Days of Wine and Roses...Uh, Make that Sun and Lilies

I'm one of those people who really hates cold weather. My fingers and toes seem permanently frozen from November to March. I've been known to take two baths a day during the winter months just to thaw out. Friends and family have heard me say repeatedly that I'd rather be hot than cold.

But...this June has caused me to rethink my position. Record heat has left me feeling wilted, lethargic, and downright irritable. I worry about how reliant I am on air conditioning and live in fear of a power outage.

Fortunately, some of Mother Nature's creations seem to be weathering the heat far better. So here's a toast to the lilies of summer, those hardy, heat-resistant blooms that bring a smile to my sweaty face.

Two Tortie Kitties Looking for a Home

Meet Jasmine, an adorable 9-week-old tortoiseshell kitten. This poor white-socked babe ended up at the shelter without mom or siblings when she was only 5 weeks old. Kittens like that have such a small chance of making it, but thanks to excellent veterinary care, this one did. She was later paired with a slightly older lookalike orphan, Jessie (below), and their companionship likely helped pull them both through those rough early weeks.

Jessie and Jasmine are up for adoption from the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George's County and would make lovely additions to any home.

A Day at the Zoo

Okay, I admit it...I have mixed feelings about zoos and aquariums. On the one hand, it seems fundamentally wrong to "contain" wild animals for human entertainment. On the other hand, I believe that people care more about things (i.e. people, places, animals, etc.) they've actually seen, smelled, and in some cases, even touched. And as habitat for many of the earth's inhabitants is confiscated by human beings for our own purposes, animals need people that care more than ever. And let's face it, unless we as a species get a handle on the human population issue, zoos may actually become the only places some other species exist anywhere.

So given the important role of zoos with regard to education, research, breeding, and preservation of species, I believe they are obligated to do everything possible to ensure the quality of life of the animals in their care, providing not only food and medical care but also enough space and stimulation that each species can behave as naturally as possible. There's no excuse for tigers pacing back and forth behind bars or great apes sitting in a corner facing the wall.

Fortunately, a growing number of zoos are taking their mission as animal arks seriously. The San Diego Zoo, the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans, the Columbus Zoo in Ohio are just a few of the outstanding zoos in the United States alone.

Earlier this week as I strolled around the National Zoo in Washington, DC, I noticed many improvements--for both residents and visitors--since I'd been there more than a decade ago. The Asia Trail wove through exhibits bordered by foliage punctuated by occasional viewing places; this approach offers the animals more privacy and quiet while still allowing controlled visual access by visitors. A learning center for apes allows for regular mental stimulation. And the elephant house is undergoing a much-needed renovation. Educational stations offering comprehensive information abound. And there are even misting stations along the major paths where hot and weary children--and adults--can cool off.

So as I say, I'm still ambivalent. But as I stood by the great cats exhibit, a little boy--he must have been about 5 or 6 years old--on a school trip looked up at me and asked, "Are you a discoverer?"

"Yes, I am," I replied. "And the zoo is a great place to be a discoverer because I love animals."

"Me too!" the child declared enthusiastically.

And I think to myself that if the world's wildlife has a future of any kind it will be because children like this little boy learn to love them. And where better than at a zoo?

In Theory

I should have known better. There's a reason I don't go to the shelter regularly to assess potential dogs for the foster program of the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George's County. It saddens me to see all the animals that end up there--usually through no fault of their own--knowing that many won't make it out. Plus, given the dog-aggressive tendencies of our dog Tango (which means the establishment of complex schedules when there's a foster dog in the house), I'm trying to limit our fostering role. So avoiding the biggest source of temptation seems only prudent.

But a few weeks ago, I threw caution to the wind and volunteered to help choose some dogs for our program. Following a case of Parvo, a serious and highly contagious canine disease, the shelter had instituted containment measures that included limiting the number of dogs any visitor could have contact with to one. More volunteers on site meant more dogs we could evaluate "up close and personal."

Which was all well and good...in theory, at least. Armed with a list of dogs whose time at the shelter was running out, we found several that were good matches for our available foster homes. But...while there, a 6-month-old brindled puppy caught my eye. To be honest, she was hard to miss. She wiggled and wriggled and play-bowed as I paused in front of her kennel, determined to interact with me.

Although I couldn't touch her (I'd already handled my one dog), I knew she was special. Convinced that other shelter visitors would be as captivated as I was, I was certain she'd be adopted quickly. Therefore, I reasoned, there was no harm--at least in theory--in asking shelter staff to let us know if anything happened to jeopardize her future.

But fate has a way of reminding us that nothing in life is certain, and last week the SPCA/HS adoption coordinator received a call that the puppy's application had fallen through and that her holding time at the shelter was running out. Would we take her into our foster program?

Well, it's bad enough to know intellectually that nameless and faceless dogs and cats die in shelters across the country on a regular basis. But it's absolutely unbearable to know that the life of an animal you interacted with, spoke sweet nothings to, and expressed interest in might be snuffed out. I just couldn't let that happen.

So the sweet brindled puppy is now a guest in our home, where she will stay until the right "forever" family turns up. Given her four white feet, I named her Ghillie--the word for Irish dance shoes worn by women in shows such as Riverdance. My husband had suggested Boots, but even though I grew up with a dog with that name, somehow--in an era of dogs named Abby, Sandy, Phoebe, and Jocelyn--that just seemed too pedestrian for a canine of Ghillie's distinctive looks. So Ghillie she is.

And once again, I'm shuttling dogs from inside to outside and one room to another so that Tango's and Ghillie's paths don't intersect. And I'm feeding in shifts (with Ceiligh eating either with Tango or Ghillie). And my life is a bit more complicated, but also greatly enriched. And not just in theory.

Saved from a Life on the Streets: A Special Mother's Day Post

A friend of mine works in construction...building, renovating, and remodeling homes. Her most recent contract took her to a Baltimore neighborhood of rundown, abandoned row houses in sore need of a facelift. During her months on the job site, she befriended, fed, rescued, and found homes for a number of street cats. But one cat in particular captured her heart.

This beautiful medium-haired cat visited the job site almost daily--not only for the food my friend distributed but also for some human interaction. She seemed to crave attention...and the comfort of my friend's truck, where she would spend hours dozing in the front seat or on the dashboard. She even ran after the truck when my friend left for home in the evening.

Given the cat's sociable nature, my friend thought crating her and taking her to a vet would be easy. But she was wrong. Although the cat loved being in the truck, she absolutely freaked when placed in a closed-door crate. In a complete panic, she thrashed about to the point that she scratched and bloodied her face and caused the crate to tip over. Afraid that the cat might get out of the crate in the truck during the drive, my friend reluctantly let her go.

But the cat's situation continued to weigh on her mind...especially as it became apparent that the cat was pregnant. And then the cat disappeared...only to materialize again on my friend's final day at the job site. She showed up for food and then led my friend to the backyard of an empty row house. There in a box of trash under a table, my friend discovered three kittens just two or three weeks old.

The proud mama purred with pleasure and allowed my friend to take the box of kittens back to the job site. With the kittens under her watchful eye, she even deigned to ride in the truck with them...no crate necessary.

Today, mom--now named Biddle for the street on which she was found--and her kittens are safe and sound in my friend's garage in a large crate (with the door always open) full of blankets. They've been seen by a mobile vet and determined to be in good health.

Biddle is a wonderful, doting mom. And she loves sharing her family with visitors--and being petted while she nurses. She purrs constantly (making it difficult for the vet to listen to her heartbeat). Like her kittens, she will make someone a fantastic pet!

All four of them will be made available for adoption once the kittens are weaned and they and Biddle are neutered. In the meantime, they are enjoying their new life of safety and comfort...far from the mean streets.

Appreciating Tango...

...the dog, not the dance, although after years of ballroom dance lessons, I definitely have an appreciation of that as well (and of the people who do it well).

Tango is my canine "problem child." My husband, Mark, and I adopted him along with his sister, Samba, when they were 14 weeks old, and as we celebrate his 11th birthday on May 1, it seems appropriate to reflect on the impact he has had on my life.

I'll be the first to admit that our decision to adopt Tango and Samba was driven by our hearts rather than our heads. We saw them at an adoption show and they looked so much like Boris, our beautiful black Lab/golden retriever who had just died, that they made us cry. And that was that.

I remember sitting with Tango on my lap at the adoption show and thinking what a calm, quiet puppy he was; he hardly moved at all, even though a dog sitting next to me was trying to chew Tango's tail. Wow, I thought, this is going to be one easy-going dog. I was wrong.

Our first clue that Tango had "issues" came several days after he and Samba came home with us. Both puppies were sitting in our TV room with me when my husband walked into the doorway from a dark hallway. Tango jumped up and began barking like a banshee at Mark, and it took several minutes to calm him down. Needless to say, we were startled, never having seen such a reaction in a puppy before.

We soon discovered that Tango was also startled and frightened by Kramer on Seinfeld (okay, I can understand that), the sound of the dishwasher, the automatic ice maker in the refrigerator, umbrellas being opened, unfamiliar people, and even familiar people wearing items of clothing that changed their appearance. He also was terrified of Mark's black briefcase and large black plastic garbage bags. I remember being mortified and embarrassed when Tango backed away, barking, from neighbors during walks. I had never experienced anything like this before.

I asked our vet if he knew 0f any canine behaviorists in Maryland, and he didn't. He suggested that we enroll Tango in obedience classes, which we did. Tango did well in class, although he was obviously uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. He "graduated" from beginning class and moved on to intermediate, where he easily did 3-minute "sit-stays" and 1-minute "down-stays" with me across the room. The only thing he would not (probably could not is more accurate, given his emotional/psychological make-up) do is "stand for examination," which involves someone--usually, but not always, the teacher--placing a hand on the dog's head and running it down the dog's shoulders and rump. Tango eventually would let our female instructor touch him, but any time she asked a man to assist in the exercise, Tango would back away.

We eventually stopped going to class because around the age of 2 or 3 Tango began displaying dog-aggression tendencies. He would almost always ignore the dogs around him but if one of them broke a sit-stay and came bouncing over, Tango seemed to feel threatened and would respond aggressively. I did my best to keep Tango focused on me and asked other handlers not to let their dogs get in Tango's face. Unfortunately, some people just didn't get it. One older woman with a little Yorkie-type dog would let her dog jump at Tango's face. I told her that Tango didn't like that, and her response was that her dog was just being friendly. I'd explain over and over again that Tango didn't see it that way. Eventually, it just got too stressful.

Over the years, I increased my knowledge of dog behavior issues. I read such books as Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Relationships with Dogs by Suzanne Clothier; Cautious Canine, Feisty Fido: Help for the Leash Aggressive Dog, and The Other End of the Leash by Patricia McConnell; The Dog Who Loved Too Much by Nicholas Dodman; and Aggression in Dogs: Practical Management, Prevention & Behavior Modification by Brenda Aloff. I attended seminars by Patricia McConnell and Sarah Kalnajs, and worked with trainer Liz Marsden. And I began putting the knowledge I acquired into action with Tango.

The good news is that it's helped. Tango will never be immediately comfortable with new human acquaintances and he will never like other, new dogs. So he will not get to interact with the occasional foster dog that spends time with us on his or her way to a forever home. He will not get to go to dog parks or for "play dates" with our friends' dogs. He will not get to go to "Yappy Hour," "Canines & Cocktails," or any other "dog friendly" events, where humans and their canine companions gather to socialize and enjoy a little "nosh"...often to raise money for a good cause. But...I can take him for walks without him lunging, barking, and growling at other dogs we pass. Thanks to patient, consistent, positive training--and some really yummy treats--I can turn his attention back to me. In fact, when we pass a neighbor's house and their three dogs run along the fence and bark at Tango, he will automatically look up at me instead of them. He also is more trusting of new people...especially if they'll throw a ball--his favorite item and activity in life--instead of trying to pet him. Basically, he seems more comfortable in his own skin.

The bad news is that I could have helped Tango even more if I'd spent more time addressing his issues. But with two other dogs who both had needs of their own, a full-time job (until recently), volunteer work for the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George's County, and other professional and social activities, I just couldn't focus all my attention on Tango. And I have to admit I sometimes feel guilty about that. But, to use a sometimes trite phrase, "it is what it is." I've done--and continue to do--the best by and for Tango that I realistically can.

I've told many people that if my husband and I had known about Tango's "issues" ahead of time, we never would have adopted him. But once he was part of our family, we felt we had made a commitment to him. And I'll never regret that decision.

I have learned more about dog behavior than I could ever have imagined...information that has benefited not only me but also other people who have sought my input on their own dog challenges. And I have met some amazing people who I never would have met otherwise...people who have enriched my life in many ways. And I have seen Tango mature and develop into a wonderful, if flawed, companion. My mother once said, "It's not easy being Tango." I'd like to think that thanks to the love and work we've done with him, that "being Tango" gets easier all the time.

When I think of the number of people who would have given up on him--and given him up--I thank my lucky stars that my husband and I found him at that adoption show 11 years ago. It's been a challenging but enlightening ride...and it's not over yet. Like all of us, Tango is a work in progress...a work that will continue until the day he dies.

Happy birthday Tango!

Snug as a Bug...

While taking photos this weekend, I caught my friend’s Doxie Iris right after she crawled into the blankets on the futon. To me the image epitomized the saying, "Snug as a bug in a rug," which I can remember my mother telling me when she tucked me into bed, along with, "Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite."

"Snug as a bug" implies a sense of great safety, comfort, and contentment. And, apparently, the phrase has been around for centuries.

The "as X as a Y" format of the saying is common in the English language. The "X" in question invariably refers to a property that "Y" typically possesses. When it comes to the snug bug, it’s hard to imagine a place more congenial to snuggle down as a warm hearth-rug. The specific type of bug originally referred to remains a mystery, with some sources mentioning a cricket and others a carpet beetle.

The first-known written use of the phrase was the Stratford Jubilee during a celebration of David Garrick's 1769 Shakespeare festival: "If she [a rich widow] has the mopus’s [money], I'll have her, as snug as a bug in a rug." Similar sayings appeared in print even earlier: in Thomas Heywood's 1603 play A Woman Killed With Kindness ("Let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw") and in Edward Ward’s 1706 The Wooden World Dissected ("He sits as snug as a bee in a box").

Benjamin Franklin used the saying as part of an epitaph he wrote in 1772 following the death of Skugg, the pet squirrel belonging to Georgina Shipley, the daughter of his friend, the Bishop of St Asaph:

Here Skugg
lies snug,
as a bug
in a rug.

Origins aside, I thought I’d share some more images that capture the sense of the saying.