When Humans Become Meals...

July 2010 has been the rainiest and hottest July I can remember. With this climate comes the humidity, the bad hair, the stagnant air and the standing water. And with this environment comes the mosquitoes. Tiny little vampires of the insect world.

According to Wikipedia,there are about 3,500 species of mosquitoes in the world. I’m quite sure that about 3,499 of them live in the Texas-to-Florida corridor. To my vampire comment, let’s be fair…only the female mosquito is the vampire. She needs the blood of humans to produce eggs and ultimately future little bloodsuckers. Males suck on plant nectar and hang out while their gals prey on us warm-bloods. This is like a bad rendition of “Twilight” and we’re ALL Bellas.

These little she-devils love my husband. He is a mosquito magnet of the highest attracting force. Buy stock in “Off” or “Cutter” products, folks, because our family is single-handedly keeping those companies in business. Before we go outside to do anything – and I mean ANYthing – we have to “lube up” as we call it. Go to the mailbox? Lube up. Walk the dog, water the plants or any yardwork? Lube up. Answer our front door? We should lube up. Our neighbor came to our door this past week and we literally smacked a mosquito on his forehead. Nothing says “hi, neighbor,” like a pop to the upper-left forehead and the blackish-red stain of a splattered insect!

Think we should do more than just “lube up?” We have coils that you light. We have citronella in all shapes, forms, liquidities and holiday colors. We have tiki torches – which I think when lit simply signal the mosquitoes to “C’mon over, dinner is served.” We have a propane-powered fogger, which works like the sprayer trucks, but in hand-held form. Our county has sent the trucks and even crop duster foggers to fly over our neighborhoods, but alas, throngs of the little swarmers still cruise our yards.

I’m pestered by them, but not like my husband. I think it’s because I eat a lot of garlic and according to an old wives tale, garlic in the bloodstream is supposed to be unappetizing to mosquitoes (yet another vampire connection). But lately, I too have had to spray every exposed body part with insect-repellant chemicals. And still, as I bend down in the flower beds to battle the crab and Dallas grass (there’s another blog entry there…), I’m attacked by swarms that would send the Luftwaffe back to Berlin. I feel like I’m the man in that old “Off” TV commercial, where he sticks his arm in the aquarium filled with mosquitoes, and they attack him like paparazzi on a Kardashian. And sadly, it’s not looking any better in August…

Our Christmas Gift - "Chance"

It was the day after Turkey Day and the only things stirring were the sounds of Christmas to come: plastic tubs full of Christmas decorations being dragged across the hardwoods, my husband cursing at the ever-unstraight tree top, a football game on TV that no one really cared to watch and me, wondering out loud if 11:30 a.m. was too early to crack open the Pinot Grigio.

On one of my husband's many trips to the garage for yet another unhelpful decorating tool, he hears a "squeak." Much to his surprise - by total "chance" - he finds the sweetest little constantly purring kitty following him around. Well, you can imagine that my husband, AKA "The PUNisher," named him Chance. Only 5 minutes after he arrived. He fell in love with Chance faster than a new Callaway driver.

Being the responsible one, I posted messages on our community e-mail boards and after a couple of weeks and no responses, we knew Chance was here to stay. Our older cats were beginning to figure out he wasn't leaving and he has actually given them a spark of playfulness that they heretofore hadn't exhibited at age 14. Chance also made friends with our dog, Chip - much to Chip's delight. (He's only used to the older cats ignoring and/or hissing at him.)

So we had a very Merry Christmas - by Chance!

Losing Zach - A Lesson in Lack of Knowledge

We recently lost our beloved Irish setter, Zach to Gastric dilatation-volvulus (GDV) is also known as "Bloat," "Stomach Torsion," or "Twisted Stomach." It was a condition to which we were completely oblivious - until it was too late.

I write this to alert all pet owners - ask your vet what diseases and afflictions might be inherent in your pet. The only thing I had ever heard of to be wary of for setters was hip displaysia. Even if you think you're being paranoid, knowledge is power - the power to keep your pet alive in some cases.

On this day, we mistakenly thought Zach had absorbed or ingested some weed killer - and we were totally wrong. We watched helplessly as he panted incessantly; tried unsuccessfully to throw up; to get comfortable by laying down in several positions; tried to stay cool. He didn't eat nor did he drink and as a result, no pottying. When we took him to the vet, they made him as comfortable as possible, tried to alleviate the air in his stomach and sedated him to stop the panting.

Surgery was available but it was expensive and the odds of success were not good. So we had to say goodbye and let God welcome him. After hours of crying we started to look up GDV/Bloat on the Internet. They listed what dogs are susceptible. Surprisingly to us, it looked like a resume for Zach.

Breed - Irish Setter is #4 most likely to get it.
Genetics - Large/narrow chest confirmation, a breed standard for setters.
Age - Dogs over 7 years of age. Zach was 7 and a half.
Gender - Male dogs are twice as likely to develop GDV. Zach was all boy.
Eating habits - Dogs fed once a day are twice as likely to develop GDV as those fed twice a day. We feed once a day.
Temperament - Nervous, anxious, or fearful appear to be at an increased risk of developing bloat. Zach operated at Mach 10 all the time.

The vet was generous and kind in telling us there was nothing we could have done to prevent it. But I really feel that had we known, we'd have done some things differently. RIP, my sweet Muttles. You are missed.

If you'd like more information please go to this very helpful link: http://www.peteducation.com/article.cfm?c=2&aid=402

Will Pets Rule the World?

I love my dogs. I really do. But c’mon. They are DOGS. I realize that some folks see their furry friends as their children. I get it. I’ve never had children either. Lately, I’ve seen lots of situations and products that make me think, “wow – these people have more money than sense.” If I DID have children, I’m not sure there are a lot of these things that I’d experience with THEM. If you look in my blog archives from July of 2008, I went on a mini-rant about a lady at my nail salon that brought her dog in with her. PLEASE. Here are some actual “real-life-occurrences that just have no place with your pet:

Strollers – There’s a high-rise next to my office. Lots of people walk their dogs, as they should. However, as I drove into work, I spotted one lady with an old-fashioned, pram-style stroller. In the stroller were three – YES 3 – white, fluffy little dogs, just enjoying the ride and panting as if they were actually walking. Isn’t the purpose of a dog walk to “walk the dog?” I almost hit a fence! As we all know from my previous blog entries, there’s no stroller big enough on this planet to fit even ONE of my dogs, let alone one of them riding shotgun in a stroller.

High-End Mattresses – One of our local retailers is advertising Tempurpedic® mattresses on sale. Nothing wrong with that. The wrong part came when they started hyping their Tempurpedic® mattresses FOR DOGS. I can’t even afford one for myself – let alone provide one for my pets, who will promptly devour it as the large, foam rubber marshmallow it is. We’ve seen what Chip can do to a rose bush, so foam rubber is a piece of sponge cake to him.

Pet Clothes – If you live in the north or Midwest, and your pet needs to go outside in the dead of winter, then dog clothes (i.e. sweaters) serve a purpose. However, dressing your mastiff like Madonna or your Persian like Paris Hilton means there is a spark plug that’s not firing in your brain. Why don’t you put on a furry Chewbacca costume as you’re putting clothing on your pet…see how long you enjoy it?

Kitty Clothes – Oh please. Enough said. Good luck with those back claws.

Pet Swimming/Life Preservers – OK…these may have a place. Older or crippled animals would probably need these. But geesh – there’s a reason the swimming teacher called it “the dog paddle.” And if you’re afraid that Spot will jump off the Sea Ray, then leave him on dry land.

As ludicrous as these things are, I will however, give kudos to the companies and retailers for seeing their niches and jumping on them. And we wonder why people are worried about “the dumbing down of America?” I rest my case.

Possum Holler – Part 2: What Part of “Stealth” Don’t You Two Get?

Our dogs are so sweet and so cute, but not blessed with a lot of smarts. If you read my earlier blog, you know the story of the squatting family of possums that took residence in our fence. They are long gone, but every now and then, an errant possum, rat or cat with an attitude likes to use our fence as an interstate.

It seems that our pups, “Chip the Terrible” & “Zach the Inhaler” can be inside, with appliances in operation, the TV going - and still hear a rodent or feline intruder that’s outside. At least WE think its hearing. Shades are drawn – so it’s not like they see it. Windows are closed to keep all the A/C inside for the long, hot summer – so it’s not like the smell it. It must be the sound of their tiny, pest-like claws slinking along the fence’s 2x4’s.

The goal of our Canine Caped Crusaders is, of course, to expunge the intruder and thus protect the yard. Not really – they just want to catch it and play with it. So they are at the back door like a couple of bulls - hopping front feet to back feet, salivating, tails whipping - ready to be unleashed on a tiny matador.

But one problem, Boys: BOWWOWBOWWOWBOWWOWBOWWOW. Y’all start barking loudly and uncontrollably BEFORE we let you out. The pests are pretty well clued-in by now that you’re coming. Remind me not to hire you out as robbers…you’ll call the bank first to ask them to open the vault.

Welcome to Possum Holler, Pearland

As if my dogs were not obnoxious enough, we have a possum hiding out in our fence. Not just any possum, but a MAMA possum. With babies. Before you get all "awww how cute and sweet," on me, just stop. It's a huge rat. Yes, a marsupial one, but a rat nonetheless. And I know it eats wood roaches but for them, I have Raid (I know - not very much in line with my environmental blog).

Our dogs, who between them have less than half a brain, think that Godzilla has invaded our backyard. To hear them bark, they've found Osama Bin Laden. And while he's always had the size and strength to jump our six-foot fence, our Irish Setter Zach never realized his super-canine abilities. Until Mama Possum came to town. Now, not only can our neighbors see his huge red head atop the fence line, but they can hear him in Dallas. Or at least Conroe.

We have a battery-operated "Rat Zapper" (isn't suburban life fun?) designed to let rats and field mice know that we have no intention of sharing our deck or hot tub with them. So far, it's nabbed two of the baby possums. Sad I know, but as Darwin outlined in his vast chronicles, it's survival of those with the ability to landscape. In my efforts to be an Earth-friendly species neighbor, we bought some non-toxic "Critter Repellent" that, using the distilled scent of possum predators, hopefully drives our little furry squatters to the yard of another family.

Unless they all learn how to pull weeds - then they can stay.