Bed and biscuit

Yes, Smoke's coat really is iridescent. And the boys are good buds, but I need to visit Costco for a few more dog beds. Chi-whippie Jasper is now in the neighborhood of 30-35 pounds to Smoky's 55 or so. Must make a vid someday of the little guy catching the biscuit -- he's quite awesome ;~)

Roughhouse

Smoky and Jasper make the most of a beautiful morning.

Zoomies, how we love zoomies!

Grayling [whose left front leg is perfectly normal, thanks], Jasper, and an orange. Mmmm, oranges.

As they say, a tired dog is a happy dog. [Jasp'll be neutered as soon as our vet says it wouldn't be detrimental to his health in any way. He was one miserable puppy.]  Can't believe the difference four weeks has made. Has it been a whole month already? Unreal.

Inside, earlier. Rraaarrrrhh!!!

Not the last dog I'd bring home, but close.

You know the old story about the dog stuck between two food dishes? I've been feeling like that for months, immobilized between this blog and my newer birding blog and too busy to do much of anything with either one. Then this dog showed up on Facebook.

She was a little pit bull [rare blue!], she was terribly skinny and suffering from mastitis, she had the sweetest smile, and she needed a foster home. I volunteered.

You know where this is headed, right? Oh, no, you don't.

It turned out that a most excellent rescue group in Utah had decided to take the blue pit bull, so when I arrived at the shelter on the morning of Oct. 22 to pick her up, my buddy C said, "Foster this poor, um, Doberman instead." I'm not even a little bit wild about Dobermans, so I prepared a quick no-can-do speech as we walked down the hall. I needn't have bothered.

A little red pup was standing in the corner, on his last legs. He was in bad shape. C had fixed him a bowl with tempting cheese and other tastiness, but he wouldn't touch it. When I put some canned food on my fingers and offered it to him, he turned his head away. I was enlisted to take him to the vet. Things weren't looking good.

Long story short: I got the green light to take him home a couple hours later. Took "before" photos as per C's instructions.

Aaaand now the very happy "after," wherein we bond, I fail as a foster, and pup gets in touch with his inner zayde. "So then I said to Morrie, I said..." All that's lacking is the upturned paw ;~)

Bark! Bark!

Cute, no? And smart...! You have no idea. Friendly, too. His name is Jasper, for his red color and in honor of a good kid in Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. He met everybody last week. The collies are... tolerant. Smoky is happy. Smoke is showing him the ropes, teaching him about the joy of zoomies, etc.

[It's pouring rain now, and the south forty will soon be muddy green! Yay!]


In case you missed it: this is a Chihuahua mix, people. In my home. A dog that is going to need a sweater. Facepalm. Facepalm. Facepalm.

*************

Note: I have no Dr. Mom skillz to speak of, but man, you should see me set a kitchen timer. Truly impressive. The first day, I fed Jasp a couple teaspoons of food and a dab of Nutri-Cal every hour. Sometimes he'd eat, sometimes not, but the next morning he was eager to chow down, and it was nothing but steady improvement after that. Amazing what a pup can do with food, a little TLC and a warm, quiet place to sleep. As always, thanks to the wonderful folks at our local shelter — you're the best.

Smoke

He'll be two in September. Photos from the last few evenings here in God's country, the San Bernardino National Forest near Big Bear Lake.

Shorty gets his DNA on

SpongeBob ChowTail out back one night last week, pretending he just heard a small suburban woodland creature. The camera flash makes him look several shades lighter than he really is. [Click for bigger.]

Those crazy kids over at Mars Wisdom Panel kept saying they could spot Chow DNA with one eye closed, and wasn't I curious about that blue spot on Smoky's tongue and his tail-in-a-circle? Well, wasn't I?

I was. When you tell people you have a new dog and they ask what kind and you say, "Oh, I think he might be a chow/pit bull mix," you see all kinds of interesting faces. I figured if we were going to make people struggle to compose their features, then we better find some science to back us up.

So we sent blood to Mars, and sat back to wait for the results.

Smoke has been here for a year now. He's about 17 months old, 60 athletic pounds, smart, keen, happy, likes people, travels well, sleeps on the bed, and has the biggest, most distinctive voice you have ever heard in your life.

He still keeps an eye out for me and looks me full in the face when one of us has something to say to the other. I still think he's just about perfect.

I told my vet I'd check for the DNA results online, and she said "results pending" was the only thing her clients ever saw. [Results are also snail-mailed.] In any event, a week or so later Smoky's workup appeared on the Mars site. It was in pdf and cleverly designed: the actual DNA results and breed names are on the second page, so you can sit and stare at the first page for a while and let the suspense build and remind yourself that these things can be wildly inaccurate and OMG dare I turn the page now and what if they say he's Duck Tolling Retriever and Bichon Frise? Because I would totally have to return him to the pound if he were that.

I drummed my fingers, took a deep breath, and scrolled to page 2.



And yeah, it turns out I paid Mars one hundred simoleons to play Captain Obvious and tell us what we already knew. To wit:

I'm guessing he's part pit bull and maybe part German shepherd.

But not half-and-half, mind you. He's vastly more generic and All-American than that. He's a blend of the country's two most common types:

Smoky is a pit-mix/shepherd-mix mix.

And if that isn't a fine style of cur-dog, I don't know what is. Happy first anniversary with us kids, Smoky! Honestly, our local pound has the best dogs on the whole damn planet.

Related:
In which I make an executive decision — which, for the record, still stands.

Coyotes at home and away

"There's another one!" Smoke and Landshark Lu hold the fort.

I started this post [photo, title] at the cabin a month ago. It was a banner year for coyotes up the hill: the local population was booming and flourishing, thanks, some folks said, to a spike in rabbit numbers. "They [the coyotes, not the rabbits — rabbits would have been awesome] are snatching little dogs right off the leash," warned a friend. Seriously, dude.

I was alone in the tower when a huge pack of coyotes began arguing in the meadow [...] I took a photo of my face as the howling and growling was splitting the night air. It was so chilling hearing these sounds that it gave me goose flesh. [Bill Thompson III]

Down the hill in L.A. last month, two people were bitten by coyotes in Griffith Park, and eight coyotes were trapped and shot. Public outcry in 3... 2... 1...:

The howls that echoed through Griffith Park on Monday were coming from hikers, parents and nannies -- not coyotes.

Park visitors were furious with a decision to shoot coyotes in the 4,210-acre park following an encounter between a man and a coyote last week.

Eight animals were killed before the eradication effort ended at 10:50 p.m. Friday, said Kyle Orr, a spokesman for the California Department of Fish and Game.

Park visitors blasted the hunt as overkill. They blamed the problem on people who illegally feed coyotes.
[...]
At a child-friendly play area called Shane's Inspiration, a group of mothers watching their youngsters frolic were saddened by the coyote hunt.

"Killing them is silly. They were here first," Coralyn Peirson of Studio City said as she sat at a picnic table and watched her 2-year-old daughter, Emily. "Of course, if one of them carried off my baby, I'd probably feel differently."

Probably.

In related news, Terrierman reported today that a young woman was killed by two coyotes in Cape Breton, Canada. Cape Breton! Their range is expanding, they are getting smarter by the minute, and we give them a hand, as in Griffith Park, by taking the stupid ones out of the gene pool. Amazing animals, coyotes.

I saw more coyotes in the mountains this year than ever. I saw them trot past the cabin at night and in in broad daylight. I listened to one holler under the windows at dusk. [Hear that? Scary loud. If a police car siren and a werewolf had a baby...] When I took the dogs outside last thing before bed, the coyotes watched from the shadows. They moved like ghosts, but you could see their eyes glowing. Nothing spectral about those eyes.

Smoke and Lu hate coyotes with the burning fire of a thousand angry suns. Lu puts every hair up from behind her ears to the base of her tail, barks ferociously, and charges. Smoke curls his tail over his back and makes a roar fit to wake the dead. He's a lean 63 lb these days and no, I've never turned him loose after a coyote. Too fond of my yearling pup.

I did have an awful scare at the cabin this fall when senior citizen Bounce, the best and dearest dog in the history of the universe, somehow slipped past me at the porch gate and took off after a coyote that Smoke and Lu had spotted in the buckthorn. Bounce has never had an entirely reliable recall [oh, who am I kidding (weeps). Bounce has no recall, period. She does whatever the hell she wants]. Her life flashed before my eyes. Bounce sailed after the coyote like a little white cannonball for about 40 feet — and then, wonder of wonders, she reversed course and ran back up the porch steps! Ten years off my life.

Related:
Hasta luego, coyotes
Wolves, Coyotes and LGDs

Coyote Attacks: An Increasing Suburban Problem

And so to bed

Twig the Enforcer

Demon dog is swallowing Bounce whole, OMG...!

Bounce the matriarch and Smoky the yearling like to roughhouse. Bed, floor or front porch makes no difference. They both love a good game of Let's Roll Around and Chew on Each Other.

[As you can see, we're riding the red-eye express. Adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the blurry snapshots, no?]

Border collie Twig doesn't like roughhousing. "Fun" offends her puritan sensibilities, and by "fun" I mean "Smoky." She blames him for everything. Twig's purpose in life is to insert herself between Smoke and Bounce whenever they are playing and make Smoky by God stop. In fact, right this minute she just rushed into the kitchen to make those two behave themselves. Correction: to make Smoke behave himself, since, as I've said, everything is always his fault. If persuasion won't work, Twig isn't above resorting to threats of violence. It's a tough job, but at least it's work.

Much of what Smoke has learned about how to behave around other dogs [that is, to behave with more respect than he ever thought he had] he has learned from Twig.

No more tug-of-war — or else:

"You should put the camera down and say something to Twig. She's messing with me again, and it's having a bad effect on my self-esteem." Sorry, dude — you're on your own.

Ask Dr. Science!

What kind of dog is that? Hard to tell, sometimes, with a pound pup or shelter mix. Take Smoky, my cur-dog [when you pry his leash from my cold, dead fingers, you hate-mongering BSL wingnuts]. Smoke has the fullness below the eyes common to bull breeds, along with a hound's voice, a sheepdog's temperament, a brindle coat and a blue-black spot on his tongue. Pit/GSD? Plott/Chow? Beagle/Boxer/Bull mastiff? Search me.

But looks are all that matter to the breed-hating nutters, and they'd slap a muzzle and other restrictions on my good dog in a New York minute, if they could, or even haul him off to be killed -- never mind that Smoke loves everyone he meets and has never harmed or threatened to harm a soul. He looks like a pit mix, and BSL has everything to do with how a dog looks. As opposed to, I dunno, say actual temperament and behavior.

Enter Mixed-Breed Dog DNA Analysis.

Enter Animal Farm Foundation.

Take the Animal Farm Foundation's test [pdf link here; H/T Bad Rap Blog] and find out whether you know a "pit bull" mix when you see one. [Click on the image below for a real darn big (1000 x 1500px) jpg version]:


Will DNA analysis change the wingnuts' narrow little minds? We'll see. It took the Vatican 359 years to admit Galileo was right after all, but sooner or later, science trumps superstition. Eppur si muove, you breed-hating chuckleheads. Eppur si muove.

Elephant Rock

My sis is holding Lily, who is perfectly capable of climbing Elephant Rock by herself, thanks very much. How pathetic is it that the only thing remotely in focus is my cur-dog. Smoke is watching a scorpion pack of coyotes large grizzly stick I tossed into the buckthorn. Click to embiggen.

Pug climbs Mt. Whitney!

Yes, that's rib definition. Lily, my sister's awesome mountain goat pug, bouldering on the way home from Elephant Rock. Click for big.

I keed. But if any pug could climb California's highest peak, it'd be Lily. She rock-scrambles like nobody's business. The photo above was taken during her second, second for crying out loud hike of the day. Totally unposed shot, just Princess Lily doing her thing.

Did I mention that Lily is the smartest, fittest, best-behaved and most biddable pug in the history of pugs? All credit to my sis, who employs a highly modified nothing-in-life-is-free/Cesar Millan + pink party dresses + daily hikes + tons of love & laptime approach to dog training. Seriously, I'd put Smoke in a pink party dress if I thought it would produce off-lead behavior like Lily's.

That's my boy! Smoky does his part to increase hillside erosion. "Look, Mom! I'm a mountain cur!" He's wearing his hunter-orange collar and a Big Bear Lake bandana, and he is totally in love with Lily.

I could never sneak up on a border collie like this

Smoke was busy practicing his luge position this afternoon and I was able to ease over and take a few snaps.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to concentrate here." Whatever, dude ;~)

About a bark

Smoky is just the coolest. Also, as Henry Chappell and friends might say, "He's got a mouth on 'im."

My next-door neighbor D was in his backyard one recent evening, talking on his Bluetooth thingy to a friend who lives maybe three-quarters of a mile away. And Smoke fires up at something or other out by the back fence and the friend says to D, "Man, that's a loud bark" and D says, "You can hear him over the phone?" and the friend says, "I can hear him from here."

*Is proud*

Good thing Smoke sleeps inside and is 1) often inside with me and 2) always inside when I'm not home.

He's keen and smart and friendly as ever. 50+ lb now. Doing well in his obedience class. At ease with my other dogs. Runs and roughhouses for hours with the landshark, who loves him.

Yep, I still think he's pretty much perfect.

Lazy Sunday

It's a tough job, but someone has to do it: Smoke keeps the chair warm while your servant slaves away over the laptop. [Click for bigger.]

Count Aldrovandi's cur-dog

Smoky as Renaissance mastiff. Aldrovandi Dog [Norton Simon Foundation, via the NY Times]. Click for big.

Huge thanks to Janeen of the most excellent Smartdogs for sending me a link to this portrait of my cur pup an image of Aldrovandi Dog, painted in 1625 by Guercino [Giovanni Francesco Barbieri].

From the link sent by Janeen:

Although the dog’s name has been lost to time, we know that Count Filippo Maria Aldrovandi (1598–1644) owned the white and brindle mastiff because its elaborate leather collar bears the Aldrovandi coat of arms. The dog’s facial scars and white hair above the mouth suggest that he is old and has seen his share of violent encounters. His ears have been trimmed, a custom fashionable in England and continental Europe during the early seventeenth century. A villa, bathed in golden sunlight, rises in the distance atop a grassy hill alongside other imposing structures that sweep across the lush vista. Dark clouds break on either side of the canine’s head, seemingly chased by the sun-drenched white clouds that hover over the land and surround the dog’s silhouette like a vaporous halo.

Big whoop, says Smoke: I have a pearl necklace with a silver locket, and I am often bathed in golden sunlight. Though Mom says if she ever catches me with a vaporous halo I'll rue the day, whatever that means.

Back when he was small enough to model a present for Princess Lilypug. Those days are long gone.

Late afternoon at the farm

How quickly the light goes. There's a spot in this pasture that is markedly colder than the rest of the field — an eerie thing. A barn owl once flew at my first border collie here, when a friend and I were working our dogs at dusk.

Smoky's dragging a long line because I don't want him to start a rabbit and gallop into barb wire.

Spanked by a girl

It was a weekend of introductions. Smoky was eager to meet everyone. The border collies took one look at him and gave a collective shudder. Smoke is still a pup, so no blood was shed despite some dramatic snappage.

My pibble was the only one willing to run and wrestle with the new kid — no surprise, since she is the friendliest dog in the history of the universe. But when she says, "That's enough," she means it. Don't make her tell you twice. Everyone is sleeping very well these days, Smoke especially.

Girl, I can make things right: Smoove B strikes out again.

Pupdate

How is it that after a person spends good money on Kongs and squeakies and Nyla-gummies and other most excellent dog toys, the pup's fave thing turns out to be a football — a small fossil football — found half-buried in the old driveway? Smoky loves 'im some little football.

No snotty nose since Friday, yay. [Don't talk to me about roundworms.] He can shake hands and fetch his football and "Are you looking? Good boy!" and he knows his name and everything. He met two new people on Saturday — just 98 to go. [Yes, we're playing catch-up. One does what one can.] I think he's pretty much perfect.

Go, Niners!

Gaaahhh...! Fix your ear!!

You talking to me?


Here are some snaps from a lazy weekend.

Smoky has one of those barks that's more of a single, sustained roar. Doesn't bark much, though — he's too busy chewing everything in sight. Also: he is a genius. The other dogs are going nuts but the vet says quarantine for two more weeks. Pup's much perkier, but still with the snotty nose, eeewwwww.

His fave toy is that red thing, which is one of the best toys evah. No, I don't get a commission.