An Ode to Merly

A friend of mine lost a dog a few days ago, and it reminded me that I never really posted about Merly on this blog, other than to briefly mention her passing.  I decided it was high time I did.

We got Merlyn Anne Durham in Texas, the first year that we were together.  We were driving through our neighborhood when we saw a handwritten sign announcing, "Free Puppies".  We debated back and forth for a week, before walking two blocks to inquire about the puppies.

It turns out they were what is now known as crossbreeds, meaning they were the product of two different purebred breeds.  Mom was a champion Dalmatian, and Dad was the purebred Lab that jumped a six-foot fence to get to her.  The puppies, who by this time were close to 16 weeks old, looked more like Holstein cows than they did like Dalmatians--instead of spots, they had large black splotches on their VERY white fur. 

We named her after a character on a tv show we were watching at the time, a show called "American Gothic."  The name of the young girl on the show, Merlyn Anne, went hand in hand with the name of our other dog at the time, Arthur.

Because we got her near the end of her prime socialization period, and because at the time neither we nor her dam's owners knew anything about properly socializing an animal, Merly was never really good in public.  She would bark and jump at people she saw in the distance, and she would go ballistic if she saw a dog while on leash.  It wasn't much better in the car--if she saw a dog, she would throw herself at the windows as if she wanted to go through them and murder the other animal.

Nonetheless, she was the smartest dog either one of us had ever seen, and the sweetest, and we loved her.  She moved from Texas to British Columbia to California to Ontario with us.  She loved the heat in Texas and California, absolutely HATED the rain in BC, and was cold ALL the time in Ontario.  She didn't like to be outside unless it was roasting, and spent most of her time here in Ontario either huddled in front of a fireplace or curled up on a warm dog bed.

She learned to walk at "heel" the first time we ever put her on a leash, she defended our house from intruders one day when the back door blew open while we were out, and she delighted in laying out in the sun in the hottest weather.  She ate a couch and never learned not to get things off the kitchen counter.  She was learning clicker training just by watching us teach Lance.

We got Lance to be a companion to her, to liven her up and get her moving again at the age of twelve.  And while that strategy worked, deep down she hated him.  But she never blamed us.  And four months after we got him, we discovered she had cancer.  Six weeks later, this past March, we made the incredibly hard decision to let her go.

I still miss her terribly, and occasionally still cry when I think about her, as I'm doing now.

One of her favorite pastimes:  'scroonching' in the warm sunlight.

Kai's 1st Trip to the Dog Park

Against our trainer's advice, we took Kai on his very 1st trip to the local dog park today.  It actually went pretty well.  He met about 20 new dogs, and about the same number of new people.  (Because he was taken from his litter early, we're doubling the recommended 100 dogs/200 people met before being 20 weeks old.  So far, he's "collected"  151 people and 70 dogs. )

Interestingly enough, there were mostly big dogs there today, most of them nearing a hundred pounds.  Lance, of course, was ecstatic--lots and lots of playmates.  And Kai?  Kai didn't seem fazed at all.  He seemed more comfortable meeting these dogs, all off-leash, than he does playing with the other puppies in puppy class.  Maybe it's because he's so accustomed to playing with his big brother.

Here he is on his way into the park, meeting his first dog-park dog.

And this one was taken right before he got REALLY dirty:

On to the Niagara DogFest this weekend!

Klutz

As those of you who know me personally are aware, I am the clumsiest person on the planet.  If any of you who don't know me play role-playing games, think of me as having a dexterity of about 10-20% under average.  Never mind walking across a flat surface--I have fallen and semi-seriously hurt myself just standing still.

I can't remember if the last injury was when I fell down the stairs and broke the rice maker or when I slipped on a discarded straw while getting into a bus seat, but the most current one happened today in my kitchen.  This is not entirely my fault.  I don't know what moron chose the tile for our kitchen, the tile which we couldn't afford to replace when we re-did the kitchen, but it is so slippery when wet that even sure-footed, athletic types have fallen on it.  Even the DOGS, on their four legs, fall on it.

Moving on--I was refilling the DWD (dog watering device), which with two Shilohs has to be done almost daily, and I didn't notice the very small puddle of water under my right Croc.  Two steps later, down I go.  Now, I COULD have stayed on my feet, but it would have meant putting all my weight on Lance's ribs.  In the split second I decided that was a bad idea, I realized that I was surrounded by two large puppies, and had no where else to conveniently put my foot.  So I over-reached, knocked over a kitchen chair (with the camera bag on it, no less), and fell smack on my knees.  Ouch.

As I sat on the floor, trying to recover, and trying not to cry (I'm a huge crybaby.), Lance came over, as he always does in these instances, to try and comfort me.  He puts his enormous head against me and just lets me lean on him.  And it works, too.  It's VERY comforting, and usually makes me feel a lot better. (While the noble Lance did this, the super-mischievous Kai took the opportunity to bite my hair, bite my clothing, and bite my hand.  I swear we should have named that dog Loki.)

Luckily, I wasn't too badly hurt.  Just two scraped-up and bruised knees.  Oh, and a bruised shoulder from where I hit the kitchen chair.  Still, it could have been worse, especially as I was home alone at the time.

Sigh.  It's time for more analgesics.