Get off at Exit 69 on Big Beaver Road–How Hard Can it Be?

“Big BEEverr” Pronouncing this major artery through the city of Troy, Michigan almost always draws snickers from out-of-towners.   It is embarrassing to give them directions in this town to anywhere, even a place as simple as a shopping mall.  I blame dead folks: the ones who long ago snickered at leaving us this legacy.   They know what they did.

These 1950′s engineers were in charge of road planning.  They selected all the junctions as I-75 was designed. Big Beaver Road, which was originally named in the 1800′s after a nearby beaver pond, was assigned (cover your eyes, kids) EXIT 69.  If these clowns had added one more intersection before or after Big Beaver Road, a lot of teens and t’weens would have had nothing to giggle about.   Worse, the old Playboy Club, was there, further perpetuating the urban legend factor. Take heart, Michiganders, we are in good company:

 

 

 

 

 

Kentuckians don’t want you to know is that there are two villages in Northern KY: Beaver Lick and Big Bone Lick.)

For those of you needing some extra R&R, you could pull over here: 

THIS IS ABUSE!! I know because I am an animal expert.

Bloodhound Pup

Click on the orange link above and see a Puppy who doesn’t want to take a bath. The way she is grabbing him under the arms is where a pressure point is and it’s making him paralyzed! This sweet pup will suffer for the rest of its life and may not walk properly.  Watch what this woman does to the dog time and time again. I’d also like to point out that I’m totally bullshitting and this is the cutest thing ever.

 If you think this is abuse, just stuff it and enjoy more… 

 

They play us, you know.  This German shepherd was limping for 2 days and his owners couldn’t find anything wrong with him. They started suspecting he might be faking so decided to set up a video camera while they were gone to see if he really is hurt. When they got home and watched it, he was chasing the other dogs all over the house not limping one. Next, you see the people walk through the door on the video and he immediately starts limping again! BIG FAKER!! After ignoring the limping for 2 days he finally gave up.

Busted Brutus plays dead as soon as he sees the leash come out for a walk or a bath. He is not a fan of anything that requires effort. He also cries when he wants a treat.

My own dog, a German Shorthaired Pointer, flops down at the rear of my Tahoe feigning hearing loss when she figures out she isn’t going bye-bye.  It gets more pathetic when I call her to the front door and she becomes “paralyzed.”

Dog owners everywere:  BEWARE of cuteness overload as our pets play us like fiddles!

 

What’s the Big Deal?

Continued….part 4

Happy Harriet hopped into my car to go bye-bye again.   Last time we went on a big camping trip so this time she was definitely up for another adventure.  She got one, too.  I dropped her off at the vet to be spayed.  

Harriet had never been to a veterinarian’s clinic before so she was still happy.  I was the one who ended up blubbering when I relinquished her to the techs.  I  imagined her waking up in pain and thinking that she was alone or dumped.  I begged them to let me tie my scarf around her neck so that when she “came to” she could smell my smells and know that I still cared. I couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking she was abandoned.   That’s when I realized I had turned into a “helicopter mom”.

Two days later she graduated from that blasted, shin and calf bruising cone into a sporty blue blow-up donut and insisted on helping me with chores.  We went out to the chicken coop and she helped me collect eggs.  I might have dropped one “on accident” but it was gobbled up right away so I can’t be sure.  Then we filled a big pail of water for Ruby and Stella, my little goaties.  Quality Control Specialist Harriet chomped at the tap water as I filled the goat bucket.  She likes goats.  She gets right up to the red fence and they face off.  Eventually somebody snorts and scares the bejesus out of the others and then they all start running around like buckaroos until the stare down starts up again.

Each morning and evening I slathered ointment on her sutures and she looked up with eyes that said, “What’s the big deal?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AMAZING ISR – (Illinois Shorthair Rescue) – FACTS

Every dog ISR rescues is given the best possible medical care.  They are microchipped, heartwormed, Frontlined, spayed or neutered, and any bumps or suspicious lumps are removed and biopsied.  Broken bones and torn knees are surgically repaired by  veterinarians within their network, who discount their services.   They make sure Heartworm positive dogs get the care they need.  ISR rescue dogs are vetted for temperament and they are  fully vaccinated. Foster families get to know them and work hard to turn these abandoned dogs into excellent canine citizens that anyone would be proud to own.  100% of any monies donated are used to treat and rescue GSPs.  All the administrative and “boots on the ground” work is grass roots, volunteer.

Everyone can do something to help; it doesn’t have to be a financial commitment.  Maybe you can jump on a transport–where you might pick up a dog from a foster home and deliver him or her to a forever home!  I’ve done this and it is the best experience!

Maybe you have old blankets, towels or sheets with holes in them that are too yucky for Goodwill but perfect for a dog who has never had anything soft to sleep on.  Food and cleaning supply donations are appreciated.  Just spreading the word via your own facebook page is awesome.

If you shop on amazon.com, and want to support any cause or any breed rescue, register at smile/amazon.com and a percentage of everything you were going to purchase anyway will be donated to your cause!

Illinois Shorthair Rescue
Gurnee, IL 60031
Phone: 847-276-6995

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harriet Goes Camping

88

Continued….Part 3

Week 1: Harriet (L) Remi (R)

Sure, my first foster dog, Harriet, had little things that were broken because she had not had much human contact. 

  • She was not potty trained–but we could fix that, quick, with some crating at night and lots of walks.
  • She did not know her name, Harriet, which was probably assigned to her by the Shelter.   With all her German engineering, ending up with a name like Harriet is, let’s be honest, humiliating.  Something like Heidi (noble and kind) or Greta (little pearl) or Ava (a bird) would have been better. I kept her call name Harriet because it symbolized something greater:  it would be another battle scar she carried until she was adopted.

On her first full day of normal, back at our farm, I noticed something silly.  Harriet, who is five years old, did not know how to walk up or down stairs and she did not know how doors opened and closed.  She had survived winters and summers tied up in a barn her entire life.  It was fun to teach her about these things, and trust me, some things she learned the hard way:  like doors.  Her snout took a few good smacks in all of her excitement.  A big plus was that she had no bad indoor habits…no counter surfing and no jumping on furniture. She craved sitting in my lap, but all she could do was press her head into my knees and push as her sign of love.  I cupped her little face, lifted it up, and encouraged her.  She simply had no brain connection between her wants and the execution.  It is no different than asking someone to wiggle their ears…they may really want to, but just can’t execute the moves.  One day, though, I saw this! (and smiled) 

The goal was to slowly exercise her to build up her muscles so her frame would have support and straighten out.  Her back was deeply bowed like a horse who carried too much weight and her front legs were awkward with elbows splayed outwards in a bulldogesque manner.   Everything about her confirmation was a little “off” from years of abuse at the end of a 6′ rope.   We needed to get some lungs on her, put some weight on her, and see if we could make our own “My Fair Lady.”

After a week of playing fetch and jogging, her carriage started improving.  I decided more fresh air was the cure!  We loaded up the Airstream and headed off to Holland, MI for some trail hikes full of new flora and fauna to explore.  Bees buzzed and frogs scared her when they jumped.  Chipmunks in campgrounds are very brave and Harriet almost caught one!  There were berry bushes and prairie grasses to burst through.  We ran up and down endless sand dunes and shared peaceful sunsets.  At night, Harriet wore a little red jacket and the toasty campfire kept us warm.

She loved everything about camping.  She watched squirrels skit and scatter between pines and she held a skunk eye on all the tweetie birds.  Harriet splashed in the Lake Michigan surf and began to hold her head up just a little bit higher.  She helped me find a stick to roast a hot dog on and she tried to lick the campfire sparks so I had to keep her a little farther away–she was so entranced by the snap, crackle, and high flying pops.  Over and over, she snapped at lightening bugs, missing, as her chops slammed shut with a funny, saggy sound.  Everyone in the campground stopped to say hello to Harriet.

 Within a few weeks, Harriet started looking like and enjoying life as a proper GSP

We had one hurdle left…Getting Spayed.   Stay tuned.

    

 

 

 

Harriet

12079317_10207316682651383_1741281638331291724_n

Part 2:  Continued from Rescue 911…

Earlier in the year, I had enrolled in ISR’s (Illinois Shorthair Rescue) foster program, was vetted, and was hoping to get my first foster dog.  

A group of eight dogs, including three German Shorthaired Pointers, had lived in deplorable conditions in a barn for five years and were removed by Animal Control in IN.  On an otherwise glorious fall day,  ISR called me with the Shelter’s address and a pick up date for my first foster dog, the pregnant one.  All the dogs had been quarantined and were getting proper immunizations and evaluations by veterinarians.   Now I just had to put on my big girl panties and go rescue a distraught Momma-to-be.

It has been over 10 years since I’ve cared for a litter of pups, but I had all the necessities:  a whelping box, string to tie off umbilical cords, that orange antiseptic that bleeds and stains everything,  an electric puppy warming pad, and lots of time and love.  All I had to do was clean out my mud room which, trust me, was an epic endeavor.  Five garbage bags, lots of perspiration, and two hours later, I was ready!

Driving 220 miles to a Shelter to pick up a dog that could burst puppies in your car at any moment gives one the jitters.  As I rolled down the highway, I sang along with Willie, Waylon, and Johnny Cash.   Their honest lyrics and smooth picking was just the ticket.  When I rolled up the driveway at the Shelter, a lady waved.  After throwing it in park, saying a prayer and stepping out into the unknown, the Shelter ladies and I exchanged information and signed forms.   I waited outside.  Finally I saw her, in full bloom.  Harriet.

Her first worldy possession, a yellow duckie.

At first glance, she was a looker…very beautiful coat markings with ticking and brown patches, topped with a chocolate Hershey’s Kiss face and matching brown eyes.  She had a big, droopy belly but it was soft.  That’s when I learned that Harriet had dodged a bullet.  She had been so full of worms, that until the pregnancy test came back negative, everyone thought she was having pups. What a relief!  Instead of having to find 10 homes, we only had to find the right home for Harriet.  (By the time I picked her up, she had been dewormed and the belly just needed time to firm back up).  Everyone was grateful that she did not have to go through another trama…feeding pups when there was really nothing left on her to give.

We walked around the Shelter together getting to know one another before the long ride back to Michigan.  She was stressed, with eyes flashing above, over, beyond and around….but underneath the uncertainty, she trusted me and was gentle.   I was feeling better and better about this whole opportunity and even celebrated having a mudroom where we could actually hang up jackets.

Harriet would keep her head down and walk to my knees and press her face into my legs and push.  That was her expression of love and it was good enough for me, so we hopped in the car and headed home.  From her vantage point in the rear of my Tahoe, Harriet watched cars and trees roll by.  She saw cornfields and flashing lights and smelled new smells.  She looked out of the back window until she couldn’t hold her head up any longer.  Then she slept, peacefully, probably, for the first time in five years.

….to be continued

Note:

My husband and I have always had German Shorthaired Pointers and we love their merry mischief making, admire what true versatile athletes they are, and how pack oriented each one is; Velcro dogs!  You get the best of both worlds in this sporting breed–when it is done right.  It is even more tragic for these noble dogs, when, through no fault of their own, they become homeless or are neglected.

http://www.akc.org/dog-breeds/german-shorthaired-pointer/

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blood and Band-Aids

bloody hand cut on floral wire at mailbox 0910

With orange handled Fiskars, I was cutting up little pills, dividing them in half with the scissors, one by one.   You have to put a lot of pressure into each cut when cutting a hard tablet.  Painfully, I missed and cut the palm of my hand wide open.  Bright red blood spurted out of a three stitch hole. I filled up a paper towel or two using direct pressure and held my bloody paw above my heart.

I reached for the Johnson & Johnson Band-Aids to doctor this one up myself.  Stitches are for wussies.  When the bleeding slowed down, I started applying a bandage, and that’s when  I “lost it.”

Grief is a sneaky thing. 

In the 1960′s through the 1980′s my Grandmother worked at Johnson & Johnson in Chicago and was the head of quality control for bandages at J & J (as we called it.)  Grandma Ashbaucher made sure every Band-Aid that left the manufacturing plant was sterile and perfect.  She was so good at her job, that she was twice voted Johnson & Johnson’s National “Employee of the Year” and flown to New York to receive Johnson & Johnson’s National Leichen Award.

 

So there I was, at the kitchen sink, bawling my eyes out, proud to be opening a J & J Band-Aid bandage, remembering my childhood boo-boos and the white tin boxes the Band-Aids came in, and accepting that the torch has been passed on to someone else, maybe another Grandma.  Not only did she have a stellar career there, but that company also paid for my father’s college education at Roosevelt University. He began working at Johnson & Johnson in 1960, at 19 years of age, in the mail room.  It took him 9 years of full time work plus part time night classes to earn his B.A. degree in Finance.  I attended his college graduation in 1969 when “Laugh-In” was on television, so when he came out in his black robe, everyone said, “Here comes the Judge” –like they did on the show.

My dad, James W. Ashbaucher, gave back to J & J for years, moving up through the management ranks, and later in his career, left to be a Vice President of several other international corporations.

Sadly, they, along with the era that brought us Johnson & Johnson’s No More Tangles shampoo, and Legg’s Pantyhose in Eggs, have passed away.  It is bittersweet when I see J & J bandages on store shelves–knowing that they are in my blood.

My favorite picture of Grandma Ashbaucher

So today, I put my Band-Aids on and cried; grateful for the childhood memories of my Grandma bringing home a box of Band-Aids that “flunked” her high standards, but were good enough for my knee as long as she added a couple of kisses to it.

 

Page 3 of 2412345...1020...Last »
© Copyright The Painted Post - Suski Web Design LLC