Tag Archives: cats and dogs

Chloë on Guard

Chloë shows off her protective sock

The pain from my recent injury didn’t last long. As you can see from the video above, within a couple of days I ditched the protective sock (shown in the photo) and got back to running around as usual, even romping in the cemetery with my little buddy Schatzi.

Chloë hogs Schatzi’s toys.

Just a few days later, Mike and Heather went away again (!), so I went over to Schatzi’s house for another staycation. Just like last time, I took over all of her toys (hers are much better than mine), and we played a lot of Bed Bingo, when Schatzi occupies my bed and I take over hers. Observing proper social distancing, we did not sleep in the same bed together, and for the most part we dined separately, although there was one night when Schatzi tried to get at my food, and I had to growl at her.

Something was different about this visit, however. Schatzi, who just turned one year old, went into heat for the first time a few days before I got there. Since I had been spayed when I was just six months old (Heather being a  staunch supporter of Planned Parenthood), I wasn’t able to offer my young pal any first-dog advice on what to expect or how to deal with it, but I was able to perform a crucial function nonetheless: Guarding her against any slobbering male dogs who might be hanging around the property, drooling over my fruitful friend. Marley from across the street seemed to be sniffing around more than usual, but after I gave him a hard stare, he kept his distance. I must have done a good job while I was there, because when I left the premises, Schatzi’s virginity was intact. Not on my watch, boys!

Schatzi contemplates her life in her idol’s bed.

Listening intently on the trading floor.

The other highlight of my stay was going to Caroline’s financial adviser office in Magnolia Village. Everyone there is always so nice to Schatzi and me, even at this difficult, frenzied time when the stock market was crashing all around them!  Still, just by sitting in her office for a little while, I was able to pick up some valuable insight about what to do with my portfolio. Unlike certain members of the U.S. Senate,  however, I have resisted the urge to cash in on my inside knowledge. But Schatzi, with her reckless youth and feelings of  invincibility, may not be so inclined. As our illustrious president likes to say, we’ll see what happens.

Schatzi soaks in the financial news.

 

 

 

 

Chloë Finally Conquers a Cat

Cat lair territory.

In our summer neighborhood, cats were everywhere. I was forced to remain on constant vigil lest they overrun us. Two lived in the house right next door, an orange one and a gray one. They taunted me by sunbathing in their driveway. Sometimes they hid inside the flower beds in MY back yard, right in there among the purple coneflower, loosestrife, yarrow and dill. I know, because I could smell them, long after they had retreated to other lairs. There’s nothing worse than the smell of rotting cat hurl. Yuck.

Cleo and Bear get their last meal before their nemesis arrives.

 

Cleo and Bear, the cats who belong to my aunts Susie and Debby, lived on the other side of Meadowbrook, but I was constantly scheming to get a walk over there. Those cats were afraid of me. And well they should be, especially since I loudly chased after them on my most recent visit. One went upstairs and the other ran downstairs, into the basement. My outburst got them quarantined to the second floor for the rest of our visit, while I was similarly confined to my bed at the base of the stairs, from which I cast a menacing gaze upward whenever I felt their eyes upon me. The cats stayed put. In fact, I saw so little of them on this trip that I can barely recall what they look like. No matter, I still know they’re there, and I will corner them one day.

Thankfully, I found one cat in the Salt City that knew its place. I just had to look this guy firmly in the eye one time and he immediately turned to stone.

 

Who’s the boss?

Chloë Chases Cats from Coast to Coast

animal antler big close up

Moose by Photo Collections on Pexels.com

I have encountered many kids on my current trip, and more strangers wanting to pet me and tell Mike and Heather how cute I am than I can count. I’m doing much better in these situations, moving from my usual position of hiding behind Heather’s legs all the way to fleeting tolerance of the intruders. I cannot deny all this attention is nice. And I’ve done pretty well getting along with all the dogs I met on the trip, both the ones I encountered casually on a walk or in a La Quinta (pets stay free) and the ones I’ve spent hours or even days with, such as Logan and Pippa in Washington, D.C., Abby and Nelu in Syracuse, Skippy in Avon and Cleo in Innisfil, Ontario. I even maintained my composure when I crossed paths on our trip with chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, birds, deer, antelopes, a moose and a porcupine, content to revel in a good whiff of their scents instead of making my normal no-holds-barred dash to the animal. tree or hole in question.

In fact, there is only one kind of person or animal guaranteed to turn me into a whirling banshee in swift pursuit: Cats.

Cleo and Bear

Cleo and Bear chow down at my aunts’ house.

I’ve read that in my hometown of Seattle, dogs outnumber children. Well, in Syracuse, the same must be true for cats. Just in the neighborhood where we stayed, I saw dozens of them on our daily walks to Barry Park or Nottingham High School, and in the cemetery when we walked there. That kind of daily cat contact is hard to avoid and easy to ignore. But three of these neighborhood cats had the audacity to treat the back yard of our temporary house as their own domain. The two that lived next door, the orange Morris and a gray one whose name I never caught, were of course impossible to get rid of. But that third one, a scrawny gray male who might have been feral, he was my enemy. I peed every place I could to show him who’s boss. Once I surprised him while he was lounging in a flower garden, but my howling and Heather’s taut grip on my rope let him get away.

Bear and Cleo in Window

Bear and Cleo watch for intruders.

But my biggest battles came at my aunts’ house. I missed not being right across the street from them, but they gave me a bag of Snausages anyway, so still got excited every time I got to see them. I didn’t so much miss Spanky, their nasty cat who died last fall (R.I.P.), who made wild snarls every time he saw me. Over the winter, aunts Susie and Debby brought home sister kittens Cleo and Bear from a lady in Eastwood who had dozens of cats living in her house (supporting my theory about cats outnumbering children in Syracuse). And as kittens, the gray-striped Cleo and the bushy black Bear, are obviously adorable. Except, of course, for one thing. They will grow up to be cats. And I must wage war on cats, anywhere and everywhere.

So far, I have met only one cat that I get along with, Stan and Laurie’s elegant Dinah. From the get-go, we earned each other’s respect, and as long as I stay away from her food dish, we’re cool. I even get to chew up one of her cat toys now and then.

Bear on Couch

Bear lounges on couch.

But Cleo and Bear, they refuse to stay out of my way, and when I chase them upstairs or chew up one of their toys, I get in trouble. Big trouble, and not with my aunts, but with Heather, the Enforcer. I get slammed into down-stay purgatory, while Cleo and Bear sit in the kitchen bay window or at the top of the stairs and laugh at me. Laughed at, by cats. I cannot abide.

We left Syracuse before I caught either one of those little rascals. They can laugh all they want to now, but like General MacArthur, I shall return. I’ve got to chase that cat out of the sink and continue my private war.

Cleo in sink

Cleo awaits a bath.

Chloë Remembers a Cat

Spanky takes over Mike’s pillow on an earlier Syracuse visit.

My Syracuse aunts, Susie and Debby, lost their cat Spanky last week. Well, they didn’t lose him, exactly, because they know where he is. He has been sick for a long time, and he finally went to that big Bidawee Home in the sky.

It makes me sad. Even though Spanky was nothing but mean to me when we finally met in Syracuse last summer, I can empathize with my aunts. I know they’re really hurting inside, because I know how much they loved him. And while it’s true that the old, nasty Spanky snarled, hissed, and threw his claws at me every time our paths crossed,  now I kind of miss those little tête-à-têtes. They invigorated me, and aroused my own animal instincts.

Spanky, September 2017

Once I got back to Seattle, I started to pay my own little homage to Spanky. In Syracuse, the cat would hang out under Debby’s car in the driveway, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on me. I quickly developed the habit of looking under Debby’s car every time I walked past, just in case he was there. Since I’ve been home, I’ve been checking underneath the Bartons’ cars for their two black cats, Ted and Fred, so I can root them out and chase them back into the hedges where they belong. Every time I crouch and stare under those cars, I think of Spanky and smile. Then I get back to barking and taking off after the damn black cats.

Tracking the Bartons’ cats: The waiting is the hardest part.

Chloë Raids the Kitty Clubhouse

Adversary

A Chloë adversary

The cats down the street are bugging me again. I know they have been wandering around my yard, leaving their scent and occasionally their poops around our property. It’s mostly Ted and Fred, the Bartons’ cats, but recently another black-and-white cat has joined the brigade. Sometimes they even hang out together, waiting for an unsuspecting vole or small bird to flit by. Cats are mean. I hate them. But now that I know where they hide, I will get them.

1-Kitty ClubhouseThey hang out between two hedges, boxwood on one side and rhododendrons on the other, between the Bartons’ house and the one between ours and the Bartons, where the phantom French bulldog Scout lives (we hardly ever see her, so she’s a phantom to me). The sidewalk entry point to the kitties’ lair is well hidden, but I nosed it out. Now I check it a few times every day. Can’t be too careful, you know.

I’ve seen the cats scurry  into that hole many times. And even if they’re not home when I stick my nose in to check, I can tell that they have been, and even how long they’ve been gone. My nose is smart that way. So even though I see no cats when I look, it’s always worth another try. If Mike didn’t have that leash so tight, I’d have seen if there was another exit point further into the hedge. Mike has thus far refused to cooperate.

Chloë investigates.

Chloë investigates.

Those damn kitties wanted me to stay out of their hedge. So they hung out a sign, thinking it would scare me and keep me away.

Kitty Clubhouse Sign

Kitty Clubhouse Sign: “DOGS: DO NOT ENTER, ESPECIALLY CHLOE!! “

My compliance is not likely. At least, not as long as my nose stays unmarked by kitty claws.

Chloë emerges from Kitty Clubhouse.

Emerging from the Kitty Clubhouse.

Nobody tells a dachshund what to do. Least of all a cat.

 

Chloë Makes the Fuzz Fly

Record-setting

Record-setting fetching  on the lawn.

I had a crazy time out at my Getaway this last time. Mike went to Syracuse about halfway, through, which really turned it into a holiday for me. Luckily, he prepared meals for Heather and me before he left, so neither of us starved. So he is good for something.

The highlight of my time together with Heather was setting (and resetting several times) the world dachshund record for fetching a ball thrown by hand (no plastic ball-flingers or jai alai cestas allowed!). The last count I remember was 180 straight, with only brief water breaks. After that many throws, I can barely remember anything, and I don’t think we rely on Heather to count anything greater than pi. Regardless of the number, Heather is a real trooper for throwing that ball so much, and I appreciate her effort. Both of us were sore for a couple of days afterwards.

The Pump on her perch

The Pump on her perch

Docile Pumpkin and I got along fine, although it is getting a little disconcerting when she keeps sniffing my butt and peeing on the same exact spot where I did. That little mop must think she owns the place or something. But she’s benign.

Stairway barrier

Staircase barrier

I can’t say the same about Mister Fuzz. That damn cat tried sneaking down the back spiral staircase one day when Mike was still around. I caught his eye when he was about halfway down, and he wisely retreated. He wasn’t so lucky the next time, when Mike was doing laundry on the second floor and left the main staircase barrier down for a minutes. I cornered Fuzz under a bed and barked up a storm until Mike collared me and dragged me back downstairs.

Mister Fuzz

Mister Fuzz

After Mike left, however, the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Fuzz and I faced off about a half-dozen times more, and I chased him under the bed every time. Fuzz has yet to take a swipe at me, by the way. He just runs and hides. Advantage, Chloë.

Poor Mister Fuzz doesn’t seem such a bad guy.  It’s just too bad he’s a cat. Sure hope he likes it upstairs.

 

 

 

 

Chloë Sets New Fetch Records

We finally came home from my getaway. Being there almost two weeks took its toll on my body, so I have been resting up a bit while Mike watches baseball playoffs on TV seemingly 24 hours a day. At the getaway, I get so busy that I often don’t get my full quota of afternoon naps, so it’s good to catch up.

On the back lawn

On the back lawn

The highlight of the recent vacation was the new dachshund fetch records that I set Sunday, Oct. 4, on my getaway’s back lawn. Heather certified that I set new marks for single-session (85 throws-and-returns) and single-day (175). My two-day total of 300 has yet to be certified, but we expect official word soon.

Let’s see…what else happened on this trip? As you no doubt recall from my previous post, this time I graciously shared my getaway with the mop-like Pumpkin and Mister Fuzz, a black-and-white former barn cat.  Pumpkin turned out to be more fun than I expected. I actually grew to like her, and we even engaged in some mutual butt-sniffing before this stay was over. That’s high praise.

Mister Fuzz, however, is another story. We had but two brief encounters, as Heather expended much energy on keeping us apart. Luckily, nobody tripped on anything, and our tete a tetes were well-controlled.

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That getaway place is just too much fun! Toys, carpets, lawns, forests, even a dog companion. If I can just get that cat back into the barn where it belongs,  it would be perfect.