Chi-Chi's Enemy

(Chi-Chi died today, from complications of diabetes. Before her death, we had the chance to become actual friends. This piece, written two years ago, describes my basic relationship with that funny little dog.)




I don't think Chi-Chi really hates me. Her feelings are both deeper and more complicated than that.


Chi-Chi is the pack member I've alluded to a few times, but not written about much . She's a 14 year old, diabetic, Chihuahua who belongs to my mom, which makes her my sister. To be sure, she hates me less than my human sister does, but since I live with Chi-Chi, she has to endure me much more.


I've lived with Chi-Chi for eight years, and she still barks at me as if I was a burglar every time she sees me. Not every time I come into the house, but every time she lays eyes on me. When I get down on the floor to try to befriend her, she backs away in terror, snarling at me, until finally she's in the back of her box.

That's right. Chi-Chi lives in a box. I know it's supposed to be called a "crate," and, technically, that's what it is, but it looks like a box to me. Chi-Chi spends at least twenty hours a day in the box. The door is never latched, or even closed, it's just where Chi-Chi prefers to be. One might think this would mean she's housebroken. One would be mistaken. 

It's not that she doesn't know we'd prefer she went outside, it's that she doesn't care. Her turds are as hard and dry as rocks, and we don't have carpets in the house, so she's easy enough to clean up after. To be clear, though; these aren't "accidents." She knows better, she has the opportunity to go outside, and she decides she'd rather not. I don't much like cleaning up after her, but I must say I admire the strength of her convictions, however ill-advised they may be.

When I approach her in her box, she is as aggressive as possible. Fortunately for me, she's a Chihuahua. How aggressive can that be? I used to worry a little, until one day I decided to just let her bite me, if she wanted. She did want to, but since I could barely feel it when she dove into the flesh of my hand, we've both come to understand that actual violence on her part is an ineffective deterrent.

Chi-Chi weighs eight pounds, but the vet feels she should weigh six. At one point, she weighed twelve pounds, and looked more like the bioengineered result of blending a pot-bellied pig with a human fetus. Then she was diagnosed with diabetes, began insulin shots and a special diet, so today she's at least recognizable as some form of canine.

My parents got Chi-Chi from a rescue organization when she was already about a year old. She was tightly bonded with my father, who passed away 2 ½ years ago. Since my father's death, Chi-Chi has become much closer to my mother, and, if anything, hates me even more. Understand, I've never yelled at Chi-Chi or disciplined her in any way. I've always been as gentle with her as if she were a glass figurine. It doesn't matter, though. Chi-Chi is the only dog I've ever met who just can't stand me.


But "hate" might not be the exactly right word. Chi-Chi will accept a treat from me, though she trembles as she does so, and I have to reach my arm way out so my hand is as far away from the rest of my body as possible. She'll muster up the bravery to pluck the treat from my hand, and then immediately retire to her box to eat it. She would prefer that I never touched her, or looked at her, but I have fed her and given her insulin shots. She is terrified when I have to do this, but when I leave her alone in her room, she eats all her dinner.

Sometimes, though, I'll see Chi-Chi looking at me when she doesn't think I notice, and she's not giving me the evil eye. I'll catch her looking at me with an expression of awe, if not reverence. If she sees me looking back, she'll usually start barking and snarling again, but it doesn't matter. I know. And she knows that I know.

Chi-Chi sees me walk, feed, and totally care for Levi, Rocky and Erica (of course she's been invited on the walks, and, naturally, she refuses). She sees me comfort them during frightening times, like thunderstorms. It's clear to her that they all love me. So what's the problem?


Honestly, I believe it's that Chi-Chi is scared to love me, for whatever reason. Maybe it's something unknown in her past, like abuse from a man who looked like me, but I don't think so. I think Chi-Chi holds back from a simple fear of loss and rejection. I think that because she's so small, when Rocky and Levi are excited around me, she's scared she might get knocked over and hurt. 

Mainly, though, I think that Chi-Chi has decided she can't love me, because she wouldn't be able to stand if I didn't love her back. Of course I would, but I think Chi-Chi is a one-person sort of dog, and that, whoever her master is, better be a one-dog kind of person. Knowing I love Levi, Erica and Rocky, I think Chi-Chi is unwilling to accept sharing my love with anyone. Therefore, Chi-Chi's reasoning goes, she has to hate me.

I'm sorry for Chi-Chi in that she can't bring herself to be my friend, but she has a relatively full life, anyway (full for someone who spends twenty hours a day in a box, that is). She has a very close bond with my mom. She loves Levi, who is clearly aware of their size disparity and is always extra gentle and careful around her. Like everyone, she loves Rocky, though you can tell even she knows he's not too bright.

But Chi-Chi's best friend in the pack, outside my mom, is the other girl, close to her size and age. Chi-Chi and Erica Kane adore each other. Erica's been long habituated to dogs, but Chi-Chi is the first one she's known who's actually smaller than she is. As far as I know, Erica is the first, and only cat, Chi-Chi has ever seen, but somehow they couldn't be tighter sisters and girlfriends. 

So all in all, me and my pack moving in on her territory was a positive thing for Chi-Chi, even if it does mean she has to live with me, her enemy. I refuse to be her enemy, though. She can bark, snarl and bite all she wants, it doesn't matter. Any friend of Rocky, Levi and Erica, is a friend of mine. 

(Note to my Hispanic and Spanish speaking readers: I know what Chi-Chis are. I do not believe my parents did when they chose that name)

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

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My Turn: It’s My House, So Follow My Rules, by Erica Kane

I've lived with dogs since I was a tiny kitten, and I have to say that they are literal minded to the point of idiocy, usually, or, at their best, like Levi, they are a mass of neuroses and misguided perceptions. Don't interpret this to mean that I don't like dogs. I'm very fond of them indeed, though the things that worry or excite them are quite beyond my understanding. Do you have to act like hooligans because the doorbell rang? It just means someone's here, but they'll leave soon. You dogs need to learn to concentrate on what's important.

Because of the inattention of the dogs and humans I cohabit with, I have had the opportunity to mark everything and everyone in the house. Those stupid dogs (and humans) see me rubbing my face on chairs, tables, walls, everything, and they don't do a thing to stop me, or mark their things first. I've proceeded with some caution, but at this point I can announce, with no fear of contradiction, that I own the entire house, all its contents, and the surrounding lot and landscaping.

Though my clever encroachments have given me indisputable title to the family home, it is not in my nature to be a tyrant. I shudder to think of what antic rules might be imposed were Levi to become lord and master of our domicile. I have no intention of evicting anybody, human or dog, now that I have obtained title, and as a practical matter nothing will change. I just have a bit more security, which I need for my psychological well-being.

Which brings me to the real object of this essay: my fear of imminent starvation.

Despite being a cat of property and distinction, I am dependent upon dad for my very sustenance, and his inattention makes me fear that I might starve to death in the near future. By noting this now, and publicly, I hope to aid the possible service of justice in the event of my negligent homicide by starvation.

Of course, I free feed. My food must be available to me 24/7. Who knows when I'll be hungry? Certainly not dad! He is so inattentive!

I have what's known as a "gravity" feeder. It holds about two pounds of food. As I eat what's in the bowl, the food is replenished from the canister. It's an amazing invention, so simple but necessary and useful. Rather like the wheel. It's the kind of creation that makes me realize what useful and creative creatures humans really are.

Despite the manifest cleverness of humans, my dad will often let this device become so empty that it holds less than a pound of food! I understand that his intent is to fill it up again, sometime, but who knows how the future may conspire to make that intent untenable?

Once my gravity feeder is one quarter empty, I loudly notify everyone in the area of the potential disaster that lies ahead. If my yowls are heeded at all, it's by dad looking at my feeder and saying something wholly irrelevant like, "Erica, there's enough food there for a month. Stop it."

"Enough food for a month." What then, dad, what then?

So he lets the feeder get ever lower, dangerously lower, until I'm forced to spend much of my energy motivating him to fill my feeder up all the way! I "meow," I yowl, I run back and forth from wherever he is, to my food bowl, and he'll do nothing at all! Dad may be "the dogman," but he certainly doesn't know how to properly appease a cat. It's times like this that I wish I were big, and could make dad do what he's supposed to!

Finally, things will get dangerous. The feeder will be half empty. That's when I switch into high alert, and I will no longer be denied! I will not stop bugging everyone until the feeder is full to the top.

My rational side knows that with the feeder half-full, there is enough food for at least a week. But are my wishes so extreme? Is it too much to ask that my feeder just be kept full? Especially considering I'm the landlord around here. Really, that's all I want out of life.

Especially now that I legally own everything else.



Ed. Note: This is ordinarily Levi's column, but late Sunday night he informed me that he wasn't a machine who wrote on cue. I reminded Levi that he had known about this deadline for a week, and that he himself had insisted on a weekly column in the first place. Levi then asked for a cookie, which he got.

Erica said she would fill in for Levi, and that she had an important issue of which the public needed to be made aware. I told her that would be fine.

She handed in the above at the last minute. It's actually fairly accurate, except, of course, I dispute Erica's legal ownership of the house by virtue of her markings. 

If you don't care for Erica's opinions, feel free to check out some of Levi's past work here.




© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

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Saturday News of the Dog

It's been my policy to stay away from disturbing news when I present my Saturday wrap-ups of the week's dog news. The papers are full of stories about puppy mills and dog fighting and people throwing dogs off balconies and such, and I don't want to fill people's heads with that kind of stuff.

Still, this first story today is far from pleasant. Bizarre, sad, disturbing story about a guy who wanted to be a dogman, and what went wrong. Robert Brunette, of Boulder, CO, kept about 50 dogs and lived with them as their "Alpha." Weird, Lord of the Flies type antics ensued. Now he's been convicted on all counts, and it seems, this putative "dogman" is facing 4 years in prison. The moral of this story: Kids, don't try this at home. Or, perhaps, try not to go too crazy.

Science has weighed in, and it's official, verified and scientific. Dogs are smarter than cats! I can't imagine this finding will result in any controversy whatsoever. I am refraining from mentioning this finding to Erica Kane, however.

Here's something positive, for a certain dog, anyway. Liza, a dog of uncertain provenance from Iraq, survived a suicide blast last week that killed 125 and injured 500. Humans. But Liza is alright, and has been reunited with a 14 year old boy who is the sole surviving member of his family. Of course the dogman wishes both Liza and her young master all the best.

With so few shopping days until Christmas, let us be thankful for The USA Today for providing us with a handy guide for the top ten gifts for dogs and cats.

Speaking of dogs and Christmas gifts, it's gratifying to know that Bo Obama will have his own Christmas stocking in the White House. Naturally, Levi opposes this, claiming that it will add to the deficit, but Levi's feelings about the First Dog might color his opinion somewhat. For one, I'm hoping Bo and the whole Obama family have a great Christmas!


This dog talks! Again, this particular dog talks!







© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

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My Nightly Threesome

It's been raining all day, which is a big deal in Phoenix. Unlike a lot of the people who live here, I hate the rain, and don't appreciate it all the more for its infrequency. I'm not sure if Levi dislikes the rain intrinsically, or if he picks up a vibe from me, but when it rains here, Levi doesn't even want to get up from the couch. If it's actively coming down, Levi won't voluntarily go in it. I've seen him refrain from peeing for 48 hours rather than get wet.

When we lived in Illinois, Levi had no choice but to go out in the rain now and then, but he didn't have to like it. In Arizona, on a day with foul weather, Levi, and Erica are basically just waiting all day to go to bed for the night. The three of us sleep in a double bed, so it's close, but not tight.

When I start to make the motions of going to bed, Levi will hurry to get there first, so he can lie horizontally across the bed. I don't know why he does this. I would say it was a joke, but he isn't laughing, and isn't very happy when I have to adjust him to something like a standard, vertical, bed position. Levi isn't a dog who would ever growl at a person, especially me, but when I have to reposition him in bed the look on his face is as close as I ever hope to get.

Levi doesn't like to get under the blanket, and he likes to press his back against me while he sleeps. As we get into our positions, Erica comes to join us.

Erica sleeps on my head. She starts out our night by cuddling against the side of my face, while I pet her with my opposite hand, which is behind my head. She purrs, and if it's a cold night, she gets under the covers with me for a while, but only until she warms up. Then she creeps out, and positions herself around my head, like a Davy Crockett coonskin cap.

That's how we stay until morning, unless Levi goes into a heavy dream cycle. Watch this video and imagine what it's like when that's happening in bed next to you.








Hopefully this terrible weather will abate, and Levi, Rocky and I can get both of our daily walks in. On rainy days like this, when Levi's under exercised, he's at his most dangerous. Especially with his Howard Hughes nails.

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
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Thanksgiving Feast

Happy Thanksgiving! I hope that you realize how much you have to be thankful for, especially if you're lucky enough to have dogs or cats. Make sure they get some turkey today. Yes, it will give them bad turkey farts, but that's a small price to pay for their happiness. (And I just said some. I mean a few bites. See this article to find out why maybe turkey is not the best idea. Maybe a little ham?)

Today, a few of the Dogman's favorite pieces, for your holiday enjoyment.

First, meet Rocky. He's a good boy, he tries real hard, and he has a lot of character! That's a pretty good combination, if you ask me. Read about Rocky here.

I don't think Rocky's ever run into a skunk. If he had, though, he surely would have been thrilled! Dogs love skunks' odor. Why is that? A possible answer to this question lies here.

Finally, for after-dinner Thanksgiving fun, here are the rules for Rocky's favorite game, Look Out, Cat!!! I'm sure all your pets would enjoy a rousing round or two after supper and before dessert!

Learn how to play, Look Out, Cat!!! here.

Saturday News of the Dog

Frankly, it's been a horrible week in dog news. I just cover good dog news here, and there are slim pickings. If you want to read about dog concentration camps, and torture, and euthanization and organized fighting rings, and a million other awful things, that's what's all over the news this week. It's enough to turn your stomach. But, here are a few items of non-horrible dog news from this week.


 

There's a judge in South Carolina who likes to bring her dogs to court with her. They're good dogs who behave themselves, and I don't see a problem with it. The city council, though, wants to make her stop. I have no doubt this is the most pressing issue before the city council. 

San Francisco city supervisors vote to ban declawing in the city and county. Very cool. Declawing is an atrocity. It's hard for me to believe there are still vets who are willing to do it.

This is good news, I guess. After the biggest dog-fighting ring ever in the U.S. was broken up, almost 300 of the dogs have been rehabilitated and given 2^nd chances in adoptive homes.

Finally, I've been a huge Al Franken fan for more than 30 years, and now I'm a big Senator Al Franken fan, and a big service dog fan, as well. As if to specifically appeal to me, Senator Franken's first bill introduced in the senate is the "Service Dogs for Veterans Act." Its purpose: To provide service dogs to veterans. As long as the city council in that South Carolina town doesn't get to vote on it, I would think it will go through. Well done, Senator!


© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

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My Turn: Those People at the Door, by Levi

                                                      Those People at the Door Must Go

by Levi

Of all the things that bother me in today's increasingly hectic world, I'd have to say the number one irritant remains those people at the door. Even after years of training myself in the practice of Tantrayana Meditation, learning to accept all that comes my way with equanimity and dispassion, I still cannot help but find those people at the door to be far more provocative than even my tolerant ways can endure. Therefore, I propose something be done about those people at the door.

First off, those people at the door make me angry. Really angry. Exactly what are they doing on the other side of the door? I know everyone on this side of the door is alright, but I don't know anything about the people at the door. I can only assume there's something seriously wrong with them, for, if there wasn't, wouldn't they already be on this side of the door? Though that was a rhetorical question, I shall nevertheless answer with a resounding, "Yes!"

Allow me to list some of the people who are on the other side of the door: Osama bin Laden, Michael Vick, and the Fed Ex man. That's three off the top of my head. Need I go further? Whenever the doorbell rings, or I even imagine that those people might be at the door, my concerns about what dangers are lurking on the other side, cause me such great excitation that, I fear, I cannot remain silent or still. I will bark, and get Rocky to bark, too, until we have run off those people at the door.

It has been suggested to me that, if I didn't bark and run around crazily whenever those people were at the door, then maybe I would be in a better position to calmly ascertain whether those particular people at the door are a danger. The cogency of this strategy may seem unassailable; identify first, and then sound the alarm, if necessary, but I fear I'm beyond learning new tricks at my age. Deep in my heart, I know about those people at the door. I know they're bad news, and that I need to chase them away, as quickly as possible.

Erica never seems concerned about those people at the door. She just sits there. I know, what's a cat supposed to do, they can't bark loud like a dog, right? I understand that reality, but I still find her serenity, her absolute indifference to the awful possibilities brought by those people at the door, galling. I suspect she would run and hide rather than participate in the vigorous attack I am preparing for those people at the door! I hate those people at the door more than I do the vacuum cleaner and coat rack combined!

I will tear those people at the door apart! I will bite their soft parts until they bleed! Those people at the door are going to be sorry they incited the wrath of Levi!



Dad better hold me back, or those people at the door are dead! Do you hear me? Dead!!



Grandma will open the door. Poor grandma. They'll get her first, and that idiot dad will stop me from being able to save, or at least, avenge, grandmother's death! Damn him and damn them all!



Wait a minute. It's Shannon and Dianne at the door!

I've never been so happy! Can you believe it?! Shannon and Diane are here! I've got to sniff them everywhere before I die of delight! Those people at the door are my cousin and my aunt! Never before has simple misapprehension been quite so sweet!



So, in summary, I hate those people at the door, unless they're Shannon and Dianne. It is obvious something drastic needs to be done to curtail those people at the door, probably at the federal level. But, until a national solution is found, you can bet I'll really hate those people at the door. Unless they're Shannon and Dianne.

(Editors note: Levi was reminded that, in almost every instance, he likes those people at the door, and that visits by people he likes, such as Shannon and Dianne, are far more frequent than visits from nefarious figures like Osama bin Laden or Michael Vick, who rarely come by. I offered to help him amend this article so it made some more internal sense, but Levi began whining about editorial interference and the first amendment, so I'm posting this as he wrote it. I didn't point out that there was no first amendment issue whatsoever involved here. That's an argument I've had with Levi too many times, and it never plays out well.)

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
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Dug-Up Bones

This is my 24^th posting in as many days, and I've been very pleased and excited by the interest in and reaction to my blog. Since the Den opened 24 days ago, I have fiddled with the set-up and design, and added and subtracted counting widgets and such. I've had Statburner, Feedburner, Trendcounter, and several others that I have taken on and off my site since its creation. As a result, I don't have an accurate count of how many page views, or visitors, I've had, or what country these readers are from. However, preliminary estimates are most encouraging.

If my calculations are inexact or my methodology questionable, I apologize, but, as of today, I estimate my web site has had over 3.5 million page hits from more than one million separate individuals! The results of my new flag counter, when combined with those of my old flag counter, reveal that these million-plus readers seemingly come from 3,657 different nations! I'm slightly humbled that my words are reaching so many, but, ultimately, I feel it's for the best.


Note: The Den of the Dogman had a very ugly banner, and a friend of mine who prefers to go by the nom de guerre, "Muse", who made me a great Entreecard, has said she's going to make me a nice banner. She started to, but it wasn't long enough! Now she says she'll fix it, and maybe she will, but for now, I have an idea! The first Den of the Dogman ™Official Contest! Design the Dogman's blog's banner! If you don't know what this means, you probably won't win the contest, so don't bother entering. 

Send your beautiful and appropriately sized banner art in today! The winner will enjoy the thrill that comes with being chosen, and will also receive a personal e-mail from the Dogman! (multiple entries are allowed!) Send in your "Dogman" banner .jpg today!




And now, a look back at some of my favorite's since this site's inception. If you missed any of these, read them now, and no one need know you didn't read it the first chance you had!

Labs, Monkeys, Pirates and the Essence of Fear: A funny story about Vinnie, a black lab Seeing Eye dog, and a few of the things that frightened him. Not unreasonable things, but genuinely scary stuff, like a monkey in the courthouse! And then there's the pirates!

"Look Out, Cat!!!™" It's every dog's favorite rainy day fun game! It's the exciting new craze that's sweeping the doggie countryside. Read all about it and get the official rules. Leagues are forming SOON! Funny, because it's true! (NO kitties are harmed during properly conducted games of "Look Out, Cat!!!™")

Meet Lyric, my late wife's first Seeing Eye dog, a beautiful, high-strung, brilliant German shepherd. An ultimately sweet and touching story, about the most intimate of dog-human partnerships – and how it all started with hate at first sight!

Let Us Sit Upon the Ground and Tell Sad Stories of the Death of Kings A very sad story about Karen's last Seeing Eye dog, Arthur. Perhaps the greatest of all dogs meeting perhaps the saddest of all ends. If you don't already keep Kleenex next to the computer, get some before you start reading this story. But read it, please. Whatever else, Arthur earned our attention.

Dreams of Dogs and Cats Levi and Erica discuss their dreams. A rare insight into the inner workings of our pets psyches! A light, funny, fantasy piece.

Come back to the den tomorrow for the beginning of a week of new stories.

© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

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Saturday's News of the Dog

Welcome to Saturday's assembly of dog news. No reports on dogs starving, or abused, or fighting…just decent dog news for ordinary, decent, dogs like yours. 

I'll keep up on what's going on in the world of dogs, so you don't have to.

Part of a series about Scout, the puppy, who today swims indoor in Manhattan! City dogs have the life!

How a dog's mind works. This is a GREAT article from the NY Times about the latest theories of the mind of dogs, and how they can learn to do such incredible things. The article talks about how dogs are intellectually about on par with a 2 ½ year old human, and emotionally on a whole different level than people. Incredibly interesting!

Church services for LA area dogs. I suppose they couldn't get less out of it than some people!










It's official. Both dogs and cats can get swine flu, so I guess it's time for them to panic, too.

A mutt in Pittsburgh is nursing nine African Painted dogs. Very cool!

A marine finds a stray mutt in Iraq…and gets the dog home with him! A story of how man and dog should care for each other.

And, finally, here's Bob, the fattest dog in all of Scotland. I have no further comment.


© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

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