Dog Days

We are in the dog days of summer -- we've had over 30 days of temperatures 100 degrees or higher this year. That does not include the days that it is, say, a balmy 98 degrees with a heat index of 109; those simply don't count. Who does that counting stuff anyway? By my book, those heat indices should count.

We have only had a couple of days dipping below the 100 mark since June 1st, but you really can feel a difference when it does. Hopefully the tease the weatherman threw us about Friday and Saturday will actually happen: highs 97 to 99 with a chance of thunderstorms. I sure hope so; we're so dry we've been pretty much under a constant burn ban for our county, and our air conditioning system running full blast only keeps it between 85 and 90 inside, depending on the external temperature. It also freezes up a couple of times every day, and we have to switch it to "fan" for a while to melt all the ice -- about 10 minutes generally does it -- before turning the air conditioner setting back on.

A is in ESY summer school through the middle of next week. It's hot enough that if his bus is only 4 minutes late, it's enough to exhaust you. Luckily the bus is air conditioned, so A is just fine once he's on board. He's loving school and is actually doing the work now that his teacher has learned what he's capable of, and A has learned that his teacher isn't a pushover.

K has sprouted like a weed and is actually fitting into 3T clothing comfortably; when we arrived here in March, she turned three but was still wearing 24 month clothing. We're thrilled she's catching up to others in her age group, but are having to alter our clothing schedule of hand-me-downs and reassess her needs for this fall. (Based on her past growth times we figured it would take until at least November to even keep the 3's up on her butt, but she's surprised us all. And she's tall and thin, not a chunk at all).

In other news, there is a disturbing practice in this town that, while it's present in a lot of places in the United States, is made exponentially worse here where there are a lot of military moves. What I'm referring to is animal dumping. People find out they're moving across the country or out of the country, take the collar off their animals, and boot them out the front door to fend for themselves.

I was so angry when I came back home from my walk this morning -- I'd seen yet another dog, a yellow lab this time, that was so thin you could see every one of its ribs and vertebrae wandering the streets looking for shade and water. If you call the local animal authorities, you get a wearied response that they'll canvas the area sometime in the new few days and try to pick them up. They get so many calls and don't have the staff to keep up with it all. We also have rabies and other diseases running rampant due to the large feral animal population, too, so I didn't dare approach the poor beast.

We are now taking care of a black lab that showed up at our house about a month ago in a similar situation. She had no collar, and despite calling around, asking neighbors, and posting a notice in the paper we have had no "hits". She was never quite skin and bones, but she has filled out nicely since her time with us. So sweet, puts up with all K's attentions, and is well trained. We didn't even get a leash for her until last week, on Saturday, because she stays at your knee when you walk and will stop when you do. If she wanders all you have to do is pat your leg or say, "Come", and she's instantly back.

She does not bark at people coming to the door or other dogs outside our fence either, which is strange but really great at the same time. She is an awesome dog, someone lost a really good one. The only possible issue that we've discovered is she loves to dig -- especially in my big tub that houses my zucchini plant. She gets along fantastically well with our male Siberian Husky -- once she set him straight that chicks don't like guys all up in their junk all the time.

When we took the collar and leash out of the store bag on Saturday, her butt hit the floor and her tail started wagging so hard it looked like she'd wag it clear off. She is so happy to have a collar, and I think she knows that she has a family again. I took her for a walk on the leash for the first time Monday morning and she was so excited when I pulled it out she was jumping up and down and wriggling her entire body. She pranced along past all the fenced dogs on our route with her head high and her tail out behind her all pretty, smiling the whole time.

Z and I ran through every dog's name we could think of (and made up a few out of desperation) just to see if she'd answer to something. All of our attempts were dismal failures. We asked the kids what they'd like to name her, to include them in the process because we can't just keep calling her "dog". A's contributions were "black dog" and "water". K came up with the dog's name, mostly because she most emphatically refuses to call her anything else. Our new pooch now has the most unlikely moniker of, "Princess". Smart dog, it only took her 2 days to start answering to it.

So, "Princess" is now sporting a lovely red collar and a tag with her name and our phone numbers engraved on it, and has a red leash to match.

As far as we can tell, she has never been fixed; neither has Mischa. Z and I were contemplating this the other day and are wondering just what any puppies would look like if they occurred between a male Siberian Husky and a female Labrador Retriever. The pups would likely be uglier than homemade sin, but have fabulous personalities. My mother suggested that we could call any offspring "Labrarians".

....yeah....

That tidbit of family knowledge probably gives you all some valuable insight into why I am the way I am.