One and the Same?

I wish I had taken a picture. Yesterday, knowing that the snow was coming, I agreed to bring the pugs and meet my friend, Joan, Waffles’ breeder, at a Rochester café on the other side of the mountain. She had been housebound all weekend after badly burning her leg by spilling a scalding pan of food. We were supposed to meet to visit a friend and go to a movie, but because we couldn’t predict when the snow might fly, we decided a late afternoon dinner would be a safer plan.

When I arrived, Joan was sitting in her Tracker outside the café.  The sky was gray, the ground white, and Joan full of color. She spilled out of her car like a bag of rainbow skittles hitting the ground. She wore a salmon pink sweater that lit up the world around her. Almost neon in its radiance it was the color of spring and Easter not your typical fare for the eve of a late winter blizzard. Her eyes sparkled blue and her hair, which had grown substantially since I last saw her, was long and wavy. She had used pin curls to make it so. It flew wild around her face and although she is a senior (a lady never tells her age), she gushed her usual childlike glee when she saw Waffles and Alfie. They were equally enthusiastic to see her – wagging their tightly wound tails and shaking their butts as they jumped all over her and I tried to hold them back from hurting her wounded knee.

It was this scene I wish I had captured. This friend of mine, larger than life as if God had sprinkled that something special upon her that only people like Elvis and Marilyn Monroe receive -- a little bit of magic, so although her hair was untamed and her sweater too bright, she shone.

I had to laugh this morning as I stood  in front of the mirror. At first I didn’t think anything of it. I was supposed to go for a long overdo haircut this afternoon, but because of the snow, I cancelled it. Instead, there I was with my own unruly hairstyle, taming it with rollers that once unwound, created as lively a halo as Joan’s hair the day before.  My pugs scampered beneath my feet and I realized that as eccentric as my friend -- who lives in a big, sprawling house with 14 to 18 pugs at any one time -- often seems to me, she and I have a lot in common. Maybe I’m turning into a crazy pug lady after all or maybe, I share a wee bit of that in-your-face chutzpah and mirth, I see in my friend everyday and admire so much.

Warning: Indelicate

This is a delicate matter and perhaps not something I should be blogging about at all. It is said among my dog loving friends that you can tell a true dog person by their willingness to discuss indelicate matters such as dog vomit and feces. This is something else all together. Yet, it has gotten to the point where I just need to share. I have told you all about Waffles penchant of knocking over trashcans, what I have not revealed is her motivation. Waffles is an addict and the source of her habit is her dependency on sanitary napkins and panty liners. New or used, she doesn’t care! She came to me with this foul addiction and although I have tried everything to break her of it, she still rises each morning and diligently knocks over each can like a string of dominoes in hopes of discovering a reward. If she cannot find her prize, she makes herself content with Kleenex, cotton swabs or dental floss, but this is not what she desires.

Granted, some dogs eat their own waste and roll in whatever disgusting thing they can find, so in the scheme of things, Waffles’ addiction may not be the worst there is, but it is still pretty bad. And, there is no Al-Anon or its equivalent to help family members cope, so I’ve been bearing this burden in silence. But now, with Alfie in season, our family secret has gotten to be too much. In order to keep from soiling the bedcovers, sofa and chairs, Alfie sports a colorful pair of panties, complete with neck strap, so it won’t slide off. You slip a panty liner inside and swap it as needed, just as any woman must during this time.

You can see the problem already can’t you? This is just too much temptation for Waffles – there it is, the object of her desire right inside Alfie’s pants. And, of course, the trashcans are filling up as well. It’s a virtual smorgasbord and my little addict is going crazy. We have already bungee corded the trash can in the kitchen to keep it from toppling, but that doesn’t prevent Waffles from standing on her tip toes and scratching away until she reaches something on top. The bathroom? Forget about it. I’m not sure when she does it, but every time I visit, there is already a trail of trash spread to the door and if you’re not quick, you’ll find her munching and licking away at her most coveted possession. I’m sorry if this tale disgusts you, it is not for the feint of heart, but my family unit may be in dire need of an intervention and at the very least this pug mama could use some support.

Night Off

The pugs and I are taking a night off from blogging -- kind of. I couldn't resist posting this sketch. We'll be back tomorrow with a written post, but right now we're off to catch some Zs.

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Alfie was originally given to me as a pet. When I saw her pedigree and realized that she was related to Tugboat Willy, a famous show dog, and attended a dog show where a number of handlers stopped me and suggested I show her, I decided to ask her breeder if I could give it a try. It required a new contract and some decisions on my part.

Conformation dogs are not spayed in order to pass on their outstanding qualities, but I was worried that by not spaying Alfie I could jeopardize her health. I had read that spaying a female before the age of two cuts down on her chances of mammary cancer. I also realized that if I was not going to spay her it would probably be good to have a litter. It turns out, however, that rather than coming into season twice a year, Alfie only comes into season once a year, so her opportunities are narrowed. Today, she began showing signs.

It also happened to be sunny this afternoon and much of the ice that had been coating the sidewalk had melted, making it easier to walk Alfie and Waffles, whose paws have not been tolerating the winter cold and road salts well. Both pugs were excited to be out and about, but I hadn’t given thought to the fact that Alfie might have other motivations in mind. We paused at every tree, fire hydrant and blade of grass for her to squat and pee and essentially leave her calling card for any handsome stud in the neighborhood – “I’m willing, ready and able,” she seemed to be saying and although there were no able-bodied males about, I have visions of a huge line standing outside the door in the morning.

I can’t breed Alfie this time around. Life is too hectic with my mother scheduled to have knee replacement surgery in May and having our first litter of puppies running about does not seem like the smartest idea, so unfortunately all Alfie’s advertising today will be in vain. She, however, seems quite happy. She and Waffles are curled up together on the sofa snoring away – deep, heavy snores that do not sound the least bit sexy or romantic.

Come next year she may have some courting to do, but for now my little lady will have to be content with daydreams and fantasies. She might be ready to find her soul mate or at the very least a one-night stand, but I know for certain that at this stage of the game, we’re sure not!

Interview with Barbara Techel

 

Dog owners who have owned a senior dog know the telltale signs of aging – suddenly the fella that used to bound two steps at a time up the stairs, starts taking them more slowly eventually sometimes even missing a step. Instead of getting up to greet you, he may sit in his bed and wag his tale. His energy wanes. I remember when I first noticed these signs in my “Little Man” Vader and I worried. Not only did he seem to be slowing down, but his back end also seemed wobbly. I had seen his brother and other relatives suffer a paralysis of their rear legs and I worried that the same would happen to him. I tried to ignore it at first, but eventually my fears became a reality.

Initially, I dealt by carrying  him up to his bed at night, but when he grew too heavy I had to make a new bed for him downstairs. I kept him walking as long as I could, but eventually the time came to buy him a doggie cart. I had learned about Eddie’s Wheels a few years earlier when Vader’s brother needed his own cart. I purchased Vader’s custom chair in November of 2011 and while he unfortunately was only able to use it for a short time, it did keep him on his feet and walking until March of the next year when his front legs started to go as well. Even then I would put him in it at least once a day at first and try to help him stand to keep some blood flow to his ever-weakening legs.

It is painful to watch anyone you love suffer and the same can be said of a beloved pet, there is also something sacred in helping someone who is experiencing such suffering. They seem to develop a special grace.

If anyone knows the joys and sorrows of caring for a disabled pet it is Barbara Techel, who recently wrote a book, Through Frankie’s Eyes, about her own dog, Frankie, a dachshund, who suffered from intervertebral disc disease (IVDD).  In fact, Barbara’s book is not only dedicated to providing some insight into what this experience is like, but also showing what these special-needs animals can teach us. By witnessing Frankie coping with her disability, Barbara learned many lessons that she could apply to her own life, leading her to find a more authentic existence.

Recently, I had the opportunity to review Barbara’s book, Through Frankie’s Eyes: One Woman’s Journey to her Authentic Self, and the Dog on Wheels who Led the Way. On the heels of that review, I also had the chance to interview Barbara for this blog. You will find the interview below.

As a memoir writing instructor and a former owner of a disabled dog, I was very interested in Barbara and Frankie’s story and wanted to explore her journey with her. Among the issues Barbara and I discussed is the growing interest today in both memoir and dog books, the inspiration to write a memoir and her definition of an authentic life. We also touched on some of the charity and educational work Barbara was able to do with Frankie and how this sweet dachshund touched a number of people’s lives. Please take the time to listen to the interview, I think you’ll enjoy it as much as I did.

Also, please check out Barbara’s book. It is not only a book for dog lovers, but for anyone looking for inspiration to follow their dreams. For more information on Barbara, Frankie and her new dachshund, Joie, please visit her blog at www.joyfulpaws.com. Also, feel free to comment and let me know what you thought of the interview, I hope it will be one of many to be featured on this blog in the future.

Important Links:

• Frankie the Walk' N Roll Dogs Legacy - chip in to help other special needs dogs with Frankie's Wheelchair Fund
• National Walk 'N Roll Dog Day- A Day Established in Frankie's Honor
• Joyful Paws - Barbara Techel's Blog
• Eddie's Wheels - the place to buy dog carts
• Through Frankie's Eyes - buy on Amazon

Music

When the answering machine picks up at my friend Joan’s house you hear, “You have reached the Foster residence where Pugs and Pianos outnumber the people.”

It is an accurate statement. Joan, a former concert pianist and music teacher, has four pianos including her grand and 12 to 14 pugs at present. Thus, my pugs who have come from her, Vader and Waffles, are children of music, raised with the piano ringing through the walls of their home.

Last night a classical song came on the television and I studied Waffles, who shifted from catnap mode to wide awake, cocking her head in rhythm with the music. My other pug, Alfie, didn’t seem to pay much mind, but Waffles was enchanted. While I know there have been studies saying that dogs seem to prefer classical music, I saw in Waffles eyes more than simple appreciation. It was as if this was something she recognized and in all likelihood it was.

My former pug, Mira, who passed away a couple of years ago, was not one of Joan’s pugs and yet, she adored classical music especially Debussy’s Clair de Lune. I would play it on my computer and she would stop mesmerized, head cocked, listening. She would peer in back of the computer as if to see who was producing this magical sound. I imagine her now in her pug glory dancing to just such a heavenly symphony.

Some of Joan’s pugs, her old fawn Mister Egg and her former big black, Tonka, for example, have sat in on her lessons, listening as students learn to make beautiful music of their own. Visit Joan on weekday afternoons and you are likely to hear her students tickling the ivories as her pugs yap their appreciation from the deck. When I’m at Joan’s I often make my way to the living room and sing to the pugs there. From Joan’s bedroom you can hear the radio that’s perpetually on but never quite tuned to a proper station so the static crackles all night long. Dog food bubbles away on the stove and the fire sparks in the wood stove. Outside the snow snaps from the cold. It is music of a different sort.

Perhaps Joan’s answering machine should say something else, “Where Music Rules,” rules, for example, because when you’re at Joan’s it does. She personifies it, whether at the piano or caring for the pugs, she dances to her own tune and when you’re in her world you want to hum along. I wonder if Waffles recalled the echoes of her former life when she heard the classical song last night. All I know is she sat upright, her body alert, but her eyes half closed as if she was listening to something beyond the music, a melody from her former life, the call of home. And, if so, I understand because I have found in this world of pugs a tune to keep loneliness at bay and friends with whom to howl away the night.

Walking in Circles

 

Alfie and Waffles have been getting chunky over the winter, so it's time to get them outside and exercising. Unfortunately, the salt on the sidewalk hurts their feet, so I’ve been resigned to walking them in the backyard where there is a plowed circular path. It’s not a long route, so we need to walk it a few times to experience any real benefits. While I’m okay with this, but the dogs think I’m crazy.

They start the walk pulling toward the road, but follow me when I lead them away. They make the loop the first time happy enough, but when it comes to the second they stop dead in their tracks. Alfie looks back at me perplexed as if to say did you get lost? We already did this!

The other day she even stopped at the trailhead and marked the spot as if she feared we truly were lost and she had to do something about it. When we hit that spot a third time, she looked at me again, halted, sniffed the spot, and pulled in the other direction. Waffles was eager to follow her. Again, I made them follow me and they did, but instead of walking by my side, they began to bite at their leashes and play as if to say, this isn’t getting us anywhere, let’s do something else.

I interviewed Barbara Techel this week about her new book Through Frankie’s Eyes. She spoke about the lessons she learned from her disabled dachshund and how it helped her live a more authentic life. I think our dogs indeed teach us important lessons. Watching my two walk the loop, I was struck first by their intelligence and impressed that they realized that walking in circles was not the usual fare. That led me to delve a little deeper. How often do I walk in circles in my own life? How frequently do I follow the same path because it seems safe when in reality I am lost from all the options leaving the familiar might provide? The pugs found no fun in playing it safe – a lesson I plan to take to heart.

Sunday Afternoon

At the intersection of Route 125 and Route 100 in Hancock, VT sits the Old Hancock Hotel, a charming old establishment and an excellent place to share a breakfast buffet with a group of friends on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Yesterday, my friends Joan and Jane and I did just that in celebration of Jane’s birthday. The weather was snowy, the ground icy, but the atmosphere inside was warm and friendly. We sat and chatted long after the buffet was cleared and the doors closed. For Jane and I, it was the first time we had seen each other since Christmas, so we exchanged presents – a red, bedazzled handmade purse for me, a chili cookbook for her. We lingered over our plates, ordering cups of coffee for Joan and Jane and tea for me followed by another round.

We are not a group that typically dawdles. Usually we have pugs in tow that need to be fed or walked or we are on our way to a dog show or headed back from one. We may stop at a diner for a quick bite, but meals for the sake of socializing are not our usual fair. Perhaps that’s what made this afternoon so much fun. When at Joan’s house, where we usually gather, Joan is typically so busy cooking dog food or cleaning that we seldom sit and talk for long. Yesterday was the exception. Joan even brought photos recently mailed to her from one of our new pug families.

Remember the litter of puppies born this summer? Batman’s siblings? Remember the puppy Joan cried to see go? Well, our little Argo Kensington now renamed Bunja, is not so little anymore. Like his brother Gryffindor, whom Joan kept, he is growing large and strong. Kensington went to live with a man named Bob in New Jersey, not far from our friend Bonnie, who took his sister Margot, now Sassy Margot, to live with her. The picture Bob sent shows the siblings together, although Sassy is significantly smaller than Bunja now.

Bob apologized for the pictures he sent explaining that neither he nor Bonnie knew what they were doing. The picture might be blurry, but the image was enough to warm our hearts. These are family portraits of little ones we brought into the world and sent off in faith that their lives would be good. You keep your fingers crossed and wait for cards and photos such as these for assurance that you made the right decision. Sometimes you never hear anything and you are left only with hope.

We sit three women – one single, one divorced, one widowed, happily sipping tea and coffee and oohing and ahhing over our stash of poor photos the way aunts and mothers and grandmothers ogle baby pictures.  Such scenes have become the fodder for jokes – crazy cat ladies, women who find fulfillment with pets because their lives are empty elsewhere. As with all joke, there may be some truth in this, but our lives are not pathetic or empty. We may be lonely on occasion, missing children and spouses, but we have carved a place with each other and with lives so busy that we seldom sit to talk.

Although we may sometimes feel lonely, our lives are not empty. We attend dog shows and catch up with old friends about their wins. We dress our dogs up in funny costumes and reunite with other pug owners at pug socials, we gather together on Sunday afternoons to read letters from the owners of puppies we have raised, and we smile and we eat and we chat and we carve out lives for ourselves. Like everyone else we take our joy where we can find it and consider ourselves lucky that dogs figure into the equation.

Red Carpet Evening

We interrupt the blogging here at Pugs and Pics to let you know that we are are taking the evening off for the Oscars! Please tune back in tomorrow when we will resume our regularly scheduled posts.

Catherine and Waffles

My niece Catherine and Waffles. Catherine loves dogs. She has a boxer named Sophie at home, but would like a little dog as well. She is saving her money for a Maltese.