Note to Myself

Next time I'm in the market for bedroom furniture, remind me not to buy anything with ring pulls.

Until then, remind me not to hide kitty treats and catnip in the drawer of my bedside table. Yeah, the drawer with the ring pull. Not unless I really like having my stripey kitteh Huw pulling it open and rifling it. As he has done the past two nights.

And then there's the fun he and Rhadwen have with the jewelry chest in the wee hours of the morning.

Yep, ring pulls again.

Oh, they are soooo clebber! Opposable thumbs, who needs 'em?

Swim or Sink, Barking Division

Day before yesterday, the new people moved into the house on the corner, two doors down from the House of the Flying Furballs.

They have a large Doberman named Vader, who does not wear a helmet or have breathing issues.

What he does have is good off-leash discipline, and his people, the past couple of days, have allowed him to lie out on their front lawn while they're with him.

This drives my Llewellyn nuts. Not only is there a new interloping canine in the neighborhood, said interloper doesn't have the grace to run away (i.e., keep going by on leash) when he barks at it. No, this new mutt just lies there and ignores him.

Must need to bark all the louder and longer:

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!!

Hey, that didn't work! Other dog is still there! And now he's walking around with people petting him! Try again:

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!!

Oh good grief, you could hear my mutt up and down the block. Ferociously. Constantly. Not something any of us can tolerate, especially not me with my nerves.

So I'm trying something. It's the basic carrot and stick approach. If Llewellyn can look at the screen door at Vader and keep his yap shut, he gets a treat and high praise for being a "Good, quiet dog!"

If I catch him barking or even growling at the Dobie, he gets a water squirt from the spray bottle and a "Naughty noise!"

We'll see how this works. The advent of this new dog may be an inadvertent blessing-- or the beginning of tumult and misery for one and all.

Stoopy Piggeh Goggeh!!

I had a nice, big, full, developing head of broccoli in my garden.

Until this evening, when this is what Llewellyn did while a friend and I chatted nesciently on the back porch:

Grrrrr, ggrrrrrrr! Naughty dog! Naughty! Naughty! Nawty!!!

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Greedy Beastliness, Omnivorous Division

I love my dog Llewellyn. Yes, I love him very, very MUCH.

But I kinda sorta like my garden, too. And I really would like it if my dog would approach it with an attitude of live and let grow . . .

And it would be nice if I could let him out by himself in the back yard without having to watch him every minute.

But I can't. I really can't.

The end of May, I planted broccoli and Brussels sprouts in one of my garden plots. They were a little leggy at first, but they took root and prospered. About ten days later, I noticed a leaf or two off one of the Brussels sprout plants. Bird? Maybe. Rabbit? Doubt it; my fence keeps them out. Squirrel? Do squirrels eat plants? I didn't know.

But the next day, I was out back and from a distance noticed Llewellyn slinking along the garden path with something green in his mouth. I thought it was a piece of lettuce, and there's plenty of that to go around. But then I looked more closely, and ack! he was in the crucifer bed, experimentally ripping the leaves off both broccoli and sprouts!

Idiot dog. Apparently the leaves smelled like food, so he'd rip off one, chomp down on it, find it bitter, and spit it out on the path. Maybe the next one would taste good! Rip it off, chomp down on it-- no, that one's bitter, too! Try again!

Until this is what I had:

Damn.

Week or so later, I put in some more Brussel sprouts plants to replace the crucifers Llewellyn killed. Then I let down my guard. The plants were getting to a size where, I told myself, the leaves would smell as well as taste bad, and my dog would leave them alone.

And the plants grew. By late this afternoon, I had heads on two of the three remaining broccoli plants, about the size of a grade-school child's hand. Coming along, coming along . . .

Early this evening, after turning my back on my dog for a couple minutes, I had this:

Bloody 'ell!!

Oh, it could be worse. He could be the sort of dog that eats slippers, suede brushes, and windowsills. I mean, broccoli is good for him. But his stealing vegetables out of the garden is not good for me feeling very happy with him.

Greedy beast! (As he lies sleeping beside my chair, looking ever so innocent . . . )