(A Classic from "around" New Year's Day 2007)
It most definitely is not January 1, 2007. All kinds of time has passed. We're already more than a week into 2007 and it's been a good month since we've posted here. We're also going to pretend it's really New Year's Day even though it's already January 8th. That is one of the great things about this dog blog. You can pretend it's another time.
Rainfall in Oregon for 2007 has been plentiful so far. Cairn terriers are well suited to the climate-- at least until it changes again. It's unpredictable as hurricanes. The Pacific Northwest has been blown silly by windstorms-- even in the so-called "banana belt rain shadows" such as Lopez Island, birthplace of 17 of Geordie's puppies and home and birthplace to his grandpups (and Maggie's nieces and nephews). Our extended dog family, which includes Bette Shuh and Rudy and Carol Onstad have had some challenges keeping their yards from blowing away.
Power outages occurred all over-- on Whidbey Island where our friends Barb and John Schuster have, for now, homesteaded. They're rethinking their relocation from "balmy" Truckee, CA. Fewer snow caves there and milder weather. Creepy weather up north. Go figure.
Geordie, in the last month has amassed nineteen more grandchildren (to bounce upon his stifle). Four appeared in Sonoma, CA. Then one at the Barclay Hills Animal Clinic in Oregon City. Ten more emerged at the same place by Cesarean, although sadly, two of those did not survive. Nine of the puppies (who are actually current residents of Portland) endured a power outage at the most inopportune time imaginable. Five more grandchildren, after the brouhaha surrounding the last ones had passed, entered the world in Beavercreek, OR. Like the uneventful whelping in Sonoma, these puppies arrived without undue fanfare or drama and within hours and were well on their way to resembling Goodyear blimps. But more on all these puppies later-- especially the eight boys and two girls of the Portland group.
Geordie also sprained his knee, which I doctored, as per Dr. Doug Ferro, DMV with baby aspirin, mandatory crate rest, a cold pack, and some arnica gel applied through layers of plush, ungroomed topcoat and undercoat.
"Ten days of rest," advised Dr. Ferr0, an esteemed member of Maggie and Geordie's medical team. This proved nearly impossible and after about a week of it, I threw in the proverbial towel. Geordie was irrepressible and almost as difficult to entrap as a ferral cat.
I set out to write about Geordie and Maggie and New Year's Eve, so I will.
So December 31 arrived nearly at the end of Geordie's prescribed "bed rest."
Alan and Noah were in town, although their plans did not include us. Alan reunited with some old Oregon friends while Noah and Reiko attended a concert and booked a hotel to avoid the inebriated drivers (or perhaps to prevent themselves from driving inebriatedly). They would converge in front of the TV to watch the debacle that was the Rose Bowl. (Poor Wolverines!) Then Noah and Reiko would have to drive back to Eugene for most of another week of work. Alan would not depart until around 4:50 a.m. for visits to
Washington DC and Philly to visit more people before hunkering down with a half-ton of law books for the final semester of Year Number Two at UMich Law.
Larry, Maggie, Geordie, and I would celebrate-- as much as we ever celebrate-- the advent of 2007 at Paula and Brian's with them, their dogs and cats-- and with Brian's sister Penny and her two Chihuahuas, Amber and "the fair Isabelle," as Geordie would come to regard her.
It was not until we arrived that it occurred to me that these two Chihuahua muchachas were not spayed because Geordie took an immediate shine to Isabelle. Izzy was not in season exactly, but Geordie tends to act as a Geiger Counter when a bitch is within a month of coming into heat. And it appeared that Izzy would soon "be receptive. " Although an unamused Amber warned him off her sister with a snarl or two, Geordie remained undeterred. In fact, he became more determined.
Usually, he swaggers around with this strange lascivious leer on his face. His eyes practically scream, "Would you care to see my etchings?" However given enough time-- usually a good hour, he ceases playing the game. After all, she was not in standing heat and his wishing that she were would not make it so. And it was getting a little old.
We had more or less unanimously decided that New Years Eve 2006 wasn't going to be all about a randy little Cairn terrier with a rather unsettling grin on his face, so in the name of sanity and because a generous amount of crate rest was what the doctor had ordered, I placed Geordie inside his crate where he lay quietly for about three hours. While a fire roared in the fireplace we watched the delightful black comedy, Little Miss Sunshine and even time-delayed less delightful Dick Clark. (Let him retire already and recover in private please. I wish him well, but time marches on. . .) Then there was the game of Scattergories. Everyone except for Paula and I cut bait on that one. Brian might have liked the game better had it not involved using a pen and paper. The bounty of toothsome treats beckoned: Penny's fudge, macadamia nuts that Reiko brought back from Hawaii, Ghirardelli chocolate squares-- including such improbable flavors as Eggnog. (No thanks.)
"Shall I let the little lech out of his crate?" I asked.
"Sure," answered Paula.
I opened the door to Geordie's intermediate-sized Kennel Cab, but he just lay there and stared adoringly into my eyes. He moved not a single muscle to escape. He was all sweetness and cooperation. Was this a defense mechanism? Was his incarceration one of tremendous emotional distress? He clearly loves his captor-- me. Was Geordie suffering from a telescoped form of Stockholm Syndrome?
If only dogs were not afraid to speak!
Happy New Year.
Oh, and of course Maggie was a perfect angel!
Auld Lang Syne and stuff,
Jill, Mag, and Geordie ("Jail is cool.")
Rainfall in Oregon for 2007 has been plentiful so far. Cairn terriers are well suited to the climate-- at least until it changes again. It's unpredictable as hurricanes. The Pacific Northwest has been blown silly by windstorms-- even in the so-called "banana belt rain shadows" such as Lopez Island, birthplace of 17 of Geordie's puppies and home and birthplace to his grandpups (and Maggie's nieces and nephews). Our extended dog family, which includes Bette Shuh and Rudy and Carol Onstad have had some challenges keeping their yards from blowing away.
Power outages occurred all over-- on Whidbey Island where our friends Barb and John Schuster have, for now, homesteaded. They're rethinking their relocation from "balmy" Truckee, CA. Fewer snow caves there and milder weather. Creepy weather up north. Go figure.
Geordie, in the last month has amassed nineteen more grandchildren (to bounce upon his stifle). Four appeared in Sonoma, CA. Then one at the Barclay Hills Animal Clinic in Oregon City. Ten more emerged at the same place by Cesarean, although sadly, two of those did not survive. Nine of the puppies (who are actually current residents of Portland) endured a power outage at the most inopportune time imaginable. Five more grandchildren, after the brouhaha surrounding the last ones had passed, entered the world in Beavercreek, OR. Like the uneventful whelping in Sonoma, these puppies arrived without undue fanfare or drama and within hours and were well on their way to resembling Goodyear blimps. But more on all these puppies later-- especially the eight boys and two girls of the Portland group.
Geordie also sprained his knee, which I doctored, as per Dr. Doug Ferro, DMV with baby aspirin, mandatory crate rest, a cold pack, and some arnica gel applied through layers of plush, ungroomed topcoat and undercoat.
"Ten days of rest," advised Dr. Ferr0, an esteemed member of Maggie and Geordie's medical team. This proved nearly impossible and after about a week of it, I threw in the proverbial towel. Geordie was irrepressible and almost as difficult to entrap as a ferral cat.
I set out to write about Geordie and Maggie and New Year's Eve, so I will.
So December 31 arrived nearly at the end of Geordie's prescribed "bed rest."
Alan and Noah were in town, although their plans did not include us. Alan reunited with some old Oregon friends while Noah and Reiko attended a concert and booked a hotel to avoid the inebriated drivers (or perhaps to prevent themselves from driving inebriatedly). They would converge in front of the TV to watch the debacle that was the Rose Bowl. (Poor Wolverines!) Then Noah and Reiko would have to drive back to Eugene for most of another week of work. Alan would not depart until around 4:50 a.m. for visits to
Washington DC and Philly to visit more people before hunkering down with a half-ton of law books for the final semester of Year Number Two at UMich Law.
Larry, Maggie, Geordie, and I would celebrate-- as much as we ever celebrate-- the advent of 2007 at Paula and Brian's with them, their dogs and cats-- and with Brian's sister Penny and her two Chihuahuas, Amber and "the fair Isabelle," as Geordie would come to regard her.
It was not until we arrived that it occurred to me that these two Chihuahua muchachas were not spayed because Geordie took an immediate shine to Isabelle. Izzy was not in season exactly, but Geordie tends to act as a Geiger Counter when a bitch is within a month of coming into heat. And it appeared that Izzy would soon "be receptive. " Although an unamused Amber warned him off her sister with a snarl or two, Geordie remained undeterred. In fact, he became more determined.
Usually, he swaggers around with this strange lascivious leer on his face. His eyes practically scream, "Would you care to see my etchings?" However given enough time-- usually a good hour, he ceases playing the game. After all, she was not in standing heat and his wishing that she were would not make it so. And it was getting a little old.
We had more or less unanimously decided that New Years Eve 2006 wasn't going to be all about a randy little Cairn terrier with a rather unsettling grin on his face, so in the name of sanity and because a generous amount of crate rest was what the doctor had ordered, I placed Geordie inside his crate where he lay quietly for about three hours. While a fire roared in the fireplace we watched the delightful black comedy, Little Miss Sunshine and even time-delayed less delightful Dick Clark. (Let him retire already and recover in private please. I wish him well, but time marches on. . .) Then there was the game of Scattergories. Everyone except for Paula and I cut bait on that one. Brian might have liked the game better had it not involved using a pen and paper. The bounty of toothsome treats beckoned: Penny's fudge, macadamia nuts that Reiko brought back from Hawaii, Ghirardelli chocolate squares-- including such improbable flavors as Eggnog. (No thanks.)
"Shall I let the little lech out of his crate?" I asked.
"Sure," answered Paula.
I opened the door to Geordie's intermediate-sized Kennel Cab, but he just lay there and stared adoringly into my eyes. He moved not a single muscle to escape. He was all sweetness and cooperation. Was this a defense mechanism? Was his incarceration one of tremendous emotional distress? He clearly loves his captor-- me. Was Geordie suffering from a telescoped form of Stockholm Syndrome?
If only dogs were not afraid to speak!
Happy New Year.
Oh, and of course Maggie was a perfect angel!
Auld Lang Syne and stuff,
Jill, Mag, and Geordie ("Jail is cool.")
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