Please pay at the door

It was early. We were headed around the 'long block,' the one we rarely walk anymore because it's just not long enough to tire out the blind hound. But Hurricane Sandy was on his/her way and Gregg and I had hatches to batten so Ray was going to have take one for the team. While Gregg was out buying food and gassing up his car, Ray and I were out getting truncated exercise.
Up the street, walking toward us, was a group of three teenage girls trailed by a teenage-girl-father. They were going door-to-door trying to raise funds for the high school choral team.
"What kind of dog is that?" asked the father as Ray and I were about to pass.
We stopped and I gave him the usual spiel about Ray while the girls were giving their spiel to a person who had been unlucky enough to open their door.
The girls turned from their victim and came towards us down the walkway. Ray 'looked' their way, his ears alertly deployed in Dumbo mode, his head tilted inquisitively. The girls paused en masse. They all looked startlingly similar; the same height and shape, with long brown hair and vaguely pleasant features, but without being obviously related in any way. They looked at Ray, who was blocking their access to the sidewalk, uncertain as to what to do.
"This dog is blind," said the father.
The girls all awwwwwed but none of them made a move to pet or approach Ray, visibly uncomfortable being near such a large a dog.
I moved Ray out of the way, wished the girls good luck and walked on.
"Make sure to donate if we come to your door," yelled the father after us as we ambled away.
The girls all giggled and looked embarrassed.
"I will," I shouted back secure in the knowledge that they were headed away from my house.
Later that afternoon, Gregg and I were finishing up a late lunch and getting ready to climb the roof to our next hatch-battening chore - clearing the gutters. I glanced out the front window to see the three teenage girls coming up the walkway to my door. The teenage-girl-father was waiting on the sidewalk.
"Ray, your friends are here," I said to my hound as I reached for my purse.
Ray trotted to the door to greet the fund-raisers. They looked nervously at the dog as I opened the door and handed them my donation. I watched cautiously, ready to make a quick grab, as Ray walked slowly out the door and past the girls, making no move in their direction. He stepped off the porch, flopped on the walkway, and turned to 'look' coyly over one shoulder at the now-giggling group.
"Ray, did you want them to rub your belly?" I asked the recumbent dog.
Ray tentatively lifted his front leg to expose his belly, obviously not expecting much, knowing he was playing to a tough crowd. I saw jaws drop; an identical look of astonishment was on the faces of the three girls. The giggling intensified.
"One of you better rub his belly!" called the father, watching the show from the sidewalk.
I walked around the girls, squatted next to my dog, and scrubbed his belly. Reassured by the display, the bravest of the three approached, and watched apprehensively by the other two, bent over to gently touch Ray's belly.
Ray stayed still, relaxing, enjoying his moment of triumph.

They're baaaaaack

Well, it's been over three years and we have finally reached the milestone for which I've been patiently waiting: the cats are back. Both of them. At the same time. On the couch. While the dog is in the same room. I'm not going to go so far as to say everyone is comfortable in the same room, but at least they are there.
Hugo has been coming out of Cat Siberia more and more. I think he had a bit of an epiphany on the day that he watched  Ray lick Moonie's ears clean and the old cat lived to tell about it. Hugo also has discovered the power of the hiss. Ray doesn't exactly know what the hiss is or who it issues from (he's still never gotten close enough to get a good sniff of that thing) but he has come to realize that it's a warning from something that has claws and maybe, just maybe, he should pay attention.
For months Moonie has been coming down from her retirement home and into the kitchen to yell at us for food five times a day. But only recently has Hugo returned as a kitchen-cat. For the longest time he would go no farther than the foot of the stairs. He would plop himself down on the carpet and pretend to lounge only to evaporate into thin air at the slightest sound. Now, Hugo plops and waits until the dog is uncomfortably close, then, and only then, will he hiss and bolt, or hiss and nervously walk into the next room, stretching his neck to keep an eye on the beast to make sure that he's not being followed.
And now they are both back. At the same time. On the couch. While the dog is in the same room. Maybe it only lasted for five minutes, but I see it as a very good start.  And it only took three years.

Here's a video of 8 photos to commemorate the event. Hugo is the black blob in the background. Ray is sitting out of view, in Gregg's chair, opposite us.

What Bullet?

"So, whered'yawannago?" I asked my lovely husband.
It was an absolutely gorgeous fall morning and we had a few hours to kill before Ray's date with destiny. His eye appointment was at noon and Gregg had taken the day off to support us in case Ray required surgery. Since Ray had slept all day Sunday because of excessive partying at the autumn Beer and Bonfire on Saturday, he was more than ready to go for a nice long walk. We needed to distract the dog to keep his mind off the fact that he wasn't allowed any food or water until after his potential surgery.
"I don't know," replied Gregg, "Let's check the book."
We spent a few minutes skimming Doggin' Northern Virginia, the 50 Best Places to Hike with your Dog in NoVA and at the end of a short discussion, we decided on the Battlefields of Manassas, a place we hadn't visited in years. It was just far enough away, and the trail was just long enough, that we could kill the requisite amount of time.
Ray was thrilled to be going somewhere new. Every time we stopped at a red light, he would uncurl himself from his usual travel position to hang his head out the window, sniff the air, and whine a bit. Then, when the car would start moving again, he would curl back up until the next red light. By the time we got to the battlefield, Ray was ready to GO; he literally hit the ground running.

Be careful of what?

I held tight to his leash, and while Gregg went off to see if he could procure a map, Ray and I ran to visit Stonewall Jackson. Then we ran to the first stop of the self-guided tour, and then ran to the second. By the time Gregg was out of the visitor's center and had caught up to us, Ray and I were well along the tour.
The park was virtually deserted. We were watching the clock, trying not to get distracted by the beauty of the day. At exactly 11:30, we were back in the car and headed to the doctor's office.

Let's go. Let's go. Let's GO.

Hey, is it legal to pee on part of a national monument?

Can't you let me off this leash for just a second?
I promise not to go too far.

Ok, I'll pose next to it, but it doesn't mean that I condone in any way,
any act of aggression, on the part of anyone or anything. 

I don't know about you, but I'm having a GREAT time.

When we arrived, the doctor was in surgery.
"What are you here for?"asked the assistant.
We told him that we were here to get Ray's eye pressure checked and then surgery if the pressure was still too high.
"It'll probably be another 30 minutes," the assistant told us. "Do you want to wait outside?"
We nodded our assent, too nervous to engage in idle conversation. We went back through the door and headed towards the adjacent neighborhood. We walked Ray up and down random streets, killing time, meeting no one but an ancient Indian man with a white beard and top-knot. He was wearing a traditional kurta pyjama and had a silver bracelet encircling one thin wrist. As he checked his mailbox, we wished him a good morning. He smiled at Ray, said hello, and asked if Ray was a good dog. We assented. The old man came to pet Ray who's interest was taken by the old man's Pomeranian yapping at Ray through the front door of his house. We told the old man that Ray was blind and that we were waiting for the eye doctor. The old man tsked, shook his head, and asked how Ray became blind.
"He was born that way," I told him.
The old man tsked some more.
"So terrible," he said, real distress in his voice and on his face.
"No," I replied, "He doesn't know."
The old man was still tsking, stroking Ray, then bent down to try to hug him. Ray edged away a bit. The old man persisted. Ray, sensing the man's pain, relented and tried to give him a kiss. Delighted the old man hugged him again. He wished on Ray some of God's blessings and we continued back to the doctor's office.
The doctor came out in her scrubs with mask and hair cover in place. She retrieved her instrument to check Ray's eye pressure, shone it in his eye, looked at the reading, then looked at me.
"It's 10," she said.
"That's good, right?" I replied.
"Yes, that's in the comfortable range," she said, "The meds are working. He can still have the surgery, but if it was my dog, I wouldn't do it. Make an appointment for two months out and we'll check him again. Because he has secondary glaucoma, he may never need the surgery. If it was primary glaucoma, he would have to have the surgery eventually, but this is different. We'll just monitor him and see what happens."
Gregg and I thanked the doctor profusely. We led our dog out of the office, bundled him into the car, and headed home. The old man's blessings had obviously worked. The blind dog had dodged a bullet and we were thrilled.

After Dinner Show

It was about nine o'clock and I was finishing up the dinner dishes when Ray wandered through the kitchen towards his dog door.
He'd been pretty active earlier in the evening. Although I had left him sleeping peacefully on the bed, he wasn't there very long before I heard his paws hit the floor and he barreled down the stairs and into the front hall. He gave two deep-from-the-belly yells, the ones that mean something serious is afoot, and then, when I told him to take it outside, headed at high speed to his dog door. He was yelling the second his nose hit fresh air.
After a bit more yelling along the back fence, then the side fence, then the middle of yard, Gregg went to retrieve the hound ("just trying to avoid getting arrested" he always says as he heads out after Ray). He dragged the protesting dog back inside and closed the dog door. But we were cooking dinner, and Ray's determination to get back outside at whatever-it-was was inhibiting our ability to maneuver around the small kitchen. I opened the back door, grabbed Ray's collar and led him out to the patio to see if I could identify what was making him so antsy.
I watched the blind dog stick his nose in the air and do his Ismellsomething dance but didn't let go of his collar. Faintly, from the direction of the high school, I could hear a disembodied voice announcing something over a loudspeaker. (It was Tuesday night. What could possibly be going on in the middle of the week? Was Ray just vocalizing his support for the home team?)
I let Ray sniff the air a bit more then dragged him back inside and told him to go lay down. He paced the length of the kitchen a few more times but when I went to sit on the couch, he curled up next to me and settled in with a distinct 'harrumph.' Ray eyebrows were doing the dance on his forehead, the only indication that he was alertly keeping track of whatever it was that had him so riled up.
So here we were, hours later, I was just rinsing the last few pots, and Ray was standing calmly at the back door waiting to go out.
"Here, I'll let you out, Ray," said Gregg as he entered the kitchen.
He opened the back door and Ray stepped out onto the patio, then took off like a shot past the kitchen window into the middle of the yard, yelling to wake the dead.
I put the last pot in the drainer and watched as Gregg ran past the window in rapid pursuit of the noisy hound.
I smiled to myself, turned, and headed back to the comfort of the couch.

Tit for Tat

I was on the front porch emptying the vacuum cleaner when Bill and Cindy walked by.
"Getting ready for Halloween?" Cindy yelled.
"Just starting," I shouted back. "If only I had a dumpster."
The Dumpster of Doom had been the best year ever for Halloween decorations.
I headed across the lawn to chat with my neighbors so that we didn't have to yell, then, when I heard a noise at the door, turned back to let the hound out so that he could visit his friends.
Ray bolted across the yard, greeted his girl, then flopped to the ground, exposing his belly.
As I continued past him, heading to the sidewalk, I glanced over to see Cindy bending over to give Ray a bellyrub. One big dog paw came up to rest squarely on her breast.
"You do like my boobs, don't you?" she said to Ray fondly.
Cindy straightened up and said to Bill, "Did you see Ray cop a feel?"
"No," he replied, laughing.
"Here, watch this," said Cindy.
She bent over the still-reclining dog and put one hand on his chest. Again Ray's big paw came to rest, this time on Cindy's upper arm, then ever so smoothly, the paw moved to alight on Cindy's breast.
I shook my head. Boys. They're all the same.

Just for Fun

Funny, this reminds me of someone.

Notes on Murphy

The sleepover continues. As usual, when Murphy visits, Murphy's law is in effect and it rains. The problem with rain is it creates mud. And the problem with mud, as we've found in the past, is it creates Pigpen.
Since I am trying to reduce the incidence of mud by once again trying to grow grass in our yard, I closed the dog-door and attempted to limit Murphy's access to squirrels. Ray happily curled up on a chair and slept. Murphy whiled away the hours watching through the glass doors, keeping an eye out for small, furry marauders, alerting us to their presence with an ear-drum shattering shriek every time she spotted one.
Three or four times during the day, in between the raindrops, I let the dogs outside to play (but kept the dog door closed). As they finished and showed up at the back door to get back in, I would ease the door open, point at Murphy an give a firm "STAY."
While poor, pathetic, filthy Pigpen stayed outside, Ray would come in for a quick rubdown. After a few swipes of his tootsies, he would be good to go. Only then would I retrieve more towels to tackle Murphy and her hula skirt.
As the day drew to a close, Murphy staked out the front door in anticipation of her owners' return. She'd never spent more than two nights with us and it was apparent that she thought she was going home. After an hour or two, she gave up and retreated dejectedly to the couch.


Pre-dog, our yard looked like this.

Backyard, pre-dog

Then it looked like this.

Backyard, December 2010

Then, after drastic action was taken, we had the mulched playground look.

Backyard, January 2011

After reseeding in the spring and again a few weeks ago, I would have described our grass as "struggling" or maybe "languishing."
With the arrival of Murphy this weekend, I think I would have to change the description to "nice try" or  "there's always next year." (sigh). On the bright side, there's more grass now than in the above two photos.
As for the plants in the top photo, most have given up the ghost and gone to that big green garden in the sky. The upside of that, I can now say with certainty that anything remaining in the yard is just about 100% bomb-proof.