One Tired Pup

He's not Looking at anything. He's asleep.

Eggs for Breakfast (cooked this time)

Another long week. Gregg has been picking up Ray at daycare for the last three nights while I've been working late. "Did he have fun today?" I asked Gregg when I got home last night. "Jennifer (see her picture at http://www.raytheblinddog.com/2009/09/ray-takes-eye-test.html) told me that Ray got grumpy towards the end of the day and was picking fights so they made him take a nap. But after he slept for about 20 minutes he was fine." said Gregg.

I knew Ray had been getting more and more tired as the week progressed. I let him sleep in as long as I could, but I still had to wake him up by 8:15 to get him to "school" on time (so that I could be at work by 9:30).

This morning, I made us some eggies for breakfast.

Ray was active for about an hour before he was back in bed, curled up in a tiny little ball in his chair in the living room. We've got a little more than week to go before we can slack off again. This weekend we're going to take it easy.

Ray in a Pickle

On Thursday, I put Ray in the car before I realized that I'd forgotten my purse. I closed him in the back seat and went to retrieve it from the house. By the time I got back to the car, Ray had gotten himself into a pickle. He was standing with his front feet on the center console and his back feet on top of the drivers seat.

I tried to persuade him to go retreat into the backseat but he was afraid. His back legs were trembling. I tried to lure him into the front seat. He reached out a paw but couldn't feel the seat and was afraid to move forward. Luckily I had a bag of treats (that I give to the daycare people so that they can feed him tidbits throughout the day). The power of dehydrated chicken livers knows no bounds. Although you can see the concern writ large in the wrinkles on Ray's forehead, he persevered and safely made it onto the front seat. I relocated him to the back and we were off to 'school.'

On the way there, Ray again tried to make a foray into the front seat. I put my hand on his chest and tried to keep him in back. He put his nose in my ear and gave it a snuffle then licked it clean, knocking my glasses askew on my face, I was laughing and trying not to get into an accident. I came to a stop light, righted my glasses and tried to heave the dog into the back seat again. Ray was resisting. The light turned green. We made the turn and continued on down the street, Ray standing on the center console, his head thrust forward like a ship's figurehead. At the next light, I grabbed a few more treats and tossed them into the backseat. Ray spent a few minutes searching the backseat for the tasty morsels then settled down for a quick nap before a hard day of play.

OH MY GOD! Not AGAIN!

Ray got me out of bed at quarter to six. He went out to pee, came in and ate breakfast, then jumped up on the couch to lay on my feet for an hour until I decided to wake up and eat breakfast too. Ray stayed in bed. It's been a long week for both of us.

Ray didn't get active again until about 9:00. I promised I'd take him for a walk as soon as I finished going through my mail. I got about half way through when Ray decided he'd had enough. He walked by and grabbed the letter that I was reading (from the ASPCA) out of my hands and walked to the other side of the coffee table where he tore into it. (Now I'll never know what happened to the poor, abused dog with two broken legs and a broken rib). I got the message.

I went into the laundry room to throw some clothes in the wash before going to change into dog-walking clothes. Ray followed me to the laundry room gate and when I didn't immediately come out again, he lost interest, turned, and left. I finished folding a pile of laundry then went back out into the living room. "Where's Ray?" I asked Gregg who was still immersed in the paper. "I don't know," he said, "I think he went upstairs." My spidey senses started tingling and I ran up the stairs. Ray was laying in the hallway chewing on something between his paws. I approached with a feeling of extreme "Oh No-ness."

"OH MY GOD." I said when I saw what he had.
"WHAT? WHAT???" yelled Gregg.
"OH MY GOD." I said again.
"WHAT??? WHAT????? WHAT????? yelled Gregg, "What does he have now?"
 I reached over and pulled a black, tasseled loafer out from between Ray's paws. Brand New. Never Been Worn. Minus One Tassel. Gregg had bought a second pair, black this time instead of brown. I stifled a seriously inappropriate urge to laugh.
"He's got your black loafer." I said.
Gregg came upstairs and took the shoe and tassel.
"I took them out of the box last night to try them on. I left them on my desk," he said.
"We need to go to the cobbler," I replied as I headed back downstairs.

A Word about Moonie - The Crazy Old Lady Upstairs

That Crazy Old Lady Upstairs

We think, perhaps, that Moonie is getting a bit senile. She used to be a good, calm, thoughtful cat. She was always finicky about her food, and she had the world's worst timing (another of her nicknames that I forgot to list, "Bad Timing Cat". ) Always in the wrong place at the wrong time. If we're sitting down for an hour, chatting and relaxing, the minute we stand up to leave the house on an errand, Moonie shows up and want to sit on a lap. If we're working in the kitchen and Moonie walks in, something always happens at that moment to startle her - a can gets dropped or a pan gets clattered, and she runs back up the stairs. She walks into the room to be with us just as Ray is getting up from a nap. Always. Bad timing.

But, like I said, she used to be calm, thoughtful, and finicky. A good cat. Now, Moonie is the "Terminator Cat." At dinner, she wants what is on our plates and no matter how many times we

push her away, she comes back. Just like the Terminator. And it doesn't matter what it is, she wants it.

Spicy chorizo sausage, bread, shrimp, salmon, pork, chicken, turkey, parmesan cheese, cheddar cheese, pepperoni, bacon, eggs. No matter how it's prepared, no matter how highly seasoned, she wants it all and she wants it now.

So, What's for Breakfast?

I think I have mentioned before that Moonie is also going a little deaf. (she can't seem to hear dog tags jingling and has been surprised, on more than one occasion, by the big, blind dog when he trips over her ("The Blind Dog and the Deaf Cat" - sounds like the title of a book). She evaporates to the upstairs while Ray tosses around trying to find the furry thing he tripped over.) The deafness has resulted in Moonie developing an extremely piercing MEOW. She walks into the kitchen and loudly starts demanding. Pacing back and forth, she MEOWs and MEOWs. We pet her, pick her up and stroke her. She wants down. She jumps up on kitchen counters, on top of the refrigerator, tries to walk across the stove (never before has she done this). When we open the refrigerator, she makes a dash for the inside, tries to jump up on a shelf. Odd behavior for our old cat.

Moonie has always been a good hunter. She catches those feathers glued on the end of long, flexible sticks, like nobody's business. She hunts them down upstairs and drags them around, howling, to let everyone know that she caught another "birdie." Gregg troops upstairs to tell her what a good cat she is for catching those annoying stick birdies flying around. Now, with the advent of (what we think is) senility, Moonie catches birdies in the middle of the night, dragging them into our room and wailing like a banshee to let us know that she caught one. The noise is ungodly, deafening, and unnerving. Then she runs down the hall, still shrieking, the stick dragging along the ground behind her. Gregg gets out of bed and brings the old girl back to bed for a pet. She settles in, purring.

While Moonie Tries to Steal Gregg's Breakfast, the Blind Dog Sleeps

Too Tired

I rolled out of bed and went to the cat room to pick up the food dishes from the night before to take them down to the sink. Ray's bed was still in the kitchen, the hound curled into a tight little ball. "Mornin,'" I said to Gregg, "What's up with Ray?" "He was too tired to get up this morning so I just left him there and tried not to disturb him," said my lovely husband. "I wasn't tiptoeing or anything, just worked around him." "Has he been out to pee?" I asked. "No. He hasn't eaten yet either." responded Gregg.

Uh Oh, I thought. I dropped the dishes in the sink and turned to check on Ray. He was gone. I glanced up to see him standing in the living room with his rawhide bone in his mouth, looking my way, his tail wagging. I laughed. Gregg stood up and started "chasing" him around the coffee table and into the hallway - the usual loop.

I walked into the living room and Ray came over to investigate my breakfast and get a rubdown, then he grabbed a magazine off of the couch cushion next to me and flung it. It landed neatly on the coffee table. A good trick by a blind dog. He buried his head in my lap and grabbed the belt of my robe and pulled, one of his favorite tug-of-war toys. I laughed again. I fed Ray and finished my breakfast. Ray curled up in Gregg's vacated chair and Hugo came to lay on his back in my lap for belly rub. It was a fun few minutes and a few minutes of relaxation before another long day at work. I got up and got ready to go (after a quick post on the blog).

VIDEO ALERT! - Today, I am a Lapdog

I think Ray has missed us this week. He was so excited to be home with us this morning that he came over to me THREE times to get a full-body rub. Then he went over to Gregg and crawled up in his lap. That's a first. Recorded for posterity on the Mac Laptop.