Juno 1998-2011

We are now a one-dog household.

At the Vet

Lo, what's this I see before me? It's a bill from our Kentucky vet. 2 dogs, a few shots, and some flea goo. Price: $603 and change. Yes. Six Hundred and Three DOLLARS plus some loose coins.

Compare that to today.

I called yesterday to ask for an appointment. Our dogs have been vet-less for a year (healthy!) and they needed shots. Mother, KP, the mother of one of my wonderful students - all recommended the same vet. And when I called, they said, "Oh we have plenty of time tomorrow. Come at 230."

Well ok, then.

I arrived at 2:25, filled out one short piece of paper, and walked into an exam room at 228. Yes, they were busy, but that wasn't a problem. Oh, and it was bright and clean. We saw a funny tech ("I'm afraid she needs her anal glands expressed. I know you hoped for that when you awoke this morning" elicited "Oh, that's what we have 'interns' for" with a wicked grin. I like that girl!), then a very pleasant vet, and we got all this:

• Four shots for Juno
• One shot for Boris
• Those glands (Juno)
• Nails trimmed (Juno) [And they did a good job, unlike the KY vet who always made Juno bleed. No wonder she won't let me trim her nails!]
• A physical exam for both dogs
• A bottle of very, very gentle shampoo for Mr. Stinky Bobo
• A bag of high-fiber food for Mr. Fattie Bobo (125 pounds!!!!!) (!!) (!)

Price? Are you sitting down?

$180.

Riiiiiight. We're pretty happy. Except for Bobo, who's just a porker. In case you're wondering, Juno remains 32.2, down slightly but within the 2-pound range she's maintained her entire life. When the vet asked about any health problems we were all, "Uh...arthritis. She's 13." And I remembered that in California our beloved, wonderful vet didn't even know we had a second dog. He only ever saw our Ridgeback (long since gone to the Great Pork Chop In The Sky). Juno never got sick and the techs did her shots so he was unaware of her existence.

Anyway. The vet: wonderful. Us: happy. Boris: 125!!!!!

Just Another Sunny Day

Juno likes to nap in the living room. She's not having the best time in Utah, because with all the workmen coming and going she's constantly in her crate or being yelled at for barking. Poor old dog. With her bum hip, she can't even go for a walk in our lovely neighborhood, either.

Above, Iain with his current obsession, oranges. He'd eat 5 a day if we let him.

Our childcare arrangement is working well. Iain spends 12-4 with Anna (4.75) and Parker (2.5) and Parker's Mom. He plays, he naps, he does art, he's a happy guy. And he's picking up little phrases from them. Anna, for instance, likes to tell stories. Her stories sound like this:

Actually, what's wrong with the horse is his eye. Actually, it's not working. Actually, we should hear three beats in his heart but I only hear two. Actually, that's the problem.

Etc. I commented on how cute it would be if Iain picked up that speech pattern and, sure enough, this morning I put Iain down and asked about brekkie. "Actwally, Mommy..." he replied.

Ha!

Successes and Failures

Parrot tulips: failure. Above, the red and yellow ones. They were all eaten by rabbits. And here's the insult-to-injury part: the rabbits ate only the flowers, leaving the stalks to taunt me.

Below, the green, white and (a tiny bit of) pink variety. These were a gamble, since green flowers are iffy. I love hellebore, whose flowers are often shades of green. Still, I thought this tulip might be interesting and might be a disaster.

It's not great. See below. Not awful, but more weird than lovely. It kind of reminds me of Little Shop of Horrors.


Boris's Digestion: failure. He threw up in the sunroom today. That's enough about that.


The small, striped, pink and white tulips in the deck container? Success!


They started out mostly white, with pink streaks. Over time, though, they've deepened in color, becoming an interesting mixture of pinks and rose shades.

Also a success: Iain's birthday. We started out rough (nightmares, sick Daddy), survived lunch for a good, long nap, then soldiered through a truly spectacular afternoon tantrum. How bad?

I was on the phone with Miriam while Charles tried to put Iain in a Time Out. Just as I got off because the screaming was reaching a crisis level, Charles rushed into Iain's room. Turns out that our little mountain climber decided that Time Out could suck it.

He'd climbed up, pitched over, and fallen on his face. Ouch. But, none the worse for wear, he was still determined to scream the house down in anger (ie, no tears, just a red-faced rage worthy of Winston Churchill). It took a concerted effort, many books about trucks, promises of stickers and threats to tell Miss Donna before we restored equilibrium.

But we did. And his dinner, bath, and bedtime rituals were fine. Good, even. So we're a success because we lived through it. He's 2. 364 days from now, things should get better.

Park! Backhoe!

Above, us. We spent the afternoon at the Arboretum (this is a second view of the Arboretum. Note the trees. Oh, wait...), walking the dogs and the kids and generally enjoying the sunshine. As you can see, Callie's working on her Long Stride.


Hey, Dad - look at that!
What, son?

That! THAT!

Oh, the backhoe? Or the Bobcat bulldozer being used to move stone and dirt? Wow. Good timing, dude.

So. This afternoon 3 people wanted to see our house. We packed up the dogs, tidied up our domicile, and took our little family off to pass the time. Happily, Callie's peeps agreed to help us. After the walk, we all went back to Casa Callie for lasagna (made by me, since Sarah made tacos last night for our celebration of my birthday), salad, and brownies. Iain and Callie played, ran around like mad dogs, fell down a couple of times, and otherwise expressed their essential kid-ness.

Good times.

Anyway, now we're waiting to see what's going to happen with our house. Fingers crossed.

[Photo credits to Callie's Dad, who manned up to take the pictures while I wrangled the dogs.]

First Snow in Maine

Check out Miss Gracie! She's truly the queen of her castle. Of course, if you live in Maine, you already know that snow is cold. So there's no need for Iain to call her and let her in on that secret.

I love the fact that the snow is belly-deep for Gracie, yet she's all "Come ON, Professor M!!"

It's snowing here again, too. But this time it's warmer, so the snow is sloppy and wet rather than pretty. I think we're in for quite a winter, folks.

All Quiet on the Eastern Front

Iain helped me check on the garden. As you can see, he likes to "help" the fish with their pond. He plunges the skimmer into the water, waves it around, and otherwise acts like Godzilla, with the fish in the role of the terrified residents of Tokyo.

However, while he was busy with that, I checked on the herbs left in my raised bed. As you can see below, the curly parsley is still happy as a clam. It likes cooler weather, and I like it.


The sage and chard are also still going. The chard looks a bit small because I ate a bunch last week. But it's coming back and we have at least another week of temps in the 50s, so I suspect I'll be enjoying another chard dinner soon. The sage hides the thyme, also still growing like mad. Thyme can be annual or perennial, depending on the weather, and I'm hoping that the warmer soil of the raised bed will help it come back. It's been a champion.

And then there's the flat-leaf parsley. I don't even really like flat-leaf parsley. So (of course), both of them are this big:

For reference, that's about 2 feet in each direction. And there are two of these monstrosities. Anyone want some parsley? I seriously considered using it for a bouquet last night. Because, hey, it's not like I'm going to eat it.

Juno finds the cooler weather nice, especially since it has coincided with the appearance of the neighbor boy raking the leaves. She gets to exercise her lungs, jump at the fence, and generally be a dog. So she likes that.

Did I mention that Iain throws pebbles in the pond, too? Yeah. If it's not enough to make the fish huddle in impotent rage at the bottom ("Damn you, Godzilla!"), he also selects The Perfect Pebble and tosses it into the water, watching the ripples as it goes down. Then he gets another Perfect Pebble and does it again.

Otherwise, a quiet day spent waiting for The Dad to return to home base. He's back, and there's pot roast in the crock pot and freshly-made granola for the morning. Good times.

That's Some House, Gracie

Boris's girl friend Gracie bought a house. Apparently, she lets her staff (Dr. M) enter the house to provide food and administer belly rubs. But the house belongs to Gracie. Personally, it seems like a lot of house for little Gracie to live in all by herself. Maybe she should consider getting hitched. I know a certain boy dog who would propose in a second (if he wasn't so scared). And with another 117 (!!) pounds of dog living there, the proportions might be just right.

Welcome, Autumn.

Mama? What are these tomatoes doing? Don't the know it's October?? Helloooo?

Hi, Bobo! I see you behind the chair. No hiding from me, no matter how much you might want to!

C'mon, Juno. These people are boring. Let's go inside and unpack the entire plastic container drawer and then spread all the lids all over the floor and hide anything that seems important.

Dear Gracie, All's Well - Miss You

Yes, Gracie. I get my butt scratched by others. But it's never the same as when you visited. Never. You're my one true love.

Oh, and Juno says hi.

------Boris.

SOS

We're so tie-tie. We lie here in the sun, shedding. (well, ok, only Juno is shedding) We listen to Iain alternate laughing and screaming his head off. Sigh. We need a break.

Today, he "initiated play" with Callie. That's a good thing, even though in about 14 years it would be a bad thing. So it's all about context. Just like, when Iain throws me half a blueberry that's ok, but when I get up and lick his high chair after he's out of it, apparently that's bad.

And when The Mom wipes his face with a moist rag, that's good. But when The Bobo licks his face with a moist tongue, that's bad. Really bad. Baddest.

I dunno. Having a puppy is complicated. Me'n Juno need to go to a spa for a weekend.

How the Dogs Spend Their Day

[whistling] La Dee Dah, [typetypetype] Doo Te Doo, [typetypetype] What's that barking?

[looks out the window]

Why is Juno levitating? Why is Boris flying with his ears like Dumbo?

What's UP IN THAT TREE?

Doggie Love

One of the nice things about visiting Bart and Tony is that they need to go for a short walk every day. At least once, actually, and preferably several times.


The reason for these jaunts lies below, panting and enjoying the attentions of a loving guardian. Kira and Cooper are white German Shepherds, bred to be loyal and protective, but loving and gentle in this case. They shed like fiends, too, and have a rather unhealthy obsession with chasing balls.


Cooper is especially ball-mad, running after his beloved ball when Tony or Bart fling it high, high, high into the air and out over the park. He lays around the house all day, saving his energies for ball-chasing.


Iain does the same thing, except he's like Jughead from the Archie comic books. Jughead once set an alarm so he wouldn't oversleep and miss his nap. Likewise, Jughead lived to eat.

While Cooper saves strength for running, thus, Iain hoards his stamina in order to be better prepared when mealtime comes. He likes to pack.it.in. As below, when he took a peeled apple and just went to town.

Of course, he threw some up later. But that's not the point. Look how happy he is!

Juno

It's bad enough when you spend $603 at the vet. But you know, that's the price of loving a couple of doggies.

When they give you a little spritzer bottle and tell you to spray the little pooch's booty twice daily for a week - that's just bad times. Bad. Times.

Travel Planning

[Photo from here]

So Bart and Tony (Bony? Tart?) wanted to know our hopes and dreams for our trip to England. Naturally, we're focused on seeing them, hanging out, and generally catching up. But we figure it will be a good time to do some sightseeing, as well.

What to do with Iain? We can't easily bring our BOB, since it weighs 38 lbs. We'll take the little umbrella stroller, instead. That is a great tool, but it can't really be used for long walks or on grass. Bart and Tony have 2 enormous, long-haired, white, German shepherds, though. Aha! See above. All we need is a helmet and some tiny boots.

Spring is Here, Part 8000

You can't foretell spring with the weather. Or plants. Or fashion. Or even a calendar.

But Juno's coat will tell you.

I took this handful of fur out of her coat in ten minutes of brushing with a wire comb. We'll do this again several times before the drifts of doggie fur stop collecting on the stairs.

I love the smell of Dog in the morning...

Poor Charles. This morning he and Iain hopped in the Jeep (read: beater car) to fetch our dogs from the "kennel." And by kennel I mean plush dog hotel on 5 acres where they run around with other canines and try to cake on enough mud to break world dog weight records.

So Charles loaded the pups into the back, then tossed their blankets (neatly folded!) into the backseat next to Iain. On top of Iain's diaper bag. Only at home did he discover that said blankets were...moist. As in puddles of water. Or not water, as the case may be.

Joy.

Remove blankets. Remove baby. Febreze entire Jeep. Empty, rinse, and hang diaper bag to dry. Carefully tote blankets upstairs (drip, drip) to wash in bleach. Mop. Pronounce a curse on the young man who folded those blankets. Yeah, verily: a curse on him and his house forever.

Raspberries, Cherries, Apricots, and a Raised Bed

These are some riveting pictures, so get ready:

One of my purple raspberries ("Royalty"). It was bare-root, so I dug a hole about 10 inches across and about a foot deep, amended the soil with better soil plus peat moss, and planted the little puppy in there. I found two earthworms while digging. Yay! Earthworms.

Here's Boris with my new raised bed. I bought four corners and two connectors made of high-quality aluminum (really nice stuff), and then bought six boards (2"x4'x10"). I had to use our drill to screw the boards in, which was not a success. But the whole thing came together quite easily, and the metal pieces are re-usable. So when these boards rot out (usually in a couple of years), I'll just replace them with new boards and start again.

Dave brought me a truckload of topsoil, and I'll pop in my blueberries today. The rest of the bed will be tomatoes, beans, peppers, and herbs.

This is my sweet little apricot tree. Last night we enjoyed a scrumptious dinner at Callie's house, where Woody GuthTree warned us that apricots might be hard to grow here. No surprise there, since our soil is poor and it gets freezy quite late here, but it's worth a try.

And here's the cherry tree. It doesn't look like much, but it's a nice size and has already been pruned by the folks at the nursery. So all we do now is sit back and wait for it to decide whether it's willing to grow here.

Juno, tracking prey. She's not what you'd call super-stealthy. Also, note the lovely brown patches that emerged from our hard, long, icy winter. I can't wait to see some new grass popping up.

Buuuuuut Why?

Look! Outside.

I love Outside. Yesterday, it was 74 degrees and I went Outside. For a W-A-L-K. They brought that thing with the smelly butt along, but I don't mind.

Today, though. Sigh. Today's 43 degrees and rainy. No Outside today. I feel sad. And not just Sad Doggie sad, but really, really sad.

Poor Old Girl

On Saturday, Juno went outside for some fun. She charged the fence, leaped at imaginary foes, barked her head off (while Iain was napping, obviously), and generally enjoyed herself.

But then I heard her cry out. There was a long, long whine. She came back into the house limping. Since then, she's been stiff and wobbly on her paws. Poor old girl.

Juno is coming toward her eleventh birthday. And you can see the white in her muzzle:


But at least she has a new puppy to play with.

See how Iain holds her hand? See how she looks at you as if to say, "This puppy doesn't do anything. And he poo's in his own pants. What's up with that? I went potty outside at 4 months!"