Snippet: Burying the Chew

SUMMARY: Human Mom does not approve.

Usually when I give my dogs a chew of some sort (e.g., a bully stick or Greenie), they carry it somewhere comfy and make short work of it with their scary pointy teeth--probably their scary hard molars really. For Tika, the back lawn suited her preferences. For Zorro, it's usually the comfy couch in the living room (it is covered) or somewhere in my office, depending on where I've plonked myself.

A couple of weeks ago, Zorro tried to hide his chew treat in a hole under a tunnel. I stood there, right next to him, watching, issuing polemics. I said accusingly, "I'm not going to leave it there," and "I'll pull it out as soon as you're done," and "Please don't bury that. I hate when you do that." 

But he did it anyway.*

He used to be more concerned about me watching.
From 2017: He trotted out to the yard with this king of all rawhides and started poking around in various places (under shrubs, behind trees,had to be just the right place).
I watched through the kitchen window. As he trotted across the back Back 40, suddenly he noticed me and froze.
Then hurriedly vanished into a part of the yard where I couldn't see him.  Fortunately ginormous treats are easily found, even in a hole cleverly covered with leaves.

Dug a fairly substantial hole, then used his nose to push the dirt back in on top of it. When done, he stood up with his snout covered with dirt and trotted toward the house as if expecting me to follow. Stopped and looked over his shoulder. Came rushing back, greatly concerned, because I had already bent over and started pulling it out.  

Went back into the house, gave it back to him, and this time he chewed it up.

The main issue with dogs hiding them is that I attach a vise grip to the treats so they won't choke on the large final piece. Vise grips aren't always cheap, and I have a terrible time finding really small ones.  I hate losing them. Tika would just leave it on the lawn when she was done...

...and since they usually got the chews in the evening, I'd tell myself confidently that I'd find it in the morning. Then, either I'd forget or it would hide. Once they've been in the ground for a while, especially during rainy season or when I'm irrigating, they cleverly turn themselves into metal to be recycled. As these two Vanna photos demonstrate.

-----

* didn't have my camera. Dang. 

P.S. This started as a snippet. But I just can't stop! Ever!

P.P.S. to self: Do I seriously have no photos of Zorro burying something? No photos of him with treats with vise grips? Time to get busy with the camera.

New Year's Eve at Taj MuttHall

SUMMARY: Poor scaredy Chip.

It's been quite cold at night, so I had high hopes for few or no fireworks so maybe I could go to bed early and comfy, but alas, no.

The day started as a cheerful winter's day. Gave the Rawhides Of Unusual Size from Christmas back to both dogs.  Chip settled in and resumed gnawing like a champ.  Zorro sniffed at it a bit but really had no interest still.  So, in the interest of evidence-based experimentation, I gave him a much smaller one to see what would happen.

He carried it around looking concerned for a while, from one lounging spot to another, never putting it down; never chewing on it, either. Finally he exited the house, and Experienced Human Mom recognized the I'm-Going-To-Bury-This-Amazing-Treasure behavior and grabbed the camera.

He roamed around the edges of the yard behind things for a couple of minutes, pausing briefly at many spots to examine them, so it was tough to get a shot--

And then suddenly he noticed me through the window and froze, stunned beyond belief that I would be so ghastly rude!! as to watch a dog bury a bone!

Stood there for a few moments in righteous indignation, then trotted purposefully out around the side of the house where I couldn't see him. Came back inside a while later with dirt on his nose and no rawhide.

I had many many Human Mom sorts of activities to do around the house, and so the day wound its way onward.

Was still daylight when the neighbors started partying not with fireworks but with music with a heavy drumbeat which apparently Chip interpreted as The Horror Of Devil-Spawned Fireworks.  Hence, large dog in lap in little chair. Not comfy for either of us.  Fortunately, lasted only 15-20 minutes when apparently his razor-sharp, fast-as-lightning mind ascertained that there was no immediate threat.

Zorro, meanwhile, stood watch, not wanting to leave this hotbed of exciting activity and yet making sure that no rawhide thief, such as any malevolent Squirrel!, snuck into the yard.

Then, for the moment, all was right with the world.

BUT WAIT! WHUT IZ? IN YARDZ OF WE?

As the day continued its New Years Eveish way, Zorro periodically appeared with His Precious.   (Note it is now no longer pristine.)

Then it would vanish again. Much amusement occurred in the brain of Human Mom.

Nearing normal bedtime, Human Mom settled with her New York Times crossword, ready for a pleasant and calming activity.  (Heh, advice column heading is "Ladies prefer cats to family members."  Turns out they are the villains in that story. Figures. Cats. Pfft.)

And then, sigh, fireworks began. Not an onslaught, but enough that You Know Who returned in search of a lap. This time Human Mom provided a cushion to make the visit more comfortable for all. Still... hard to complete the nearly completed NYTC.

Hmmm, Human Mom, you not iz get five ov letterz answering of "Chip away at" clue iz? Iz me knowingz! Is "dog go"!

Oh. Iz not. 

Fireworks. Bah.

When Chip would vacate Lapland, Mr. Z occasionally wanted a snuggle of confirmation that he was not being left out.

In due time, all became silent. (Won't mention the due time was 2:30 a.m.)

Happy New Year to all and to all a safe, quiet rest and answers to life's puzzles.

Six for the Price Of--

SUMMARY: The Careful Shopper's Diary, plus Who Hates Pet Stores?

So, it's not only people-related stuff that can be subject to goofy pricing. At Pet Club, you can buy one individually wrapped Savory Prime 4.5" pressed rawhide bone for 69 cents:

ORRRRRR you can buy the 6-pack for a mere $4.49.  Wouldn't you think it's cheaper to package 6 at a time rather than 6 individually? Guess not. Am I paying extra for the convenience?

To be fair, there are places where it's an extreme in the other direction. For example, I can buy a single 12" Cadet Bully Stick for--$4.99?!? Holy steerpizzle! My dogs sometimes get 2 or 3 or 4 of these a week! EACH. That price would kill me!

Fortunately, you can buy a one-pound bag (usually 9 to 12 sticks) for $19.99. (And I cut the bigger ones in half.)

Boost likes these at home, but she hates pet stores. HATES them. Tail down, ears down, miserable terrified little Border Collie. I keep trying to take her into these places briefly so she can see the wonders of all the food and toys, but she HATES IT MOM LET'S GO RIGHT NOW. On the way out a couple of months ago, she suddenly hunkered down,  went into growling mode while I tried to figure out what she was looking at, then into full-scale alarm barking. I realized she was looking UP.  A cute little flop-eared cartoon dog on a sign, fer pet's sake!

Tika, like all my other dogs before her, loves pet stores and would spend all day there finding little scraps of food and chew toys and bones in open bins that someone left there JUST FOR HER. However, since no pet store is immediately at hand--same bed, 12 hours later--she rests up for the coming weekend.

Chewing

SUMMARY: I've been a little stressed lately and needed a constructive way to channel my gnashing of teeth.

"So, Teek, ol' buddy ol' pal, can you explain this chewing-the-bully-stick thing?"


[[Ummm...can I go now?]] "C'mon pleeeze oh c'mon pleeeeeeeeezzzze???"


[[Maybe if I ignore her, she'll go away.]] "OK, like this? With the stick between my paws? Am I doin' it right? huh? am I? huh huh? Am I?"

[[I'm really not believing this--]] "Gnarrrr arrrrgh rrarr grnarrr..."


Somehow it was less satisfying than I had expected.

Yum, Buried Muddy Treats

SUMMARY: Tika finds a rawhide that Boost buried. Buries it somewhere else, then licks the dirt off her nose. Tasteee!

Christmas Rawhides

SUMMARY: Different dogs, different rawhide personalities. (This was one of several scenarios that I had envisioned as part of my Christmas letter. But I pared a lot out of it, so you-all get it on my blog, instead.)

Sheba and Amber: Christmas 1983, just a couple of normal dog pet pals enjoying a treat. Maybe Sheba wants to enjoy two treats.

Jake Step 1: Carry his gift around looking concerned and mildly reproving.

Tika Step 1: Tear off enough paper to get to work. No nonsense here.

Jake Step 2: Carry his gift around looking concerned and mildly reproving.

Boost Step 1: Carry it to bed and check it out cautiously.

Jake step 3: Carry it to bed and monitor for intruders.

Boost step 2: Bury the rawhide in a secret place.

Jake step 4: Carefully remove just enough paper to tempt the other dogs to just dare to try to come take it.

Boost's cleverly buried rawhide bone. No one will find it now.

Jake step 5: Carry his gift around looking concerned and mildly reproving.

In the Olden Days, when we had Sheba and Amber (who were just normal sort of pet dogs, although special in their own ways), we gave them giant rawhides for Christmas every year. They'd pull the wrapping paper off and lie there chewing on them for a while and eventually get tired of them and then chew on them off and on for maybe weeks.

Remington was completely spooked by giant rawhide. (He was a sensitive soul.) He just wouldn't go within a foot or two of one, although he'd chew small rawhides with pleasure. After two or three attempts in different years, we just gave up.

It occurred to me that I hadn't tried giant rawhide bones with any of my current dogs for Christmas, I don't think. So I bought three large rawhides, wrapped them loosely with just one piece of tape holding the paper, and handed them out.

Tika immediately trotted to the den, gently tore off enough paper, one small bit at a time, to get at one of the big knobby ends, and proceeded to gnaw. Normal. Except for the wrapping paper remaining on half the bone, for hours.

Jake, typically, carried his slowly around or just stood in one place, looking concerned and occasionally shooting me admonitory glances for saddling him with such a huge responsibility. Eventually he retired to his bed and let it rest beside him for a while, while he monitored the environment for encroaching canids. When none approached him, he appeared disappointed at not having a chance to warn them off, so after a while he tore the wrapping off half the bone and went back to carrying it around past the other dogs, looking concerned.

Boost took it gingerly, watched the other dogs for a couple of minutes, then took it to her bed, where she examined it closely for a while. Then she determined that the best course of action was to bury it where no one else could find it while she decided the ideal plan of attack. A couple of hours later, Jake found the cleverly hidden package and walked around with THAT one for a while, looking concerned. Eventually, it disappeared again, and I assumed that Boost had buried it again. Apparently she had, but in some odd corner of the living room, because the next day Jake found it again (still wrapped) and carried it around for a while before Boost finally took over once more and removed the wrapping paper to give it some chewing.