09-25-2009, 10:56 AM
In the fight, Preston came nearest to death. He's still got more wounds than me. Plus, he's got the arthritis, the glaucoma and the fucked up teeth. The boy is in bad shape. And yet. And yet
For the longest time, Preston's walks wouldn't take us any farther than the bottom of the driveway. For some odd reason, he has become afraid of his water and food bowls. We have to coax him to eat. Yes, we've been hand feeding him. One of our concerns is that the tooth decay has effected his sense of smell, which means he can't find the food we put in front of him. Don't ask me why he runs from the water bowl. And yet. And yet.
With my foot healing and the Queen escaping to yet another city to get some rest from the Invalid house, I'm back on dog patrol. This morning's walked commenced at 4:15. I only put Maeve on the leash because I can grab Preston anytime I want. There are few cars about and I can get him out of the way when I do see them coming. Usually, it takes old man Preston several minutes to navigate the pee bushes on the way to the bottom of the driveway. Today, he and Maeve, spot two stray dogs racing down the street. While I struggle with Shiva, I don't paying any attention to waddles while he walks. By the time I've settled Maeve and her demonic need to pursue and look for her brother, I notice him charging down the street after the strays. Granted, he's not going very fast, but he's doing the best he can to protect home and hearth. Fortunately, the strays (Yes, pitbulls) have scampered into the yard of a darkened house. Neither boy nor girl spot them as we walk passed. They don't pursue us, either when we go by.
Weird, huh? I think sometimes he forgets he's old.
We continue the ramble. When we get to the park, I free Maeve so she can race around and eat everything that moves. Preston lags behind, but we adjust the pace to accommodate him. I spend a lot of time throwing sticks for the Meave Devil. The key to the walk is exhausting her so she will sleep until the next walk and not eat the house. In his day, Preston was quite the stick chaser, too. When he sees the sticks flying, he gets amped up. At one point, he actually pulls the stick from Maeves mouth. Neither of the dogs are fetchers. They merely bring the stick back to my vicinity to show they have it. If I want the stick back, there will be tugging and pulling involved. My chances of stick recovery using this method is poor. Did I mention Maeve brings bricks and stones into the house to exercise her jaws?
To bring sanity to the stick adventure, I have two sticks. I throw one. Meave chases it and returns. When she sees the second stick in my hand, she drops the first stick and leaps at me. She might be leaping at the stick, but when those jaws snap open wide and head towards you, it doesn't seem that way. So I throw the second stick quickly. And repeat. The degree of difficulty goes up in the 4 am darkness. It's very hard to find the brown sticks Maeve has dropped on the brown ground before she returns. Don't be bent over hunting for sticks when she returns or she will pile into you like Ronnie Lott with a full head of steam.
That's the walk. I throw. Meave retrieves. Preston follows at his own pace. He might be going a little faster, hoping to catch one of the sticks himself. But that's just a crazy idea, right?
On the trail through the park, there is yard high dead grass stalks on either side of the path. Part of the game is not to throw it off the trail and lose the stick. Ronnie Lott is always out there. Well, I miss and toss one wide right. Maeve heads into the grass. She digs and roots but gives up. I throw the other stick and she charges off. I walk on. Preston has ideas of his own. He heads into the grass. That can't be right. He couldn't have seen where I threw it, right? And it's dark. I probably couldn't find the stick. Seconds later, Preston drags the thrown stick out of the grass and proudly drops it on the trail. Maeve the wonder puppy, couldn't find it. I didn't think I could find it. Yet, the half blind, crippled sinus infected dog did. In the dark.
Reports of Preston's demise have been greatly exaggerated.
For the longest time, Preston's walks wouldn't take us any farther than the bottom of the driveway. For some odd reason, he has become afraid of his water and food bowls. We have to coax him to eat. Yes, we've been hand feeding him. One of our concerns is that the tooth decay has effected his sense of smell, which means he can't find the food we put in front of him. Don't ask me why he runs from the water bowl. And yet. And yet.
With my foot healing and the Queen escaping to yet another city to get some rest from the Invalid house, I'm back on dog patrol. This morning's walked commenced at 4:15. I only put Maeve on the leash because I can grab Preston anytime I want. There are few cars about and I can get him out of the way when I do see them coming. Usually, it takes old man Preston several minutes to navigate the pee bushes on the way to the bottom of the driveway. Today, he and Maeve, spot two stray dogs racing down the street. While I struggle with Shiva, I don't paying any attention to waddles while he walks. By the time I've settled Maeve and her demonic need to pursue and look for her brother, I notice him charging down the street after the strays. Granted, he's not going very fast, but he's doing the best he can to protect home and hearth. Fortunately, the strays (Yes, pitbulls) have scampered into the yard of a darkened house. Neither boy nor girl spot them as we walk passed. They don't pursue us, either when we go by.
Weird, huh? I think sometimes he forgets he's old.
We continue the ramble. When we get to the park, I free Maeve so she can race around and eat everything that moves. Preston lags behind, but we adjust the pace to accommodate him. I spend a lot of time throwing sticks for the Meave Devil. The key to the walk is exhausting her so she will sleep until the next walk and not eat the house. In his day, Preston was quite the stick chaser, too. When he sees the sticks flying, he gets amped up. At one point, he actually pulls the stick from Maeves mouth. Neither of the dogs are fetchers. They merely bring the stick back to my vicinity to show they have it. If I want the stick back, there will be tugging and pulling involved. My chances of stick recovery using this method is poor. Did I mention Maeve brings bricks and stones into the house to exercise her jaws?
To bring sanity to the stick adventure, I have two sticks. I throw one. Meave chases it and returns. When she sees the second stick in my hand, she drops the first stick and leaps at me. She might be leaping at the stick, but when those jaws snap open wide and head towards you, it doesn't seem that way. So I throw the second stick quickly. And repeat. The degree of difficulty goes up in the 4 am darkness. It's very hard to find the brown sticks Maeve has dropped on the brown ground before she returns. Don't be bent over hunting for sticks when she returns or she will pile into you like Ronnie Lott with a full head of steam.
That's the walk. I throw. Meave retrieves. Preston follows at his own pace. He might be going a little faster, hoping to catch one of the sticks himself. But that's just a crazy idea, right?
On the trail through the park, there is yard high dead grass stalks on either side of the path. Part of the game is not to throw it off the trail and lose the stick. Ronnie Lott is always out there. Well, I miss and toss one wide right. Maeve heads into the grass. She digs and roots but gives up. I throw the other stick and she charges off. I walk on. Preston has ideas of his own. He heads into the grass. That can't be right. He couldn't have seen where I threw it, right? And it's dark. I probably couldn't find the stick. Seconds later, Preston drags the thrown stick out of the grass and proudly drops it on the trail. Maeve the wonder puppy, couldn't find it. I didn't think I could find it. Yet, the half blind, crippled sinus infected dog did. In the dark.
Reports of Preston's demise have been greatly exaggerated.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit