Photo Phriday: Leftovers

When the dogs started digging around in the snow in the parking lot at training last week, and then brought me ... remains ... my kneejerk response was to curse the redneck who had cleaned his kill on his tailgate and dumped the leavings where he stood. Common enough in state gamelands.

Yeah -- no two-legged mammal produced these leftovers. (Click photo to embiggen.)

Hawk or owl? I'm sure someone out there knows the agent of Thumper's demise.

Whoever it was, she likes meat and is not too fond of tendons or bone.

Equal Time

It has come to our attention on this, the last day that you can vote for Cole, that the Fairness In Blogging Act of 2007 requires us to air a rebuttal by those who oppose Cole's candidacy for the office of Bissell Most Valuable Pet 2011.

As it happens, foster puppies Bob, Susie, Amy and Donna brought some friends with them when they came to stay at Brandywine Bone 'n' Breakfast. Quite a few friends. So many friends that one is moved to wonder how puppies so young could have networked so effectively and developed such a fanatical and loyal cadre of little buddies. So without further editorial intrusion, we present the spokescritters for the "No on Cole 2011" campaign.

A guy's just minding his own business, just hanging in there as it were, a lot of his efforts going down the shitter, but getting by, and along comes some snob like Cole with all his being shiny and not stinking and never having things that look like rice crawling around his ass. Like he's so great. His supporters claim that he was born in Montana and has the common touch, even used to hang out with guys like me, but have you ever seen a birth certificate? Let me answer that for you No You Have Not! Look at the name -- an "English" shepherd. And claiming to be a "Canine Good Citizen?" That dog is not even a regular citizen. He's not eligible for the office of MVP.


When Cole is defeated in the MVP election, we are going to take back what is ours. Starting with Bob's leg. And then on to Mrs. Evans' second-grade class. Cole's compulsory plan to apply zymox to our homes and workplaces is nothing less than socialism.


National English Shepherd Rescue is a known terrorist organization. It harbors all kinds of dangerous extremists. I have documentation here that proves that it has directly funded the deployment of chemical weapons -- referred to by the code names Revolution and Frontline -- on innocent civilian populations. Cole has pledged his MVP salary to this den of subversives. If you vote for Cole, the terrorists win. Also, I can see Russia from Susie's left ear, you betcha.

Cole is on-record as favoring firm, well-formed, and moderately infrequent poop. The Bible tells us that we are to go forth and multiply and then be expelled in a burst of mucous-and-blood-tinged diarrhea every hour or so. Cole and his so-called "science" is a threat to our traditional way of life and the values we hold dear.


Tax and spend, tax and spend, all those Cole-sponsored government entitlements for Safeguard. It's people like Cole and his lapdogs at NESR that are bankrupting this country with ridiculous runaway appropriations squandered on veterinarians and gas and pull fees at dog pounds. It's got to stop now! But hands off the kibble budget. You have to keep the kibble coming right on through Amy's gastrointestinal tract -- that's our right as Americans!

New Year

Some years ago, I basked in a holiday-time compliment from a fellow trainer, who lauded my "ability to make dogs wear antlers without them looking beaten."

Seems that that mojo has worn off this year, alas.

May 2011 see many sparkly things, and very few beatings, for you and yours.

Happy Thanksgiving

Dad...?

Macro Monday: He followed me home, can I keep him?

Warning: Blue Willies Alert. Do not view photos if you are prone to the crawlies. Do not embiggen unless you have a strong interest in entomology or stand to win something on a bar bet.

Thursday night I noticed that Cole had a nasty reddened lump on his right rear leg, medial.

Not surprising for the Pennsylvania Summer of Sauna; everyone has stings, spider bites, dings, nicks and rashes. Pip is in the cone of shame because she won't leave a thing on her front foot alone (I'd assumed a spider bite, but perhaps not, as we shall see.) Rosie has what appears to be two stings on her side, and I got nailed on the ear a couple weeks ago (no ambulance ride this time).

I checked it again Friday morning. That's when I saw the hole. The breathing hole.

Oh shit. Warble. Bot fly larva. Cuterebra. Feckin' alien living in my dog. Gaaaah!

I was vaguely aware that dogs could get these, but they are rare -- much more common in cats, horses, and cattle. I'd never even heard anyone tell of a dog having one.

Ticka ticka ticka -- ask teh interwebz -- and I found enough references to things like anaphylaxis and toxicity and "kill your dog" and was getting skeeved out enough that it was off to the vet.

So naturally, I'm in the exam room waiting for the Doc, and I've got to get a picture of this, right?


Then, a little squeeze, well back at the base of the lump, see if I can make the hole easier to see in the photo, and look at that, it's the little bastard's snorkel.


Squeezed a little more, and he came out and performed an interpretive dance for us. I named him Ivan.


One more gentle squeeze, and he was liberated from his co-dependent relationship with Cole's leg.


Dr. Strobel assured me that most of them come out easily like this, though it's nasty when they don't. He flushed the hole with some amoxicillin and sent some more home for the next couple days. Now I'll know what to do if this happens again. Just before I curl up in a fetal position under a boiling shower.

If Cole would like a pet of his own, I will get him a kitten. Or he can keep that toad that insists on hopping into the kitchen at night.

We left Ivan with the vet, who assured us that he could manage the rehoming.

Photo Phriday: Poncho

The weather this year seems to be encouraging the burdock to an unreasonable degree.

Or someone spilled some of this stuff here.

Cole could use a poncho. Unlike the other ES's coats, his is highly absorbent. Nickname: Sponge Dog Square Pants.

Photo Phriday: Aerial Invader

Our neighbor swears that the first hundred feet of airspace is ours.

We are regularly invaded in the summer by this commercial endeavor



Scenic, sure, but it frightens the livestock, and the dogs hate it. They all leap to their feet, barking emphatically, when they hear the whuumph of the burner in the distance.



Rosie has developed a three-dimensional case of Mailman Syndrome.

She and Pip chase through the hayfield barking, snarling, and leaping into the air.

And the balloon runs away every single time. Success!



Next time, she will surely jump high enough to catch the trespasser.

Photo Phriday: Oviduct

One doesn't normally deliberately kill a productive laying hen.* So when Dale McNugget departed this mortal coil last week and I dressed her out for the dogs' dinner, there was something other than the usual giblets inside.


I was surprised to see so many egg yolks, lined up in her oviduct and clustered around her ovary.

Chickens (all birds) have two ovaries when the are born, but only the left one (right one in some raptors -- don't ask why because I don't know) develops and produces eggs.

This is a lot of good-sized (i.e. fairly developed) yolks, but apparently not outside normal limits. I asked around.

_________

* The ornery Daughter of Henery who drew blood while I was gathering eggs last week may find herself an exception sealed her fate by breaking into the turkey coop and killing several hatchling poults; she had fewer eggs lined up than Dale, but was more interesting, as one was in the chamber getting shell laid on when I converted her to curry ingredients.

Photo Phriday: Zombie Toe

So I stubbed my toe when letting the dogs out pre-coffee on Sunday morning.

Well, "toe." The piggy that is supposed to go whee whee whee all the way home is essentially a large skin tag with some bone powder inside it. Has been for many years.

This has to be at least a dozen times I've broken it in the last two decades.

The toe specialist (to whom I was referred by the foot specialist) at Shadyside Hospital says there is nothing to be done short of amputating it. No pins or epoxy or anything will make it not snap like a saltine when I lightly tap it onto Barry White's leg while reaching for the patio door.

Yesterday I noted that there were definite signs of Zombification spreading from the defective digit. Should have amputated when it was still contained in just one toe.




I was weighing the options of chainsaw v. ax v. mower deck for the now much-more-severe anti-zombie firebreak action when I saw that I am already hosed.

Yep, it has metastasized.

By next week I should be watching Fox News, buying a premium membership on Classmates. com, and demanding to see the President's birth certificate.

You have been warned.

Photo Phriday: Installation or Editorial?

This afternoon I took Cole and Jasmine out on some errands.

An unknown dog or dogs had an upset tummy* in my office this morning, and the weather is turning mild, so I put all the others outdoors while I was away. Sophia (it was her, as it happens) in the indoor/outdoor kennel by the barn, and Pip, Rosie, and Barry White with the run of most of the foster kennel and play area.

Moe was by himself in a run in the foster kennel. Just before I left I hung a bucket of fresh water from the fence.

When I returned, it looked like this:



Yes, the two-quart bucket is completely filled with straw and mulch. Mostly straw, which came from inside the plastic doghouse about six feet away.

No, I have no idea how he did it.

I do not know why he did it.

Is it an editorial comment on the indignity of being left in a kennel, as if he was a dog for chrissakes? Protest over being confined alone?

Maybe. But I got this kind of Richard Dreyfuss sculpting Devil's Tower out of mashed potatoes vibe from it. It kind of felt like a compulsive act of art.

It was a deliberate and symbolic act. But what kind?

Least Likely News Quote EVER

“Sometimes, you just gotta say: ‘OK, I still have nine live, two-headed animals,' and move on.”

The Charlotte Observer

Lethal THIS

The dog in this picture rated maximally dangerous -- "Lethal" -- on the doltish scale devised by a self-proclaimed "expert" on aggressive dogs.

Yes, there is a dog in this picture. Keep looking.

The only thing that ever made her happier than the way those kids are treating her like a rockstar (which she totally deserved) was when she actually got to go out and for real save one.

Please check out this post over at YesBiscuit!

And the comments, oh the comments.

The clinically delusional hawker of a product that she claims will identify "dangerous" dogs without them ever having done anything to harm anyone, and also prescribe the punishment to be inflicted upon the dog and owner by the gummint has decided to take Shirley's bullshit call-out as an cue to run an infomercial in serial installments.

Oh Billy Mays, are you already spinning (loudly) in your freshly-dug grave? Is this what screaming hucksterism has sunk to already? Contriving the concept of Thoughtcrime for Dogs and then devising the punishment?

Keep in mind that this is the -- I could not make this shit up -- same lackwit featured in this instructive National Geographic videohttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EujeBI2edis.

Yep, that's right. Some dozy bint deliberately breeds enormous hairy mastiffs to be as vicious as possible, brags about how nasty the puppies are, has their infant gonads cut off (gotta protect the cash flow) and then sells them for major simoleons to patsies like the inept sucker featured being dragged into traffic by a man-eating dog that is larger than he is and completely immune to whatever "training" he's attempted -- that selfsame dozy bint is now trying to scare timid municipalities into pooping their pants over a whole lot of hitherto unimagined Al Quaeda dogs that are stealthily hiding out in back yards, just waiting for their chance to suicide bomb Miss Babcock's preschool class, one delicious toddler arm at a time. And then buy her "system" and institute a regimen of pre-emptive "animal control" so intrusive that Winston Smith would've told them to fuck off and mind their own damned business.

And the HSUS, among others, is apparently on board with this shyster. Not since the DKL Lifeguard fiasco have I gotten to see a con artist flying right out in the open, pinging, pinging, pinging the radar, with the distinct shape of Rodan flying straight at Tokyo, while the people who are paid to know better keep saying, aw, it's just a flock of ducks.

Hop on over to Shirley's blog and join the conversation.

And check out SmartDogs' far superior rating system for dog owners. I believe she pulled it out of some orifice in a few spare minutes today. It is full of win!

See, Ms. Follett is posting her infomercials -- with complete ad copy in every signature line -- because she wants to get GOOGLE HITS on her product keywords in places other than her own advertising site.

I think we should make sure that when some enquiring mind follows those googles, he or she gets to see how disreputable, ridiculous, and insidious Follett and her crackpot "product" really are.

And fair warning. Comments on this blog are currently unmoderated. Anyone trying to use it to advertise or self-aggrandize will be summarily deleted and then roundly mocked.

Photo Phriday: Take a Hike

Hey idiot! Get off that tractor and take your damned dogs for a walk!

Ya think?

This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here?

I have a little tattling widget that tells me, among other things, what search terms land people on this blog.

I check it every so often.

Mostly, people are googling my name, and often the title of the blog or just "blog." These are people who mean to get here. They are remarkably consistent about spelling my name right, which is otherwise rare.

Before I left for Billings Montana, and again after my name appeared in the paper there, it seemed that half of Montana was wondering what was up with me. That's okay. You get a pretty decent sample on this blog, and my google results do not, at this date, include anything embarrassing or inaccurate. I do get a little creeped out when I find people googling my friend's names, for some reason. So I'm not going to repeat their names here. Except ...

There was this one the other day:
Ken Chiacchia facebook (user from Rome)
Aunt Linda, Ken doesn't have a facebook page, but he has a nice blog.

Apparent kindred spirits and fellow seekers find us:
the dog trainer from england is she a fake
drivey australian shepherds (visitor from Michigan, spent a while tooling around)

One of my most popular posts for the Googles is Abusive Boyfriend Dogs and Bunny Boiler Bitches. Landing there have been these searches:

Boyfriend's dog bit me -- cell phone googler in Illinois
my boyfriend's dog is possessive of me
a bunny that is good for a boyfriend and girlfriend to have -- user from the Columbia University server
how to spot a controlling boyfriend -- London, Engliand
bunny boiler bunny bolier (sic) behavior
What dose (sic) bunny boiler mean (user from Oxford England)
keep Bitches Employed bug (from Bulgaria)
"Bitches are trying to collapse, but I am stronger" (Santiago, Chile)

Funny thing is, I think I did a pretty good job of defining the terms and addressing some of the issues that were on these people's minds in that post, whether or not the googlers had anything "dog" in mind.

I don't think I can help the Columbia student on his or her relationship-building rabbit project, but good luck kids, house rabbits can be quite charming pets and produce good houseplant fertilizer. Just shield your lamp cords.

I think the Bulgarian and Chilean googlers lost something in translation. I do not want to know what. Or are those rap lyrics of some sort? Again, don't answer that question.

Sometimes googlers land on my blog because of my penchant for whimsical, ironic, and obscure post titles:

Time for a Few Small Repairs
You won't find the lyrics to the excellent Shawn Colvin song here, but thanks for stopping by. Also, I'd always thought that Sunny was a high-school girl. Housewife? Really? Wikipedia may not be authoritative on this matter ... but then, I also thought Shawn Colvin was about 20 years younger than Wikipedia says, too.

Mystery Tree
Probably still a mystery for you, but mine is definitely a Bradford Pear.

"the unbearable cuteness of being" -- Brisbane, Australia
I guess I wasn't so original.

"chelsea arthur"
There are a number of young ladies with facebook pages, etc. with this name. As far as I know, my white easter-egger chicken is the only one who has mutton chops resembling those of the 21st President of the United States. Because "Arthur" is not a Greek surname.

A lot of people google wolf-related terms, including "raised by wolves," which may or may not reflect them looking for this blog. Probably mostly not.

Others included

the lady who raised wolves in pittsburgh (visited twice) -- user in McKeesport, PA
Now I want to know about it! Someone raised wolves in Pittsburgh? Do tell!

my husband was raised by wolves honda
Oh yeah, that's a cute car ad. I like Hondas too!

world population wolves
I have no idea, but let me know if you find some hard numbers.

There are search terms that don't bear further thinking
reform an abusive puppy trainer
lap chickens -- IL Mac user
general directions of giving first aid (Please! Just call 911!)
satan's jockstrap at hotmail dot com (user from London, did not stick around)

My post on Country Dog, City Dog gets a fair number of topical hits, such as
"country dog" "city dog"
suburban dogs vs. city dogs

A lot of googling on the marketing names of fake "designer" crossbred dogs land on At Least, Don't Buy This. I sure hope these people read the post. Could save them money and heartache, and save the pups and parents untold suffering.

cavi-poos puppies
morkiepoos
cavi-poo
toy poodles are whiney needy little dogs

And oh yeah, trainettes on that whiny, needy little discussion board -- I could see where you were linking from, and followed your conversation. Not sorry this post offended your virgin ears. Just amazed at how fast a defective thinker could go from "She says mean things to people who buy dogs from pet shops and makes them feel bad and we should never make people feel bad," to "The only way to shut down the puppymills is by making breeding illegal!" 'Cuz it would be mean to make consumers feel "bad."

And my favorite to land on that post, someone in Germany actually googled this phrase, in all caps just as shown:
THIS IS AN ABSOLUTE MUST-READ IF YOU OWN A DOG

It is the second hit if you google that phrase. Why? The terms don't appear in the post itself. Can anyone enlighten me? Clearly my understanding of how search engines (even those with non-lame algorithms) work is missing some important pieces.

The Prepotent Trademark?

The Original

Rin-Tin-Tin is a trademarked term.

Who knew?

At least, one Daphne Hereford of Crocket Texas owns the tradmark rights to "Rin-Tin-Tin" as it applies to "live puppies."

No word on what the US trademark office has to say about marketing dead puppies as "Rin-Tin-Tin."

A US distributor is releasing a 2007 Bulgarian flick, Finding Rin-Tin-Tin on DVD, and Ms. Hereford is suing to have all copies of the film drowned in a bucket destroyed.

It is not clear to me how a trademark on a term as it applies to the sale of live puppies affects the use of the proper name in a movie which, while it may take liberties with the facts, is roughly a work of art depicting a historical personage. Caninage. Whatever.

But according to the Houston Chronicle

According to the new lawsuit, Hereford's trademarks on the Rin Tin Tin name include its use for live puppies, educational presentations, a mail-order fan club, magazines, playing cards, children's books, dog clothing and dog food.

Hereford's Houston-based lawyer, Karen Tripp, said the current case is about the dilution of trademarks. "Daphne has a very strong trademark in Rin Tin Tin. Her registrations are incontestable," Tripp said.

The possible remedies are varied, Tripp said. "At the very least, there has to be a notice that these are not Rin Tin Tin dogs but actors. Her dogs are beautiful and well-trained, and she wants it clear in the marketplace," the lawyer said.

I mean, I know! Just compare these superior "linebred" descendants of the original Rin-Tin-Tin:

Daphne Hereford's "history" page

With these hideous counterfeits:

(Hint: in Eastern Europe, the wicked commies did a very good job of breeding real working GSDs, the better to oppress their population, Dearie. Dog shows were a bourgeois no-no.)

So if I make a film about the life of Rinty contemporary Errol Flynn, do I have to cast Sean Flynn to play Pop-Pop? If I wanna make a movie about Oscar Wilde, am I SOL?

There's so much not to like about this sheet-shedding tempest in a steel bowl:

• Ms. Hereford's inbreeding program
• Her "eye" for a German shepherd dog, and delusions that the beasts she owns today bear any more resemblance to great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great Grandad than does any other German shepherd
• $3500 for an indifferently-bred shepherd pup, sold on a sterilization contract

Vying against

• What promises to be a truly vile direct-to-video animal-themed movie, which I now feel compelled to at least rent

(Update: It is on Netflix streaming. It is more horrible than I ever imagined. If Ms. Hereford had sued to have this film euthanized on artistic grounds, I'd have filed an amicus brief. Though it has a pretty awesome, South Parkian in its self-parody, training montage.)

You can patent a mouse or a yeast. I don't agree with it, but that's the law as it is. You can protect a bloodline of animals with hardass contracts, and it's the obligation of the civil courts to enable you to enforce those contracts.

Ownership of the name and story of a historical figure, by virtue of ownership of some of his descendants, and an aggressive trademarking campaign?

(Update: The judge says WTF?)