ONE-EYED JACKS WILD

Charlie in forbidden chair

A Jack Russell Terrier in the height of his powers is anything but temperate. Inside the adorably innocent exterior, resides a razor sharp brain wrapped in a chaos of planning his next adventure. Though his DNA includes the destruction of unwelcome rodents, Charlie cannot be bothered with the effort, instead he chooses to share the wealth of fallen fruit with all comers.

To say that Charlie is a dog of many talents is an understatement. He is a fast learner and as a puppy he learned a few tricks to show off, and mastered a few household chores as long as the treats kept coming. As he ages we find that his ideas frequently take precedent over ours, and as we age along with him it sometimes seems easier to let him do it his way.

As dogs have their own way of aging, it is hard to determine just where they are in the human scale of things. It seems to vary between breeds. We have been blessed to have several different breeds in our lives. Healthy small dogs as a rule live longer than their larger companions and we have had both, sometimes two at a time. A miniature dachshund with some health problems, stuck it out for 17 years, while a supposedly healthy German Shepherd dog developed cognitive problems at ten, as did a lovely quiet Old English Sheepdog at the age of eleven.

As with we humans, it’s a mystery that we, along with the medical profession, are determined to solve. Which brings me to the subject of today’s veterinary services.

Though we have been able to handle most veterinary problems through the years, save the annual vaccinations and occasional surprise injuries, we chose to enroll Charlie in a Wellness program when he came to live with us. For this privilege I pay approximately $50 per month. It entitles him to two big visits a year “free” of charge. Complete exams, dental cleaning and vaccinations. Charlie has been well cared for in exchange for the joy he has brought us.

Last week I discovered a roughness behind one of Charlie’s ears, and since he was due for an exam and tooth cleaning, I mentioned that there might be “something” to look at. When we collected him later in the day, the vet gave me the breakdown of his visit. The rough spot was a tumor, which when addressed, would come to approximately $600. and put him in the famous plastic head cone for some time while it healed.

Today we went in for the second part of the annual check up. On the way home he seemed pretty lethargic and lay in my lap in the car, where I cuddled him and stroked around his ear which showed no sign of roughness or a mass. That was good because we had already decided not to pursue a surgery at his age. When we got him home I looked over the papers which showed the results of his visit.

A small liver problem: a daily pill. Possible eye issue: we had already noticed his hesitation on coming through a partially open door: a paw reaching out to make sure it was open. Possible ear issue: no problem there, Charlie hears a footstep on the front porch long before I know they were there. Lately Charlie has been hesitant upon jumping up onto places he shouldn’t be anyway. I no longer tap dance.

For each of these things there were suggestions of tests to be given. No test for my dancing however.

For those of you familiar with the medical profession, does this sound familiar? We are grateful for the strides the medical profession has made, both human and animal, but as with humans, there is only so much which can or should be done regardless of the cost. We come, we are young, and then we age. and suddenly we aren’t as good in many ways. Nothing is perfect and maybe it never was. Enjoy it all while you can and play the hand you drew.

FALL BACK

I never know whether to say Daylight Saving has begun or has ended.  At any rate, it just fell back, which always leads to a flurry of clock stoppings and startings.  You are never sure you got all of them straightened out until it’s time to change again.  I wish the powers that be would make up their mind.  The clock in the car waits patiently until it is time to spring forward again.

As people, we know we are going to gain or lose an hour of sleep, but try and tell that to the dogs.  I had not realized it before, but Charlie lives by the clock.  Breakfast is as soon as you get yourself out of a warm bed .  Norbert the postman, is a lovely chatty fellow, and Charlie senses his arrival at least a half hour before he actually arrives by lying by the front door and groaning slightly.  At three o’clock it is imperative that he check out the neighborhood with Dr. A.  Of course now, with the time change, all this takes place an hour earlier.  We had a visitor the other day and Charlie was his most obnoxious self, whining, begging pitifully, and generally making a nuisance of himself.  I looked at my clock and fount it was two o’clock, which according to him, was three o’clock walk time.  The afternoon feeding schedule is the same.  He has always chosen to go outside at ten, which is OK, but now that happens at nine, just as the clocks are chiming.

Since most dogs, Charlie included, sleep about 18 hours a day, it is surprising to me that his schedule has hit a bump, or that he notices it.  Once more he reminds me that you can’t underestimate a dog’s brain.  It’s best to simply go along with it.  It would be interesting to know what other pets suffer the same confusion.

 

MIDNIGHT INVADER

Sleeping peacefully in our bed last night, a familiar soft groaning sound let me know that Charlie had a call of nature. Old dogs and old people share the same propensity for frequent toilet visitation. In his early years, a 10 pm visit would see him through the night, but of late the call of the wild comes in the wee small hours.

Never quite trusting that he hurries about his business, I monitor him at the open door. Last night he stood alertly on the back step sniffing the air, rear legs shaking in some sort of paroxysm of anticipation.

silently a few figs dropped from the tree beside the back door and he was off in a blur of white, on the trail of a creature equally as large as himself. So as not to alarm any neighbors at the midnight hour, I flailed around behind him as he raced the fence line, intermittently trying to climb the fence; {Charlie, not me} There is absolutely no way to get through to a dog’s brain when he is hot on the trail, and no amount of the offering of treats, or threats of punishment filter into it. We finally made it back into the house after a half hour of exercise.

A very large black shape settled itself atop a shed and smirked at the scene being played out beneath him. He was aware that there were plenty of figs left on the tree after the action on the ground stopped, to which he would soon return.

As a teenage girl someone gave me a cute stuffed raccoon which I took to bed with me each night. I loved that raccoon and even named it, though I don’t recall what the name was. No one was brave enough to tell me I was too old for stuffed animals, but when I went on my honeymoon at 18, my beloved raccoon did not make the trip with me. I have always blamed my mother for packing my traveling bag.

MONDAY, MONDAY

Remember the Mamas and Papas singing “Monday, Monday so good to me, Monday morning all I hoped it would be.” This worked out to be that kind of Monday morning. Bright sunshine, a door and window open day. a few selected trees showed the possibility of green growth.

Since Maty left suddenly, we are back to cleaning house once more. You never forget how. Dr.A is often looking for something to do, which isn’t easy once the gardening is taken care of by someone else, so he took over mopping and polishing miles of tile floor this morning. I tackled bathrooms. I told him that there is always something to do around the house. If I play this right I may have the only handsome 91 year old housekeeper in the neighborhood. People will be begging for his services.

Some younger people seem to think people older than themselves have nothing to do. The truth is that age has nothing to do with it. You still have a lot to do, but you do it slower.

Charlie has been given a blue pill to take for a month for an obscure internal problem. It is supposed to be given with his breakfast food, but I found it tucked neatly against the side of the bowl, so I began wrapping it in a dab of cream cheese. Like Mary Poppins said “Just a spoonful of sugar—“. This Morning Dr. A proudly said he had tried to give it to him in three different cheeses to no avail. However, I saw the remnants of the cheeses he turned his nose at. One was ricotta, another was sour cream, and the third was a half empty bag of mozzarella. Charlie is an intelligent dog and waited for the cream cheese.

I wrote a post some time ago about how long it takes to form a habit. It was interesting to read the other day that some experts still often say 21 days. The real answer is more complex.
I looked for an answer the same way most people do these days. I asked Google. Most of the top results referenced the same magic 21 days. These websites maintained that ‘research’ had found that if you repeated a behavior each day for 21 days you would have formed a brand new habit.
There wasn’t much discussion about what type of behavior it was or the circumstances you had to repeat it in, just the same figure of 21 days. Exercise, smoking, writing a diary or turning cartwheels; you name it 21 days is the answer. In addition, many authors recommend that it’s crucial to maintain a chain of 21 days without breaking it.

Thanks to recent research though, we have some idea of how long common habits really take to form. In a study carried out at University College in London, 96 participants were asked to choose an everyday behavior that they wanted to turn into a habit. They all chose something that they didn’t already do that could be repeated every day; many were health related like eating a piece of fruit with lunch or running 15 minutes after dinner. Each of the 84 days of the study they logged into a website to report their findings. Acting without thinking or ‘automaticity’ is a central component of a habit.

So how long did it take to form a habit? Across the board it took 66 days until a habit was formed depending on what activity each tried to do. People who resolved to drink a glass of water after breakfast were up to automaticity after about 20 days while people who tried to eat a piece of fruit with lunch each day too twice as long. The exercise was the trickiest, with 50 sit ups after morning coffee still not a habit after 84 days. Walking for 10 minutes after breakfast turned into a habit for one participant in 50 days.

This research seems to say that habits are slow to form and some might even take as long as a year. In my own case, things such as drinking water or exercising a certain time each day, while once being considered habits, are now occasional activities. However mysterious it may be; when we moved into this house 44 years ago, we had a light switch moved from one side of a door to another. This was accomplished in a matter of a few days during a remodel, however, I still reach for the original place to turn the light on. That habit had only taken a few days.

SWIMMING IN YOUR HEAD

Amy Tan, writer of such memorable works as “The Joy Luck Club” as well as so many other insightful books, once advised us to write what’s swimming in our head. The mind is never a complete blank, though the ability to transcribe the void can be difficult.

My mind is usually so crowded, it’s hard to separate the ridiculous from the sublime, which is why I occasionally walk into another room and wonder why I went there. I would feel bad about it, but my daughter says she does it too. There is too much information out there to remember it all. A friend excused the sensation by imagining a little man bustling about trying to organize a roomful of feral cats. Obviously it can’t be done, so why worry?

We entertained yesterday with a late lunch, and Charlie behaved himself grandly with friends who had known him from a tiny puppy. Only once did I hear someone say “Charlie, stop eating your bed”. Charlie, like many humans, seems to get energized when company arrives, and while some people are propelled into talking mode, Charlie, in an obvious effort to extend a welcome, drags out all the toys in the toybox to see if he can encourage someone to pay attention to him. It’s sad really.

I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. The people who make them in hopes of improving themselves, usually don’t need much improvement. The monthly lunch with my high school girl friends, has gained a couple more ladies, who decided to join us when they heard about it. We used to meet every 6 weeks or so, but as we get closer to decrepitude, it seems wise to meet more often. One friend has moved into a retirement home, and another cannot drive the distance required. A third who until a year ago, drove to Reno often to see family, no longer drives the freeway. In our case, the resolution to come together more often is imperative.

We make the decision to stop driving at different ages and for different reasons. One friend and neighbor will be 95 in a few weeks and is still driving, though no longer on the freeway. The traffic has become horrendous at any time of day, and accidents and road rage intimidate the most intrepid drivers. I gave up driving this past year when I realized my AMD had progressed to the point of danger. Now, several months later, I have limited vision, finding certain things simply disappear. I can’t believe it, but it’s another interesting part of growing older, and more people than we know suffer from the condition. It’s somewhat like the roomful of feral cats, so why worry?

I am reminded of a cousin, who is 99 this year, had a relationship with a gentleman friend a few years ago. When they were both widowed, they decided to marry, and planned a wedding aboard the USS Hornet, a wartime aircraft carrier moored in Alameda, which had some meaning for them. The gentleman’s adult children however, disapproved of the marriage, casting a pall on the affair which ended shortly thereafter, due to the prospective bride and groom living in different cities, and unable to drive any longer. The ability to drive in their case was crucial. It was obviously before Uber.

AN INDOOR DAY

Charlie is playing host to Max, our grandson’s dog. I guess that makes him our Great-Granddog. Max is a gentle white French Bulldog of impeccable manners. Some people worry about how resident and visiting dogs will get along. I assume the dogs will figure it out for themselves. This I learned early from my father, a great animal lover and superior trainer. We often had both dogs and cats which he brought home, and after a period of time during which the animal’s name was change from something cute and sensible to whatever funny name my father chose, they all got along; even the cats and dogs.

These two spend a lot of time lifting legs on each tree in the yard. They follow each other and as one leg drops back to the ground the other dog’s leg makes his own mark. Pretty soon they will decide who owns which tree.

A few weeks ago we celebrated our 70th anniversary, and as is our custom, we treated Charlie to a visit at the local canine hotel during the festivities. A Jack Russell Terrier can sometimes be overwhelming in his appreciation for the company of guests. On one such occasion while entertaining a couple of ladies at lunch, Charlie was closed into another room and protested loud and long. Dr. Advice felt sorry for him and let him join the party. It was a disastrous mistake because Charlie, in his mad race to join in, leaped over the coffee table and snacks and into the laps of non-dog-owning friends. I use the term advisedly because in spite of his ill manners, they still invite me on occasion.

Our grandson brought Max to the anniversary party, where he made a great hit with everyone. Max made himself right at home rummaging through Charlie’s toy box and cadging bites from enchanted guests. He spent a great deal of time sitting at the side of the buffet table gazing longingly at the food. Like some people, some dogs are more food oriented than others. Charlie will do anything for a treat, and we once had a dog who would sell his soul for a bit of cheese.

Lately I have been reading about the dangers of various foods for our pets. With Halloween coming, people need to be especially careful of the candy which is such a big part of Halloween festivity. A former neighbor had a large yellow Lab who would eat anything and hopefully in large quantities. He upended a big bowl of chocolate candy which is toxic to dogs, and ate the entire contents. A trip to the local vet left him none the worse for wear, so you never know about the mysteries of a Labrador’s stomach.

Max is a San Francisco dog, and as such, he has more elite qualities than a suburban dog. He was trained by Cesar Millan, the celebrity dog trainer, and even has had his own blog. We hope he can transfer some of his good qualities to Charlie. It’s rather like having your children play with a nicer class of children in hopes of some of their good qualities rubbing off on your own offspring.

A FORCE TO BE RECONCILED

You can’t ignore him, he won’t allow it. If three o’clock comes around, it’s time for a walk, and dinner had better be waiting when he bursts into the house after the walk. Not much different from most dogs. He has an uncanny ability to know when the evening dishes are done and the kitchen is clean. Not until Dr. A has done his job will Charlie allow him to leave the kitchen. If you think a 20# dog doesn’t have the ability to do this, you are mistaken. One of the outstanding traits of a JRT is a loud demanding annoying voice.

We have had a great variety of dog companions throughout our combined lifetime, most of whom performed their dog duties in acceptable form; waiting quietly at our feet until we make the decision to get up and minister to them. If guests arrive who are offended or in fear of their clothes or safety, the canine residents took their place quietly in a corner until called upon to perform.

However, this particular Jack Russell Terrier has never been just “any dog”. A good student in puppy class, he quickly learned his way around this family. He was adept at learning tricks, bringing in the mail, tapping a bell to get out, and where the good toys are in his toy box. But his penchant for meeting and greeting was stronger than most of our other dogs.

He is a hunter who has never to my knowledge caught anything. Instead of mastering the whole sneaky point of hunting, he prefers to maintain a steady and noisy barrage of barking. I have witnessed squirrels sitting on top of a fence actually laughing at his tortured attempt to rid them from the yard.

One of our grandsons recently lost his beloved 17 year old JRT, who went over the Rainbow Bridge. He assured us to be patient; Charlie would shape up and be a changed dog after about seven years. It took his dog Trooper, that long. Five, six and seven came and went, and eight followed close at their heels. Still barking, still jumping, still ignoring us when called.

We began wondering where this one came from. I had heard stories of his father early on. The breeder decided after Charlie’s group arrived, to give the sire to some other deserving family. When dogs were separated from their families in the old days, they told the kids they went to a farm. Charlie’s dad actually DID go to a farm, killed two chickens and a cat and ran away. Frightening to consider the bloodline. Did we have “like father like son”?

When Charlie was a mere pup I tried to teach him to come by saying “Charlie, come.” Not “Come Charlie”. For some reason through the nine years of his life I have simply yelled, “Get in here you little bastard”! to no avail. A few months ago I quietly called “Charlie, come” and the dear little soul trotted right into the house and waited patiently for his treat. That treat has made all the difference and they surprisingly are called “Charlie Bears”. I have taken back all the nasty things I ever said about him. He is a perfect and well mannered dog finally.

It has been very warm for a number of days and Charlie has deserted his very nice bed for somewhere else in the house during the night, but I didn’t know where. He has never been allowed on certain furniture, especially in our living room; Grandma Nellie’s chair, Mother-in-law Leita’s couch are cases in point.

This morning I scouted him out about five a.m. only to find him comfortably settled on a velvet chair, and with pillow thrown on the floor from everything else. I take back all the nice things I said about him. If anyone has any better treats, please let me know.

DON’T BE FOOLED BY BEAUTY

You can’t trust beauty; we bought a beautiful Pink Lady apple tree a year or so ago purely on the grounds of beauty, and thinking it would get along well with the Golden Delicious. Maybe a nice combination for pie. It has proven to be untrustworthy in all respects.

The first year it had 2 apples and I forgave it. Last year five apples made it to the finish line. This year there were 3 and one fell off after Charlie’s leash got wrapped around the branch. I apologized to Dr. A because I was on the other end of the leash.

It’s lovely pyramidal shape has been nipped down to its buds because of fungus attacks in spite of dousing it with spray. It looks like a disappointed old crone waiting for a dance. Its apples were hard and sour and didn’t ripen until late October anyway.

So off with its head! And let that be a lesson to any other tree in the orchard.

HOT DIGGETY DOG

It’s no secret that I am a dog lover. I have given my heart to several Dachshunds, to several German Shepherd Dogs, a Doberman Pincher, an Old English Sheepdog, even a Chihuahua. One or two were second hand blessings, the others took a bite out of our wallets. Our lives today are enriched by a slightly overweight Jack Russell Terrier with a grand sense of adventure.

He’s not allowed on this chair

Charlie first became an entity by way of daily e-mail photos from our late son-in-law who claimed this puppy, brother to his pup, was “cute as hell” and we would do well to come to Southern California and see him. We named his picture “Charlie” after a brief naming process, and at seven weeks we were his.

Slow moving tender-hearted Sheepdogs sleep where they are pointed, eat when you get around to it, come when they are called, seldom bark, and generally simply want to please. Nothing is a hardship for them and they plod along with or without restraint for miles at a time, casually checking out the occasional squirrel or rabbit on the trail. Another astonishing and marvelous attribute, at least in the case of Panda—in spite of dense, curly fur; she did not shed. Leaves and dirt clods came in contact with her feet, but she left no hair. Not so with a JRT as those who own one will attest. It’s a credit to tight follicles that they have any hair left. We lasted two months without a dog when Panda left us, and it is difficult not to have something on the end of a leash.

Playpen from thrift store

My father was a no nonsense dog lover who came from the age when most dogs ate table scraps and slept outside. He would not have understood our anthropomorphizing a tiny seven week addition to our family, but things are different today. Dog food comes in many varieties, even for different breeds and sizes. Pets feel their natural place is on our beds, even believing it their right to push their owners to the edge.

There were six puppies in Charlie’ family, and our daughter found homes for all of them. Soon afterward, she hired a trainer and gave a puppy party for the pups and their owners. It’s a Southern California kind of thing. The puppies didn’t learn much and neither did the owners, but presents were exchanged and food consumed and it was fun.

The Puppy Party

Charlie is now eight, and his description as a seeker of adventure is well known to neighbors who now and then raise the alarm “Charlie’s out!” He has never seen an open door which has not called to him. Ours is the only house I know of in which a kennel sits by the front door where Charlie is funneled when the doorbell rings.

In the privacy of our house and rather large garden, Charlie responds to the slightest summons in jig time, but once out, the world is his oyster, and it’s a game of “catch-me-if-you-can.”

Charlie isn’t perfect, but neither are we. He has given us eight years of his life, filled with amusement at his antics, interspersed with keeping a close watch on all the doors opening into the neighborhood. He has the rare quality that some of us lack, the ability to make friends immediately.

AMAZING GRAZING~~~~Pork Medallions With Grapes

Charlie waits patiently for a morsel of food to fall at his feet. He has an oral fixation. When I am cooking what I call “weekend food”, which means a bit more labor intensive than weekday meals, he cannot be driven out of the kitchen. Years ago I developed what I call the “puppy shuffle”, which involves sliding your feet around the dog who cannot seem to keep out of your way. Most of the other dogs we have had got the idea pretty quickly and stayed out of the kitchen, but a JRT is like no other dog; they seem to be resistant to human body language.

We missed out on a bite of the new Trader Joe’s mini coissants because I forgot to read the directions: let rise overnight. They had received a grand review in the paper, so I bought them as a treat I didn’t have to make. Now I’ll make them for tomorrow’s breakfast. I believe in giving these new things a try. Some are good, some not so good. Just like people or dogs.

My birthday was last week, and I made these pork medallions with a side of rice pilaf and grilled asparagus. Cook them quickly while still slightly pink inside and they are meltingly tender.

Silver In The Barn asked for a carrot cake recipe, so here is one I like a lot.

Disaster struck the other day, and for some unknown reason, I suddenly lost over 4,000 photos. That computer is now having a vacation in the repair shop to see if anything can be retrieved. I decided not to make a big deal out of it even though it tore my heart out. If the house had burned down, we would start all over, so that’s what I’m doing.

Meanwhile, get busy on the pork medallions:

PORK MEDALLIONS WITH GRAPES IN POMEGRANATE SAUCE

1 large pork tenderloin (about 1 1/4 pounds)
1 Tbs butter
1 Tbs olive oil
3/4 tsp black pepper
3/4 tsp salt
1/2 pomegranate juice
1/2 cup chicken broth
2 Tbs. ketchup
1 cup seedless grapes
3 Tbs. dried cranberries

Trim pork of most of the fat and silverskin and cut crosswise into 1 inch thick medallions.
Heat butter and oil in large heavy skillet. Salt and pepper meat and arrange in skillet and cook over high heat about 2 1/2 min. on each side. Transfer to plate and keep warm in oven.
Add pomegranate juice and broth to skillet, bring to boil, reduce heat to low cover and cook 4-5 min. Add ketchup, grapes and cranberries. Boil for about 1 min. or until sauce is smooth and slightly thickened.
Arrange medallions on 4 warm plates, coat with sauce and grapes and breathe a happy sigh.

Remember that cooking is like life: you have to make do with what’s in the fridge! Make sure it’s something you will like.

TROPICAL CARROT CAKE WITH COCONUT CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

CAKE:
2 1/3 cups flour (260 g + 1/3 cup)
1 cup flaked coconut
1 c dry roasted macadamia nuts
3/4 cup chopped crystallized ginger
3 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp.baking soda

2 cups sugar (400 g or 14 oz)
1 cup vegetable oil
4 large eggs
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 cups finely grated peeled carrots
2 8 oz. cans crushed pineapple in its own juice, well drained

FROSTING

3 8-oz packages cream cheese
3/4 cup butter
2 cups powdered sugar
3/4 cup canned sweetened cream of coconut (such a Coco Lopez, find it in a liquor store)
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 tsp coconut extract

(Grind coconut, nuts and ginger in processor and add with dry ingredients)

Bake at 350 in 3 9-inch cake pans or 3 8 x 2″ for about 45 min.