Woden moved to a Raw meat diet about 6 months ago. We moved our whole houshold herd to Raw, although the cats require a slightly different recipe than the dogs - its really just a different ratio of fat, and different additives.
What finally got us to move to Raw was the hope - suggested through our research - that Wodens' physical ailments would lessen as a result of a better diet. While it does not seem to have cleared up his assorted yeast infections (ears, webbng of paws) or little crusty sores under his chin, it has lessened his symptoms. It has definitely fixed his longstanding digestive problems, and he has very firm, small feces.
He has developed a strong interest in food and meals, after never having cared particularly. He eats about 3.5% of his bodyweight daily, in one sitting. Most of his diet is made up of coarse ground flesh, offal, and fat, from cow primarily. He eats a quarter of a bone-in chicken each day as part of his total serving. I had to teach him to eat the bone-in chicken, and in the beginning I had to chop it down a little so he could manage it. Now, Istill have to do a little processing of the chicken: it often is cheaper to get whole birds, so I have to whack 'em into quarters. And, Woden has trouble with the skin. So I have to score the skin a few times on each quarter for him.
He has an active lifestyle, which is why he eats 3.5% rather than 2% of his boyweight. A lucky dog, he has spent very little of his life out of sensory range of Beth or myself. Currently, the dogs come to work with us monday through friday, where they get to play with around twenty other dogs at the Dog care business where we are employed. Around 11 a.m. each day, I take Woden off with me to do walks with individual dogs. He drives from home to home with me, where we take one or more dogs for walks. Woden gets to spend three or more hours this way with me. So he burns a lot of energy weekdays.
I am very happy with the early results of Wodens new diet. I will continue to note his physical state, in hopes that his health (particularly resistance to yeast skin infections) improves. However, even if we discover no further improvements or benefits, I will be happy with the results. We are spending about 30% more than the cost of good quality supermarket kibble, just a little less in price than top quality pet shop kibble. If we had small dogs, it would have been a no-brainer. With small-people sized dogs, it was a tougher sell on my stingy nature.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
I am walking dogs now, working for a company called "The Urban Dog, located just outside Minneapolis Mn. Woden just started getting to go to the facility each week day while I work. Sometimes he gets to go with me as I drive around the metro area doing walks. It has worked out that he has gone along on walks with some of my favorite clients. They tend to be other large breed dogs, and so far he has gotten along well with all of them. Which has been a little surprising.
I think that perhaps the dogs I work with were all sort of prepared for meeting him. I sleep with my dogs, drive around with them, basically do everything with them that I can manage. So, I suspect the dogs I work with have been smelling Woden on me for as long as they have known me. And Woden lives just like I do, so he smells pretty strongly of me, I guess. And my client dogs get along well with me - I work hard at making sure they have a good time.
At the facility, we have another GSD client dog, who is very similar to Woden in temperament, behavior, and coloration. He is just a few degrees more black, looking like Woden did as a pup. This other dog has all of Wodens' bad social habits, plus a few of his own. The pair are fast friends most of the time, acting like little bullies, or a thug squad. A number of the other clients cannot seem to tell them apart, and have transferred their dislike.
He has just finished his first four days. He grew better behaved and more willing to listen to direction the more he became accustomed to the routine. While he listened to me more then half the time on premises, and fully when off, he was almost uncontrollable using voice commands for anyone else. This wound up being very frustrating. I felt a little embarrassed by how wild he got. But, he gets really wound up by new experiences that do not let up. I have not been really surprised. His housemate, Ulf, has also been coming to work with us. He has done much better adjusting to the new routine.
I think that perhaps the dogs I work with were all sort of prepared for meeting him. I sleep with my dogs, drive around with them, basically do everything with them that I can manage. So, I suspect the dogs I work with have been smelling Woden on me for as long as they have known me. And Woden lives just like I do, so he smells pretty strongly of me, I guess. And my client dogs get along well with me - I work hard at making sure they have a good time.
At the facility, we have another GSD client dog, who is very similar to Woden in temperament, behavior, and coloration. He is just a few degrees more black, looking like Woden did as a pup. This other dog has all of Wodens' bad social habits, plus a few of his own. The pair are fast friends most of the time, acting like little bullies, or a thug squad. A number of the other clients cannot seem to tell them apart, and have transferred their dislike.
He has just finished his first four days. He grew better behaved and more willing to listen to direction the more he became accustomed to the routine. While he listened to me more then half the time on premises, and fully when off, he was almost uncontrollable using voice commands for anyone else. This wound up being very frustrating. I felt a little embarrassed by how wild he got. But, he gets really wound up by new experiences that do not let up. I have not been really surprised. His housemate, Ulf, has also been coming to work with us. He has done much better adjusting to the new routine.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
After a long hiatus - Wodentales returns!
So, I am walking the Woden yesterday (march 12 2013). We have a second dog living with us, Ava Browndog, a 14 year old GSD. She has a host of physical issues that limit how far she can walk, so on our daily walks, we split up at a certain point, so that Woden gets enough of a walk, and so Ava does not collapse.
About halfway through the second, Woden-only leg of the journey, I spied a medium-large dog running loose in a yard up the street. It acted a little squirrely, no barking, head down - not clearly communicating intent: it was either an intimidated dog who wanted to meet & swap some sniffing, or a clever stalker preparing for a charge. I decided that i did not want to learn which was the case, and crossed the street.
The loose dog followed. And followed. And kept following, for four blocks. It was clearly fascinated by Woden, but uncertain about approaching us. Woden was also very curious about our shadow; I had to keep making her continue our walk, because he wanted to turn around and meet the loose dog following us. I had to keep ordering him to come on, come along, etc.; on one of these occassions, I noticed that the stray dog was responding to my commands (better than Woden was, in fact). So, I ordered (her) to come, and let the two meet.
This dog, who turned out to be female, was super friendly. She and Woden quickly made nice, and were very excited to be walking together. For my part, I was very pleased that I could exercise some control over this nnew dog, as she had been loping across the streets, clueless and careless of cars and traffic. So, I got the stray dog to follow us home, and went back out to look for her home.
Returning to where I found her, I knocked on doors, asking for information about the dog. While the people on that block (3k block of Logan N.) had seen the beastie that day running loose, no one knew where she belonged, or had seen her prior to that day, running loose. So, I put up flyers, and posted a craigslist ad with her picture.
The dog is a super sweetie. She looks like some type of Lab/shepherd cross, and weighs about 60+ poundsat a guess. However, she should weigh 40-ish pounds or so. I have never before met a dog so oddly overweight; you cannot feel her ribs, and she has a big, handful-size wattle that hangs under her jaw like an opera valkyries' double chin. She looks like a totally different combination of breeds, simply because her body shape (bone structure) can not be seen, only felt, in most cases. She is young, and in that torturous condition that afflicts female dogs just prior to being fertile. She is so overweight that she has a good deal of difficulty moving with any grace and skill. She is easily knocked over - even falls over herself, just from walking.
She is so fat, in fact, that I have taken to calling her the Sausage. Woden is, as one might expect, totally in love with the Sausage. He is going mad with overpowering biological imperatives. The Sausage, too, is very interested in a physical relationship. However, the Sausage can barely keep herself propped upright; she is in no way capable of supporting a 100 pound suitor. The stress of his regard literally flattens her. She is quite game, and more than willing to try, and try, and try again. But she is simply too unfit to manage the necessary maneuvers.
We are keeping the Sausage at our house for the time being. It is a massive hassle, Ava is not at all pleased, but we are not comfortable sending her straight to a shelter. While that may wind up being her next stop, we would prefer to keep this super sweet woggle in a home surrounded by people and animals that nurture her, instead of getting caged and left alone until she finds her way to wherever she belongs. We do need to get to work finding her other arrangements, however. Beth (my wife) is starting to really like the beast, and I am concerned that we may wind up with her as a permanent fixture here if we are not careful. Which would be much less problematic if only Woden could stop loving the Sausage. And loving the Sausage. And loving the Sausage........Well, you get the idea.
So, I am walking the Woden yesterday (march 12 2013). We have a second dog living with us, Ava Browndog, a 14 year old GSD. She has a host of physical issues that limit how far she can walk, so on our daily walks, we split up at a certain point, so that Woden gets enough of a walk, and so Ava does not collapse.
About halfway through the second, Woden-only leg of the journey, I spied a medium-large dog running loose in a yard up the street. It acted a little squirrely, no barking, head down - not clearly communicating intent: it was either an intimidated dog who wanted to meet & swap some sniffing, or a clever stalker preparing for a charge. I decided that i did not want to learn which was the case, and crossed the street.
The loose dog followed. And followed. And kept following, for four blocks. It was clearly fascinated by Woden, but uncertain about approaching us. Woden was also very curious about our shadow; I had to keep making her continue our walk, because he wanted to turn around and meet the loose dog following us. I had to keep ordering him to come on, come along, etc.; on one of these occassions, I noticed that the stray dog was responding to my commands (better than Woden was, in fact). So, I ordered (her) to come, and let the two meet.
This dog, who turned out to be female, was super friendly. She and Woden quickly made nice, and were very excited to be walking together. For my part, I was very pleased that I could exercise some control over this nnew dog, as she had been loping across the streets, clueless and careless of cars and traffic. So, I got the stray dog to follow us home, and went back out to look for her home.
Returning to where I found her, I knocked on doors, asking for information about the dog. While the people on that block (3k block of Logan N.) had seen the beastie that day running loose, no one knew where she belonged, or had seen her prior to that day, running loose. So, I put up flyers, and posted a craigslist ad with her picture.
The dog is a super sweetie. She looks like some type of Lab/shepherd cross, and weighs about 60+ poundsat a guess. However, she should weigh 40-ish pounds or so. I have never before met a dog so oddly overweight; you cannot feel her ribs, and she has a big, handful-size wattle that hangs under her jaw like an opera valkyries' double chin. She looks like a totally different combination of breeds, simply because her body shape (bone structure) can not be seen, only felt, in most cases. She is young, and in that torturous condition that afflicts female dogs just prior to being fertile. She is so overweight that she has a good deal of difficulty moving with any grace and skill. She is easily knocked over - even falls over herself, just from walking.
She is so fat, in fact, that I have taken to calling her the Sausage. Woden is, as one might expect, totally in love with the Sausage. He is going mad with overpowering biological imperatives. The Sausage, too, is very interested in a physical relationship. However, the Sausage can barely keep herself propped upright; she is in no way capable of supporting a 100 pound suitor. The stress of his regard literally flattens her. She is quite game, and more than willing to try, and try, and try again. But she is simply too unfit to manage the necessary maneuvers.
We are keeping the Sausage at our house for the time being. It is a massive hassle, Ava is not at all pleased, but we are not comfortable sending her straight to a shelter. While that may wind up being her next stop, we would prefer to keep this super sweet woggle in a home surrounded by people and animals that nurture her, instead of getting caged and left alone until she finds her way to wherever she belongs. We do need to get to work finding her other arrangements, however. Beth (my wife) is starting to really like the beast, and I am concerned that we may wind up with her as a permanent fixture here if we are not careful. Which would be much less problematic if only Woden could stop loving the Sausage. And loving the Sausage. And loving the Sausage........Well, you get the idea.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Green Laser Pointer addiction
So, my dog has an addiction. German Shepherd Dogs are prone to neurosis; they can easily create habits that waltz deeply into the obsessive. As we raised Woden from a puppy, we read up on the issue, and tried to avoid obvious stresses.
At around six months, Woden accidentally discovered my red laser pointer as I played with our cats. He loved it, and so he began getting his own time with the laser pointer - at this point he was too clumsy to play along with the cats. After a few weeks, we misplaced the laser pointer, and it just kept hiding from us. So, I went online, and tried to find a cheap replacement. As I looked, I found a place in China selling GREEN lasers for the same price as I had paid for the red - including getting shipped from China! So of course, I ordered it. As soon as I had powered it up, the dog was in love. Something about the greel laser was different than the red - maybe Woden could see green better or something. But he loved it.
He really loved it. He began getting really obsessed by it. After five months, we had a real problem; any laser-pointer games with the green pointer ended with the dog sitting with poorly maintained composure, as he whined and swung his gaze from Beth & I to wherever we had stashed the green laser pointer. He would sit, clearly in torment, staring at the out-of-reach toy - for up to forty-five minutes!
When he began staring for long periods at his toy, we decided that we couldnt keep letting him play with it. We had tried moderation, using it as a reward, to no effect. So, we retired the green laser pointer, tucking it away in a drawer out of doggy reach.
Last week, I stumbled across it. Woden turned 2 on Dec. 8, so I decided that maybe we would try the laser pointer again, to see if he was different with it as an adult dog. So far, it seems to be working out alright. He cannot play with it very long, but it seems to be an effective reward, and we are tryng to use it to teach him to move as instructed - i.e. "Woden. turn left. Go forward - keep going - stop!"
I hope that he can keep getting to play with it this time - he really seems to like it. But I dont want him to get all strung out like before. Anyways, thats the laser pointer story.
At around six months, Woden accidentally discovered my red laser pointer as I played with our cats. He loved it, and so he began getting his own time with the laser pointer - at this point he was too clumsy to play along with the cats. After a few weeks, we misplaced the laser pointer, and it just kept hiding from us. So, I went online, and tried to find a cheap replacement. As I looked, I found a place in China selling GREEN lasers for the same price as I had paid for the red - including getting shipped from China! So of course, I ordered it. As soon as I had powered it up, the dog was in love. Something about the greel laser was different than the red - maybe Woden could see green better or something. But he loved it.
He really loved it. He began getting really obsessed by it. After five months, we had a real problem; any laser-pointer games with the green pointer ended with the dog sitting with poorly maintained composure, as he whined and swung his gaze from Beth & I to wherever we had stashed the green laser pointer. He would sit, clearly in torment, staring at the out-of-reach toy - for up to forty-five minutes!
When he began staring for long periods at his toy, we decided that we couldnt keep letting him play with it. We had tried moderation, using it as a reward, to no effect. So, we retired the green laser pointer, tucking it away in a drawer out of doggy reach.
Last week, I stumbled across it. Woden turned 2 on Dec. 8, so I decided that maybe we would try the laser pointer again, to see if he was different with it as an adult dog. So far, it seems to be working out alright. He cannot play with it very long, but it seems to be an effective reward, and we are tryng to use it to teach him to move as instructed - i.e. "Woden. turn left. Go forward - keep going - stop!"
I hope that he can keep getting to play with it this time - he really seems to like it. But I dont want him to get all strung out like before. Anyways, thats the laser pointer story.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
New Years Eve at Filmzilla
So, the computers were #@%!!$'d up at Filmzilla on new years eve day; Beth, Woden and I come in to find a huge backlog of crap to do, while taking care of a pretty large stream of customers. Woden was not having the best time, as he was not getting any attention from us. He usually can get a few games slipped in hre and there, but this new years eve, he was striking out.
So, when he started whining at after an hour at work, I took a few minutes to figure out that he needed top go outside, not that he was asking for attention. He is taking a steroid prescription, so he has to go to the bathroom 2 to 3 times as much, in much greater quantities. so, I take him outside, and he has some pretty specific ideas about where he wants to go. We take a route we seldom take, backwards. At the farthest point on this route from our store, Woden tries with vigor to lead me off into new, unexplored areas. We are about as far as I want to take him, so I do not let him go that way; so he lies down on the sidewalk, and looks at me as though daring me to do something about it.
Beth has told me that he will do this to her, and that she has a hard time getting him to get up and follow her. I have had just a little trouble with it. He will lie down on me, especially after he has lightly but deliberately "pulled" in a direction other than where we are going. But so long as I keep a higher pitched voice, and kind of encourage him to come along, he always gets up and comes with me. I usually give his spoke-collar a light pull, but not any kind of hard pressure.
I have tried to encourage Woden to communicate his preferences about where he goes on his walks (as opposed to where we go when he accompanies me somewhere - then, he has to pretty much follow along). I wonder sometimes if I am making him harder for Beth to control because of this - like he expects to get his way too much. But so much of the time, the only reason we are out walking, is the dog. So, I figure, if the walk is for him, he should go where he wants, if he has a preference and its not dangerous.
He is getting really good at listening and giving his attention out in the world. I can "sit" and "stay" him out in the world off his leash, and he will stay put till I tell him to go. He will stop and stay when he is far away, but he does not really like to sit on command when he and i are far from each other, and he does not like to lay down when told out in the world; and he pretty much refuses to roll over outside, unless he knows I have a treat for him.
As we walked back from where he had tried to "balk", he took a colossal dump. I had him "stay" at the corner of the last block on our walk, and went 3/4 of the block away and called him; he scared he heck out of a guy leaving his house as he ran by him full tilt, with his lead dragging behind him. The rain had started during the last block, and Woden was damp as we came back inside the store. He smelled like earth, rain, cold and dog; I like to give him hugs and smell him sometimes. He is a month past two years, and he still has a bit of puppy-smell to him.
So, when he started whining at after an hour at work, I took a few minutes to figure out that he needed top go outside, not that he was asking for attention. He is taking a steroid prescription, so he has to go to the bathroom 2 to 3 times as much, in much greater quantities. so, I take him outside, and he has some pretty specific ideas about where he wants to go. We take a route we seldom take, backwards. At the farthest point on this route from our store, Woden tries with vigor to lead me off into new, unexplored areas. We are about as far as I want to take him, so I do not let him go that way; so he lies down on the sidewalk, and looks at me as though daring me to do something about it.
Beth has told me that he will do this to her, and that she has a hard time getting him to get up and follow her. I have had just a little trouble with it. He will lie down on me, especially after he has lightly but deliberately "pulled" in a direction other than where we are going. But so long as I keep a higher pitched voice, and kind of encourage him to come along, he always gets up and comes with me. I usually give his spoke-collar a light pull, but not any kind of hard pressure.
I have tried to encourage Woden to communicate his preferences about where he goes on his walks (as opposed to where we go when he accompanies me somewhere - then, he has to pretty much follow along). I wonder sometimes if I am making him harder for Beth to control because of this - like he expects to get his way too much. But so much of the time, the only reason we are out walking, is the dog. So, I figure, if the walk is for him, he should go where he wants, if he has a preference and its not dangerous.
He is getting really good at listening and giving his attention out in the world. I can "sit" and "stay" him out in the world off his leash, and he will stay put till I tell him to go. He will stop and stay when he is far away, but he does not really like to sit on command when he and i are far from each other, and he does not like to lay down when told out in the world; and he pretty much refuses to roll over outside, unless he knows I have a treat for him.
As we walked back from where he had tried to "balk", he took a colossal dump. I had him "stay" at the corner of the last block on our walk, and went 3/4 of the block away and called him; he scared he heck out of a guy leaving his house as he ran by him full tilt, with his lead dragging behind him. The rain had started during the last block, and Woden was damp as we came back inside the store. He smelled like earth, rain, cold and dog; I like to give him hugs and smell him sometimes. He is a month past two years, and he still has a bit of puppy-smell to him.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Pussy Cat (Rhymes with Fussy Cat)
My cat Grendel is an awesome little guy. I met him one day in the spring on a sunny morning. I saw this little kitten from half a block away - just a little pointy-eared smudge at that distance, but the outline was clearly a little cat. I thought he was another kitten that had come by the apartment the day before - I'd tracked him to a vacant garage down the block, right by where this little guy was right now.
As I looked at the little kitty-shape down the street, it cocked its head to the side and was clearly looking at me. Then, it took off straight towards me. this little cat ran full tilt - a little awkwardly, as it was still very young, but still, it ran all the way up to my feet, and sort of collapse/rolled onto them. This little creature just sort of squirmed around on its back against the tops of my feet; it took a moment to get over my surprise and bend down and start petting it. An immediate, loud purr erupted from the writhing furball at my feet.
It took a moment for me to ascertain that the kitty was a little boy; and that he was also not the cat I had met the day before - it had been friendly, but not this friendly! The tiny black and white kitten came right inside, and got along with the other cats well after a short period of aloof suspicion. However, this loving, warm, fuzzy little pet, that fit in so well with my other cats, had a secret kitty dark side. Maybe he watched "Fight Club" over my shoulder at too young an age: maybe he has "little cats" syndrome; maybe its just some sort of balance, evening out what a super great pet he is. But whatever the reason or excuse, this cat liked to fight. He really liked to fight.
Little Grendel had heart, he had drive, persistence, stamina. He had many of the qualities that make a champion Alley Cat, or King Tomcat. However, my little Grendel was little; heck, he is almost <em>tiny</em>! So, a few months after he moves in, he starts coming home with wounds. Bite wounds, scratch wounds, gravel skins and broken claws caught under the skin. I had to get a stack of books on cat vet medicine; Grendel was shaved and butterfly-bandaged to close up wounds. He received long, grueling sessions soaking his forelegs in hot salt water, cleaning out abscesses. He managed to get a series of scars and stripes of grey-white fur before he was one year old.
Although I prefer not to fix my pets right away, or as a matter of course, we were pretty sure that we had to fix Grendel, if we wanted him to survive to be a full grown cat. So, when he was almost one, we made an appointment to have him fixed. As the day came up, our little Grendel managed to get his forelegs all cut up again, all puffy and infected. While the wounds were not serious, they were enough to have the vet reschedule his surgery.
So, we went out and bought a cat collar, and started locking the cats up. We tried to keep them inside until the surgery appointment. Four days before the surgery, after almost three weeks of cats-locked-indoors, Grendel escapes for an afternoon! After a quick inspection, he looks alright, and we breath a sigh of relief. The kitties do their last few days in jail, and the surgery day comes around.
That morning as I am petting Grendel, I feel something a little crusty on his forearm. I begin to palpate the limb, slowly and gently. I cover the whole front arm, and find nothing. Again, a wash of relief; there's nothing wrong with my cat! Cool! Just to be careful, I check over the other front limb, in case maybe the crusty was a transfer from it. As I slowly palpate the other foreleg, gently pressing my way over the little furry limb, Beth asks if we are going to be ready to go on time.
I look up at her and begin to answer yes, when I feel a slight hard spot under my touch, that suddenly gives way, becoming a soft depression. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a long, yellow-cream colored stream spurt from my little kitties front leg. Looking down, I have to surpress a gag, as I spot the tablespoon-size spatter of pus on my knee, dripping down to a similar size portion on my shoe. The gloppy, sticky mass has a slightly sweet, sick scent that makes my stomach do flips. I tell Beth to call and reschedule the vet.
We jumped into action, running through the now-familiar "abcess routine". Irrigation with warm saline, cleanse with hydrogen peroxide; apply hot, wet compress 2x daily, followed by bacitracin for 5 minutes, then wipe away the excess. Clean poor kitties wound up; by this point in our relationship, Grendel knows I am helping him; that even if I hurt his wound, It will feel better faster than if I didnt. He is a stoic little guy, and keeps his foreleg stretched out to me, allowing me to poke and prod him with good grace.
We spend another two weeks walking the cats on leashes - we now have two, one for Grendel, one for Algernon - they are too different in size, and it was a pain adjusting their collar again and again. The cats are not happy about no going outside, but the guys are getting used to going for walks, and are asking to go out on their leashes. But of course, they are also making constant escape attempts. And of course, as the appointment approaches, their attempts become more desperate, and more clever.
Two days before the appointment, both boy cats make a break for the door as we arrive home with groceries. By a stroke of luck or judgement of Karma, Grendel manages to thread his way through my legs, our apartment door, the security door, and the outside door (and Beths' feet). He shoots ofr into the night, not to be heard from again til the next morning.
When, of course, he shows up back at home with a massive cut running down the center of his skull.
Here is a link to a picture of Grendel all pooped out after getting his head wound cleaned out. http://baphomet68.blog.com/files/2011/12/grendel-headwound.jpg
At this point, I had started calling Grendel "Pussy Cat" (rhymes with "Fussy Cat") because of how much nasty goo tended to ooze out of him, and I am praying we can stand keeping him inside until we can get him fixed. Its starting to feel like one of those impossible chicke-and-egg things, where I need him to stop fighting so I can get him fixed so he will stop fighting!
Ahh, my poor little bruiser! His head wound lays him out for days, and he is slowed down for the week. We give him lots of walks the second week, and finally, we get the "Pussy cat" in to the vets office, wound-and-infection free, and get him fixed.
The surgery had a large effect on Grendels' behavior. He continued to be very affectionate; he kept being friendly to cats that were clearly attached to people we associate with, or our cats. But now, he only hisses at strange cats, or swats them a few times. He is no longer in the fight till the end, no matter what. He gets in occasional fights, but with far less serious wounds. He still had a fierce, strong hatred for dogs, but that story will have to wait. Grendel is at my side right now, demanding attention; I am inclined to give it to him, as I find him to be such a warm and cuddlesome fellow.
As I looked at the little kitty-shape down the street, it cocked its head to the side and was clearly looking at me. Then, it took off straight towards me. this little cat ran full tilt - a little awkwardly, as it was still very young, but still, it ran all the way up to my feet, and sort of collapse/rolled onto them. This little creature just sort of squirmed around on its back against the tops of my feet; it took a moment to get over my surprise and bend down and start petting it. An immediate, loud purr erupted from the writhing furball at my feet.
It took a moment for me to ascertain that the kitty was a little boy; and that he was also not the cat I had met the day before - it had been friendly, but not this friendly! The tiny black and white kitten came right inside, and got along with the other cats well after a short period of aloof suspicion. However, this loving, warm, fuzzy little pet, that fit in so well with my other cats, had a secret kitty dark side. Maybe he watched "Fight Club" over my shoulder at too young an age: maybe he has "little cats" syndrome; maybe its just some sort of balance, evening out what a super great pet he is. But whatever the reason or excuse, this cat liked to fight. He really liked to fight.
Little Grendel had heart, he had drive, persistence, stamina. He had many of the qualities that make a champion Alley Cat, or King Tomcat. However, my little Grendel was little; heck, he is almost <em>tiny</em>! So, a few months after he moves in, he starts coming home with wounds. Bite wounds, scratch wounds, gravel skins and broken claws caught under the skin. I had to get a stack of books on cat vet medicine; Grendel was shaved and butterfly-bandaged to close up wounds. He received long, grueling sessions soaking his forelegs in hot salt water, cleaning out abscesses. He managed to get a series of scars and stripes of grey-white fur before he was one year old.
Although I prefer not to fix my pets right away, or as a matter of course, we were pretty sure that we had to fix Grendel, if we wanted him to survive to be a full grown cat. So, when he was almost one, we made an appointment to have him fixed. As the day came up, our little Grendel managed to get his forelegs all cut up again, all puffy and infected. While the wounds were not serious, they were enough to have the vet reschedule his surgery.
So, we went out and bought a cat collar, and started locking the cats up. We tried to keep them inside until the surgery appointment. Four days before the surgery, after almost three weeks of cats-locked-indoors, Grendel escapes for an afternoon! After a quick inspection, he looks alright, and we breath a sigh of relief. The kitties do their last few days in jail, and the surgery day comes around.
That morning as I am petting Grendel, I feel something a little crusty on his forearm. I begin to palpate the limb, slowly and gently. I cover the whole front arm, and find nothing. Again, a wash of relief; there's nothing wrong with my cat! Cool! Just to be careful, I check over the other front limb, in case maybe the crusty was a transfer from it. As I slowly palpate the other foreleg, gently pressing my way over the little furry limb, Beth asks if we are going to be ready to go on time.
I look up at her and begin to answer yes, when I feel a slight hard spot under my touch, that suddenly gives way, becoming a soft depression. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a long, yellow-cream colored stream spurt from my little kitties front leg. Looking down, I have to surpress a gag, as I spot the tablespoon-size spatter of pus on my knee, dripping down to a similar size portion on my shoe. The gloppy, sticky mass has a slightly sweet, sick scent that makes my stomach do flips. I tell Beth to call and reschedule the vet.
We jumped into action, running through the now-familiar "abcess routine". Irrigation with warm saline, cleanse with hydrogen peroxide; apply hot, wet compress 2x daily, followed by bacitracin for 5 minutes, then wipe away the excess. Clean poor kitties wound up; by this point in our relationship, Grendel knows I am helping him; that even if I hurt his wound, It will feel better faster than if I didnt. He is a stoic little guy, and keeps his foreleg stretched out to me, allowing me to poke and prod him with good grace.
We spend another two weeks walking the cats on leashes - we now have two, one for Grendel, one for Algernon - they are too different in size, and it was a pain adjusting their collar again and again. The cats are not happy about no going outside, but the guys are getting used to going for walks, and are asking to go out on their leashes. But of course, they are also making constant escape attempts. And of course, as the appointment approaches, their attempts become more desperate, and more clever.
Two days before the appointment, both boy cats make a break for the door as we arrive home with groceries. By a stroke of luck or judgement of Karma, Grendel manages to thread his way through my legs, our apartment door, the security door, and the outside door (and Beths' feet). He shoots ofr into the night, not to be heard from again til the next morning.
When, of course, he shows up back at home with a massive cut running down the center of his skull.
Here is a link to a picture of Grendel all pooped out after getting his head wound cleaned out. http://baphomet68.blog.com/files/2011/12/grendel-headwound.jpg
At this point, I had started calling Grendel "Pussy Cat" (rhymes with "Fussy Cat") because of how much nasty goo tended to ooze out of him, and I am praying we can stand keeping him inside until we can get him fixed. Its starting to feel like one of those impossible chicke-and-egg things, where I need him to stop fighting so I can get him fixed so he will stop fighting!
Ahh, my poor little bruiser! His head wound lays him out for days, and he is slowed down for the week. We give him lots of walks the second week, and finally, we get the "Pussy cat" in to the vets office, wound-and-infection free, and get him fixed.
The surgery had a large effect on Grendels' behavior. He continued to be very affectionate; he kept being friendly to cats that were clearly attached to people we associate with, or our cats. But now, he only hisses at strange cats, or swats them a few times. He is no longer in the fight till the end, no matter what. He gets in occasional fights, but with far less serious wounds. He still had a fierce, strong hatred for dogs, but that story will have to wait. Grendel is at my side right now, demanding attention; I am inclined to give it to him, as I find him to be such a warm and cuddlesome fellow.
Cat Stories
I have three cats living with me - Zora the Geek, Grendel and Algernon. Algernon is Zora the Geek's son, and they hate each other as only relatives can. In this case, the mother and child keep a constant watch for ways to make the other miserable. In this, nearing the end of our second year in our house, Zora the Geek has moved out of the second floor, and now roams the house (as of the middle of the summer). Algernon, the only cat to resist warming up to the dog, seems to have takem her place: now he doesnt want to come more than halfway down the stairs. He will ambush you when you go upstairs to use the bathroom, and try to jump in your lap while you sit on the toilet.
I lost my beloved cat The Skulking Skumbo just over three years ago; he left a strong impact on my life, and a strong imprint on the three still here with us. He lived about fifteen years, and spent more than half of his life in one ground floor apartment with constant outdoor access. In this building, our upstairs neighbor also loved cats, and would often host strays - sometimes lots of them. The Skulking Skumbo liked people, liked cats, and liked fighting cats, dogs, raccoons, squirrels, and probably other critters as well.
The cats that came through that apartment building - we were there almost twelve years, we saw lots of strays, as well as a parade of tenants cats come through. The upstairs lady had a cat named Cat that was a Maine Coon Cat; it was super cool, and a deadly fighter. There were more in the winter, it seemed - one would get fed, and tell his pals, and soon there would be four of them camping in the basement, and one year I found an insulated box in the back yard set up like a cat sized igloo.
I had one other cat as an adult, Ziggy the Coon Cat. I had him for three years in Maine; I lost him and I never found out what happened to him. I always hoped he found some great home that kept him inside.
So, I have had a lot of cats - or, perhaps I should say I have spent a lot of time with a few cats. However I say it, I have a lot of cat experiences I would like to share; the above paragraphs outline the cast of characters.
I lost my beloved cat The Skulking Skumbo just over three years ago; he left a strong impact on my life, and a strong imprint on the three still here with us. He lived about fifteen years, and spent more than half of his life in one ground floor apartment with constant outdoor access. In this building, our upstairs neighbor also loved cats, and would often host strays - sometimes lots of them. The Skulking Skumbo liked people, liked cats, and liked fighting cats, dogs, raccoons, squirrels, and probably other critters as well.
The cats that came through that apartment building - we were there almost twelve years, we saw lots of strays, as well as a parade of tenants cats come through. The upstairs lady had a cat named Cat that was a Maine Coon Cat; it was super cool, and a deadly fighter. There were more in the winter, it seemed - one would get fed, and tell his pals, and soon there would be four of them camping in the basement, and one year I found an insulated box in the back yard set up like a cat sized igloo.
I had one other cat as an adult, Ziggy the Coon Cat. I had him for three years in Maine; I lost him and I never found out what happened to him. I always hoped he found some great home that kept him inside.
So, I have had a lot of cats - or, perhaps I should say I have spent a lot of time with a few cats. However I say it, I have a lot of cat experiences I would like to share; the above paragraphs outline the cast of characters.
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