In addition to my dogs, I have 2 cats - Oscar and Felix. Both were rescued from the Toronto Humane Society and they were my first pets. Oscar came first after I went to get a dog and my friend who was working at the THS at the time told me there was no way they'd give me a dog because my lifestyle wouldn't allow me to properly care for it. Instead she gave me this tiny cute little grey kitten to foster until he was old enough to be adopted. He was five weeks old at the time and I refused to name him because I knew once I did I would get attached. But... within a couple of hours my friend, Jane, said "He looks like an Oscar" and it was over. He was named, worked his way into my heart, and never went back to the THS. And I have always called him my dog in cat clothing - he is the most amazing, confident cat who used to wait for me at my door when I got home from work. He was a great first pet!
Felix was another story. I couldn't stand him when I got him. It was a year after having Oscar and the THS called me asking if I could foster a cat for them. Since I firmly believe in fostering and helping rescued animals, I agreed. They gave me Felix - about 5 weeks old at the time. He was a tiny little tabby cat who cried all the time and generally annoyed me. I couldn't wait to take him back to the THS! But then he got sick and I had to nurse him back to health before they could take him back and put him up for adoption. That was the beginning of our true relationship - while nursing him back to health he became less annoying and more loving and affectionate and I fell in love with him. He never ended up going back to the THS and I now had a little buddy for Oscar.
Oscar and Felix have very different personalities. They never really bonded too much - they would sleep together and occasionally run around my apartment together, but I wouldn't have said that they there best friends. Oscar is definitely a more out-going cat and Felix has always been skittish. They were 5 and 6 years old when I finally got my first dog - Abby. Abby was 5 months old when I got her but because she went to dog daycare with me every day, she was always very calm at home - no crazy puppy energy for the cats to deal with. Even so, Felix was tramatized. He lived in my bathroom for the first 6 months that Abby was with us. Ever since then, he literally became my bathroom cat - he found some comfort being in there and I think it was his safe haven because Abby never ever went in there. And so when I went in there he always had me all to himself. Poor Felix. His life completely changed with the introduction of Abby into it but he did eventually get comfortable around her and began to wander around the apartment again once he realized she wouldn't bother him.
Then came Jackson. Jackson was a different puppy than Abby. He was full of energy and liked to chase the cats around. Oscar quickly put a stop to that by standing his ground and giving him a couple of swats, but Felix never got used to it. When he would see Jackson he would always run away, causing Jackson to give chase. Jackson never got used to Felix because Felix never stood his ground and gave Jackson the opportunity to smell him and be used to his presence. Poor Felix began to spend more time in the bathroom and in my basement in Toronto - quite a solitary life for him. I always felt bad for him and tried to get him used to Jackson but it was a difficult challenge.
When I moved to Ottawa the cats got their own bedroom - a place to get away from the dogs where I could feed them and keep their litter. Felix rarely ventured downstairs, especially during they day when the dogs were around. Whenever he would try, Jackson would chase him back upstairs. And when I brought Trey into the home, it was all too much for Felix. I began to really see that his quality of life was limited. He didn't have an abusive life, or a bad one, but it was definitely solitary. Even Oscar didn't spend much time with him. Felix would spend his days alone upstairs, sleeping in the bathroom or one of the bedrooms, and at night he would wander around the house. He did usually sleep with me so that was our time, but it wasn't enough. I began to question his existence in my life and my dog filled home and began to think about an alternative home for him.
Now, I am very judgmental about people giving up their pets. I fully admit it. I feel like when you get a pet you have committed to providing that pet with a good home for life, and doing everything possible to make sure they are loved and cared for. So the thought of re-homing Felix was a difficult one for me and I had to re-examine all of my judgements about it. I began to understand why people do it - some don't do it for the right reasons but some do it because they don't feel they can give the animal the proper care he deserves. It is quite an un-selfish decision for some people to give their pet that they love to someone else to care for because it is better for the animal. It took me awhile but I finally came to the decision that Felix may be happier living somewhere with no dogs. He has spent quite a bit of time at my parent's place, and had become quite comfortable there. He was always more relaxed there and when he had to come back home, he hissed a lot and seemed quite stressed to be in my house again. And watching him when the dogs came around really made me realize how stressed he was - I could see it in his behaviours and his poor little face. So I finally got up the courage to ask my mom if they could keep him for me and see how he did on his own at their place. I didn't know how it would be splitting up him and Oscar, but didn't think either would really care since they had never really become that attached. My mom and dad agreed to try it and see how he did. If they couldn't take him, I wasn't giving him to anyone that I didn't know so they were my only option.
It has been 4 weeks since he has been living at their house alone and he is very content. He is doing exactly what I had hoped for - he is spending time with them watching TV, wandering around the house, finding new places to sleep, eating well and seems very relaxed. My dad has been great about keeping me updated and sending me pictures of him lounging around. And neither he nor Oscar seem to care that the other one is missing. They are going to keep him for me and give him the quiet home he needs. I'm now quite happy I made the decision. I was over there last night for the first time since he's been there and I was so happy to see him. And I think he was happy to see me. I really really miss him and his head butts but I know this is the right decision for him. It took me awhile to make the decision and it wasn't easy, but I know he is happy there and is being well looked after. And secretly I think my parents enjoy having him around.
I have since changed my judgments on people re-homing their pets. I'm much more understanding about it now and am much more supportive. If someone doesn't want their pet, then the best decision is to find someone who does. And I will try to keep this in mind every time I'm told that someone has to give up their pet - promise. :)
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Friday, 8 April 2011
Muskrat Love
A large portion of my property by my river frontage is protected wetlands. There are all sorts of wildlife that take advantage of this sanctuary from ducks and geese to snakes, toads and even a beaver (which I'm not too happy about!). It is also home to several muskrats. In the winter you can see their huts built on the ice in the middle of the marsh... probably at least 20 of them. Then, unfortunately, in the spring the dogs tend to find quite a few dead muskrat remains throughout my property. A really fun game to play involves the dogs running around proudly carrying the gross, boney and torn apart carcass and me trying to catch them and trade the disgusting piece of fur for a piece of hotdog. Ya right!
My first experience with a muskrat was Easter Sunday in April 2009, my first spring on the farm. My house and barn sit on higher land than the marsh and every year the river and marsh flood from all of the ice and snow melting. My parents and I had walked to the top of the hill to check out the flooded area and Jackson had run down into the marsh. Jackson is my 3.5 year old husky/shepherd - my intelligent, active, curious, sensitive dog who is also quite fearless when it comes to wildlife - and at the time he was only a year old. As we were standing surveying the flood, I heard Jackson yelp and by the time I looked to see what had happened, he had a little muskrat in his mouth and was shaking it, and he was bleeding profusely on one front leg. My first thought was "Great! Now we have to go to the emergency clinic on a Sunday and this is going to cost me a few hundred dollars! Welcome to farm life!" My second thought was "Thank God he just had his rabies shot!" I figure that he had accidentally walked over the little guy who was probably sleeping in some tall grass and as he was taken by surprise he bit Jackson on the lower front left leg and tore a few layers of his skin back... lots of blood! Jackson had killed the muskrat by this point and happily dropped it, quite proud of himself. "You bite me, I kill you!" After looking quickly at his leg we got him back to the house and started to clean him up. Thank goodness I work with dogs and have taken several pet first aid courses! After getting a better look at it I realized it was quite a superficial wound - no puncture - and I didn't think he needed to go to the vet. Especially on Easter Sunday! (Vain Cheryl did take him to my own vet the next day for a stitch so that the scar wouldn't be so bad. And I was quite proud of Jackson who took the stitch with just a local anesthetic.) And here is the gross part... my dad and I went down to the marsh to clean up the muskrat remains so that the dogs wouldn't find it on a later walk. This was only about 20 minutes after the incident and as my dad and I walked down the hill, 2 large vultures flew away. They had already found and gutted the poor little guy. As I shoveled what was left of it, guts and all, into a garbage bag my dad says "I can't believe you are doing this. Good thing you aren't a princess!". I don't think when I was born that my dad ever imagined I'd end up living on a farm and cleaning up animal carcasses. I think he is quite proud of me!
My second experience with a muskrat and one of my dogs was a couple of days ago. The flood had receded enough that we were able to get to the path along the river - one of my favourite places to walk the dogs - so we went down there for the first time in about a month. The dogs loved it! Lots of stuff to roll in and the remains of a dead bird to eat. Yummy! And feathers make great toys! As Jackson and Abby were enjoying the dead bird, Trey had gone quite far ahead on his own hunting mission. Trey is my 9 year old husky mix that I rescued a year ago. He came from a poorly run dog sledding operation that was closed down by the International Humane Society because the dogs were so neglected. Some day I'll go into his history and my experiences in my first year with him, but for the purposes of this story all you need to know is that he has a high prey drive. And when he is on a hunt, he does NOT listen to me. This particular day he found quite a big muskrat and by the time I saw him he was strutting by me with it in his mouth. I'm not sure if he found it dead, or if he killed it, but either way he was quite proud of his catch. I desperately held out a dried chicken fillet hoping he'd give it up to me and he simply ran past with a glance at the chicken that seemed to say "Are you kidding me? You think I'm going to give up this awesome piece of fresh muskrat for a little chicken fillet? You're nuts!" And he continued to run back along the path. Now, Trey is quite adept at staying just out of reach when he wants to and I generally keep a leash dragging on him on our walks so that I can catch him if I need to. But of course, on this particular day I decided not to put the leash on him. So I was quite worried that he would continue to run somewhere to lie down and eat his fresh find and when I approached, he'd jump up and run out of reach again. I saw this game repeating itself for quite some time and quickly gave up all thoughts of plans for the rest of my afternoon. I've had some experience trying to catch him when he is on a scent, or chasing down a raccoon, and he is very good at the "keep away" game. So I started to follow him slowly so as not to make him run faster and as I was trying to come up with a plan to catch him, he peeled off the path into the trees and started digging a hole. Amazing! I watched him from a distance so that I wouldn't spook him away, and he dug a bit of a hole and then stuffed the muskrat in it and covered it up. When I felt I could approach him, I walked quietly up to him and he just stood, looked at me quite calmly - his job was done - and let me click the leash on him. Really really cool! My dogs are quite spoiled and live a good life.... they are allowed on my couch, have dog beds in every room, are given great food and treats, sleep on my bed, go for hikes... at times I forget they are dogs. So when I see their natural instincts and wild side come out it reminds me that they are indeed DOGS. It is so fascinating to me to see them do what comes naturally for them from their basic instincts, even after years of evolution and domestic breeding. Really really cool!
But it sucks for the muskrats.
My first experience with a muskrat was Easter Sunday in April 2009, my first spring on the farm. My house and barn sit on higher land than the marsh and every year the river and marsh flood from all of the ice and snow melting. My parents and I had walked to the top of the hill to check out the flooded area and Jackson had run down into the marsh. Jackson is my 3.5 year old husky/shepherd - my intelligent, active, curious, sensitive dog who is also quite fearless when it comes to wildlife - and at the time he was only a year old. As we were standing surveying the flood, I heard Jackson yelp and by the time I looked to see what had happened, he had a little muskrat in his mouth and was shaking it, and he was bleeding profusely on one front leg. My first thought was "Great! Now we have to go to the emergency clinic on a Sunday and this is going to cost me a few hundred dollars! Welcome to farm life!" My second thought was "Thank God he just had his rabies shot!" I figure that he had accidentally walked over the little guy who was probably sleeping in some tall grass and as he was taken by surprise he bit Jackson on the lower front left leg and tore a few layers of his skin back... lots of blood! Jackson had killed the muskrat by this point and happily dropped it, quite proud of himself. "You bite me, I kill you!" After looking quickly at his leg we got him back to the house and started to clean him up. Thank goodness I work with dogs and have taken several pet first aid courses! After getting a better look at it I realized it was quite a superficial wound - no puncture - and I didn't think he needed to go to the vet. Especially on Easter Sunday! (Vain Cheryl did take him to my own vet the next day for a stitch so that the scar wouldn't be so bad. And I was quite proud of Jackson who took the stitch with just a local anesthetic.) And here is the gross part... my dad and I went down to the marsh to clean up the muskrat remains so that the dogs wouldn't find it on a later walk. This was only about 20 minutes after the incident and as my dad and I walked down the hill, 2 large vultures flew away. They had already found and gutted the poor little guy. As I shoveled what was left of it, guts and all, into a garbage bag my dad says "I can't believe you are doing this. Good thing you aren't a princess!". I don't think when I was born that my dad ever imagined I'd end up living on a farm and cleaning up animal carcasses. I think he is quite proud of me!
My second experience with a muskrat and one of my dogs was a couple of days ago. The flood had receded enough that we were able to get to the path along the river - one of my favourite places to walk the dogs - so we went down there for the first time in about a month. The dogs loved it! Lots of stuff to roll in and the remains of a dead bird to eat. Yummy! And feathers make great toys! As Jackson and Abby were enjoying the dead bird, Trey had gone quite far ahead on his own hunting mission. Trey is my 9 year old husky mix that I rescued a year ago. He came from a poorly run dog sledding operation that was closed down by the International Humane Society because the dogs were so neglected. Some day I'll go into his history and my experiences in my first year with him, but for the purposes of this story all you need to know is that he has a high prey drive. And when he is on a hunt, he does NOT listen to me. This particular day he found quite a big muskrat and by the time I saw him he was strutting by me with it in his mouth. I'm not sure if he found it dead, or if he killed it, but either way he was quite proud of his catch. I desperately held out a dried chicken fillet hoping he'd give it up to me and he simply ran past with a glance at the chicken that seemed to say "Are you kidding me? You think I'm going to give up this awesome piece of fresh muskrat for a little chicken fillet? You're nuts!" And he continued to run back along the path. Now, Trey is quite adept at staying just out of reach when he wants to and I generally keep a leash dragging on him on our walks so that I can catch him if I need to. But of course, on this particular day I decided not to put the leash on him. So I was quite worried that he would continue to run somewhere to lie down and eat his fresh find and when I approached, he'd jump up and run out of reach again. I saw this game repeating itself for quite some time and quickly gave up all thoughts of plans for the rest of my afternoon. I've had some experience trying to catch him when he is on a scent, or chasing down a raccoon, and he is very good at the "keep away" game. So I started to follow him slowly so as not to make him run faster and as I was trying to come up with a plan to catch him, he peeled off the path into the trees and started digging a hole. Amazing! I watched him from a distance so that I wouldn't spook him away, and he dug a bit of a hole and then stuffed the muskrat in it and covered it up. When I felt I could approach him, I walked quietly up to him and he just stood, looked at me quite calmly - his job was done - and let me click the leash on him. Really really cool! My dogs are quite spoiled and live a good life.... they are allowed on my couch, have dog beds in every room, are given great food and treats, sleep on my bed, go for hikes... at times I forget they are dogs. So when I see their natural instincts and wild side come out it reminds me that they are indeed DOGS. It is so fascinating to me to see them do what comes naturally for them from their basic instincts, even after years of evolution and domestic breeding. Really really cool!
But it sucks for the muskrats.
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| Cleaning up Trey's buried treasure. |
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
Welcome!
I've done it. I've given in to the requests to write about my life. Two and a half years ago I moved from Toronto to a farm in rural Ottawa and every time something amusing, funny, eventful or down right tragic happens all I hear is "you should write a book". So at the suggestion of my good friend Jennifer, I am going to start a blog. Who knows if anyone will ever read this but it will be a record for me to have of my new farm life and all the hilarity and aggravation that goes along with it.
Since Jennifer suggested I write this blog, I figured she'd be a good first story. Today's hilarity began when Jennifer, who is staying with me for a month, and I went to walk the dogs in the vacant farm fields. As we were heading out I looked down at Jennifer's shoes and questioned "Is that what you're wearing? Where are your boots?" She had on tiny little walking shoes that only had a strap covering the top of her foot - and they were slips on! I suggested she go back home and try on a pair of mine but they didn't fit and she has a blister from her new rubber boots (so she did bring rubber boots to the farm with her - I'll give her credit for that) so the choice of shoes she can now wear is limited. So with an "I'll be fine!" from Jennifer, we continued on our walk.
Now, keep in mind it is April. The muddiest month of the year on the farm. And it rained/snowed all day yesterday so it isn't really dry here. It took about 20 minutes before she was knee deep in mud, fell over and lost her shoe! Hilarious! And then another 20 minutes before her shoes were so covered in mud and straw that her feet looked like they were under-cover - camoflauged! Her shoes are now in the garbage bin.
My stories may amuse you or bore you to tears. But it is my life and this is now my way of recording all the things I find memorable about it. My 3 dogs and I seem to always find some way to keep life interesting on the farm! Stay tuned!
Since Jennifer suggested I write this blog, I figured she'd be a good first story. Today's hilarity began when Jennifer, who is staying with me for a month, and I went to walk the dogs in the vacant farm fields. As we were heading out I looked down at Jennifer's shoes and questioned "Is that what you're wearing? Where are your boots?" She had on tiny little walking shoes that only had a strap covering the top of her foot - and they were slips on! I suggested she go back home and try on a pair of mine but they didn't fit and she has a blister from her new rubber boots (so she did bring rubber boots to the farm with her - I'll give her credit for that) so the choice of shoes she can now wear is limited. So with an "I'll be fine!" from Jennifer, we continued on our walk.
Now, keep in mind it is April. The muddiest month of the year on the farm. And it rained/snowed all day yesterday so it isn't really dry here. It took about 20 minutes before she was knee deep in mud, fell over and lost her shoe! Hilarious! And then another 20 minutes before her shoes were so covered in mud and straw that her feet looked like they were under-cover - camoflauged! Her shoes are now in the garbage bin.
My stories may amuse you or bore you to tears. But it is my life and this is now my way of recording all the things I find memorable about it. My 3 dogs and I seem to always find some way to keep life interesting on the farm! Stay tuned!
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| Jennifer knee deep in mud! |
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| Shoes not to wear hiking on the farm in spring. |
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