NOTE: MyOwnPet Balloons are shipped flat and must be helium-filled. They can be inflated at most florists, party and gift stores and many supermarkets (at NO charge) and, in the event they become soft over time, they can be refilled.
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Monday, December 05, 2011
Not All Balloons Are "Hot Air"
For every MyOwnPet balloon purchased from this page, $5 will go directly to help Canines for Disabled Kids.
NOTE: MyOwnPet Balloons are shipped flat and must be helium-filled. They can be inflated at most florists, party and gift stores and many supermarkets (at NO charge) and, in the event they become soft over time, they can be refilled.
NOTE: MyOwnPet Balloons are shipped flat and must be helium-filled. They can be inflated at most florists, party and gift stores and many supermarkets (at NO charge) and, in the event they become soft over time, they can be refilled.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Pause To Reflect, Paws To Count
We keep telling this story, and every time it makes me laugh.
When hubby was writing about mustaches, and dogs wearing them, he wrote:
What he intended to do was offer a photo of our stupid dog, but he selected the post in which she, Toodles "Squirrel Face" Davidson III, is next to a giant calculator. Which to me, seems to imply that the dog is so dumb, she needs to use a calculator as opposed to a dog being able to do math in its head. lol
Ween, on the other hand, is probably smart enough to use an abacus (yes, we own one); not that I'd ever be able to get a photo of that.
When hubby was writing about mustaches, and dogs wearing them, he wrote:
one of our dogs is horribly stupid, and would probably injure herself trying to use the toy improperly.
What he intended to do was offer a photo of our stupid dog, but he selected the post in which she, Toodles "Squirrel Face" Davidson III, is next to a giant calculator. Which to me, seems to imply that the dog is so dumb, she needs to use a calculator as opposed to a dog being able to do math in its head. lol
Ween, on the other hand, is probably smart enough to use an abacus (yes, we own one); not that I'd ever be able to get a photo of that.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Take The Animal Advocacy Background Survey
Via the always fab Chloe Jo:Please take Animal Advocacy Background Survey: Only Takes 5 Minutes!I have to say the survey took about 5 minutes or so, as she said; but the questions are very interesting and I hope she'll share the results!
This will take only 5-10 minutes, depending on how much you elaborate! (Elaborating is great, but it's not required.) Please crosspost to any lists you are on with other animal advocates. I'd like to get at least 2000 responses!
I'm working on a book for animal advocates, and I'd dearly love your input. I'm striving to find out what different backgrounds animal advocates come from, and ascertain if there are family patterns or other factors that seem to lead us in the direction of advocating for animals. Some of the questions are personal...you may always skip a question if it makes you too uncomfortable, and you may remain absolutely anonymous. Most of all, try to be truthful, even if it hurts. There are many opportunities for you to add comments...the more information you can give me the better for me to understand you and the background you come from, so feel free to elaborate on any answer that has a comment box. If you'd like to give me your contact info at the end, I would respect your privacy and your answers, and only contact you further in the event that I need more information. But as I say, you may choose to remain totally anonymous.
Thank you so much for helping me with this survey! For your help, you can get $5.00 off a $10.00 order on my art site, LittleGirlLooking.com (sorry, not the cafepress store as I don't own that site), $10.00 off a $50.00 order, or $20.00 off a $100.00 order. Just put the code at the end of the survey into your message area when ordering, and your rebate will be sent back to you after your order comes through on my end.
Tammy S. Grimes, Dogs Deserve Better
Image shown is Tammy's Animal Rescue Angel tattoo.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Babbling About Black Pets
Hubby found this article at MSN on "black dog syndrome" a supposed phenomenon in which black dogs are often the last to be adopted from animal shelters. Surprisingly, having spent years of my life working animal rescue (both pet and wildlife), I'd never heard of it.
I concede that photographs of all black animals are less impressive or moving due to lack of detail and, especially, contrast & exposure of their eyes -- a most imploring neotonous feature. But as most of my rescue work was before the use of the Internet for animal placement and adoption, there was little use of animal photography to place animals.
I won't dispute the evidence of what other animal workers say, but "black dog syndrome" was surprising to me.
However, I do have a story about black animals in pet rescue.
Every Halloween the folks who ran and worked with cat rescue were loathe to let black cats be adopted for fear they'd be used for satanic rituals. Being somewhat 'pagan' myself, I found the fear most irrational; I'd yet to see any evidence of any animal killings, ritual or not, around Halloween, let alone black cats. But for many cat shelters, black cats were kept away from public viewing from September to November based on fearful rumor or old stories.
One lady I worked with was so terrified of such things that any black cats which came into the shelter were adopted by her -- and only her. She was the only one to be trusted. (And I'll admit after a few years of her out-spoken fear and numerous -- over 30 -- black cats made me feel a bit suspicious of her myself; doth she protest too much?)
In truth, I saw many who desired black cats for their 'additional' mystic qualities; a solid black cat is rather special and rare, even if you aren't into any 'dark arts' or have no icky ideas.
Does animal lore does have its affects on people looking for animals? The MSN article spoke of some of those regarding black dogs:
My guess would be that animal lore adds to the relationship with the animal. Like a secret shared. And what pet owner doesn't already create or 'see' more in their pet and their special relationship? Such stories only tend to make people feel more bonded, more spiritual in connection, than just having a 'fur baby'.
I wonder, just a bit, if there isn't something about this smaller adoption rate of black dogs which has to do with those working with the animals themselves...
Are they at all guilty of somehow feeling the need to protect these animals from the ones most drawn to them because they fear the desire for a black pet is akin to belief in 'bad' animal lore? Do they, however unconsciously, fear a black dog is destined to be harmed?
I concede that photographs of all black animals are less impressive or moving due to lack of detail and, especially, contrast & exposure of their eyes -- a most imploring neotonous feature. But as most of my rescue work was before the use of the Internet for animal placement and adoption, there was little use of animal photography to place animals.
I won't dispute the evidence of what other animal workers say, but "black dog syndrome" was surprising to me.
However, I do have a story about black animals in pet rescue.
Every Halloween the folks who ran and worked with cat rescue were loathe to let black cats be adopted for fear they'd be used for satanic rituals. Being somewhat 'pagan' myself, I found the fear most irrational; I'd yet to see any evidence of any animal killings, ritual or not, around Halloween, let alone black cats. But for many cat shelters, black cats were kept away from public viewing from September to November based on fearful rumor or old stories.
One lady I worked with was so terrified of such things that any black cats which came into the shelter were adopted by her -- and only her. She was the only one to be trusted. (And I'll admit after a few years of her out-spoken fear and numerous -- over 30 -- black cats made me feel a bit suspicious of her myself; doth she protest too much?)
In truth, I saw many who desired black cats for their 'additional' mystic qualities; a solid black cat is rather special and rare, even if you aren't into any 'dark arts' or have no icky ideas.
Does animal lore does have its affects on people looking for animals? The MSN article spoke of some of those regarding black dogs:
In British folklore, such as stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sir Walter Scott, the black dog is a creepy, spectral figure that haunts cemeteries and is an omen of death. (Non-lit geeks who've never heard of those stories have at least seen "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban," in which a big black dog called the Grim stalks Harry.) Another Englishman, Winston Churchill, battled serious bouts of depression which he called "the black dog."Personally, like the black cats 'mystic' appeal, most animal lovers I've known wouldn't believe such stories mean the cute puppy or dog before them was evil -- but they might be tempted to find such 'mystic lore' appealing.
My guess would be that animal lore adds to the relationship with the animal. Like a secret shared. And what pet owner doesn't already create or 'see' more in their pet and their special relationship? Such stories only tend to make people feel more bonded, more spiritual in connection, than just having a 'fur baby'.
I wonder, just a bit, if there isn't something about this smaller adoption rate of black dogs which has to do with those working with the animals themselves...
Are they at all guilty of somehow feeling the need to protect these animals from the ones most drawn to them because they fear the desire for a black pet is akin to belief in 'bad' animal lore? Do they, however unconsciously, fear a black dog is destined to be harmed?
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Carnage On The Lawn
Dumb Little Dog brought a dead animal up to the back door deck yesterday morning -- the middle kiddle said it was a baby mouse. That's the story I got from hubby, as he was the Parent On Call in the morning.
Later that afternoon, Dumb Little Dog caught another one on the sidewalk (where she prefers to pee and poo because, well, she's Dumb Little Dog). This time I was the Parent On Call and I asked how big the baby mouse was -- when Des put her fingers apart suggesting a size of 4-5 inches, I knew there was a problem...
Thinking it was a rat -- which is no better, no worse, as far as that goes -- I decided to investigate what the backyard looked like with such large animal carcasses strewn upon it.
My investigation showed that this was not a case of either a momma mouse or a momma rat -- the baby I found was a baby rabbit.
(So much for everyone here in Green Acres who calls me the City Kid -- at least I can spot a bunny from a mouse!)
The baby rabbit was clearly in pain, swaying it's head and upper body from side-to-side, its little eyes not even open yet. Oh yeah, and there was a good-sized pool of bunny blood too.
I left it, hoping momma would come back soon, and went in search of the first victim -- hoping not to find him as that would be proof that he was alright.
No such luck.
His cold and rigid body was under the stairs (where he had been dropped between the second and third steps); his neck looked bloody and broken.
I took one last look at the maimed bunny on the sidewalk and told myself that momma would come for him if we left the yard alone.
Hours later, the baby bunny was still there, laying on it's side. Very still. I gently touched its wee head (with a white stripe that was too cute) and it moved. But it was very cool to the touch... I had to do something, so I picked it up in an old kitchen towel and hugging it close to warm it, brought it into the house.
I searched in vain for my old animal rescue gear; to no avail. (Memo to self -- and any others reading -- Do Not get rid of those small critter keepers, heat lamps and other pet stuff because you will need it again.)
I went to the Tupperware-slash-plastic food storage container cupboard and announced, "Who will shorten his life for a hurt baby bunny?" and grabbed one of those large ice cream buckets with the handle.
Tucking the baby in the towel gently inside the 'basket' I looked about for an eye-dropper. The only one I could find, believe it or not, was in a bottle of Rescue Remedy. Water, I felt, would be a better one; so I pulled out the dropper. I washed it, rinsed it, rinsed it again, sniffed it (for the Rescue Remedy scent), rinsed it again and again and sniffed it again before I decided it was OK.
I filled a small tippy cup (sans sippy lid) with tepid water and filled the dropper. I stroked his head and nudged his lips, but other than his blind head bobbing about imploringly, nothing much could be noticed of the attempts at hydration.
I put bundled bunny back in the bucket and I went in search of a light fixture generating heat.
Damn us and our environmental-slash-economic pursuits! All our bulbs (save for a few halogen bulbs aimed at art on the walls -- and those would fry the poor bunny-babbit!) are now those funny-looking twisty bulbs which are florescent or whatnot and so put out no heat.
I searched in the junk drawer and found one regular old bulb -- 100 watts. I un-plugged and moved the floor light fixture nearer to the couch, set the bunny basket-home on a TV tray, swapped bulbs, plugged the fixture in, and then turned it on -- POP the light bulb sparked and burnt-out.
Shit.
:sigh:
I picked bunny (named Spot) up and held him close for warmth. Stroking his head now and then and proffering drops of water.
It was then that Des noticed the blood on the towel -- not much, just a few drops. But this made it clear that Spot was still bleeding. Inspecting him showed a small-to-me, but-large-to-him, gash on his tummy -- likely from Dumb Little Dog's tooth.
I have to admit I began to shake a bit.
The idea of two murdered baby bunnies -- even by natural canine urges -- was sickening.
I sent Des to bed and that's when it hit me to turn to the Internet for help.
My first instincts were correct: You leave baby bunnies, health or maimed, where they are and hope for momma to come.
I took the dogs elsewhere to pee and poo.
Hubby came home later and moved baby Spot to a place just over our fence, but near enough for momma to find him (just a few feet away -- but safe from the dogs, human foot traffic, and the very popular "Kitty Path" too).
Now I wait 'til morning to see...
Later that afternoon, Dumb Little Dog caught another one on the sidewalk (where she prefers to pee and poo because, well, she's Dumb Little Dog). This time I was the Parent On Call and I asked how big the baby mouse was -- when Des put her fingers apart suggesting a size of 4-5 inches, I knew there was a problem...
Thinking it was a rat -- which is no better, no worse, as far as that goes -- I decided to investigate what the backyard looked like with such large animal carcasses strewn upon it.
My investigation showed that this was not a case of either a momma mouse or a momma rat -- the baby I found was a baby rabbit.
(So much for everyone here in Green Acres who calls me the City Kid -- at least I can spot a bunny from a mouse!)
The baby rabbit was clearly in pain, swaying it's head and upper body from side-to-side, its little eyes not even open yet. Oh yeah, and there was a good-sized pool of bunny blood too.
I left it, hoping momma would come back soon, and went in search of the first victim -- hoping not to find him as that would be proof that he was alright.
No such luck.
His cold and rigid body was under the stairs (where he had been dropped between the second and third steps); his neck looked bloody and broken.
I took one last look at the maimed bunny on the sidewalk and told myself that momma would come for him if we left the yard alone.
Hours later, the baby bunny was still there, laying on it's side. Very still. I gently touched its wee head (with a white stripe that was too cute) and it moved. But it was very cool to the touch... I had to do something, so I picked it up in an old kitchen towel and hugging it close to warm it, brought it into the house.
I searched in vain for my old animal rescue gear; to no avail. (Memo to self -- and any others reading -- Do Not get rid of those small critter keepers, heat lamps and other pet stuff because you will need it again.)
I went to the Tupperware-slash-plastic food storage container cupboard and announced, "Who will shorten his life for a hurt baby bunny?" and grabbed one of those large ice cream buckets with the handle.
Tucking the baby in the towel gently inside the 'basket' I looked about for an eye-dropper. The only one I could find, believe it or not, was in a bottle of Rescue Remedy. Water, I felt, would be a better one; so I pulled out the dropper. I washed it, rinsed it, rinsed it again, sniffed it (for the Rescue Remedy scent), rinsed it again and again and sniffed it again before I decided it was OK.
I filled a small tippy cup (sans sippy lid) with tepid water and filled the dropper. I stroked his head and nudged his lips, but other than his blind head bobbing about imploringly, nothing much could be noticed of the attempts at hydration.
I put bundled bunny back in the bucket and I went in search of a light fixture generating heat.
Damn us and our environmental-slash-economic pursuits! All our bulbs (save for a few halogen bulbs aimed at art on the walls -- and those would fry the poor bunny-babbit!) are now those funny-looking twisty bulbs which are florescent or whatnot and so put out no heat.
I searched in the junk drawer and found one regular old bulb -- 100 watts. I un-plugged and moved the floor light fixture nearer to the couch, set the bunny basket-home on a TV tray, swapped bulbs, plugged the fixture in, and then turned it on -- POP the light bulb sparked and burnt-out.
Shit.
:sigh:
I picked bunny (named Spot) up and held him close for warmth. Stroking his head now and then and proffering drops of water.
It was then that Des noticed the blood on the towel -- not much, just a few drops. But this made it clear that Spot was still bleeding. Inspecting him showed a small-to-me, but-large-to-him, gash on his tummy -- likely from Dumb Little Dog's tooth.
I have to admit I began to shake a bit.
The idea of two murdered baby bunnies -- even by natural canine urges -- was sickening.
I sent Des to bed and that's when it hit me to turn to the Internet for help.
My first instincts were correct: You leave baby bunnies, health or maimed, where they are and hope for momma to come.
"The reality is fewer than 10% of orphaned rabbits survive a week..."I put him back where he was (the little pink stain on the sidewalk told me where) and left him.
"Very young wild baby bunnies with eyes closed and ears back rarely survive in captivity, even given the most expert human care..."
"Mom will be coming back at night to call and feed him only once in the middle of the night. Do not take the bunny inside or feed him. That is the mom's job. IT IS A MATTER OF HIS/HER SURVIVAL AND UP TO US AS HUMANS TO LEAVE NATURE BE AND LET THE MOM CARE FOR HER YOUNG. We often hear of mothers moving their babies and their nests, and have seen moms come back every night for up to a week to look for her missing baby. Do not take the baby from the mom or she will be frantic."
I took the dogs elsewhere to pee and poo.
Hubby came home later and moved baby Spot to a place just over our fence, but near enough for momma to find him (just a few feet away -- but safe from the dogs, human foot traffic, and the very popular "Kitty Path" too).
Now I wait 'til morning to see...
Monday, June 04, 2007
Weensy Pup
Rare photos of Ween, who, as mentioned before, is afraid of the camera. He honestly is afraid of them. Worse than the vacuum. It's like the magic box steals his soul...
The second Destiny left her blankie and pillows, Ween decided it was finders keepers and took her spot.
He was suspicious of the cell phone -- he's smart enough to know that something fishy's going on... But he hasn't quite figured out when it's a dangerous camera and when it's a non-threatening phone.
Ween must be almost 10 years old by now. Finally he can be called an old dog instead of folks just thinking he is because of his appearance as the grizzled old grandpa.
The second Destiny left her blankie and pillows, Ween decided it was finders keepers and took her spot.
He was suspicious of the cell phone -- he's smart enough to know that something fishy's going on... But he hasn't quite figured out when it's a dangerous camera and when it's a non-threatening phone.
Ween must be almost 10 years old by now. Finally he can be called an old dog instead of folks just thinking he is because of his appearance as the grizzled old grandpa.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Dogs In Hats
Awhile ago I posted at the end of an article about old chalkware collectibles that I was looking for a little hat for the large German Shepherd dog vintage chalk statue... Well, we got one in a lot of dolls we bought at auction:
Mr. Schultz, the GDS, is quite happy to have his ravaged ears less noticeable -- tho he does hope for more of a canvas fishing number. It would be more masculine. But for now it does the trick.
Not only is it a perfect fit for the plaster pooch, but it fits Miss Toodles...
It's quite difficult to take a photo of her. Toodles "Squirrel Face" Davidson III, a Cairn Terrier, isn't the sit-still type. But we eventually got a photo that wasn't all a blur.
Toodles, aka Toodle-Oodle-Oodle-O's (and her Toodle-Oodle-Oodle-Nose) is really my dog Ween's dog. I'll have to share pics of him too -- but that's even trickier. Ween is a mutt, and apparently part Aborigine, for he fears the camera. He thinks that box will steal his sweet soul.
Mr. Schultz, the GDS, is quite happy to have his ravaged ears less noticeable -- tho he does hope for more of a canvas fishing number. It would be more masculine. But for now it does the trick.
Not only is it a perfect fit for the plaster pooch, but it fits Miss Toodles...
It's quite difficult to take a photo of her. Toodles "Squirrel Face" Davidson III, a Cairn Terrier, isn't the sit-still type. But we eventually got a photo that wasn't all a blur.
Toodles, aka Toodle-Oodle-Oodle-O's (and her Toodle-Oodle-Oodle-Nose) is really my dog Ween's dog. I'll have to share pics of him too -- but that's even trickier. Ween is a mutt, and apparently part Aborigine, for he fears the camera. He thinks that box will steal his sweet soul.
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