Astonished

Recently we decided it was time to kick the dogs off the bed. Not only do we humans need to assert ourselves more (there's been some instability in the pack--dogs sniping at each other, etc.), but we were going to have to buy a larger bed to accommodate the 150 pounds of canine(s) that kept hogging all the space. So there was no choice; the dogs would have to sleep somewhere else.

Gracie wouldn't be a problem. She already had a kennel of her own that she liked all right. She goes there when she's feeling insecure or just needs some "me" time.

But Silver and Cairo have never been kennel dogs. Silver would do whatever she was told, albeit with Sad Eyes. But Cairo? I expected howls (literally) of protest. When he got his leg amputated, he fussed and fought constantly against being confined.

"Just get him a really big wire kennel," said the s.o. "He doesn't like the regular kind because he can't turn around in there as easily, because of only having three legs."

I doubted it, but I shrugged my shoulders and got Cairo a wire kennel big enough for a Newfoundland. For Silver, I got a large Canine Camper portable tent kennel with a nice fleecy liner. It was light and it could be collapsed into something akin to an art student's portfolio. We'd be able to take it on trips--convenient.

I assembled Silver's kennel and lined it with a couple of extra blankets, because...well, because she's my princess. My heart was already broken because I wouldn't be able to be in constant contact with her throughout the night. Having her kennel next to me was not the same as having her furry butt against my knees!

Then, at the foot of the bed, I erected Fort Cairo, a massive edifice that took up half the bedroom. It looked clinical, so I took two big fluffy dog beds from elsewhere in the house and used them to make it comfy. The dog beds fit side by side in the kennel.

Cairo walked into the bedroom and looked at the cage. "C'mere," I said, and he did. I climbed into the kennel and beckoned him to follow me. He did. He curled up in the soft cushions and looked contented. We stayed there for a few minutes snuggling, and then we left.

An hour later I looked into the bedroom and was shocked to see Cairo sleeping in his kennel.

Another hour later, I looked in and saw Silver sleeping in Cairo's kennel. I gently ushered her out and showed her her own kennel again.

Near bedtime, Cairo returned to his kennel. He looked content. I locked him in, and I felt sneaky and unfair doing it. He noticed, but did not react. I kenneled Gracie as well ("Gracie, kennel!" "Okay, mom!"), and then kenneled Silver.

We all got a fantastic night's sleep, although I cried a little bit because I couldn't touch my dogs.

When my alarm went off, I de-kenneled Silver and Gracie and led them out of the bedroom. I unlocked Cairo's cage, too, but he elected not to leave his fort. I really am gobsmacked that the Dog Who Would Not Be Kenneled is so fond of a big scary wire cage, but I guess if you fill a nice spacious area with soft pillows, certain dogs will always claim a spot.

Late spring thing

Yesterday we took Mr. Cairo to another Bark in the Park at Turner Field. It was wonderful, just like last year. Actually, the weather was significantly nicer this time around--breezy and 75 instead of glaring and 95. But it's hard to ever, ever, complain in a baseball stadium full of happy dogs and happy dog owners.

Here's a joyful photo of me and Cairo. I'm making an effort to have my picture taken more often, because it recently occurred to me that my aversion to the business end of a camera has meant that there are precious few pics of me as an adult in existence! I am here. I exist. Voila. :-)



The big news around here is that the s.o. and I purchased a dishwasher as my early birthday present. It is a portable that will be able to be converted into a built-in when we remodel the kitchen. I love it so much that I have practically built a religion around it. The other day the s.o. walked into the kitchen to find me sitting on the floor with Gracie (who is a little spooked by the big white cube that makes watery noises), murmuring into her ear, "Do you know what that machine does, Gracie? That machine makes mama happy."

Now the s.o. jokes that if he really wants to freak me out, all he would have to do is wheel it into another room and hide it somewhere.

Bark in the Park

Here are some long-overdue pics of our beloved boy Cairo enjoying a baseball game at Turner Field earlier this month.


A couple of times a year, the Atlanta Braves have a promotion called Bark in the Park where they rope off a section of the upper deck for people with canines. It was fantastic--they had kiddie pools and misters and lots of water bowls and free dog-appropriate frozen yogurt (Cairo, the Dairy Dog, had two).


Amazingly, everyone seemed to get the clue that they should only bring sociable dogs. There was very little disruption, aside from a few outbreaks of excited barking. All the people and dogs just hung out and enjoyed themselves.


We'll definitely go again next time they do it. All baseball games should be dog-friendly. Don't you think?

Another week goes roaring past

Still a heat wave.

Still too much to do and no energy to do it with.

Still a dog in need of extra hugs: Cairo's rear has been healing very nicely, but his first batch of antibiotics made him awfully sick, and we had to take him back into the vet's office to get different ones. He is doing better now--fuzzy and happy and loyal as ever--and thanks you for your kind wishes.

I spent about an hour today floating in L2's pool, which went a long way toward making me enjoy the weather for a change. I should do that more often.

I canned tomato sauce AND salsa on Monday and Tuesday. I made the salsa with Green Zebra tomatoes, so it has an unusual appearance. But if you close your eyes, it's regular hot salsa.

I cooked a lot of local food this week. Unfortunately, none of it was grouped together in a single meal. Local eggplant, squash, and onion shared a plate with exotic tofu. Our own chicken was served, taco-seasoned, with homegrown tomato in storebought tortillas.

So I got to Sunday and hadn't made a single OLS meal. What's more, I couldn't bring myself to make the gumbo I knew would bring it all together: okra! tomatoes! seafood! Carolina Gold rice! So instead, I just boiled some peel-and-eat shrimp. That was it.

I must say these shrimp are pretty special. They're sort of a test run for an agreement that our food-buying club is working out with a Savannah-based fisherman. They're bringing in five-pound bags of freshly caught shrimp--mixed sizes, heads on, straight off the boat. They are really good and fantastically fresh. It's almost like being on vacation, especially if you wear coconut-scented sunblock and mash some Old Bay seasoning into your cuticles.

Here's proof that I grew up landlocked: I had never seen shrimp with their heads on before! It takes some getting used to. For one thing, it's hard to cram all the antennae into the freezer bags; they keep wanting to work their way back out, which is not so good if you're hoping to get a good, tight seal when you "zip" them shut.

A small price to pay, though. I wonder if these people can get us blue crab, too.

Make it stop

Well.

We did manage to have a wonderful visit this week with my mother and stepdad, but only despite rather sobering obstacles.

On Monday, their arrival day, I was just starting to work up my One Local Summer post when I noticed Cairo licking his under-tail area. Remembering that the s.o. had complained of not being able to sleep because of "Cairo licking himself," I took a look. It turned out he was oozing and bleeding from a vicious wound that looked like someone had stabbed him with an ice pick. As soon as we stopped him from licking it, it started to get everywhere. We tried stopping the flow, but it worsened. We called the vet and they told us to get his butt (so to speak) into the office pronto.

Four or five hours later, the s.o. brought an unhappy e-collar-wearing Cairo home with a bag full of antibiotics and painkillers. Cairo had an abscessed gland. He was still bleeding and oozing like crazy and, for the first 24 hours until it dried up a bit, had to be locked in the bathroom. This caused him to cry all night, and Gracie to whimper constantly because (obviously) something was wrong among the pack.

Mom and John slept. We didn't. Two out of four ain't bad.

Pretty much at the same time as they arrived, the temperature rose to 105 degrees (yes, that's a record, even for Georgia) and has stayed there every day since. This was almost tolerable while we were in the house or in their car; however, once John left for Atlanta and took his car, we had to run errands in mine, which has a broken A/C unit. I don't know when I've sweated so much.

We lost a young hen to the heat. She was a favorite of mine, unfortunately. Also, blister beetles came and ate an entire row of chard in one day. Apparently they like 100-plus weather just fine.

We canceled the Wednesday farmers' market because nobody wanted to sit outdoors from 4 to 7 p.m. It would have been dangerous, frankly.

On Thursday afternoon the upstairs air conditioner in our house broke. The upstairs is the guest room, so Mom was the one to discover it. ("It's 96 degrees up there!") We shuffled accommodations for the night. I took the floor. The repair guy came on Friday afternoon and informed us that ants had gotten into our heat pump and shorted it out by scorching themselves to death on the wire contacts. A cheap fix, thank goodness.

Friday I drove Mom to Atlanta to reunite her with John at my stepsister's house. The s.o. had the bright idea that I should make the drive in my bikini top. It was absolute genius--I was able to wear a dry, unsticky shirt to dinner because of his quick thinking. Only a couple of truckers honked at me along the way.

We had a great Indian meal here, which made up for a lot of the ickiness.

After the horror of this heat wave, I think our family will still get up the courage to come to visit us. But maybe not in summer!

Don't tell anyone, but...

...our dogs are hippies.

Inspired by my copy of Dr. Pitcairn, I have taken decades of vegetarian and carnivorous cooking lore and blended them together to create a seriously communal canine concoction: Dogaroni and Cheeze. Note the spelling, which indicates that it is not actually cheese-with-an-S. However, unlike most "cheezes," (see The Farm Vegetarian Cookbook, Laurel's Kitchen, et. al.), it does include dairy.

The dish is made of the meat from a pound of chemical-free chicken thighs, a cup of mixed carrots and peas, some leftover mustard greens, and a pound of whole-wheat pasta. It is sauced with a bechamel made primarily of goat milk, whole-wheat flour, and a quarter-cup of nutritional yeast.

Cheezy. It's actually not bad, although it has the characteristic unsalty blandness of dog dinners.

Cream of Unbought Merchandise

Week two of our tiny nascent farmers' market has come and gone, and we're really happy with the way it's going. There are only a few vendors, and there aren't a huge numbers of customers, either. But there are customers--and they buy very enthusiastically. And thanks to L2's husband, we're getting some free local newspaper coverage. We can't wait to see how things shape up as tomato season kicks in.

Yesterday as we were packing up our tent and table, I joked to the s.o. that we were having "Cream of Unbought Merchandise" for dinner. And that's sort of what we had. There was a gorgeous bunch of chard that hadn't sold, so I chopped it up and sautéed it in olive oil. I thawed a few slices of our home-brined ham, and I poached two duck eggs to serve on the greens. The total cost is extremely hard to judge, but let's estimate 1/2 lb. @ $3.50/lb. for the ham (the pork was only $1.50 per pound in its raw state, but the brining ingredients--including a veritable sea of hard cider--increase its cost considerably), $2 for the chard, and 50 cents for the duck eggs.

This morning, already kind of tired of cornmeal products, I opted to make a batch of whole-wheat pancakes. I used locally milled spring wheat flour, chicken eggs, raw milk soured with a dash of vinegar, honey, and leaveners. I served it with about a quarter-cup of south Georgia-made fruit syrup, which, at $4.50 per smallish bottle, might have cost more than the pancakes. (I think we used about a sixth of the bottle.) In retrospect, I could have used my own jam and been much more frugal.

I'm wearied by all the calculations I'd have to do to figure out an actual price for the 'cakes, especially because I only used about a third of the batter today (the rest is in the fridge for tomorrow morning). And not all of what I used was consumed by humans; nearly half went to our dogs, who are gradually being switched over to a home-cooked diet.* So the math is beyond me. After all, I am only on my first cup of coffee.

Oh! Coffee. Whatever that total might have been, let's add $.50 to it.

By the way, I trust you all remember that I am also blogging about this challenge elsewhere?

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* Is anyone else considering home-cooking for their dogs? The recent contamination issues have been a big part of our decision, although to be honest, I've been uncomfortable with the filth that goes into dog food for a very long time. So this was more of a catalyst. We've ordered a few of the top books on the subject (Dr. Pitcairn's, etc.), have done a ton of internet research, and are planning a consultation with our vet just to be sure we're doing it right. From what I can gather, dogs mostly eat like people on the Zone Diet. They get protein and carbs and veggies--they are true omnivores.

I think home-cooking for pets might be unwieldy for a lot of people, but considering the way we cook and eat, it seems like a good fit for us. It doesn't really add any work to my day to put some stew in the crockpot and some rice in the rice cooker. And there are a lot of things we can share with them...we just have to be careful about certain ingredients they mustn't have, such as onions and raisins.

Dog pancakes for everyone!

Well, that was unpleasant

Early this morning we bundled all three dogs into the car and took them to the vet for their yearly checkup. As some readers may recall, Cairo has historically had difficulties with carsickness. We thought he was over it.

Unfortunately, the road leading to the vet's office is a curvy one, and he began looking a little peaked. And then suddenly I looked in the back seat and saw that he had thrown up everywhere--mostly on Silver.

Silver was frozen in silent horror. There was vomit all down her chest, in the feathering on both of her elbows, and throughout her long, fluffy tail. It seeped down the seat and coated three of her feet.

I started giggling hysterically, the kind of laughing you do when you are absolutely helpless in the face of something really awful. We had to stop at a gas station to buy a liter of water and a roll of paper towels. When we got to the vet's office, I sent the s.o. in first with Gracie while I tried to wash poor Silver. She was trembling all over; whether it was from the coldness of the water or from the trauma of being covered in kibbley goo, I cannot tell. All was well eventually, but it was a pretty rough way to start out the morning.

I'm sure many of you who are parents have experienced the sibling-vomiting-on-sibling thing, but it was a new one on me.

Signs of spring...

...are tumbling out like socks from a clothes basket. At times like this, I think the pagan concept of the "wheel of the year," while worthwhile, is not quite faithful to reality. The year has corners--and we are turning one.

The Bradford pears that line our main street are in riotous bloom. The verbena and rosemary have blossomed purple, and the older of our two quince trees is leafing out.

Yesterday we harvested all of our winter spinach (there wasn't much of it; it likes sand, and we offer it clay), our first two florets of purple sprouting broccoli, and our first asparagus stalk. I put them in a quiche with diced homemade bacon and eggs from our own hens. Many months ago Cookiecrumb wrote about the unexpected sweetness of fresh vegetables, and it was this that sprang to my mind as I ate my slice of quiche. It was the sweetest savory dish I can recall eating. Especially the broccoli was almost shocking in its sweetness.

The sun stands higher overhead, and it is coaxing sudden ripeness from brassica vegetables that have grown ever-so-slowly through the winter. If Yahoo! Weather is not toying with me again, we may have had our last frost. However, I am playing it safe with our tender tomato seedlings.

Now all that remains is for Cairo to blow his coat. Tumbleweeds of dog hair are the surest sign of spring.

Poor sweet thing

Silver doesn't like thunderstorms. I was just sitting here reading an e-mail when I felt a furry body brush past my knees. She is hiding under my desk.

Note to self

Gracie has started kenneling herself every time she hears me blow-drying my hair, because it usually means I am about to leave the house. (She's pretty trustworthy when left without supervision, but unlike the other two dogs, she gets terrible separation anxiety. So she is actually more comfortable in a crate when we're not here.)

The thing is, this isn't a daily routine. I only go into town twice a week, tops. Maybe this is a hint that I ought to "put myself together" a little more often!