What Happened to My Dog?

Ray and I walked around the lake today. He was good.

He walked with a slack leash and only lunged (like someone was yelling "FREE CATFOOD!!!) a couple (dozen) times. He didn't jump at passing joggers. He didn't act like every person that he met was the first, last, and only human contact that he had ever had. He was a good dog.

I was mystified. He couldn't possibly be tired. He'd had his usual 13 hours of sleep the night before.

We walked all the way around the lake then took the long way home because he was behaving and it was a beautiful morning, foggy and somewhat cool, with the trees raining golden and florescent red-orange leaves on us.
We were within a few blocks of home when two older women walked out of a house, chatting. Ray stopped dead and "looked."
"What are you looking at?" one of the women said.
At that Ray threw himself to the end of his leash, jumping and straining like his tail was on fire.
"He's not looking at anything because he's blind, but he hears you talking," I replied.
The women stopped and 'awwed' and laughed and said what a beautiful dog while I worked on getting Ray to sit.
"Can I give him a biscuit?" asked one of the women.
"Do you have a biscuit?" I asked looking at her and wondering if she kept a stash of biscuits in her large, black handbag.
"I have some in my car," she replied, opening up the back of her SUV, "I don't have a dog but I have biscuits because my kids have dogs."
(Ya gotta love a person like that.) She came over with an enormous dog biscuit.
"Tell him to sit and then to flop," I said.
The woman looked at Ray. Ray could barely contain himself.
"Sit," said the woman, "Flop."
The new, improved Ray sat and flopped. The woman gave him a biscuit and watched him eat the whole thing.
Her friend asked "Does his blindness cause any problems?"
"Yes," I said, "He can smell a ball of yarn a mile away. He gets into my knitting all the time."
They both laughed, then the biscuit lady got in her car and left. Her friend returned to her house. Ray stood looking after the car for a few minutes until I persuaded him to leave.

We got to the "problem" corner, not far from the house. Ray stopped and refused to move. My dog was back.

Eh?

Ray and I were at the dogpark. I stood with the parents, chatting, while we watched our 'children' interact. Ray, as usual, was yelling nonstop. I always make sure to tell everyone he's blind. It's amazing how he goes from 'annoying' to 'cute' in the blink of an eye.

A woman entered the chat circle.
"What kind of dog is that?" she asked pointing at Ray.
Over the din of Ray's yelling I shouted, "It's a Redtick Coonhound."
"A Redneck Coonhound?" she repeated.
"Red TICK, Red TICK," I shouted back, laughing. 

Another owner entered the park being dragged by two large dogs, one an obvious lab mix the other an obvious hound (we all heard the yelling before we saw the dogs).
"I wonder what kind of hound that is," I said to no one in particular.
A woman answered, "Oh, he's been here before. I think he said it was Tennessee Walker Hound or something like that."
"Oh!" I said, "A Treeing Walker Hound, maybe?"
 I went to talk to the guy with the hound who confirmed that Bandit was indeed a Treeing Walker Hound.
"I went to the shelter to adopt a Beagle," he said. "They told me it was a six-month-old Beagle [the coloring is the same]. When I took it to the vet to get it checked out the vet said 'Well, this isn't a Beagle and it isn't six months old. It's a Treeing Walker Hound and it's about six weeks old.' It went from 11 pounds to 22 pounds in the first week that I had it."
He didn't appear to be terribly upset about being duped.

Peanut Butter Wars

I decided that peanut butter on toast sounded good for breakfast. I made the toast under the close supervision of Mr. Nosey. Ray has been getting pilled everyday using the jar of Crazy Richard's 100% Natural peanut butter (no sugar - just nuts) and feels a sense of ownership. He followed me to the couch where I sat down to eat and immediately put his front feet on my lap trying to pick the toast off of the plate. I "Bah-ed" and fended him off while keeping the toast from sliding onto the furniture.

Ray decided maybe a frontal assault was too obvious. He made a loop around the coffee table and came in from the side. No go. He made a loop around the other side. Still no go. He shoved his nose in my face and sniffed my breath; the smell of peanut butter was intoxicating. He licked my glasses. I shoved him off. 

Ray grabbed a box of kleenex off of the back of couch where it had been safely nestled for the last three months. He carried it two feet away and ripped it to shreds. I ignored him (ignore attention seeking behavior). (the box was nearly empty or I wouldn't have been so blase). I know a temper tantrum when I see one. 

I had one bite of toast remaining when Ray left the kleenex box and walked by me, his head down. At the last second he threw his head in my direction, flicked out his tongue, and took a long slurp across my plate. Game over.
I'd have to call this one a draw. I didn't quite get to finish my toast but Ray didn't get to have the last bite.
The kleenex box was a lost cause.

Night of the Living Ray

I had been putting up Halloween decorations all day. Skulls, ghouls, rats, bones, and all the etcetera that make a nice creepy house.  I headed upstairs to take a shower.

I was all clean and shiny when I next descended the stairs. I hadn't even reached the bottom of the staircase when I smelled earth. Like a freshly dug grave. I felt my skin crawl and briefly wondered if Zombies had invaded while I was showering. I glanced around and didn't see anything (including Ray). I walked into the front hall so that I could see into most of the rooms at once. 

Ray was in the living room, his tail wagging madly. He had in his mouth the knob end of a rawhide bone that had been living in the ground for the last few weeks. It reeked of mouldering grave. 

I started toward him and he took off around the other side of the coffee table and headed for the hall. He knew this game well and wasn't going to give up his prize easily. I was in hot pursuit. I didn't want him to drop the muddy, stinking knob on the carpet. I stopped and tried to creep up behind him, his butt was in the air in the classic "come play with me" pose. He let me get within inches of his head and took off again around the coffee table. I headed him off at the pass and waited. He backtracked around the other side, his tail still swinging from side to side.
"I'm gonna get ya!" I cried. 

Ray headed for the back door and slipped through the screen. I slid the glass door closed behind him, pleased that I had outwitted a blind dog. I watched as Ray settled down in the grass with his chaw of hide and found myself wondering if I could get a piece of the grave-scented knob to add an olfactory touch of authenticity to the Halloween display.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back?

I had to be at work early so I was downstairs by 6:30. Ray was frisky. When Ray is tired, mornings are peaceful. This morning was not one of those mornings, I could hear him whining while getting ready for work. He met me at the bottom of the stairs with a rawhide bone in his mouth, tail wagging, looking over his shoulder to entice me to play. I grabbed the bone and tugged it and he took off for the living room, his usual route around the coffee table into the hallway and back again. I followed, then headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Ray settled down briefly in the hall with his bone, gnawing the end, then standing to toss it around some, then back down for a gnaw, then rolllling around on his back, feet flailing the air, groaning and growling and snapping his teeth, his bone just out of reach at the end of his nose. I could see Hugo on the stair landing, watching.

Ray settled down for a moment or two and Hugo appeared on the arm of the couch next to me. I went to get him a dish of milk. The black cat lapped at it while I held the bowl for him. Ray got up and ambled over to see what was up. Hugo hissed and growled. Ray took half a step back, his tail started to wag gently (uh oh). He put his butt in the air, front feet on the ground. Hugo growled.
"Don't do it Ray," I said, but I knew he would.
His tail was really going now. He wanted so badly to play with the cat. Ray let out a high-pitched bark (he rarely barks - actually I've only heard him do it when he wants to play with the cats and, sometimes, me). Hugo hissed one last time and ran for the stairs followed by Ray, his tail still wagging.

I wondered how this would affect the progress he had made over the weekend.

Another Trip to the Dog Park

Asleep on his feet after an hour at the dog park

This week Ray went to the dog park again. It is now number one on his hit parade and has totally eclipsed daycare as Ray's favorite place on earth. He lopes around, never stopping (except briefly when he runs into someone), and bays and bays and bays. I could watch him all day. He's incredibly graceful; his movements are as fluid as water when he's not tripping over another dog.

Listening to him is another matter; the sound is not too bad as long as he's far enough away.

Ray was a bit tired after his trip. I had a tough time waking him up and getting him out of the car when we got home.

A New Era (Maybe)

Hugo gets a belly rub; Ray snoozes

Last week, while I was home to supervise, Ray was allowed upstairs quite often. Hugo, being by nature an extremely curious cat, just couldn't stand not knowing what that dog was up to. As Ray would wander into a bedroom, Hugo would follow at a discreet distance. When Ray would try to exit the bedroom, Hugo would stand in the doorway and hiss. Ray, who is terrified of Hugo, would turn around and try to make himself invisible, or would stand still and whine, or would gently wag his tail while his eyebrows did the forehead dance trying to convince the cat to come play. With one eye cocked towards the dog, Hugo would turn slowly and retreat to a safe distance or to the cat room.

By the end of the week, Hugo had gained some confidence. He didn't always sit on the stair landing, sometimes he came down the stairs to sit a couple of steps up from the gate, just out of Ray's reach. When Ray would try to stick his head through the cat escape hatch, Hugo would hiss and spit and Ray would retreat.

On Sunday, Gregg and I walked Ray to the grocery store before breakfast. When we returned home, Ray curled up on the couch next to me and sacked out. I sat eating breakfast and reading the paper. I could see Hugo pacing in the hallway and called to him. Ray didn't move. Hugo came into the living room and settled on the arm of the couch on the other of side of me, away from the dog. He stepped on to my lap and flopped over for a belly rub. We took photos to commemorate the great event.