Basil is Better

Today I brought Basil home from the doggie hospital.  Boy was she glad to get out of there.  For the next 4 days I have to feed her every three hours during the day with a homemade chicken and brown rice soup, which she loves!  She tires quickly, but is over the hump with the virus.

Thank you all for your kind thoughts and words.

Basil is sick

This is my sweet little puppy, Basil, at one month old.  She is now 7 months old, and today she was not feeling well, so I took her to the vet and she has Parvo.  So now she is in the doggie hospital.  She had not finished her vaccinations so she was susceptible.  Because I caught it in the beginning stages, she has a 90% chance of recovery.  I should know by Monday how she is doing.  But as any pet owner can testify, it sure makes you sad when they are so sick.

It's a Dogs Life

Every kid wants a pet.  I love dogs.  But I like a certain kind, as Goldilocks said, "That one's too big, and that one's too small, but that one is just right.  My first dog was a Springer Spaniel named Chum.  I am told that I liked to ride her, and my Dad would hold me while Chum took me all through the house.  I had her when I was a baby, but if not for the pictures of my dad, me and Chum, I wouldn't know about her. 

Through the years, my kids all had pets, some cats, some dogs, but they weren't mine even though I fed and cleaned up after them.  Finally when I was single again, I got my own dog.  She is half black lab, half Queensland Heeler.  She is gentle but brave, old now with a bad hip and some arthritis but with the heart of a pup she still tries to chase the ball--kind of like me.

My Chicken Story

I have a dog--Queensland heeler, black lab mix, by instinct a herder.--and I live in the barrio.  I was here long before the cultural change.  In past years my neighborhood was all white except for one black family.  Now, I am the only white person living here, but we co-exist peaceably.  I have grown accustomed to many cultural changes--mariachi music, mamas calling to their children in Spanish, and chickens. Some of my neighbors raise a few chickens.  In the morning, the rising sun is greeted by the crowing of a rooster--a pleasant sound.
The scene is set. 
I was watching TV in the living room, when I heard a terrible ruckus.  A chicken came flying into the room followed by my dog, tail wagging, barking like crazy.  Chicken hides behind a chair, dog lays down, woofing softly, inviting chicken to come and play.  Getting a broom (after taking the blanket off my head and quitting screaming like a girl), I chased chicken out the living room door, but dog runs outside and tries to herd it back in through the doggy door.  I finally encourage chicken to fly over the back yard fence to its home.  Poor dog, she sits outside whining, begging chicken to come back and play.  I think she believes I am a mean lady--chasing away her friend.

Dogs

My grandson just got a new dog.  She is a yellow lab, about a year old.  What energy!  She just can't understand why my old dog, Betsy, won't play with her all day.  Betsy will fetch her ball a few times, but then it's nap time.  New dog bounds around the yard like a deer chasing whatever moves.
I started remembering my dogs.  My first dog, Chum, was a springer spaniel.  I was just a toddler, I can hardly remember her, but I have pictures of my dad holding me as I sat on her.  The next dog I remember was Judy, a ranch dog that had been bitten on the mouth by a rattlesnake.  When we lived in Minnesota, we had a beagle.  She was such a hunter!  When I walked her in the city park, she would find a rabbit trail and be off like a flash.  The only way I could catch her would be to stand on the trail and grab her as she went by.  Some years later, my daughter had a dachshund terrier mix--built like a dachshund but had the coat of a terrier.  We named him Napolian, even though he was little he wasn't scared of anything.  He would chase a Great Dane if the opportunity arose.  When the kids left home, somehow or other I ended up taking care of their pets.  The first dog I could actually call my own is my sweet Betsy, black lab, Queensland heeler mix.  She broke her back leg when she was just a puppy so now has some arthritis.  She is a calm, happy dog.  We get along together fine--a little bit of exercise, play a little bit, and take naps.

My Curious Friend

In April 2001 I got a little wiggly ball of black fur that would grow to become my faithful pal.  Betsy is a Labrador--Queensland Heeler mix who looks and acts like a lab most of the time.  She is a curious dog, and I mean that in several ways.

When she was little she would climb like a cat.  I came home from work one day and couldn't find her, after an hour of searching, I heard a little woof, and there she was stretching-- just waking from a nap on the ironing board in the laundry room.  She would climb over any doggy gate, so finally I just let her roam, but she was well mannered and never had accidents in the house.  During the day she would nap in her crate, but when awake had to be where the action was always investigating--the noise outside, the cricket hopping across the floor, or what I was doing.

She has a favorite toy, a green bumpy football. She takes it everywhere with her. At the foot of my bed where she sleeps at night, outside when she plays, and close at hand when she is guarding the house.
 
She does have Heeler traits.  She is a good herd dog, although in the city her subjects are limited, but she is a resourceful animal.  Like the time I was reading in the living room when all of a sudden there was a terrible racket--squacking and barking.  Then into the room flew a chicken with Betsy close behind, herding it toward her special spot.  I screamed like a girl, covering my head under a blanket.  In the bedlam, the bird hid behind a chair, and Betsy laid down watching it with tail wagging--I suspect she thought she found a friend.  After mustering up enough courage, I got a broom and chased the chicken outside.  Betsy looked all over trying to find her friend.  Every time she heard it crowing on the other side of the block wall, she would run to the wall with tail wagging, encouraging it to come and play.
 
Maybe when I retire I will get her another friend---ummm, maybe not.