LOL

Friday, April 11, 2024

Yesterday was National Dog Day, and I didn’t post photos of my dogs. Today is National Hamster Day, and I haven’t one of those pets. Years ago, I adopted a sweet Peruvian Guinea Pig from an animal rescue. His coat was very long and needed trimming regularly, or else, formed into rolls and grew into dreadlocks.

The guinea pig was a cute little fellow. He and my bunny, Speedo, were each pleasant pets. Speedo was a domestic white that turned up loose, hopping on my property and nibbling hay in my barn. Using an apple as bait, I trapped Speedo, and he became a house bunny. The sweet guy had been litter-box trained by somebody.

While I was thinking about interesting sorts of pets, George Rodrigue’s “Blue Dog” images began appearing in my FB feed. Years ago, I spent a week in New Orleans and I discovered The Blue Dog Gallery. Rodrigue’s sense of humor delighted me, and wow, still does.

Rodrigue, an excellent artist, snuck the Blue Dog into his larger, serious paintings. The dog always looking out of place and bewildered. This example is “Millenium 2000.”

Notice the dog has wings, is a butterfly out of place physically, and trying to process mentally.

Many Rodrigue paintings include his dog character, always out of place, trying to process.

I saw Rodriguez’s Blue Dog as representing elements of himself. Also, that dog represents an element of ourselves.

On a lofty side, we are that dog while viewing and interpreting works of art. Also, in daily living, we are that dog, for being in today’s world and attempting to comprehend the predictable vs. the unpredictable.

I enjoyed the art and that dog, but couldn’t afford a painting. Still, I barely managed to resist.

Rodrigue passed recently and that increases the value of his art. While value is a consideration, to me, his works represent more. They reflect much about ourselves.

Beyond the artist’s humor and insight, his Blue Dog is all of us, in all our whimsy.

Dear Friends: Here’s to enjoying a chuckle at ourselves. Diana

Evening Delight

Friday, March 22, 2024

Last evening in the darkness, I arrived home from work and saw my puppy, Chase, sitting in the big standalone dog run, on its concrete pad and waiting for me. The other dogs were safely inside the separate fenced dog area. Everything, as planned, was okay.

Before leaving for work, I had imprisoned Chase in an isolated big dog run because he had been in trouble with me the previous evening. That’s when I found he had dug a dog escape hole under the fence, and my littlest dog had wiggled through and was running freely. Experience with Chase teaches that he’s a compulsive digger and is proving unstoppable. My best hope is that next year, when he turns three years old, he’ll be more mature and much easier to live with.

After releasing the totally delighted boy and seeing him bounce happily last night, I invited him to accompany me to the barn. He dashed in large circles around trees and tracked me down the hill; he busily sniffed at the ground trails of visiting critters while I fed horses and replenished goat hay. In that scenario, Chase stays nearby, responds quickly to my voice, and is excited, busy, and he’s fun.

I’ve had lifelong experiences with dogs. Chase has been with me since he was eight weeks old, and my experience makes him nearly a great puppy, except that he’s a phenomenal escape artist. Maybe eventually, everything will come together, proving we’ve achieved some key objectives, that Chase (and the littlest dog) have remained safely contained, and that Chase is maturing visibly.

Dear Friends: Never again, another puppy, neither on a bet nor a whim. Diana

Hell-O!

Thursday, March 21, 2023

I knew he’d start digging as soon as high temperatures warmed the earth enough.

Last night, after I had arrived home and entered the house, all my dogs suddenly sounded off noisily, warning distinctively of something significant and different occurring. I looked out a window for what was making them bark. Suddenly, I spotted little Mitzvah–outside the fence! She was running freely and teasing the other dogs.

I muttered, “Chase!” and hurried to grab a flashlight. He was still inside the fenced area, and it was imperative to find his dig before he enlarged it and could slip under the fence to freedom. Soon, outside in the darkness, I was running with a flashlight, searching the fence’s perimeter, accompanied by a now-hyper-Mitzvah and the chorus of barking dogs.

I spotted his dig in a distant spot that I’ve always assumed was too rocky, one he’d never manage to dig much into. Now, there was a hole nearly deep and wide enough for him to slip his fifty pounds of heft under. I tossed loose rocks from nearby into the dig, blocking it.

That blocking is temporary. Clearly, he’ll again dig through in this spot or another. I don’t know how to prevent digging into the inviting damp soil and escaping. Ahead, it’ll help that I’ll soon start working fewer hours away from home. (The managers at my workplace recognize that I’ve had too many working hours and will reduce them.)

Meanwhile, starting today, and whenever I’m away for long periods, Chase will wait for me in solitary confinement–still outdoors, but in a large standalone kennel. It’s surrounded by six-foot fencing, has a covering over its top, and guess what: its flooring is all concrete.

Dear Friends: I won’t toss a towel on continuing to try managing the Puppy from Hell! Diana