The Never-ending Song

After my experience with attempting to get one stubborn and very strong Chorgi in the bath tub, I realized that this was something I was not going to be able to do.  His nails; however, have grown increasingly long and beginning to curl.  I just could not reach his paws from the wheelchair.  My friend, Valerie, came and we coerced Edgar onto the couch.  While she petted him, I prepared to attack those nails.  They are black, so cannot see the quick.  I realized that his quicks may have grown out past normal since his nails had not been cared for long before he came to live with me. Holding his left front paw gently-no objection from him-I placed the nail clipper over the thick, heavy nail , about 1/2 inch up to where the nail had begun to curve.  It took both my hands gripping the handles of the clipper to cut through the nail.   Edgar yelped.  The chunk of nail went flying.  Valerie exclaimed, "Oh no-he's bleeding".  I rather expected that. Despite what some owners think

Edgar is one tough doggie.  The shock collar has not achieved the result I was so hoping for.  He has had three good jolts from it when after Ginger.  Now, while he does not jump at her when he sees her lying on the walk, he does whine and wag his tail and the moment Ginger gets up and starts to walk away, he lunges and barks.  I have the charge set at 90 (out of a possible 100).  He yelps and all four feet come off the ground all while looking right at the cat.  He has no idea the collar is responsible as he has learned to "stand" on signal command while I put it on before we go outside.  He puts his head right into it, standing quietly until the leash is attached to his harness and I give him the two pats on his butt that means it is okay to move.  What am I doing wrong? I have not even tried using it when Pat comes by with her two little dogs.  Nor have I had it on in the house to deter Edgar from chasing Susie.  Susie has chosen her own way to deal with him.  She stays on

Today is Father's Day.  My father has long since passed on.  One of the last Father's Days when he was alive I made him a cheese souffle.  I was pretty good at making them back then, but it was still quite a bit of work and some fingers crossed.  I had big brown eggs from my own hens and selected the very best cheddar cheese cut from a huge wheel at the local creamery.  This time it came out of the oven puffed and golden, filling the kitchen with the fragrance of very good cheddar. When I set it before him on the dining room table he was pleased.  He cut a large piece and placing it on his plate, he asked for the ketchup!   YUP - he covered my gorgeous delicate creation with ketchup.  I told him I would never make him another--and I never did. It is strange not having parents any more.  How many times I think "I have to remember to ask Dad about that".  Dad and I did not always agree on things.  We argued quite a bit when I was a teen.  Maybe that is normal.  Still wh

  Edgar is a different dog in many ways than when he arrived here three months ago.  People walking by often comment on how much better he looks, hair growing back (we did not know he had a white chest!) over much of his body.  However, I believe the main difference is his expression and stance.  His eyes are bright.  He stands proudly, gorgeous tail waving at those who pass by.  He is happy, no longer the sad sack, lost dog of his first photo.  He is learning how to play with me and by himself.  Last evening he discovered the joy of disemboweling a stuffed toy.  He carefully removed the stitching at one end and began pulling out the fluff, flinging it about.  I watched to be sure he was not swallowing any.  Nope-he just had a ball grabbing out mouthfuls and tossing the stuff over his shoulder. All the vestiges of his stroke have disappeared.  He hops and jumps around outside, making the tags on his harness jingle. He also now realizes he has a job.  He faithfully keeps tabs on me.  I

I had been hoping one shock with the collar would solve the cat problem for Edgar.  Finally, with the help (on the phone) of my son, Sean, I got the collar figured out.  One evening, knowing Ginger would be outside awaiting her supper, I collared Edgar and as we exited the doorway, he spotted the cat.  He charged, I gave the No yank on the leash and immediately zapped.  Edgar yelped and all four feet came off the ground.  I felt like crying, how could I be so cruel to the dog I love, but just gave him a treat when he came back to me.  "Well now that is over", I foolishly thought.  For when he recovered, he went right back after the cat.  Repeat zap.  Two neighbors watching from their porch looked as if they were about to call the ASPCA.  Ginger wisely took off for the woods.   Next day when we went out  Ginger was on the next porch.  Edgar spotted her, whined and groaned, but did not bark or go after her.  He really wanted to though--tail stiff, ears up and body at full alert

  Edgar did not forget where he buried his bone.  Every time we went out, before he trotted to the sign post, his watering station, he checked the spot in the flower bed where his bone was buried.  Sometimes he gave a quick pat with a paw tamping down any loose soil.  Once satisfied that all was well with his treasure, he went about his other business, sniffing the grass where Pat's dog had squatted, scanning the area for an orange cat, studying the movements of the gal across the street as she watered her plants.  Some times she brings her cat out with her on a leash, as required by Joseph's Dream management, and that could be exciting. Today the grounds keepers came.  First they trimmed the trees of lower limbs.  Isn't this the wrong time of year to do that?  I noticed sap running from some of the wounds.  Anyway, Edgar watched from the window, offered a couple of woofs to let me know he was on the job, and returned to his nap.  We don't have any tree very close to ou

  Edgar does not look much like a wolf.  Those short legs would not be much help in the life of a wilderness wolf.  He is rather a wimp when it comes to climbing up the very short easy ramp to the couch or having his ears cleaned.  He recognizes the bottle of ear flush.  When he spots it in my hand he makes tracks for any hiding place (in rather short supply in this wee apartment) and ends up behind the sofa or in the shower stall.   Let him pick up the scent of a pussycat and his eyes become slanted and glow with evil intent.  Edgar's inner wolf begins to surface. Now and then I give him a bone.  Usually it is a Pork Chomps variety.  I do not give him rawhide or bones of any kind from my meals.  Last night I gave him a 6 inch rolled pork chomp bone.  He tossed it around, licked it some, and then grasping his blanket in his teeth, he tugged his blanket over the bone to hide it.  Often he does this to invite me to his game of "find the bone".  He hides it.  I find it.  He

  We welcomed the arrival of June with another lovely day.  70's, a light breeze, warm sun and a few puffy white clouds to make the sky interesting. The heavy rain shower the other night laid my fuschia bell forest low and turned many of the blossoms brown.  I hated to pull them up as so many are still open, deep pink and pretty.  Still I had to admit that the picture was not really attractive any more.  Of course they are illegal here at Joseph's Dream anyway as they are WAY over the 10 inch limit and form an entire bank of flowers rather than the individual plants surrounded by black ugly mulch.  So as Edgar sat sniffing the breeze for cat scent, I began to pull up the stalks with the most brown and withered blooms. Suddenly both Edgar and I were surrounded by a mass of small, very indignant bees.  They did not sting us-just flew around us buzzing angrily. I had not noted any bees on the flowers other than one or two fat black and yellow Bumble bees.  These were small bees wh