.  And Frankie is learning to be ignored by DeeDee.

This is taking quite a lot of years off my life, while I deal with a new infestation of fleas, worms, and neurotic over-grooming.  In the pets, that is.  I'm doubly tired, but otherwise intact.

 Former antagonists, Bubba and Ellie.

Frankie, Ellie and Incie, all had to learn to live together at VeggiGirl's former home.

Incie has claimed every square centimeter of space for herself, including those meant for humans.

Former deadly rivals, DeeDee and Patches, now are willing to share space to avoid the dreaded Double-Pawed interloper.

The rest of us are but pawns in this power struggle.  And my sensitive nose is ready to pack up and leave.

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Little Pond