Time to go

Bonnie struggled on valiantly after the op to remove four rotten teeth, and there were days when I convinced myself that she was getting better, but she was very up and down, and the ups were never as high as the downs were low. We increased the steroid dosage, mixed her food with boiled chicken and gravy, and kept the other dogs away from her so she could rest, but the night I had to carry her out to the back garden for her nightly toilet trip, I knew I was kidding myself. Here's a picture of Roxy with Bonnie, the fact that she allowed Rox to lie down with her was an indication.



Always a hard decision, to pick the moment before they are in pain, but not to send them on their way before they are ready to go. Here she is not long after the op begging for toast at breakfast.



Polly and I discussed it, then took her to the vet and discussed it some more. The decision was made, and when her leg was shaved for the injection, her skin was yellow, we had made the right decision, her liver was not functioning properly any more. So she passed peacefully in my arms with Polly stroking her, our friend and  companion for 16 years was gone.




The way we will always remember her.

Repeat after me: Cats are Friends, not Food

Cookie learning how to cheer for the Irish Rugby team

Cookie has been with us for nearly three months now.   She’s told us a lot about her background.

She lived indoors – she’s fairly well house-trained, and knows all about cleaning up while someone’s cooking

She was a city girl – she’d never seen horses, cows or chickens before
She was beaten - raise a finger to her and she cowers pathetically

She was walked on a leash – she gets soooo excited when we pick up the leash, and has done since she arrived

She was never told how to behave on a leash – she thought that pulling, zig-zagging and playing tug-o-war with the leash are all acceptable behaviours.

She was allowed to jump on the furniture – ahum, she still is

She may have had the company of other dogs – she socializes fairly well with other dogs, especially youngsters like Roxy who will play with her

She did not grow up with cats.  This is a problem.

Unfortunately she thinks cats are her natural prey.

Skinny Cat (left) and
Fat Cat (right)

Our team of mouse and bird eradication experts, Fat Cat and Skinny Cat, were not at all impressed with this notion.  Initially, they avoided her at all costs, no doubt hoping she was a short term visitor.  However, when she’d been with us about a month, they seemed to accept the fact that she is here to stay, and they became actively involved in her rehabilitation.

Fat Cat teaching Cookie not to get
so excited when he appears at the door!

In the beginning, if either cat appeared at the back door, Cookie would go berserk, leaping at the glass panel on the door.  Our routine in the early days was to keep her in her crate while they were fed, so the cats would wait until she was locked in and then stroll in for their food, casting furtive glances in her direction, leap up onto the counter where we feed them, stuff their faces and then leave via the window.

On one occasion, Cookie was in the kitchen with me and the cats were in the counter top in the back kitchen, eating their breakfast.  I opened the door between the two rooms a bit too casually – Cookie shot past me and launched herself at the counter top, to the horror of the two cats who quickly leaped out the window.  Too late, I realized the window was wide enough to fit Cookie – like a flash, she was through it and happily pursuing Skinny Cat, who had taken to the trees at the back of the garden.  It took twenty minutes to catch her again.  She is impossible to catch in these circumstances – she’s in hunting mode and ignores all calls, whistles and treats – see “Poor Cookie needs her Freedom.  Yeah, right” for one such story!

We kept the window shut after that, but we had a couple of similar incidents when she burst past someone at one of the exterior doors and had a chance to go “catting."

So we have learned to be much more careful with doors, and we’ve also spent a lot of time teaching her to sit and wait when a door is opened, and to go through only when invited.  Progress has been made, but she needs to be reminded constantly to "wait" and we still keep her on a leash outside at all times.

The cats slowly became more confident with her, starting with Fat Cat.  She’d be rigid with tension, in an “I’m going to eat you” sort of stance, and he would stroll casually up to her, rub himself under her chin, and even lie down in front of her.  This behaviour absolutely flummoxed Cookie.  She’d end up turning her head away – avoidance?  I’m not sure.

When Skinny Cat saw his brother’s success with her, he got much braver too, and would also approach her when she was out on the lead, but with slightly less confidence.  

Skinny Cat approaching bravely

Cookie looking puzzled

However, things were still not great indoors – the cats were wary of her and she was constantly trying to break into the back kitchen where they were being fed. 

Our breakthrough came via something we’d seen on “The Dog Whisperer”.  In order to emphasise the structure of the pack, the pack leader takes the pack and sits them all together, on a rock, hilltop - whatever.  We saw Cesar Milan do this with a group of three dogs who lived together but did not get on well together.  He sat them all on a bench in the garden and made them stay there.  Their initial tension turned to relaxation and they lay down together comfortably after a few minutes.

Thanks to our very placid Fat Cat, we were able to do this with Cookie.  As usual, she was straining at the end of the leash to get up to the counter where the cats were.  Skinny Cat looked dubiously at her and made for the top of the cupboard, but Fat Cat stayed put.  We sat Cookie up on top of the washing machine and brought over Fatty, who settled down nonchalantly beside her.  Cookie’s expression says it all – she was utterly confused, but after a couple of minutes, she sniffed Fatty, looked up at Skinny, yawned and relaxed.

I’d love to be able to say this has solved all of her feline hang-ups, and it has surely helped enormously, but she still has issues.  She still gets hyper when the cats appear at the door or the window.  She fixates on them in the garden when she first sees them, but then they stroll up and wrap themselves around her, so she then fixates on any cat-shaped shadows under the bushes - just in case there's any other cats hanging around!

Skinny Cat likes to come for walks with us, which helps with the whole “pack” idea, but he usually doesn’t come the whole way.  He  waits in the trees by our drive to join us on the way home and pops out when we appear.  Unfortunately it’s his nature to dart everywhere, which is hard for Cookie to take, but she’s trying, and Cinnamon gives her really good example of how to accept cats as pack members, right down to ritual bum-sniffing every time she sees them! 

As we’ll be minding the two resident cats in Céreste, we hope that Cookie's rehabilitation continues, otherwise we may have to be creative in how we segregate the animals!

MMMMMMMMushrooms and other Autumnal Stuff

Autumn is not my favourite time of year.  I'm a Spring person, I love the vibrancy, growth, new births, the horses relishing the first Spring grass, swallows and house martins arriving.....
I just don't "get it" when people say "I love the autumn" - well up to now anyway.  This year I am revelling in the wild harvest that Autumn is offering us, and I'm developing a new affection for this season!

I've been growing vegetables in a very old manure heap for a couple of years now, pretty successfully.
My Facebook page has been enhanced with various shots of me hiding behind giant vegetables.

There was the giant squash (dressed up like one of the kids from Southpark):

The giant broccoli :

The giant sunflower (I'm not tall enough to hide behind it) :

And now, Autumn 2011 brings us the giant mushroom :

These started appearing about a month ago, buried in the nettles at the back of the veggies.  They're called Shaggy Parasol Mushrooms (a friend of Anne's identified them for me) and they are very edible and very delicious.
I was a bit sad when the original four died back, but lo and behold, they have gone forth, increased and multiplied!  They're filling up a 15 foot stretch of the boundary at the rear of the veggies now.

The little white spot is a silvermint to give perspective!

When I got back from the National Dressage Championships this weekend (not riding, just helping) I was delighted to see there's even more of them springing up.  I picked these the day after I got home:

I stuffed the one on the right and "souped" the other two

Since August, we've had mushroom risotto, mushroom omelette, steak & mushrooms, big fry up with mushrooms, mushroom soup, mushrooms on toast and finally, today, a stuffed mushroom.  Stuffed with breadcrumbs, garlic, onions and herbs (all my own), cheese on top and served with carrots & new potatoes (also my own).

By the time I'd finished the carrots and the stuffed mushroom, I was a stuffed Martine with no room for potatoes.

There's also the odd field mushroom popping up in the paddock :

These are much more modest, and less shamelessly "mushroomy" in flavour.  If I find a few of these while I'm skipping out the paddock, I bring 'em in and fry them up for brekkie.  Yum.

Did I say I like mushrooms?

I mentioned spotting damsons before I went on holiday.  Sadly, I never got around to picking them until today, and I reckon I was about two weeks too late.  By dint of stretching enormously past my 5'3" limit, and using a forked stick to pull down branches so I could reach them, I collected about 2lbs of fruit, but a fair few of them were past their prime.

I went through the jam-making steps, noting that it smelled very alcoholic at the stewing stage, before I added the sugar.
Winemaking might have been a better idea, but I managed to make about 3lbs of fairly tart jam anyway.  I bet Denis likes it!

There are still plenty of blackberries - I've been scoffing them as I walk the dogs most days.  The dogs love them too, although Cookie had to be shown what they were.  Now herself & Cinny pick the low ones while I pick the higher ones.  Poor ol' Molly can't see them anymore, so I always pick a few just for her.

Scamp - A Life lived on the Edge

We always said Scamp was part cat.  She had cat-like independence – she was not an overly affectionate dog.  She rarely gave kisses.  She was never 100% comfortable sitting on a lap – she’d hop down after a few minutes like an embarrassed teenager who's been hugged in front of their friends.  She had (at least) nine lives – in fact the way she hung on to life at the end speaks volumes.

She came into our lives on a wet and dreary October day in 1993.  One of the girls had a “back to school” bug, so I had to make a trip to Wilton Shopping Centre for a prescription.  As I was hurrying back to the car through the rain, I noticed two women standing holding two really cute puppies.  I got talking to them, and was shocked to hear that they’d found them running around the car park, and had picked them up so they wouldn’t get run over.  They’d spoken to the centre’s security guard, who said it was a fairly regular occurrence to have dogs dumped at the centre, and the local pound had been informed.  At this, I blurted out “You can’t let them go to the pound, I’ll take them home!” and so I arrived home fifteen minutes later, with two flea-ridden wormbags in the boot of the car, thinking “George is going to KILL me!”

Thankfully I was wrong, I am still alive! and Scruffy and Scamp became the first occupants of our new stable block.  Our farrier gave Scruffy a home, but Scampy was ours for keeps.

She never walked anywhere, she always scampered!  Her tail didn't wag, it rotated like a propeller as she ran along and it never stopped. She always made me smile with her joie de vivre, but she was naughty! Let her out for a wee, and she’d be gone for hours.  You could call till you were blue in the face, but she’d come back when it suited her, usually plastered in mud from head to toe.

She was a hunter through and through, and helped keep our yard clear of rats and mice for years, as well as helping keep the surrounding fields clear of rabbits!  Her love of the chase got her into trouble - she was caught in fox-traps twice.  The second time was one of her closest brushes with death.  She had followed Denis out on a hack, but detoured into a hedge to go hunting and didn't return home with him.  Not unusual, she’d usually make her way home within an hour or two.

This time, though, she still hadn't returned by evening time, and Denis concluded that she was caught somewhere.  We were away, but our good friends and neighbours mounted a search for her, and eventually found her caught in an ILLEGAL fox-trap in the middle of a field of cabbages.  It was winter time and a hard frost had set in - if she'd been left overnight she wouldn't have survived.  Our friend Sharon had insisted on keeping the search going, and undoubtedly saved her life.

She chased cars, especially our neighbour’s diesel car.  Of course she ended up being run over.  Down to the vets, broken leg.  Home again in a cast for a while, then back to normal life, hunting rabbits in the fields with our other dogs, chasing mice in the haybarn.

She loved water, and would spend ages splashing around in the nearby stream.  In the summer, she’d go for a paddle in the horses’ trough to cool down – that was back when summers were warm, remember? She nearly drowned early on in life – she went for a swim in an open drain at the bottom of our arena and couldn’t get out again.  Audrey, one of my teenage “helpers” arrived at the back door, dripping wet, with a soggy bedraggled Scamp in her arms – she’d seen her going under and had jumped straight in to fish her out!  It didn’t put Scamp off water though, she still loved to go for her swim. 

She loved to follow the horses out hacking, which I hated - I just don't think it's safe to have a bunch of horses plus a dog out on the road together.  I’d send her home if she followed me.  She’d go back as far as our gate, then cut across a couple of fields and join us about a mile from home, where it was too far to send her back.  Eventually she got really smart - she’d head off ahead of us, before we even mounted up, and wait in a ditch.  Once we'd passed, she'd sneak along behind us, until she knew she’d been spotted, than she’d come right up and join us. 

She once chased a rabbit across the road and right under my horse’s legs – first the rabbit, then a split second later, the dog.  The horse didn’t have time to react, it all happened so fast!

I think she must have been very rude to the local dogs – they all hated her.  She arrived home badly bitten many times.  Lots of emergency runs to the vet for stitches in her stomach, throat and back, all on different occasions.  I think he thought I was involved in badger baiting or dog fighting for a while – seriously! Me! That guy didn’t know me too well!

She was a thief and a scrounger.  New livery clients quickly learned not to leave carrots anywhere within Scamp’s reach.  She was a comical sight tiptoeing across the yard, trying to look innocent, with a great big carrot sticking out of her mouth.

She regularly raided the feedbowls of all the local cats and dogs and she would frequently turn up with something more interesting – loaves of bread, chicken carcasses, scones…. 

For most of her life, she waited every morning in the corner of our field until she heard our neighbour Frank opening his shed door as he started his morning chores.  As soon as he opened the door, she’d be at his feet, tail wagging expectantly, and he’d give her a chunk of bread.  From the time we realized she was going blind, we no longer allowed her offleash, but Frank always had a little treat for her when we passed.

We thought we were nearing the end about two years ago – she had repeated tummy problems, which invariably involved a lot of floor washing.  I would try the usual treatment – withhold food for 24 – 48 hours, and then start back on boiled chicken and rice, but most of the time this failed to solve the problem, and she’d end up in our Vet’s, on a drip overnight and then on antibiotics.   The last time this happened, I really thought we’d lose her, and I think she thought her time was up too.  I’ve never seen her so pleased to see anyone as she was to see me the day I went in to pick her up – she leaped straight up onto my knee, cuddled into me, and even gave my face a little lick – totally non-Scamp behaviour!

Stinky and all as she was, I didn’t mind.  I was just delighted to be taking her home.

We started her on a new medication (Antepsin) after that, and I can honestly say it extended her life by two years.  She had one or two minor bouts, but never again was it so bad that we thought “This is it”.

Her end came slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly.  Her cheery nature masked the fact that she couldn't see or hear too well, and she tried hard to keep bouncing around, despite her weakening legs.  Eventually we all agreed that the time had come and she needed help on her way.  Our vet kindly came out and euthanized her at home, George’s arms around her, me rubbing her little head.

She wasn’t the prettiest dog ever.  She definitely wasn’t the best behaved dog ever.  But her cheeky face and propeller tail made me smile pretty much every day for eighteen years.

She's resting under the tree in the corner of the field where she used to sit waiting for Frank every morning.  

Thanks for the memories, lil’ ratbag.

  

Taking the Guide Dog pup to France

Ann Mckenna with Tilda, Anne with Roxy, and Martine

Well the decision on wether or not I could bring Roxy, the guide dog puppy I am puppy walking, with me to France has been changed once or twice since I got her in April, and when I got the final no decision I was surprised at how upset I was, but a chance meeting with Ken Brydon, Irish Guide Dogs for the Blind operations manager, at the IGDB open day, changed all that, and so now it is full steam ahead, courtesy of Irish Ferries, for France.

I think I must be mad, traveling with 3 dogs, but my daughter, Polly, is coming with me, and so the roof box requirements just keep getting bigger, so fingers and paws crossed.

Syd

I thought the cat problem had solved itself, as our adopted feral cat, Syd, had been on the missing list for weeks, but yesterday he walked in bold as brass, and settled into his bed, which I hadn't had the heart to put away. And then, as fate often directs, I found a really small kitten just up the road from the house, with no owner apparent in the immediate vicinity, surely something that small could not have travelled far.

New kid on the block

But the ferry is booked, a house/cat sitter has been found, so it's off to France we go.

Poor Cookie Needs Some Freedom. Yeah, right.

Cookie has been with us for nearly six weeks now, and in all that time we’ve kept her restrained in some way or other, either on a lead, shut in with one or the other of us, or else in the crate that the nice Munster Lost and Found Pets people loaned us.  Of course this is less than ideal - none of our other dogs were ever kept confined in this way, but none of them were one year old strays when they arrived either.  

Cookie and the Dingle Collar

She is now  micro-chipped, but I have yet to send off the paperwork which will register us as her owners.

She has the hunting instincts of both a Jack Russell terrier and a whippet, so that’s fearless, determined, persistent and damn fast.  We've had a couple of close calls at home, when she has darted through the door as someone comes in, and has gone off in search of our cats, but we got her back fairly quickly each time.   So, in addition to keeping her confined, we’ve taken a leaf out of the Provencal hunters’ book, as described in Peter Mayle’s A Year in Provence.  These hunters keep bells on their dogs when they are in the woods and mountains, so that they know where their dogs are and can follow them easily, so Cookie wears a collar with a little bell and two ID tags which dingle merrily together as she moves around.

To try and make up for the lack of free-running, she gets several short walks a day, plus one longer one in the evening, usually running alongside George on his bicycle, she really enjoys this in particular.

Anyhow, today being yet another wet, miserable Irish summer’s day, the prospect of a bike ride or a long walk was not so inviting.  When Anne suggested that we bring Cookie down to her newly fenced garden for a sort of play-date with Roxy the Guide Dog pup, we jumped at the chance – we’d be able to shelter from the rain while the dogs ran around and wore each other out.

The Fence, with brick for perspective

Anne’s garden is fenced with sheep wire.  It’s four foot high all the way around, and the wire is tucked under at the bottom so the dogs can’t go under it.  The holes in the mesh are varying sizes, smaller at the bottom so little lambs can’t go through and gradually getting bigger as it gets higher, to a max of 8" by 4".  It’s kept her dogs in no problem so far, even Fionn the roamer.  Cookie is a jumper, but there’s no way she’d clear four foot without having something to give her enough grip to scramble over.  She’s about 15” tall, with long legs, and a really deep ribcage (8 inches)– that comes from the whippet parent.

We arrived as the rain got heavier yet again.  Oh well, we all had coats, and so what if we had two soggy doggies afterwards, at least they’d have had a good run.  We made sure Cookie knew we had dog treats, unclipped the lead and stood back.

It was wonderful.  She ran, she jinked, she sidestepped, she circled, with Roxy lolloping along in her wake. We made jokes about how well she’d do in an Irish rugby jersey.  

George called her over, said “Cookie, Sit” she sat at his feet, accepted her treat and whizzed off again for another glorious burst of freedom. 

We all smiled at each other.  This was great!  Round and round she went – you could see her reveling in her new-found freedom.  She paused to investigate the wire fence – we held our collective breath – and let it out again as Roxy invited her to play and they were off again.  Only this time, when she was running flat out towards the fence, she leaped effortlessly into the air, soared cleanly THROUGH one of the holes about half way up and landed on the other side.  We stared, horrified, convinced she would bolt down the road and disappear.  Fortunately, she stopped and turned back to us, I opened the gate and she trotted happily back in again for another treat.

Phew.  Relief all round.  We reckoned that she hadn’t meant to jump through the fence, it was a mistake, and when she realized she was separated from us she stopped.

We should have quit then.

Off she went again around the garden, with Roxy loping along in her wake.  You could see her tiring.  Yes, we’ve definitely tired them out, we said.  We settled in against the gable end of the house, sheltering from the rain. 

She started sniffing around in the corners, less intent on running now.  Came over when called, took her treat, back to sniffing around near the shrubbery.

We should have quit then.

Really.

Because she wasn't getting tired, she was getting bored.

In the blink of an eye, she was on the other side of the fence again – and this time it was no mistake.  She’d caught the scent of a cat, and she was in full Jack Russell/Whippet hunting mode.  Imagine a normal Jack Russell on speed, pronking through the undergrowth like a gazelle, and you get the idea.

Horrified, we ran through the gate, calling her name and rattling the box of treats.  She ignored us.  Seriously, what normal dog would fall for a box of Bonios when it’s on the trail of a delicious, juicy CAT?

Bouncing through the shrubbery.  Up to the stables.  Back through the shrubbery and into the raised bed – sorry Anne's veggies, hope you’re not too trampled.  Out again and running towards the paddock.  Jinking, side-stepping, running in big loops out into the open and back into the bushes, grinning as dogs do – tongue lolling, ears flat back against her head.  She did not want to be caught and she used every evasion in her arsenal to elude us – she could show Brian O’Driscoll a trick or two!  

But God bless those French hunters, thanks to that dingle-collar, we could hear where she was at all times and try to anticipate her next move.  The one thing Peter Mayle omitted to mention, however, was how those hunters catch a dog when it’s on the trail of something yummy!

I ran through the paddock while George tried to flush Cookie out of the shrubbery towards me.  She looped around me into the paddock, straight across it and into the hedge which runs parallel to the road.
Crapcrapcrap, I thought, she's gonna run down the road and end up in Kinsale!
I ran like the clappers onto the road, so I could at least see which direction she disappeared in.  Cars passed, they must have thought I was nuts tearing along the road in the pouring rain.  

Dingle noises faded back into the paddock again.  Crisis averted, I ran back into the garden and into the field, praying that she hadn’t run through the paddock and into the forty acre cornfield that backs onto Anne’s field.

She was back in the shrubbery, leaping about like a Springbok, trying to get the cat scent again.  Back up towards the stables.  Through a weak spot in the chicken wire surrounding the onion patch.  George, close on her heels, stepped over the wire.  She was cornered!  There was only one weak spot in the chicken wire, which was now behind George, and she couldn’t get enough of a run at the wire to clear it in one go.

Realising the game was up, she rolled over, tail wagging frantically, licking George’s hand as he picked her up.  “I have her” was the best news I’ve heard for a long time!

We reckon the whole incident lasted fifteen minutes at most, but it’s probably shortened our lives by at least five years!  From now on, Cookie and Roxy will have their playtime in the big stable:

The microchip paperwork is now in the post.  As for little Cookie, who is currently trawling for goodies on the kitchen floor, it’ll be a long, long time before she’s let off the lead, microchip or no microchip.