A long absent Ruby wants you to know she’s quite relieved to finally be making an appearance on Ruby Tuesday. This is her showing her approval of our carpet choice. I’m sure her selection had nothing to do with heat worship and the warm afternoon sun! Oh . . . and the intensity? She thought she saw a squirrel outside the front windows.
What’s that smell? That rancid, stomach-churning stench. Oh, that would be the smell of Ruby. Stinky, stinky skunk chasing dog. Sigh.
I was all snuggled in and half asleep at midnight last night. Greg came to bed and slumber sank in deeper. I smelled skunk smell but it often wafts through the neighborhood so I ignored it. Greg wasn’t as deeply asleep so he did not ignore it. He got me up and sure enough . . . Ruby STANK. She was in my daughter’s bedroom, curled up on her beanbag chair (a truly luxurious beanbag chair that was given to us by a designer who works with my husband). I took Stinky McStinkerson and gave her a bath. Greg took the beanbag chair out to the deck.
I am a firm believer in the de-skunk solution you can find on the Internet [click]. It really works. But, I did not have the supplies on hand. Ruby still stank after the bath but I couldn’t tell that as I crawled back into bed because the entire house stank so badly. Greg realized it before he came back to bed and locked Ruby into the kids’ bathroom.
When I crawled out of bed at 6:00, he told me that’s where she was. Only, she wasn’t. Nope. Bathroom empty. Seems my daughter got up to use the bathroom in the wee hours (get it?) and felt badly for Ruby and took her back to her bedroom and closed her in there. Ruby spent the rest of the night sleeping on my daughter’s bed. You can’t imagine how much that room stank when I opened it up to get Ruby out this morning. I hope that I can clean her comforter . . . and the 43 million stuffed animals that she sleeps with every night.
Right now, Ruby’s closed into my laundry room which gives her access to the outside (dog door). When I get home from school today, I will stop at the store and buy some hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. If I were smart, I’d buy 47 bottles of peroxide and a dozen boxes of baking soda to keep on hand. Maybe I’ll just get a couple extra so that next time, the house won’t stink so badly.
What a stinky way to start the day. Aren’t you glad the Interwebs don’t have a smell-o-vision feature?
Disclaimer and Warning: This post is not for the delicate of stomach, nor the lover of squirrels.
We are — as are most birders — beset by squirrels. One of the many reasons that a Rat Terrier joined our lives was their propensity for chasing rodents. Too often, I look out at my feeders and see this:
or this:
All of which does not mean that I ever wanted Ruby to catch one. Sure, she’s caught a mole (or two — we found another one) before but still, a mole is a far cry from a squirrel. I was pretty happy with her just chasing them away. Occasionally, she scares a bird but my seed bill is way down with Ruby on the job!
But, I got an email from Greg today after I whined to him about how tired and sick I was feeling (staying home to go to the doctor tomorrow) that while my day was rotten, Ruby was having a GREAT day. She “got” a squirrel. I wrote back for clarification . . . “You mean she caught one?” “Yup!” came his reply “She killed it.” And, then, in typical male fashion, he told me that he left it in the driveway for the kids to see before we dealt with it.
So, here’s how it went down. He went out to get the mail and, as usual, Ruby went with him. They walked out, got the mail, and then walked back. As he got to his office door, he heard some very intense rustling noises coming from the leaves under the birch trees. He turned to look and Ruby was going to town shaking something to kill it. He ran out quickly thinking she’d gotten a bird and saw the fluffy tail. She took her kill out to the driveway and then left it. It was of no more interest to her. The picture above was as interested as she got in it — sniff, sniff. Yup. It’s still dead.
So, she accomplished her goal. I’d imagine it will make her even more determined. Greg and I are amazed that she caught one. They are way faster than she is and usually watch carefully enough to get a head start. We envision two scenarios: 1) The squirrel only saw Greg and thought it was safe. Ruby came it from behind the car and he never saw her coming, or 2) The squirrel saw her but instead of bolting up the tree, it froze as they will do as a car comes barreling down on them on the road with similar success. I’m, of course, trying not to think about the 3rd scenario wherein the squirrel was ill and couldn’t get away. Maybe it fell and was stunned. Who knows. Well, Ruby, but she’s not telling!
PS. The kids were thrilled with Ruby’s accomplishment and praised her up one side and down the other for getting those bad squirrels. That’s my tender darlings.
PPS. We threw the squirrel in the trash. Only later did I think to leave it for the Ravens — we’ll do that next time. Should there be a next time. Sigh. Rest in Peace, Squirrely.
Since we were all having fun on the beach, Greg thought Ruby might enjoy it too. I had taken her there on leash earlier in the morning and she’d seemed to like it. The beach was empty and Ushki, the corgi, was already romping so we figured we’d get Ruby too. Greg couldn’t find her leash — luckily, she’s a lightweight little thing.
Wonder of wonders. She who hates the water . . . loves the beach! She pretty much kept her feet dry but she romped and explored and played. So many good smells for a dog who loves to go to ground!
She helped the kids dig their defense against the oncoming tide.
She helped Greg look for intrepid sand gophers.
She looked for love. In all the wrong places.
The biggest surprise of all was when she saw Ruthie high atop this rock on the beach and simply ran up the side of it. I wish I had pictures of it but each time she did it, I simply stood there with my camera limp and my mouth open in surprise. She simply ran up the side like a mountain goat. Ushki, the corgi, looked up at her in awe and dumbfoundment (probably a similar look to the one on my face!).
Ruby loves camping but she REALLY loved camping at Albion. We all did!
Sometimes my dad can be really loud. He has these machines and I don’t like them. He was tearing up the floor with this one. Something about a leak or something. Whatever, I don’t know why anyone would cut a big hole in the floor. That’s just asking rats and mice and stuff to come in the house. Sometimes I wonder if people ever think things through.
See, that big ol’ machine, just cutting a huge hole in the floor. Then they were all impressed with the big thick wood. La-de-da! Yea, people! That wood was there for a reason — to keep out the rats! And mice. And squirrels. And all the other vermin! Moles could come in now. They never listen to me.
It wasn’t all noisy this weekend though. Mom did get some stuff put away. I think the kitchen might start having food in it again soon! I hope so! Toes crossed!
Ruby is a very smart dog. She is also a dog with very little coat and she gets cold. Our bed is the warmest bed in the house. It’s a 1970’s era water bed so it’s always warm. She loves it. Greg — for all his many fantastic atributes — does not like sleeping with a dog. So, she is not allowed to sleep with us. Ruby usually solves this dilemma by sleeping with the kids — not much is warmer than sleeping kids, after all.
But Ruby would like to sleep with us, in our bed, our warm bed. She occasionally tries to join us — I will half-awakedly push her off. This is when she usually goes to sleep with the kids. And, all is well.
Ruby is a very smart dog, however. This morning, I woke up and she was sleeping at my feet. She’d found a warm spot and crept up there and curled up quietly and was asleep. At my feet. Quietly.
I gave her a silent pat on the head and went on my way. She’s a good girl. What Greg doesn’t know, won’t hurt him! 😀
Offer a Labrador a stale Cheerio and he will be your new best friend. Not so a Rat Terrier — she is cool to new people — not rude, but cool. Ruby is all about reserve and loyalty. She will eat your stale Cheerio — have no fear — but she won’t consider the next step to lifelong devotion.
Managing a dog on a camping trip is a tricky thing. No matter how well behaved the dog, the rangers will strongly prefer that you keep your dog contained in some way. The neighbors will also prefer that your dog is contained in some way rather than rampaging around like a wild thing. There are various tools to help with the requisite containment but they all have their downsides. Leashes get tangled. Pens can be jumped out of. And, dogs confined to motorhomes can whine and whimper and cause all who hear them to think their owners are horribly mean. Besides, when you add a passel of kids into the picture, all those systems get even trickier. What to do? What to do?
At home, Ruby’s natural stay-at-home-with-her-people tendencies have quickly and easily been honed such that she doesn’t bolt out the door unless given permission (most of the time — she’s not quite 2 years old, remember?). She hangs out on the porch when we’re out in the front doing things. She doesn’t bolt outside while the kids and I are loading the car in the morning for school. She’s a very good girl if we watch her and remind her what she should be doing.
I know there is no substitute for good training. Not that I’m a particularly good trainer but shaping her natural tendencies towards what I wanted from her makes it all much easier. I wanted to be able to leave the motorhome door open, tell her to wait, and know that she would do just that — wait inside and not come out without permission. We started while I was working in the kitchen of the motorhome so I could reinforce the command regularly. At first, she was out the door in seconds but gradually she got the idea and by Sunday afternoon, she was lying down inside the motorhome relaxed and calm. Everyone in camp helped by sending her back inside or saying “wait” as they walked by or in and out of the motorhome.
And, all good girls deserve rewards. A t-bone seems like an adequate reward, don’t you think? Ruby certainly thought it was worthy.
P.S. This is my 1,201 post. Wow. Who knew I had so much to say?
Ruby did not come on this camping trip with us. If we are just going and hanging out at the campground, then Ruby can come along and have a grand time with us. But, when we are gone on this kind of a trip where we are away at amusement parks for most of the trip, well, then taking Ruby would be unkind, to say the least. So, Ruby got to go to Gramma’s house for the duration.
Gramma loves dogs and adores Ruby. Ruby has her own waterbowl — that Gramma made at a paint your own pottery place — at Gramma’s house. Gramma saves special tidbits of cheese throughout the week so that when she sees Ruby on Sunday nights, she can give them to her. Ruby is a spoiled rotten dog at Gramma’s house. Add to it, my sister-in-law and her sons who also work hard to spoil Ruby and, well, you’ve got a pretty cushy set-up for a dog.
To be honest, we were worried that Ruby wouldn’t want to come home.
Thankfully, she did. She was so happy to see us all. Jumping and licking and just pressing her body against us. We had missed her a lot. Her presence is so huge for such a small dog. All of us mentioned it on the trip — I miss Ruby! I can’t wait to see Ruby. In fact, when we decided not to stop on our way home and get her — but wait until the next day when we went over for dinner, well, I thought there would be a mini riot on our hands. Ruth was most displeased. And at 9-3/4, her displeasure is becoming something to be reckoned with! 🙂
Ruby was glad to see us and glad to be home. The squirrels had gotten brave in her absence and she was pretty busy yesterday letting them know that she was back, thank you very much.
And you know, she’s been getting a few extra tidbits from us, too.
Ruby wants you to know that she hates Home Depot too. (And yes, this is all just a clever way of complaining about Home Depot under the guise of a Ruby Tuesday post.) Ruby hates them more now because tonight they were supposed to call and let us know that our countertops were in and ready for pickup. But, there was no phone message tonight. So, I called the store around 6pm to find out whether or not I should order pizza or just go down and get the countertops and get fast food in the car. The kids were rampaging around whining about not having any food in the house and I was irritated to say the least. Well, the girl that answered the phone was quite helpful but ran out of options when no one in receiving would answer the blinking phone. So, she told me that she’d give my message to a guy who would call me back in 20 minutes. At 7pm – 40 minutes later, I loaded the kids up in the truck and we went into town for pizza — meeting Greg there.
The phone call came in at 7:44 pm. The message was hilarious — I’m sure he thought he was being clear but he said, and I quote, “If your countertops aren’t supposed to have backsplashes, then I think I’m looking at them so if you aren’t sure, call me back.”
Sigh. Heavy, heavy sigh.
As for me, I’m going to go back to grading 5th grade essays where the language is clearer and more definite than a well-paid Home Depot sales associate’s phone messages.
Maybe tomorrow night, I’ll be able to take a picture of Ruby next to our new countertops without backsplashes, thank you very much!
Can we talk? You have no idea what is going on around here. They have torn the whole house up. No one is cooking. My food dish is moved to the bathroom — do you believe that? The bathroom? They are doing dishes in the bathtub. I tell you, it’s crazy!
Look at all the junk they brought home from IKEA the other day. They didn’t even take me along — good thing too. There wouldn’t have been room in the car. Sheesh! They tore all the cupboards apart in the kitchen and put all this sticky, stinky stuff all over it. They are banging, pounding, and making bizarre noises with all sorts of equipment that hisses, squeals, pops, and grinds. It’s horrible.
Oh, and when I try to help? Are they grateful? Pleased? Tolerant? Nope. They say, “Ruby! Out! We don’t need your help.” How much is a girl supposed to tolerate?
And, the worst part? They eat out every single night. But, how many doggy bags do you think they bring home? That’s right! They forget all about Ruby while they eat their ribs and hamburgers and steak and pizza and chinese food. Poor me. You can see the insanity for yourself {click}. Don’t think about how nice their kitchen is going to be — think about how rough life is for a little dog with sensitive ears and not enough doggy bags!
I’m willing to take matters into my own hands, I tell you. My Gramma was here helping today — they didn’t make her go out and not help! — and when she went home, I tried to go with her. She’s the one who made me my own bowl and saves special bits of cheese for me. That’s a house a girl could love! Not this insane asylum. Sigh.
It’s enough to make me just give up. Where are the smelling salts?
mother. wife. friend. teacher. writer. reader. photographer. birder. quilter. blogger.
Liza Lee Miller 