Help fight Canine Cancer

This plea for help comes from Melissa Becall, our friend in California on behalf of Tish Graber and her beautiful Sydney. Even though tomorrow is June 9th, Sydney's nineth birthday, it's never too late to help eliminate cancer in dogs. I recently read the alarming statistic that one in three dogs dies of cancer. What we help to cure in our fur families, we also cure in ourselves... we are one.

*****

Sydney was been diagnosed with Melanoma Cancer and most likely Osteosarcoma (bone cancer). I am involved with an organization called We Are The Cure.

The National Canine Cancer Foundation is a nationwide, contribution funded, 501 (c)(3) non-profit corporation dedicated to eliminating cancer as a major health problem in dogs by funding grants for the scientific efforts of cancer researchers who are working to save lives, find a cure, find better treatments, find more accurate, cost effective, diagnostic methods in dealing with cancer, and diminishing dogs’ suffering from cancer through research, education, advocacy, and service.

My goal is to raise $1K before Sydney’s 9th b-day on June 9th. In the last few weeks I have raised $670. Every little bit helps and would very much appreciate your support. Please forward this link www.wearethecure.org/friends/sydney to any animal lovers that you may know.

The donation amount is not important as no amount is too small.

Please pray for my girl as she is really struggling to be strong.

Tish Grabar

Getting By or Getting Better

Hard economic times may require some hard choices, but imagination and a little creativity can go a long way towards changing ‘getting by’ to ‘getting better.’ As I grappled with what my next topic would be for this post, I came to realize that our family has had to deal with financial difficulties many times over the years. We had a small 29-acre truck farm in the mountains of South Eastern British Columbia. We raised pigs, goats, chickens, horses and sheep. Although there was little change jingling in our pockets, we never really felt ‘poor.’
Our vegetable garden provided the basics and then some. Our goats provided milk and cheese and the piggys… well, we wont go into that, we aren’t vegetarians but they were happy for the time they were with us.
Looking back, I am still impressed with the creative solutions we came up with when there was no money to purchase feed for the animals.
The horses and goats required hay over the winter and our farm was too small and too rocky to grow what we needed, yet they stayed fat and productive and this is how.
In one of my early morning rides on my big pinto horse, Dancer, I noticed several uncut fields of rich grass belonging to our neighbors. When I got home, I phoned them and asked if they were planning to cut and bale hay. Most didn’t have animals and weren’t planning to do anything but continue to let the fields go fallow but if I wanted the hay, I could have it. I then called a friend who had a hay mower and baler and made this arrangement. The owner of the pasture would get one third of the hay to sell, the owner of the mower and baler would get one third and I would get one third just for making a few phone calls. Before long, our hay shed was full with excellent grass hay.
Our goats were so productive I was able to exchange their surplus milk for vegetables we weren’t able grow and even for the services of a massage therapist when my back got sore from lifting all those heavy bales of hay.
I milked our neighbor’s cows for a few summers so that they could take an occasional vacation. With our goat’s milk and the milk from their cows there was plenty to go around. My husband made wonderful cheeses and the heavy Jersey cream from the cow’s milk was a luxury few could afford. I was reminded of that fact when I was in the market and saw strawberries on sale. We had so many strawberries in our garden that they were part of our daily meal to the point of monotony. “Good grief, I’m getting sick of strawberry shortcake,” I said and was met with a scowl from a nearby shopper.
The work was hard and the days were long but we were rewarded for our efforts with the abundance that graced our table and filled the barn with sweet smelling hay… a gift from Mother Earth made possible with a bit of creative problem solving.
Obviously not everyone lives on a farm so these specific solutions wont work for everyone, but the basics are the same. If money is in short supply, accept the challenge and tap into your creative self. Money doesn’t have to be the only medium of exchange. Everyone has something to offer. Child minding, house keeping, tutoring a student, shopping for a ‘shut-in,’ tending someone’s garden for a share, just to name a few.
At Christmas I traded some of my small oil paintings for beautiful artful things friends were making thus providing a variety of gifts we were able to give and some of my artwork was even traded for expensive gourmet coffees and other tasty holiday treats.
The biggest surprise came when we were having particularly tough time. I had all our bills collected in a basket on the kitchen table. While enjoying the excellent gourmet coffee with a friend, she pulled our electric bill from the basket and said, “I’ll pay this, just do a small horse painting for my Mom. It’s her birthday and she loves your work.”
You just never know where the solutions are likely to come from, but I have faith that as long as we remain open to the abundance the universe provides, all our needs and those of our fur kids will be met.

A Wolf at Our Door

The phone rang as it did every afternoon, “Jamie called from work. He rescued an abandoned dog on his way to the mill this morning. Poor thing was so cold and starving, just wandering the highway near Lost Ledge,” my daughter informed me. “He’s dropped the dog off at Pat’s.”

Dr. Pat is our local rural vet and his kennels stand ready to take in abandoned or lost pets, usually brought in by the village dogcatcher. Winter is the worst season for the pets that find themselves homeless and many don’t survive the bitter mountain cold.

Jamie returned home that evening after a grueling day at the lumber mill. Despite his exhaustion from work that day, he couldn’t stop thinking about that dirty starving dog he fed his sandwich to that morning. “I’m gonna call Pat and see if anyone has called about that dog. I hate to think of him there and this close to Christmas.”

Five minutes later Jamie hung up the phone, “Pat says he’s just a pup and if no one claims him by Christmas, he’s gonna have to put him down as he doesn’t have the room for him… says he’s gonna be a small dog. What ya’ think?”

Christmas Day was upon us and no one claimed the pup, Minka asked me to go along with them to look at the little guy as Jamie really wanted a dog and maybe, just maybe, this would be the one, and besides… How could we stand by and let him be ‘put down?’

We loaded ourselves into Jamie’s truck and headed over the icy road to Pat’s to take a look, even though it was pretty much decided that we would be bringing the ‘little’ dog home.

Pat led us into the back where there was a single row of kennels filled mostly with hospital patients. “I think he may have a bit of coyote in him, but just take a look and let me know what you want to do.”

There he stood. Cleaned up and white, skinny, long legs and the biggest feet you can imagine. “Goodness, this is not going to be a small dog. I don’t see how Pat can say that. When he grows into those feet, he’s going to be a pretty big fella.” I told my young couple. “When I was a vet tech, I saw lots of pups, and this one’s got a heck of a lot of growing to do.”

Jamie picked him up the next day on his way home from work. As we were petting him we discovered a series of thirteen stitches closing a long gash on the underside of his neck. Apparently he had been in some kind of mishap, most likely attacked by a larger dog. Jamie phoned Pat who didn’t seem to know about the stitches and certainly he hadn’t put them in… and “No, no one has come forward for him.” It was just another mystery surrounding this pup. We speculated that he had fallen from the back of a truck and the owners were miles away by the time they had discovered he was gone, but why then weren’t they looking for him?

Two days later I answered the phone, thinking a bit too early for my daughter, “Mom… I don’t know what we’re going to do. We left him in the bathroom as you suggested and he’s torn the bathroom apart! He’s torn up the floor and eaten the walls. I don’t think we should try to keep him in there anymore.” I had recommended keeping him in the bathroom at night as part of his house training. The space was small and seemingly there was little damage he could do. In such a small space, we thought he would be okay and would go out dutifully in the morning. After all, he hadn’t gone potty and was holding… holding pieces of the linoleum in his mouth that is.

The next day started with another tearful and panicked call, “Oh my God! Mom, he’s eaten the kitchen wall and torn up the floor. The living room is a disaster. He’s ripped back the carpet and there isn’t a piece of underlay left larger than one inch in diameter. I don’t think we can keep him. What am I to do?” Unfortunately my usual recommendation of having him sleep near you with a light line tied between you and him wouldn’t work as they slept in a loft only accessible by a steep ladder.

“Bear with him honey and I guess you should start looking for home where they can handle him.” The thought of accepting defeat and giving him up left us both with a lump in our throats.

They called Pat and described the situation they found themselves in. “Oh, he’s chewing a lot is he? Well, that’s to be expected of pups, especially pups that might be a little bit coyote.”

“Hmm,” I thought when I heard Pat’s response. “I think he knows more than he’s telling us.” I remembered friends who had tried to raise an orphaned coyote pup… unsuccessfully. The pup had created a den inside the sofa and would not come out except at night to wreck havoc. He had done a considerable amount of damage while they attempted to integrate him into domesticity. He escaped one night through a window that had been left open and was never seen again.

Things were not looking great for Kaspar, who was beginning to look more ‘wolf like’ with each passing day. “ Oh Mom… He’s ripped out the sofa cushions and shredded them. There’s just no stopping him. He’s ruining everything. We wont have anything left.”

Finding a new home for him was not going well, in fact, not going at all. There was no interest in taking on a probable part coyote pup with chewing problems.

“Now he’s done it,” Minka said. “He’s chewed up the television remote. Jamie tried to tape it back together but after he chewed it up a second time… Oh well.”

Things weren’t any better outside the house where he dug a great den under the porch stairs. And, he had developed a ‘wander-lust.’ The fences grew higher but unable to contain him. He could slip a chain and as we are all opposed to chaining a dog, it wasn’t an option anyway.

All this time, he was growing into a magnificent animal. He was something to see and still is with the backdrop of our mountains he looks very much the wolf. He moved with such fluid grace along the lakeshore, totally in his element.

From time to time, my daughter, Minka, and I have seen a number of dogs like him. One day when we were collecting our mail from our post office, we ran into a woman who had an almost identical dog she was loading into her truck. We asked her where her dog came from and as it turned out, she got hers from a breeder who raises wolf hybrids. She told us that all the dogs that came from this breeder were at a minimum, 25% wolf. Well, that explained a lot of the behavior and some we are still dealing with.

Obviously Kaspar never found a new home. Eventually he stopped eating the house and endeared himself to his Minka and Jamie. Of course, he developed other doggie proclivities that both entertain and annoy us. He’s sneaky. He can disappear right before your eyes and especially so in winter. Being white, he slinks down in the snow and just evaporates and only returns when he’s good and ready. The dogcatcher made it her personal mandate to catch the scoundrel but he outwitted her for years and she’s never got him. He loved to ride in the back of Jamie’s pickup truck and was known around town as the ‘Drive by Barker,’ infuriating every neighborhood canine into a frenzy.

Kaspar is a senior now. Quiet and willing to sleep most his days, except for his usual morning and evening submission to the wanderlust in his blood. The local wildlife is quite safe since his old joints no longer allow him to run and nothing pleases him more than to find a nice clean patch of snow to curl up on for a nap.

The poor economic times have been hard on our family as it has been on many, but being close, our daughter has come home to live for a time, along with her fur family, Kaspar the most senior of them.

I step outside with the three dogs for their early morning and evening constitutionals, and as usual, Kaspar vanishes and I worry. I look for him in all directions. He is a dog that has never really accepted the leash and I worry for him. I know that in his present condition he is unable to harass wildlife, but I don’t know that anyone else wouldn’t see him as a threat. I worry that he might get hit crossing the nearby highway so I don’t call his name for fear that he would be distracted and my fear born out. Worried, I look out the upstairs windows to see if I can catch a glimpse of him returning. Finally after twenty minutes or so, I peek out the porch windows and see him curled up by the back door… a wolf at our door.

Our dear Cuja Lula Belle has gone...

Our dear old kitty, Cuja Lula Belle, past away just before noon yesterday. We had decided the night before that the first thing we would do the next morning would be to take her to the vet for her very last ride. Painfully, the thought of her leaving us had become more real with each passing day. She had been with us for only 14 years ... just 14... but the horrible agonizing pain she had been enduring, had already gone on too long, it was enough and we knew it was time to let her go.All morning our daughter, Minka, and me did what we could to make her comfortable. Our little Doxie/Jack Russell dog, Rutgar, was never far from Cuja's side or mine. Cuja would crawl away to be alone and Rutgar was the only way we could find her.Unfortunately, our vet no longer works on Saturdays and he can be difficult to reach in an emergency outside of office hours. While we were deciding what to do next, I went to check on her and let her know that we were close-by. I knew the moment I bent down, and looked into her eyes gleaming sightlessly out from under the pink-room bed, she was gone.I ran to get Minka and we pulled her out from that private, sheltered place she expired in. She had well and truly died and was crossing the Rainbow Bridge at that moment as we stroked her soft fur made moist by our tears.She died at home, and that was a blessing.
I know all our dear fur family members are special and Cuja Lula Belle was no exception. Our son, Inyo, rescued her when he found a woman standing in the middle of the bridge that crosses the river near our home. In her hand she held a burlap gunnysack in which she had placed several heavy stones and a writhing and complaining kitten. She was about to toss it over the bridge railing when Inyo managed to grab it from her. He opened the bag and discovered the little orange kitten and the woman turned and left without a word.
He brought the kitten home and because the little tyke seemed like such a tough little fellow, he named him Cujo. Six months later Cujo had a litter of kittens and immediately her name was changed to Cuja and later Lula Belle was added. As soon as homes were found for her gorgeous babies, off she went to the vet for spaying.
Hers was a happy life. Time spent on the farm and surrounding forest, life in a small village and finally here in a beautiful home overlooking two lakes.
Her body lay in a rose embroidered shroud with flowers and tiny crystals laid upon her. One by one, the two dogs and remaining two kitties took turns sitting by her side. Modesto sat for several hours and Rutgar led visitors into where she lay and pointed to her with his nose. We buried her this morning with her crystal bowl and a few of her favorite toys, close to her old friends, Jack the dog and Vladimir, our daughter’s cat that left us earlier this year.
Modesto and Basshat will now be filling her position at Plume n’ Tails as Product Quality Control Managers. She is greatly missed by everyone here by those with fur and those without.
Good-bye Cuja Lula Belle

Skunked... Again!!!

There’s no room for smugness on my part now. I was being so careful not to let our little Mr. Rutgar out the door without first putting him on his leash. Then, I got a bit lazy and to save my sore back, not wanting bend over, I worked instead at becoming ‘pack leader’ with Rutty and my daughter’s two dogs, Kasper and Ms. Lilly Zha Zha.
All was going well. I was so proud of my progress. The three dogs sat nicely in quiet anticipation, waiting for me to open the door. Not until all three dogs were relaxed did I step through the door myself and release them into the brisk night air… Big mistake!
Ms. Lilly trotted grudgingly out the door, undoubtidly preferring to pee pee on the bathroom carpet. Kasper was right behind her moving fast and streaking right past him was Mr. Rutgar. What I hadn’t seen was the solitary skunk crossing the yard.
Surprisingly, Kasper pulled up short. "I guess he’s finally learned his lesson after all," thought I… but, Mr. Rutgar… Well, at the last minute he ‘caught wind’ of what lie ahead and he put on the brakes. Sliding to a stop he managed to spin around and luckily, was sprayed only on his rear-end.
So, another late night doggie bath, but at least now I can fully vouch for the baking soda, peroxide and dish detergent recipe. It really does work. I have not tried the apple cider vinegar wipe down that is recommended by friends who seem to have a lot of experience with Jack Russells and skunks, but I’ve got good home made apple cider vinegar ready to try… just hope I never have to.
Your back on the leash now Rutty!

Skunked!

I opened the window to let in the cool night air as we crawled into bed to snuggle under our warm comforters. The sound of trees rustling in the breeze and the soft scent of apple and cherry blossoms lulled us peacefully to sleep.
Without warning and abruptly waking us from our sleep, the apple and cherry blossom fragrance turned into the unmistakable smell of skunk. Anyone who is familiar with skunks close up knows that the smell is not unlike the stench of burning rubber and it just gets worse. The smell continued to grow stronger and stronger.
I switched on the light… midnight. “Oh my God, I wonder if one of the dogs has been left outside,” I said to my husband.
I threw back the covers and raced across the room to close the window. I turned to see Kasper, our daughter’s large part wolf-dog, standing next to the bed with a dripping yellow patch staining his white coat. A visiting friend had let him in before realizing that the dog had been sprayed. In no time, Kasper had toured the house looking for help and spreading the offensive odor throughout.
Kasper has been skunked several times. We are certain he thinks he’s going after the same stinky cat every time. He is so determined to catch that nasty offensive critter, he simply can’t stop himself.
Not wanting to deal with bathing him at that ungodly hour, I put him out on the porch for the night.
The next morning, looking miserable after being locked out and away from his usual cozy bed, we brought him in for the following de-skunking treatment:
1L of hydrogen peroxide (the kind from your First Aide Kit) 1/3 cup of baking soda1 tbsp of dish soap Mix together and massage into to the coat, watch around the eyes and face (a drop of mineral oil in each eye will protect his or her eyes), leave on for 15 min if possible, minimum of 5 minutes, then rinse off thoroughly, you may shampoo after if desired. You can add up to 4L of water for a large dog, but the effectiveness will be diminished. Adjust the amount of the mixture depending on the size of your pet to make sure coat is thoroughly saturated. Repeat as necessary. Do not store this mixture as it could explode, creating yet another mess.
This just in from a friend who has Jack Russell Terriers and we all know how ‘determined’ they can be. She claims that wetting a sponge with apple cider vinegar and then wiping the dog down with it, will miraculously dispel the stink. It’s worth a try, but I’m not looking for an opportunity to try it out. If anyone reading this has experience with it or the opportunity to try it, let me know how it works for you.
For garments that have been contaminated with the scent, try the following… I know this works. Place all the clothes into a large plastic garbage bag (make certain there are no holes in the bag)… NO, do not through it away. Simply tie the bag closed making a tight seal and leave it for two to three weeks depending on how bad they smell. When you open the bag… smell is gone. Good luck… and may your days be filled with only pleasant smells.

Mrs. MacCabe's Cats

The following is actually an enhancement, elaboration and compilation of stories of two such lovely elderly ladies I once knew... all names have been changed.



At 86 years old, Mrs. MacCabe, a proper Victorian lady, lived in the yellow and white cottage on the corner across from St. Andrew’s Anglican Church. Her husband died in 1952 in a boating accident and despite having several gentlemen callers, she remained true to the love of her life and never remarried.
She preferred the company of cats and she had three such companions, Pebble a large black and white fellow, Fat Freddy who lived up to his name and Gina, the shy little ginger cat that showed up at her back door one wintry Sunday morning after church.
Her summer afternoons were spent sitting on her porch, correctly attired in her lace blouse clasped tightly at her neck with the cameo broach her husband, Earl, brought back from Italy in 1945, pressed and pleated long gray skirt, thick support stockings and chunky heeled black shoes. The loose white curls on her head stirred softly in the breeze of the nearby lake as she sat drinking Earl Grey tea from her Royal Albert tea set. Nearby, her cats sipped milk from china saucers that had lost their matching cups.
Her closest neighbor, Thomas, who had moved into the village from up the lake, complained to everyone he met about that damn Fat Freddy who destroyed his flowerbed every chance he got. Thomas, however, would never mention Fat Freddy’s dreadful deeds to Mrs. MacCabe, knowing how mortified and upset she would be to think her beloved cat could be capable of pooping amongst the pansies and snapdragons in Thomas’s well cared for garden. Instead, he kept mum and chased Fat Freddy from his yard when Mrs. MacCabe wasn’t there to see.
It was in the darkest part of January last year when she didn’t show up at church that we realized something was amiss. Through out the morning’s service at every small sound that came from the vicinity of the broad oak doors, heads would turn in expectation of her arrival. No one could remember when she had missed a Sunday or had even been late.
At the end of the morning’s last hymn and closing prayer, two people attending worship who had seen her the day before, commented that she had looked pale and had a raspy cough. They quickly pulled on their coats and crossed the street to check on her.
They found her. Still in her blue flowered dressing gown and pink slippers, she sat silent in her overstuffed chair. Her chin resting on her chest and the little ginger cat curled in her lap. Her church going clothes were laid out neatly on the perfectly made bed. Pebble and Fat Freddy mewing persistently, weaved in and out between the parishioner’s legs. Mrs. MacCabe, and Gina were gone. It was as if Gina could not bear to be without her and in undying loyalty and love, accompanied her dear lady to heaven.
Fat Freddy and Pebble each went to stay with the two people who discovered them that sad day. Pebble later became the darling of the local retirement home. He resides there still, a nurturing presence amongst the elderly residents who lovingly stroke his velvet coat while enjoying the music of his purrs.
Two months after Mrs. MacCabe’s passing, I was combing through a basket of fabric remnants at our local thrift shop when I came across a plain, gray woolen scarf. I picked it up and was immediately met with a memory of her, wrapped in her brown winter coat, the gray scarf loosely wrapped around her neck, dressed as she was every Sunday morning when she came to church. I lifted the scarf to my nose and could still detect the faint scent of Coty’s White Shoulders, Earl’s favorite and the only perfume she ever wore.
I paid ten cents for the scarf and brought it home. I carefully cut it into several mouse shaped pieces, sewed up the seams, stuffed them with catnip I’d gathered the summer before, stitched them closed, and embroidered on faces. In memory of Mrs. MacCabe’s love for her feline companions, MouieWowies and Rattatudes were born… these are for you Fat Freddy, Pebble and Gina in heaven. You can see and acquire them at: http://www.plumentails.com/