Jul 07

The Many Lives And Deaths Of Dovey-Doo – Chapter Two

A bit of backstory about Dover.

Three years ago to the day of posting this, we moved our family across the country to a new home. It was a pretty drastic move for some of the family, and rightly so.

Teenaged girls, and an adult, that have been uprooted from the only life they know and transplanted in a brand new, small town with few familiar faces around is pretty traumatic, to say the least. I had moved several times and was already adapted to the area from years of working here, but everyone else was completely new to it.

Seeing as Blue was already established as my dog, we decided to get a friend for Blue and the rest of the family from the BCSPCA to utilize the fenced yard we now had. We took Blue into the pound and let him run around in the yard while they brought Dover out. They had a sniff of each other and then both peed on anything they could find.

Not overly friendly, but no aggression, so that’s a bonus.

Well, they weren’t fighting, so that was good. They seemed okay in each other’s presence, and everyone seemed to really take to Dover, so we started discussing adoption.

As we filled out the papers, they explained that Dover had some health concerns. He had some ear infections, gum infections, and he was fifteen pounds overweight. That may not seem like much, but he only weighed about fifty pounds, so it’s a pretty big percentage. He had breathing troubles and needed his gums rinsed with a solution from the vet every week or he might lose his teeth.

The day we got him. A little pudgier than he is now.

He also was obsessive with food and showed signs of mistreatment. That seemed okay, as long as he wasn’t aggressive. They assured us he wasn’t and they weren’t lying. He was the least aggressive dog I know.

The SPCA called after a few days and said that we were approved and could come and get him. He seemed grateful to be out of there, plus we got him and Blue new leashes and collars.

This was from the ride home.

When we got him home, there was much humping by Blue. Dover didn’t really like it, but he accepted his new role and even cleaned Blue’s dink for him.

A lot.

No, like it got uncomfortable to be in the room with them when they came in from outside. It makes me glad I had my lips pursed tight when he licked me with his hot, sheep manure tongue.

Anyhow, we learned quickly about his food obsession and his pissing on absolutely anything he could. Most notably Gerri’s photography equipment, our white, floor-length curtains, and a prized iPad. Right in the charging port while it was plugged in. No amount of rice in a bag was fixing that.

After some exercise and some good quality, not all-you-can-eat food.

He also hated going outside. I think it was because he couldn’t see if anyone was dropping food on the kitchen floor.

I shouldn’t say that he didn’t like going outside. If you took him somewhere at first, you had to be careful he just went.

One time, we decided to let him run down by the river in the early spring. He took off running and we got freaked out because he wouldn’t even turn around when we were screaming his name. We didn’t even know how he was doing it, as he is a foot tall and the snow was a foot and a half. Needless to say, it was easy to follow his tracks for the kilometre that he was somehow leaping. In the end, we had to carry him out of there. It was a gradual incline from the bottom of a hundred foot drop and over probably six waterfalls. I really didn’t think I was going to make it.

Guarding his recent kill.

Another time on our winter solstice trip to the Liard River Hot Springs we stopped to let everyone pee and to clean the windshield. As soon as the dogs hit the snow, they quickly pissed in the same spot and bolted. The speed was phenomenal and we yelled, but they didn’t even blink. It was -30C and we couldn’t take the chance of losing them for even an hour, so we jumped in and pinned it. We caught up to them in 1.5 kilometres. Just before the end of the plowed section we stopped at. We hit 90 km/hr trying to catch them.

For the last two years, Dovey would barely leave the couch, but we would take them out to the woods and letmake them run. The only way Dover would run around, was if we drove away. If we stopped, he stopped. We just got used to him never wanting to go anywhere that was not near his food.

Yin and Yang.

There were a few times that the gate was left open and Blue would take off, but we would find Dover sitting on the step, staring at the gate. It was like he was saying, “He went thatta way.”, and also proving what a good boy he was for guarding the pantry while Blue was away. He, of course, felt he deserved a treat for this and let you know by dancing excitedly by the treat cupboard when he came back in.

On the other hand, we did get him as a rescue because he ran away from his first home. I know it was probably a lot worse there, but he waited years to do it and was in a lot worse health then. Maybe he just gets bored and wants a change of scenery.

Who really knows? God?

I doubt it. I don’t think Dovey was a believer, at least not since he was living with us. I remember talking about The Rainbow Bridge to him and he was just like, “SNOOOOORT, CHUFALUFALUFA!”. Then he jumped off the couch and ran to the kitchen to get whatever just fell on the floor.

Jokes on you, Dovey-Doo. It was a chunk of onion.

In his element.

Well, Dover, I don’t know where you are, or what you’re doing, but I hope you have all the treats, couches, and sunbeams that you can handle.

Jul 06

The Many Lives And Deaths Of Dovey-Doo – Chapter One

I don’t know if it’s normal to immediately start thinking of how you will write things, so soon after losing your dog. Maybe that’s how you know you have a writer’s mind.

For me, I think it’s a way of coping with things. @amirtheawesome1 wrote about how he uses dark humour to deal with life and for me, it isn’t totally different. I deal with my thoughts via scenarios.

I linked to that post because I don’t feel like explaining the scenarios when I already have a post written that spells them out.

What I am planning to do here is to string a bunch of my scenarios together as best I can, and publish them in a series of chapters that I might turn into a 99¢ ebook on Amazon one day.

I can’t say for sure that I will, but I do have big dreams of earning $7-$9 a month and this looks like a good way to get the ball rolling.

As I write this, we are still not sure what has happened to our dog, Dover. We went camping out by the dam and both boys, Blue and Dover, took off at 4:30 AM when we let them out for a pee. At least that is what I assumed they wanted. They were dancing around on us and whining, so I opened the door.

When I opened it to let them back in, they wouldn’t even come near, so we left them out there to do dog things. It was still a couple of hours until their breakfast and they don’t often get the chance to run around in the wild and explore.

Before I go further and get the “better pet owner than you” people telling me I shouldn’t have let them out on their own or giving me flak about not having them on about leashes, let me say that I don’t think it’s fair to coop animals up if there is a chance for them to be free. Even if it’s just for a day.

In my mind, a dog is no different than we are. They have a purpose in life, and their government(us), won’t let them realize their destiny because society gets angry when the garbage is torn up all over the porch and the brand new haskap bush that they just bought for $50 at the nursery is dying from concentrated urine streams.

So we have to fence them in.

Or they get put down by the dog catcher. There is no in between.

Well, I guess we could keep paying the $50 fine every day, but then they would probably get hit by a car as we live in town and the dogs aren’t street savvy.

We, as people, are fenced in as well but unless you are imprisoned it’s usually figurative, like jobs, lack of funds, etc… I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel all that free. I feel freer than a lot of people, but I still have to appease The Man for my food and shelter.

I even have to do tricks and entertain for a few extra scraps.

Just like a dog.

So we find places where there are no dog catchers, asshole neighbours, or traffic and we let them run around. They chase things, bark, and see what new smells are out there. Oftentimes they will com-pee-te. That’s when they keep pissing on stuff the other dog has already pissed on. Sometimes it’s at the same time and someone comes out with the stain of shame. It was usually Dover because he was closer to the ground.

In short, they get to be dogs.

So after they didn’t come back for breakfast we started to worry a bit. I reasoned that they were just having too much fun to be bothered with food, but it was not like Dover to ever miss a meal. We went for a drive and honked the horn a lot.

By around 10 AM we were walking along the beach with a whistle, a can of bear spray, and yelling for the dogs at the top of our lungs. It was pouring rain by now. We did that for an hour and then went to buy a cell phone charger as we were both out of battery. We figured we would be home by now and wouldn’t have service anyhow, so we didn’t even think to bring a charger.

We got back after noon and Blue was crying in the bushes and could barely walk. He was drenched and shaking really bad, but there didn’t seem to be any broken bones or lacerations so I gave him a handful of food and put him in the warm truck. Then we went looking for Dover. Gerri waited at camp in case he came back.

We stayed an extra night there, hoping he was just waiting out the rain somewhere, but he didn’t come back and didn’t answer our calls the next day either. The rain was knocking the shit out of everything and I could feel a buildup starting in my lungs, so we packed everything up and went home.

That was three days ago. We still haven’t heard anything.

This is the general area. Probably about 50 km²

The road across the dam is closed, so it’s about 70 km of mostly logging roads to get there now. Usually, you could be there in about 25 minutes going across the dam, but now it’s about an hour and a half.

This is a closer view of the immediate area.

Just in case you wanted more details. The water level is way down, so you can walk further up the beach.

It doesn’t look good, but we are hoping a logger, construction worker, boater or random person finds him and contacts us. We have put up signs, contacted the dam security, and did the online thing in hopes of locating him.

There are so many things that could have happened and I created an amazing number of scenarios in my head while I was looking for him.

That’s what this is all about.

 

Jul 02

Blue And The Wolf

Every couple of days I take Blue out to the woods so he can run and hunt. I take him for little walks to the field/woods across the street, but he has to stay on a leash when we’re in town. He can’t be trusted with certain liberties, like freedom or short garbage cans.

He also can’t be trusted when we go on our hunting runs, but there isn’t as much traffic on the road there, and he usually runs in the same direction I walk.

I left him on his leash one day last week, because I was trying to get him further from the road before freeing him. As we crested the first knoll, I squinted at something down the field a little way. I had left my glasses in the car for some reason, but I could tell it was an animal and a pretty big one. I went a little bit closer because I thought it might be a farmers dog. There are many within a mile of there, so it’s quite possible that they might be roaming around these fields. As I approached, it looked up at us and I could see that it was eating something, but I didn’t know what. I could also see that it was a wolf.

Blue wouldn't stand a chance.(photo from http://wolfevolution.webs.com)

Blue wouldn’t stand a chance.
(photo from http://wolfevolution.webs.com)

Luckily for me, Blue was snuffling around at the edge of the woods and didn’t notice it, so I slowly turned around and started back up the field towards the car. I kept looking back, making sure it wasn’t chasing us down. It wasn’t, but it hadn’t gone back to eating yet either. It just watched us walk away.

We got back to the car with me getting my adrenaline under control, and Blue seeming to sense something was wrong. There had been all kinds of sign throughout the summer and fall, but I always just figured they were coyotes and wouldn’t bother with us. Oh well, it was time to go home anyway.

If you were to say that Blue and I have a bond, you would be grossly understating our relationship.

Gerri says that she’s never seen a dog love someone as much as he loves me. I don’t know if it’s true, because I think that all true dog people have these connections with their pooches, but who can really gauge puppy love?

I tell you this to ramp up to our next run at the same place.

It had rained, so I parked the car on the side of the road, instead of in the field like I normally would. We started into the bush, because the field is slippery if it’s wet, and I didn’t want to be sliding down the hills. I let Blue off the leash and he skittered away in search of excitement and adventure. I saw some drier looking spots out in the clearing, so I trudged through the wet grass until I got into the open. I whistled a couple of times for Blue, but he didn’t come. Big surprise there. He actually got pretty good at coming when we were in obedience class, but there weren’t things to hunt there, so we didn’t get to work on that distraction.

We must have been going to, or coming back from camping.

We must have been going to, or coming back, from camping.

I started to play Dope Wars to kill time while I waited for Blue to get tired, but then I heard him start barking. It wasn’t his usual bark, like when he thinks he’s hot on the trail of a squirrel or a coon. It was more of a distressed, but aggressive bark. I started walking that way when the barks turned to yelps and I could hear him fighting something. Now I was running as fast as my legs could take me. I came through a bunch of sumacs and pine trees to see the wolf shaking Blue by the back of his neck. He had to be at least twice as big as my poor little hound.

I don’t even remember thinking anything, I just remember running and kicking his chest and feeling ribs crack. He was up faster than I could believe was possible and then leapt on top of me, knocking me back into the branches of a pine tree.I was scared shitless in an instant but didn’t have time to think about it. He was snarling and snapping at my face on the way down, but luckily never connected. Foamy, pink spit was spraying all over, and I couldn’t get my one arm out from under his heavy thrashing legs.

The smell was disgusting. It was like rotting meat mixed with burning hair. I heard a growl and he turned back to where Blue was viciously attacking him from behind and that gave me the time and space I needed to get my right arm free. As he turned back I shoved my thumb right inside his eye socket and he let out this awful shrieking howl with his jaws wide open. I tried to get him over so I could get on top, but the thrashing was too violent and then he got free and bolted into the woods.

Car rides are his second favourite.

Car rides are his second favourite.

I don’t know how he didn’t die instantly, because my thumb is probably two inches long to where I had buried it, but he didn’t, and I wasn’t about to go chasing him. I spun around to see Blue back on the ground with his neck bleeding really bad and his stomach torn open. I took my coat off and put him in it, trying to slow the flow of blood from his belly, because it seemed worse than his neck. I ran to the car with him in my arms, and I assume we would have made it to the vet clinic in time, had we needed to go.

We didn’t, because the last part never really happened. It’s one of the many visions I have on any given day. I call them scenarios, and I assumed that everyone had them. I thought that’s what a daydream was. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it, but Gerri has recently made me aware of the fact that she doesn’t know of anyone that has them, and that she thinks it’s kind of rare. I highly doubt that it is, but I thought I would explain it, and see if anyone else gets these same type of visions. Just to see if I’m crazy or not.

Hey, there might be some happy pills in my future. You never know.

I find it amazing that the mind can watch a “head movie” that is minutes, or sometimes hours long and vivid, but in reality, it’s over in seconds. That’s just how I’ve always seen things. Memories, dreams, and these scenarios. I find it odd that not everyone does. I guess it’s just not something that comes up in conversation.

Anyhow, I’m going to try and make notes when they happen and maybe write them down to one day make a book or something out of them. I probably won’t remember, because it’s just the way it’s always been, but I’ll try. Maybe I can figure out how to control them, and it will help me to focus on things, instead of always being off in left field all the time.

So… what about you? Do you have scenarios playing in your head all the time? Ever? When you have a memory, is it video, photos, or is it just a feeling?

I’m posting this because it’s relevant to a project I’m planning to do on Steemit and I think I will be doing it through Change The Topic and the SteemPress plugin. I’m just trying to figure things out right now, so please bear with me.

Photos are my own unless otherwise credited.

Apr 07

Is My Brain Showing? Part 2

(from Steemit)
As you may remember, when we left our hero, he was signing some waivers saying that he refused ambulatory care because there was no fucking way he was going to spend the weekend in Youngstown.

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(How I picture a weekend in Youngstown)

Actually, it was Hubbard, but who ever heard of Hubbard, Ohio, except people from near Hubbard, Ohio.

Anyhow, it didn’t have anything to do with the town, as a long-haul trucker I didn’t get paid if the wheels aren’t turning. Also, there was the newly acquired head wound that I needed to get stitched up, but as any Canadian can tell you, you don’t go to a hospital in the US if you don’t have health insurance.

So my dilemma was that I had to get the load secured and back to Canada, where I wouldn’t have to pay to go to emergency. I figured that St. Catherines would be easier to get to with the truck than Niagara Falls, so this was my plan.

ytowntostcath.JPG

The warehouse guy came out and helped me chain down the rest of the load and I whipped over to the truck stop to weigh my axles.

They were out by a bit.

So I had to go back and get the load shifted ahead. By the time I got back to the truck stop, it was late afternoon and my head was pounding pretty bad. I also had to change my dressing and I was feeling really tired, so I thought I might grab a nap before heading north.

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(I thought they just left their dead and wounded.)

I should back up a bit and mention that throughout this time I was in contact with my boss who was urging me to go to the hospital and use his credit card. While I was screwing around he sent another driver that was passing through near me to stop in and see how bad I was.

He showed up in the truck stop washroom while I was trying to change my bandages.

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(It wasn’t this bloody, but close)

He said that Rudy was worried about me and asked if I needed help with the dressing. I said that I would really appreciate that as it is hard to work in the mirror.

He said that Rudy thought he could take me to the hospital and that he understood why after seeing my head. I guess the flap had crusted up pretty badly. He had the credit card and had already unhooked his trailer, so off we went to the hospital.

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(It wasn’t quite this dramatic.)

When we got there we had to cross a picket line because the hospital was on strike. I wasn’t too worried about it until I saw the sign that said something about scab labor and my wound festering or something like that. Thanks, that’s fucking helpful.

When we got inside there was a lady doing the admitting, a pretty nurse, and a doctor from England. I guess they were the scabs. Oh well, lucky for me they were there.

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(I sure do love pixabay.com)

When the doctor saw me, he was a little perturbed that I had waited ten hours to come in. I guess there was a bit of rust or dirt still in there and he had to cut away some of the edges that were no good, but he got it stitched up. While he was stitching me up he asked where I was from.

I told him and he stopped what he was doing and asked me what the hell was with people in Canada. I said I didn’t know what he meant and he explained that since he had been there he had met three Canadians before me. One was the nurse, one was an elderly man that had been in a car accident and broke his leg and just wanted a splint put on it. Then there was a teenaged boy that was in a hockey tournament that had his eye socket fractured in the game that just wanted to get back to the arena for the last game. He said, “What do you guys think, you’re made of steel or something?”

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(Come on, these pictures are cute.)

I said, “No, what we’re not made of is money, and if we can make it four more hours we won’t be spending thousands of dollars here.”

He said that he thought I did this at work and when I replied that I had, he told me that it was all covered by worker’s compensation. I asked how much it would have cost and he figured about US$1200. Just to keep this face pretty.

scar.jpg
(Like how I used red to give it that real wound look?)

All in all, it was an above average run. Oddly not the worst one I had ever been on, but definitely not the best. The way I look at it is that I saved the company $1200 by getting hurt on the job and I didn’t even get a raise.

P.S. While I was looking around I found this at http://fox8.com/2017/07/29/hubbard-ohio-factory-owner-says-she-has-jobs-but-few-sober-applicants/

hubbard.JPG

If he’s going to MAGA, he should get the fuck to work.

Apr 04

Is My Brain Showing? Part 1

(This was previously posted on Steemit, but I figured I could start posting things from there on here. I own it, right?)

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(I don’t know where she plans on injecting that love.)

I had to spend eight hours in a fucking first aid course today. It was torturous. This is the ninth time I’ve taken level one first aid and that makes me sad, but you need to have it if you want to work. As far as first aid courses go, this one wasn’t too bad, and I met a cool, old feller in there and he only lives a few minutes from me, so hopefully I get a chance to hang out with him sometime. He’s over 70 and still working full-time, but thinks he might retire and work closer to home. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s not called retiring when you just switch employers.

While I was on https://pixabay.com/ looking for free first aid photos, I noticed some that seemed oddly out of place or just funny. Like this one and basically the rest of the ones I will post here.
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(I wonder if this one shows up under WWE as well.)

Back to the story.

When the instructor told us about how you were supposed to act in a calm, reassuring manner when someone comes to you with a first aid emergency, I was reminded of a story from when I was in/near Youngstown Ohio in the late 90s.

You see, I was a long-haul trucker and was sent to this steel mill to pick up these huge rings that were going to some sort of wood product mill in Quebec to replace some roller type thing. They loaded them on me and I had to chain it down and go to a nearby truck stop to make sure the load was positioned properly, weight-wise.

I had a snipe that was bent a bit and I was having a hard time getting the boomer(bear trap) to snap, so I got the bent snipe out and did something I knew better than to do, but it was Friday and if I didn’t get the load weighed and positioned properly I would be sitting there until Monday.

For those of you that don’t know what I’m talking about with the securement, watch this video for the first couple of minutes. A snipe is a cheater bar and the thing he’s putting it on is a bear trap/boomer/binder.

When I decided to get on top of the snipe and put my entire weight on it, it spun and snapped back into my face.

Pretty hard.
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( I knew Miss Piggy was going snap one day.)

When I woke up, I was laying on the concrete floor of the warehouse beside my glasses and ball cap with the newly dented peak.

I scrambled to get up and when I bent over to pick up my stuff, blood started drippingpouring out onto the floor. I took notice and, with my body hunched a bit to keep from bleeding on myself, slowly made my way towards the part of the building that people were in.

When I got a bit closer to the main door, an employee saw me and started walking towards me. I asked him where the first aid was and he said he was a first aider and started stepping up his pace. I lifted my head up and when he looked at my head he got this freaked out look on his face and he started to turn away while yelling something like, but not limited to, “Oh my God, holy fuck. Your fucking head, man. Oh shit. Fuck.”
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(This must be the Playboy mansion first aid attendant)

And then he was gone

Now I was getting scared. I picked up my pace and started to worry about when my adrenaline ran out and I succumbed to my severe head trauma. Very soon a heavier set man was running toward me and pulling on some rubber gloves. The shithead first aider was in tow with a first aid bag in his hands.

I started screaming as soon as I saw the gloves. It went something like this: “I’M AFRAID TO TOUCH MY HEAD! PLEASE HELP ME. I THINK MY BRAINS ARE COMING OUT OF MY SKULL.”
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(Doubles as an ice dance pic as well.)

He was trying to get me into a chair against a wall full of papers tacked to corkboard, but I wanted nothing to do with slowing down. I knew that was when you were fucked. The way buddy screamed and ran away from me told me that I was running on nothing but instinct and luck. If I stopped, I would bleed out and slowly fade away. Or something like that. I was in fucking shock, how do I know what things mean?

He said that he was a first aid attendant and he needed me to calm down, but his tweaker looking sidekick was just staring at me with this horrified look and cringing, so I did what any person would do.

I looked him right in the eye and yelled in my deepest, gravelly baritone voice, “IS MY BRAIN SHOWING?”
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(That’s what happens when you flip my Nana the bird.)

He said he couldn’t see it, but he would like to have a better look, so I sat down and he used his flashlight to look around. He said it looked like my skull had a fracture, but there was no brain showing.

While he was explaining things to me, I looked right at the other first aider and started yelling something about him being the worst medical person in the world and saying that if my head wasn’t split open I would beat him until he shit himself. He started to cry and then I stopped to collect myself and apologize, but he took off. Now the real first aid guy was looking at me disapprovingly and I apologized and told him what happened as he walked me to the first aid room to wash my wound out.
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(How would this even happen?)

I told him to relay my sorrow to the other guy, but to understand that he is not someone who should be in that role. He agreed and started to call an ambulance, but I stopped him in his tracks. I explained that I needed to get my load secured and weighed before I did anything, so he handed me some waivers to sign, bandaged the flap of skin up off of my right eyebrow, and gave me a bag full of gauze pads and tape.

I was free!
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There is a whole nother part of this, but I’m tired. I’ll get it up here soon.