Video Thursday

Caesar, and Harry, and Spike

Many times, when I have gone to walk dogs at Abandoned Pet Rescue, I've wondered, where did this particular dog come from? Who did he live with? Did this good girl spend her nights curled up at the foot of somebody's bed, secure in the safety of a good home? How on earth did you end up here, in a cage, at our shelter?

Two years ago APR took in a sweet old German Sheppard/Malamute mix. He had matted fur and a bad odor about him. It seemed as though he was on his last legs. Despite all that he was the nicest, most easy going dog in the shelter. Walking him was as easy as taking a stroll down the street, never pulling on his leash, and following me like a lamb. He was one of those dogs I wondered about. He had obviously been somebody's loved pet. His gentleness made that clear.

The shelter employees named him Caesar. Most of us didn't think Caesar would make it, he had lost so much fur, and his health was so bad. After many months of care by the APR staff, Caesar's skin and fur problems cleared up, and his health improved greatly. Despite his health improvements, Caesar always seemed somewhat depressed. Laying in his cage, and barely eating.

About two and a half years ago there was a woman in the Fort Lauderdale area who was suffering at the hands of her husband. Apparently one day she decided she wasn't going to take it any longer and escaped the brutality, moving to the safety of another part of the country. Unfortunately in her haste, she had to leave her two dogs behind, two sibling dogs named Spike and Harry. In one last expression of meanness, the husband opened the door and kicked both dogs out to the street.

Over two years later the woman was on the internet, looking at dog photos from the various animal shelters around Fort Lauderdale. When she clicked on Abandoned Pet Rescue, she saw the photo of Caesar. Through careful comparison between the photos of her dogs, and the photo of Caesar, she realized it was Harry. Caesar was, is, Harry. She had found one of her beloved dogs, alive, and in the safety of a no kill shelter.

Over the last couple of weeks APR has been accepting contributions to finance the shipment of Harry across the country, back to his owner. This past weekend Harry was taken aboard a cross country semi-truck driven by a truck driving couple who volunteer with a group called Operation Roger. He was transported by the two drivers, a husband and wife, and their four dogs, in the cab of the truck all the way across country, to his loving owner.

Harry is home now. It was reported that he recognized his 'mom', and covered her with kisses, something he never did in his cage at the shelter. Already they say he's showing more snap in his walk, and eating more. Unfortunately nobody knows what happened to his brother, Spike, but at least Harry made it home.

When I first volunteered for Abandoned Pet Rescue, I never figured I'd feel this good, or this sad for Spike. With every new dog I ask "How did this one get here?" and too often it's through animal control. No history is known. That's when I peer into their eyes and wonder, "How did you get here?"


For even more about Harry, Click Here

All Hopped Up On Pot Stickers

Nothing like a late night snack. It was around ten thirty, I had walked the dog, fed the cats, and I was scrounging around the refrigerator looking for some kind of goody that Mark may have squirreled away in there. After finding nothing in the fridge, I checked the freezer, and found a big bag of frozen pot stickers, or pork dumplings for those unfamiliar with that term. Perfect, a quick and easy snack before I go to bed. I fired up a frying pan with a little oil in it, and threw in eight of the little dumplings. While those were cooking up I mixed a brew of malt vinegar, and soy sauce to dip them in.

A few minutes later I was sitting in front of the television, snacking on my pot stickers. Before I knew it, it was one in the morning. I didn't feel tired at all, but realized I needed to go to bed so off I went. After laying in bed sleepless for about an hour, Mark came home from his night out.
Cue the dog barking wildly at this intrusion.
"Why are you still up?" Mark asked.
"Don't know, just am. For some reason I can't sleep."

Two hours later, still laying awake in bed, grinding away, our house guest arrives home. It's four in the morning.
Cue the dog barking wildly again.

After a while the house settles down again, and everyone is sleeping soundly. Mark next to me, the dog draped over his legs, with the cat curled up by my head, deep in feline dreams. I however am still awake, my mind vibrating as if I had taken some kind of drug. It was now six in the morning, and I knew that in one hour there would be a dog standing next to the bed whining to go walkies. Why couldn't I sleep?

Mono Sodium Glutamate. The goddamned pot stickers had MSG in them. I grabbed the flashlight, went into the kitchen and checked the ingredients on the bag. Sure enough, MSG listed in small print on the back of the bag. Nothing gives me a buzz like mono sodium glutamate. It's what I should have been eating when we drove to Chicago because it keeps me awake better than coffee, or caffeine pills. In fact that gives me an idea. Chinese restaurants at all truck stops. It would make the streets safer, and keep truck drivers from abusing illegal drugs. Imagine, no more truckers barreling down the highway all hopped up on bennies. No, they'd all be buzzing along, high on Chinese take out.

M Bomb

Well here we go again. Just this past week Mark went to his doctor and found out his blood pressure was through the roof. I don't think there is any doubt as to why this is. He is like a Chihuahua on meth. He gets hyper-excited over things, and not in a good way. Last week it was his health insurance people denying him a prescription. That led to nine hours of him on the phone screaming, ranting, and threatening to find their offices, go down there, and scream and rant in person. Yesterday it was the meeting of the Save East Wilton Manors group, where Mark got all disturbed by what he was hearing, and in his loud squeaky voice let everyone know how he felt.

Then there is today. I received an email informing me that our flights to and from Boston in November had been changed. Knowing that there would be no recourse, I clicked on the 'Accept Changes' button and continued playing my game of hearts. When Mark found out about the changes he grabbed the phone, called the airline, and it was on. He's been screaming at them for about an hour now, and I've been hiding here in my office with Chandler curled up next to me, his paws over his ears. I don't know when Mark's crazed phone call will end. His voice keeps going up, and at some point I think he will become totally inaudible to humans. That's when I'm afraid the throbbing vein on his forehead will burst, and I'll have to call 911. Of course if he manages to get some kind of refund or a discount on a future flight from the airline, I'll be happy. I might even bring him flowers when I visit him in the hospital.

Photo Friday

I removed (broke out with a hammer) a pane of glass from the 

door to the entry hall so that the outdoor cats could come

in during thunder storms.

It has worked out well, and it is small enough that

Chandler can't get out into the backyard, and bother

the cats.

At least I thought he couldn't get through the tiny opening

until last night when he spotted a huge possum eating the cat's food.

Somehow Chandler got his big old eighty pound body through an

eight inch by twelve inch opening.

I hope the possum got scared real good, because the cats didn't.

They sat there and watched, just like when the possum is eating

their food.

Video Thursday

This one's for my older sister, with love.

Fruit Poops

My mom and dad must have been frustrated farmers, because when they bought their first home in Tinley Park, they filled the back yard with apple trees. I remember every fall, the house was filled with the smells of my mom making apple sauce, apple pie, apple jelly, apple butter, apple slices (sort of apple pie, but squares with a heavy coating of frosting on top) and around Halloween, caramel covered apples. It was usually our job as kids, to harvest the hundreds of apples off the trees before they started rotting and falling to the ground. Of course if they did fall to the ground, and were rotten enough, they became kid weapons. I think we enjoyed throwing those things at each other as much as we loved those apple slices my mom made.

Fall is here again, and all the fruit trees here in my neighborhood are starting to ripen. It's not at all like back home in Illinois. Here in Florida we have avocado trees, banana trees, mango trees, and the ever present citrus trees, all of which attract rats. This is the time of year when the mango trees start dropping over ripe fruit like so many piles of poop, and the avocados are just the right density for a hurricane to come along and blast them through windows. Fruit takes on entirely new characteristics when launched by hundred mile per hour winds.

So far two of my neighbors have presented me with some of their harvest. I've received a large bunch of bananas, that I've turned into banana waffles, and banana smoothies, and then there is Paul who gave me the first star fruit off his tree. Ahhh, yes autumn is here. Can the pitter patter of little rat feet in the attic be far behind?