We have a new fox in the neighborhood. And he's a talker.
I think fox barks are creepy; more like a bark overlaid by a scream. A single, sharp, disturbing noise that raises the hair on the back of one's neck before the realization dawns that it's just a fox. If you've never heard a fox scream, watch PBS. On every show ever filmed in England, at some point, you will hear a fox screaming in the background.
Our new fox runs through the neighborhood screaming his head off. I used to get out of bed and watch one stroll down the sidewalk taking detours into front yards to investigate. He'd scream after every 50 feet traversed. I haven't seen the new one, just heard him. His scream is particularly piercing and high-pitched. And non-stop. He must have amazing lungs.
The problem is, Ray hears it too and it sets off his fox-alarm. Last night the fox-alarm went off half a dozen times, and just like those stupid car-alarms, it's kind of hard to turn off once it gets going. Since Ray sleeps on the futon right outside our bedroom, it has a tendency to impair sleep. At the best of times, his tones are not dulcet; in the middle of the night, they are downright (choose one of the following) blatant, blustering, boisterous, booming, cacophonous, clamorous, clamorous, crashing, deafening, deep, ear-piercing, ear-splitting, emphatic, forte, full, full-mouthed, fulminating, heavy, high-sounding, intense, loud-voiced, lusty, obstreperous, pealing, piercing, powerful, rambunctious, raucous, resonant, resounding, ringing, roaring, rowdy, sonorous, stentorian, strident, strong, thundering, tumultuous, turbulent, turned up, uproarious, vehement, vociferous, loud enough to wake the dead (Roget's Thesaurus).
Last night (or, more accurately, early this morning), after being woken up for the sixth time, Ray took matters into his own paws. Grumbling, growling, harrumphing, and yelling, (and bonking into walls and stair railings) he cussed out that fox for disturbing his sleep and headed downstairs to his couch.
The rest of the night was relatively uneventful - just one more quick warning from the fox-alarm - and all was quiet.
This morning, I find myself wondering how long it will be before that fox gets hit by a car.
It's a lovely day.
I think I'll take a drive.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
VIDEO ALERT: Ray the Blind Dog in Sleeping Dogs
For all of you who work hard everyday, a video ode (a videode) to laziness. Ray's latest, set to the tune 'Lazybones' by Leon Redbone.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Happiness is...
...getting a belly-rub while sitting next to your favorite dog.
Where there's a will...
Ray and I had just returned from our walk. As is our custom when Sandra is out of town, we had taken Maddie with us and headed across the street to return her home and chat with Dick, Sandra's husband.
As we stood in the kitchen, Ray let out a yell. Barking was coming from "the promised land" which is catty corner to Dick's backyard. Ray ran to the sliding glass door and demanded to be let out (not unusual for the blind dog, we usually let him out back to explore while we're chatting).
We all headed outside. Ray immediately hurried to the fence at the side of the yard. The promised land had a new foster-dog, a Dachshund, which had been returned to the rescue after FOUR years.
Ray was yelling and jumping at the wooden side-fence; the Dachshund was replying with a string of profanity and"yo mamas." Ray picked his way along the side-fence to the fence at back, which is chain-link. More yelling from Ray and profanities from the Dachshund. I walked over to the wooden side-fence and stuck my head over the top rail. Ray's head was jammed between the last fencepost of the wooden fence and the first fencepost of the chain-link. His disembodied dog head was still yelling. I laughed and returned to the deck to watch the show.
Holly, foster-mom, waved a goodbye and herded her herd back inside the house. Ray, distraught that his friends were gone, picked his way back along the side-fence looking for a way through. He then made a u-turn, went back to the gap in the fences, and squeeeeezed his body through to the yard next door.
Dick and I looked at each other flabbergasted.
I raced off the deck and to the side-fence. I thought briefly of hurtling myself over the top then did the rational thing and exited the yard using the gate and entered the yard next door using a similar gate. A little girl was standing at the sliding glass door looking curiously at the big dog in her yard sniffing his way along a pile of wood stacked along the fence. I gave her a wave, snagged Ray, clipped him to his leash, and led him out.
Dick was standing in his diveway as we came out of the neighbor's yard.
"I guess I'll have to block-off that hole with something," he said, laughing. "Y'know, Maddie has never found that way out." (Maddie is seven years old and a third of Ray's size).
My blind hound never ceases to amaze me.
As we stood in the kitchen, Ray let out a yell. Barking was coming from "the promised land" which is catty corner to Dick's backyard. Ray ran to the sliding glass door and demanded to be let out (not unusual for the blind dog, we usually let him out back to explore while we're chatting).
We all headed outside. Ray immediately hurried to the fence at the side of the yard. The promised land had a new foster-dog, a Dachshund, which had been returned to the rescue after FOUR years.
Ray was yelling and jumping at the wooden side-fence; the Dachshund was replying with a string of profanity and"yo mamas." Ray picked his way along the side-fence to the fence at back, which is chain-link. More yelling from Ray and profanities from the Dachshund. I walked over to the wooden side-fence and stuck my head over the top rail. Ray's head was jammed between the last fencepost of the wooden fence and the first fencepost of the chain-link. His disembodied dog head was still yelling. I laughed and returned to the deck to watch the show.
Holly, foster-mom, waved a goodbye and herded her herd back inside the house. Ray, distraught that his friends were gone, picked his way back along the side-fence looking for a way through. He then made a u-turn, went back to the gap in the fences, and squeeeeezed his body through to the yard next door.
Dick and I looked at each other flabbergasted.
I raced off the deck and to the side-fence. I thought briefly of hurtling myself over the top then did the rational thing and exited the yard using the gate and entered the yard next door using a similar gate. A little girl was standing at the sliding glass door looking curiously at the big dog in her yard sniffing his way along a pile of wood stacked along the fence. I gave her a wave, snagged Ray, clipped him to his leash, and led him out.
Dick was standing in his diveway as we came out of the neighbor's yard.
"I guess I'll have to block-off that hole with something," he said, laughing. "Y'know, Maddie has never found that way out." (Maddie is seven years old and a third of Ray's size).
My blind hound never ceases to amaze me.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
I feel fainnnnnnnnnt
Today we hit a new low. Gregg had to fetch the car so that he could come get Ray (and me).
Granted, it's a pretty warm day. And granted, I know that Ray doesn't do heat well. But, really, it's not THAT hot and it wasn't THAT long a walk.
We got about two and a half miles out when Ray started flopping in the shady spots. We were walking a loop so we only had about one more mile to go. Every time he flopped Gregg and I managed to get him going again after a few minutes but only for a few more minutes. So when Ray flopped in the middle of the street we were crossing, I knew we were in trouble. We managed to get him up and as far as the shady lawn on the other side of the street when Ray flopped for good. We stood around for a bit trying to talk him into going on, but Ray was comfortable (it did look really nice in the cool grass).
"Should I go get the car?" asked Greggie.
"I think that's probably a good idea," I replied, "Otherwise it's going to take us all day to get home."
Gregg jogged off.
I stood, waiting.
Ray remained, flopping.
Granted, it's a pretty warm day. And granted, I know that Ray doesn't do heat well. But, really, it's not THAT hot and it wasn't THAT long a walk.
We got about two and a half miles out when Ray started flopping in the shady spots. We were walking a loop so we only had about one more mile to go. Every time he flopped Gregg and I managed to get him going again after a few minutes but only for a few more minutes. So when Ray flopped in the middle of the street we were crossing, I knew we were in trouble. We managed to get him up and as far as the shady lawn on the other side of the street when Ray flopped for good. We stood around for a bit trying to talk him into going on, but Ray was comfortable (it did look really nice in the cool grass).
"Should I go get the car?" asked Greggie.
"I think that's probably a good idea," I replied, "Otherwise it's going to take us all day to get home."
Gregg jogged off.
I stood, waiting.
Ray remained, flopping.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
The Man in Black
The young man was dressed in a black suit. As I invited him in, I held on to the collar of my dog and tried desperately to keep him away from the man's pristine clothing. It's shedding season and I could see the dog-hair ballooning off of Ray every time lunged for our visitor to try to get a lick in.
The longer one resides in the Greater Washington, DC area, the greater the chance that one will be visited at some point by a background investigator. This Man in Black was one such.
He was smiling and trying to dodge the dog as he flashed his credentials.
"I grew up with big dogs," he said, still trying to dodge Ray's frantic efforts to get petted.
"SIT. STAY." I was saying firmly while wrestling with Ray.
The man joined in, "Siiiiiiiiiiiiiit," he said gently, which made Ray even more determined to lick such a nice guy.
Even though I had known the investigator was coming, I was unprepared.
"Where do you want me?" asked the Man in Black.
I looked around at the mess that was my living room, walked over to Gregg's chair, twitched off the dog-hair-covered cover, balled it up, and tossed it onto the couch.
"Sit there," I said.
The man sat. I was still struggling with the dog. Ray knows a friend when he smells one and this was obviously his best friend in the whole world.
"SIT. STAY." I tried again. Ray sat, his whole body shaking with the struggle to stay for an entire five seconds.
"SIT. STAY." I said again. Ray sat then started to flop a bit. Good.
"FLOP." I said. Ray flopped then jumped up and lunged at the man's face, got in a quick lick, then sat again. I grabbed his collar and dragged him to the couch with me.
I sat, holding onto the dog.
The man asked me his questions then stood to leave.
"Let me get a dog hair roller," I said looking at the legs of his trousers and bottom of his coat which were lightly sprinkled with dog hair.
"Thanks," said the Man in Black looking a bit embarrassed, "I think I have one in my car, but I'm not sure."
"Well, I know I have one in mine," I said, "I'll follow you out."
He walked out the door. I turned to make sure the door was firmly shut before following him. Ray was scratching and whining, distressed that his friend was leaving so quickly.
I turned to follow the man to my car and noticed with horror that the back of his suit was completely covered with white hair. I didn't say a word. I retrieved the sticky roller from my glove compartment and handed it to him. He took a few swipes at the dog hair on his front and quickly removed them.
I stepped behind him and said oh so casually, "Oh, you have a few hairs back here too, let me get them for you."
He handed me the roller, thanked me, and stood in the driveway while I tried to remove as much of the dog hair as I could without giving away the magnitude of the problem by having to peel off another sticky thing.
He thanked me again, then the Man in Black and White left for his next interview.
The longer one resides in the Greater Washington, DC area, the greater the chance that one will be visited at some point by a background investigator. This Man in Black was one such.
He was smiling and trying to dodge the dog as he flashed his credentials.
"I grew up with big dogs," he said, still trying to dodge Ray's frantic efforts to get petted.
"SIT. STAY." I was saying firmly while wrestling with Ray.
The man joined in, "Siiiiiiiiiiiiiit," he said gently, which made Ray even more determined to lick such a nice guy.
Even though I had known the investigator was coming, I was unprepared.
"Where do you want me?" asked the Man in Black.
I looked around at the mess that was my living room, walked over to Gregg's chair, twitched off the dog-hair-covered cover, balled it up, and tossed it onto the couch.
"Sit there," I said.
The man sat. I was still struggling with the dog. Ray knows a friend when he smells one and this was obviously his best friend in the whole world.
"SIT. STAY." I tried again. Ray sat, his whole body shaking with the struggle to stay for an entire five seconds.
"SIT. STAY." I said again. Ray sat then started to flop a bit. Good.
"FLOP." I said. Ray flopped then jumped up and lunged at the man's face, got in a quick lick, then sat again. I grabbed his collar and dragged him to the couch with me.
I sat, holding onto the dog.
The man asked me his questions then stood to leave.
"Let me get a dog hair roller," I said looking at the legs of his trousers and bottom of his coat which were lightly sprinkled with dog hair.
"Thanks," said the Man in Black looking a bit embarrassed, "I think I have one in my car, but I'm not sure."
"Well, I know I have one in mine," I said, "I'll follow you out."
He walked out the door. I turned to make sure the door was firmly shut before following him. Ray was scratching and whining, distressed that his friend was leaving so quickly.
I turned to follow the man to my car and noticed with horror that the back of his suit was completely covered with white hair. I didn't say a word. I retrieved the sticky roller from my glove compartment and handed it to him. He took a few swipes at the dog hair on his front and quickly removed them.
I stepped behind him and said oh so casually, "Oh, you have a few hairs back here too, let me get them for you."
He handed me the roller, thanked me, and stood in the driveway while I tried to remove as much of the dog hair as I could without giving away the magnitude of the problem by having to peel off another sticky thing.
He thanked me again, then the Man in Black and White left for his next interview.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Ray's Girl, Cindy
My dog has a girlfriend. A human one. I haven't mentioned her before even though Ray has loved her for quite some time, because I never realized the true depth of his emotions. She lives down the street from us and is somewhere around my age. She has a cheery chirp of a voice, though, which makes her seem about 30 years younger. She's not too tall, not too short, not too thin, and not too wide; and she has a nice pillowy bosom. To Ray, she is perfect.
Yesterday, she came over for some knitting advice, which she does on occasion. Ray met her at the door with all his usual enthusiasm. Cindy and I settled in on the couch. Ray stationed himself in front of her. I gave Cindy some instruction (I am not a good knitter, I just know how) and she sat knitting a few rows to get the hang of what she was doing. Her hands were up against her body because Ray's head was slightly in the way, overhanging her lap. When he realized he wasn't getting the attention he wanted, Ray stood, put his front paws on her knees, and loomed over her. Cindy kept knitting. Ray lifted one paw and put it on Cindy's right breast. Cindy kept knitting.
"Uh, Ray, what are you doing?" I asked my dog, trying not to sound mortified.
"Yes, Ray, that's my boob," said Cindy to my dog, removing his large paw from her person.
Undeterred, Ray climbed up on the couch between us, his head nearer to Cindy. Instead of curling into a tight little ball like he usually does. Ray lounged on his side, looking all sexy-dog. He casually reached out one paw and put in on Cindy's left breast.
"Uh..." I said.
"Yes, Ray, that's my other boob," said Cindy, removing his large paw from her person again.
Ray's paw dropped to Cindy's lap, and there it remained while Cindy knit away.
Yesterday, she came over for some knitting advice, which she does on occasion. Ray met her at the door with all his usual enthusiasm. Cindy and I settled in on the couch. Ray stationed himself in front of her. I gave Cindy some instruction (I am not a good knitter, I just know how) and she sat knitting a few rows to get the hang of what she was doing. Her hands were up against her body because Ray's head was slightly in the way, overhanging her lap. When he realized he wasn't getting the attention he wanted, Ray stood, put his front paws on her knees, and loomed over her. Cindy kept knitting. Ray lifted one paw and put it on Cindy's right breast. Cindy kept knitting.
"Uh, Ray, what are you doing?" I asked my dog, trying not to sound mortified.
"Yes, Ray, that's my boob," said Cindy to my dog, removing his large paw from her person.
Undeterred, Ray climbed up on the couch between us, his head nearer to Cindy. Instead of curling into a tight little ball like he usually does. Ray lounged on his side, looking all sexy-dog. He casually reached out one paw and put in on Cindy's left breast.
"Uh..." I said.
"Yes, Ray, that's my other boob," said Cindy, removing his large paw from her person again.
Ray's paw dropped to Cindy's lap, and there it remained while Cindy knit away.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
