The Independent Stitch

Border collie Ceilidh finished her Beginner Novice obedience title

So it's not all sheep and wool all the time around here. It's just mostly sheep and wool most of the time.

I have more blog posts about the trip to Scotland, Orkney, and Shetland lined up, and the next one is fun and pretty easy, but I've also had a lot of deadlines and I'm washing wool for upcoming workshops in Washington state (March), Iowa (April), and Maryland (May). (For information on any of those, get in touch.) I've also got three book-length editing/layout jobs on my desk and several article deadlines.

BUT: This past weekend, Ceilidh and I entered our second and third (ever) obedience trials. Ceilidh is one of our two rescues, the other being recent arrival Tam. We do obedience and other activities far more for the ways in which they enhance our relationships and communications with the dogs than for competition. With the two Border collies we've had (including Ceilidh) we also need to be aware of their early arthritis and not do anything that will stress their joints—at the same time that we keep their brains busy! So at a certain point we figure we might as well enter a show . . . and we do find that the dogs like the variety offered by a new environment.

My daughter has shown a previous dog to a CD title (Novice obedience). I haven't, although I've always been equally involved in training the dogs. Dog shows often have A and B sections for each level. Anyone can show a dog in a B section. To quality for the A group, "a handler must own the dog entered, or be a member of the owner’s household or immediate family, and may not have previously handled any dog that has earned any AKC Obedience title." So Ceilidh and I have been in Beginner Novice A groups, which tend to be smaller.

There are only five exercises required, and to earn the title the dog has to have been "certified by two different judges to have received qualifying scores in Beginner Novice classes at three licensed or member obedience trials." Those three events are called "legs" toward the title.

Last year, Ceilidh and I went into the ring for the first time ever and she earned her first leg, taking second place in the process.

It's taken us another year to get to the next trial, mostly because unlike people who do a lot of competitive dog activities I don't travel far for trials, and because a lot of weekends I'm teaching.

Pictures are, in this case, better than words.

The events took place at a regional park with cavernous buildings that can be set up to contain a number of competition rings.

Saturday

This is a context view, with me and Ceilidh waiting outside the ring while the judge completed her scoring of the previous team.

Here's a closer view of the two of us, ready to go. We're still outside the ring. The papers next to us are for checking in the entrants for the classes that are being judged in that ring on this day.

This is about the middle of our testing. We've done the heeling pattern and the figure-8 and are about to do the segments that require Ceilidh to sit calmly while things happen around her. That's the judge approaching.

The gray plastic cylinder marked where we were supposed to be for two of the exercises, and lots of the dogs found it really fascinating and needed to sniff inside it. Ceilidh refrained, in part because I positioned her a little way away from it. While the dog's performance can lose the team points, so can handler choices. In this case, I took a preventive action! Although I don't think any of the dogs lost points for their curiosity about the gray thing, because they're only actually scored between the times when the handler indicates they're ready to start the exercise and the judge says "exercise finished," it doesn't hurt to not let the most important part of the team be distracted any more than is necessary.

In the next photo, Ceilidh is on a sit-stay and I'm walking away from her, carrying her leash, in preparation for the final exercise, which is the recall.

I love this next photo, because what you want is a fast and accurate recall—although not until you've given the signal! (Leaving the stay position early is a fault.) At this point in her training, Ceilidh rarely anticipates. She awaits my hand signal or voice call. And then she's a little rocket!

That's a blurry speedy dog!

Next we have both the A and the B groups in the ring at the same time for the awarding of ribbons. Those who haven't qualified don't come back in, but I think in this case everyone did qualify and earn a green ribbon and a leg toward the title.

This is a more relaxed time as we listen to the judge's general comments and the awarding of ribbons, and the dogs are allowed to be goofy if they want. Behind me is a superb trainer and one of her Golden retrievers.

See that blue thing in my hand in the next photo? That's Ceilidh's first-place ribbon in the A section.

Sunday

We were also registered for Sunday. You have to think in advance to register for these shows. I had decided not to register for Monday, although there was also a show then (today) because of the long weekend. It would have given us one more chance at earning a leg if we'd messed up on Saturday or Sunday, but by now I'm back at my desk and working as usual. And, as I've noted, we're not in a rush to acquire titles.

Here we are about to go into the ring again. (That's a handspun, handknitted vest I'm wearing. It's old enough that I don't remember the fiber content, other than "mostly wool," but there's obviously 5 to 10 percent angora rabbit in it: it has a lovely, subtle halo.)

We've previously done a few warm-up exercises elsewhere in the building. The trick at this point is to make sure both of us are awake, and in Ceilidh's case to make sure she's paying attention to what we're doing together but she's not so revved up she gets wild. So I had her do a sit.

Her performance was even better on Sunday than on Saturday, although the point score was lower because the judge was a little tougher.

Here we are back in the ring, awaiting results.

More ribbons!

Another blue first place, plus the turquoise one for finishing the title.

Three trials, three place ribbons (a second and two firsts), three green qualifying-leg ribbons, and the title ribbon.

I'm tempted to say, "Oh, it's a really easy class, that doesn't mean much," but then I think of Tam. It's taken us WEEKS (and treats, and cajoling, and a touch of luck) to get Tam into position to take the photos he needs to have to even register to begin to compete. SOME DAY.

He's really smart (although sometimes he has No Brain). But he would be a complete disaster in a classic obedience ring, like the ones Ceilidh and I were in. In fact, I'm not even sure he'll ever get there—except for rally obedience, which allows constant verbal interaction between handler and dog. And I think he'd be good at Treibball, which we will likely be starting both dogs with soon.

He has some pieces of the puzzle together better than Ceilidh does: his "front" (where the dog comes when called and sits directly in front of the handler) is superb. This wasn't even in response to a formal call.

But much of the time, he's a wild man.

Ceilidh's prospects for continued obedience titles are limited, because while we encourage (and she needs) lots of activity, we need to be sure she doesn't stress her joints. (We need to monitor that. She won't slow down.) We can likely go for a Novice title, which doesn't require either the high jump or the broad jump at regulation heights. We let her practice jumps, just not at the heights she'd need to conquer in the ring. (She would, with great abandon and delight, but she shouldn't, for her long-term health.) At this rate, she might earn that title in two or three years. That will give her time to quit being a ditz on off-leash heeling, and practice a little more precision on some of the other exercises.

In sum: we might have already earned all the blue ribbons we're likely to get.

Since we're in it for the fun and the interactions, that's okay.

Chosen (fur) family

This will be a rambly post. I know some of what I want to say, but I'm not sure how it's going to roll out. [Warning: How it rolled out was LONG. But you could just look at the photos.]

We're serial animal rescuers, lately mostly of dogs. Sometimes we have one dog, but more usually two. Sometimes we have one cat, sometimes two. Sometimes two dogs and two cats. Mostly two or three of some mix of cats and/or dogs. We take the animals into our family for the long term, so it's a slow and evolving progression of residents.

Finding the right combination of personalities in the furry ones as well as the humans is a matter to which we pay more attention as the years go on. Years ago I got coerced into taking on a cat who attacked my ankles when I walked across the room. Not playfully. It was like living with a small sadist. I wore thick socks. Another time we ended up with two cats who didn't get along. On the advice of our cat-specialist vet, one of them ended up living in one part of the house while the other had access to the rest. That worked, but was a bit inconvenient for the humans. For years.

We have adapted. But it's far better if the adaptations require more minor, or less constant, adjustments.

Lately we have been looking for a new fur-clad member for the household. It's taken six months. He's here now, and what I'd like to do is run through the sequence of dogs who have lived with us over the past twenty years, along with a few notes about the transitions—especially of the challenges in finding our most recent adoptee. (I'd go back farther in the canine/feline history, but I'd have to dig into the boxes of photos and scan things in. Maybe another time. A few of the images below come from film-recorded photos, but I've already scanned them.)

Our introduction to the world of herding dogs came with Heather, Aslan's Mountain Heather, the blue merle beauty on the left. I was accustomed to Springer Spaniels and Golden Retrievers and mutts and a rescued miniature poodle. Herding dogs are not your average dogs. Heather was an Australian Shepherd. She got us hooked on the herders.

Heather was a sweet, kind, generous dog. She was also capable of getting food out of the upper cupboards and off the top of the fridge. We learned a lot from Heather. She came to us at the age of 6, after having had prize-winning but economically too-small litters of purebred Aussies. She only lived to be 12, because of a cancer that affects female dogs who are not spayed early. But before she left us, she did a wonderful job of helping raise Ariel, the cutie on the right, who was found, at the age of seven weeks, abandoned in a hole in a field in the winter.

Ariel was the start of our "kennel." When we registered her with the American Kennel Club and the United Kennel Club for obedience competition, we needed to come up with a kennel name, and we chose Tempest, because she was cast ashore with us. She became Tempest's Ariel Miranda. Our other rescues are now all part of the same "line," by chance and choice but not genetics.

After Heather died, Tussah found us. We were her third home that we knew about, and she, too, had been abandoned, although as an adult and at a reservoir in North Dakota, and then cycled through, and been adopted from, the local humane society. We got her from her immediately previous owners, who had called her Red. She was a good deal more feminine than that, so she became Tempest's Tussah Redfurr.

Ariel lived for fifteen years, which we were told was a very long time for a Border collie(ish). It took a year before we were ready to find another dog: we went looking for another rescue Border collie, knowing that there was no way we could replace Ariel but liking the personality and temperament of the Aussies and the Border collies, although there were apparently more Border collies needing homes at the time. The primary criterion we established for the new dog was this: Must Not Harrass Tussah. Tussah was a gentle dog and could have been bullied.

Through Western Border Collie Rescue (WBCR), we found Ceilidh, whose rescue name was Pebbles.

The next photo shows Tussah's and Ceilidh's first walk together: we knew within about thirty seconds that the combination would work. It wouldn't be appropriate to expect dogs to be best buddies right away, any more than we'd expect that of people. We could tell, though, that their interactions gave us what we would need to work out a good household dynamic. Ceilidh Did Not Harrass Tussah, and Tussah seemed to find her decent to walk with.

Pebbles became Tempest's Ceilidh Sora (Sora being offered by a friend as a Finnish word reminiscent of Pebbles).

Ceilidh not only didn't harrass Tussah, she enticed her into playing now and again.

They traveled a lot of paths in gentle companionship.

They even bumped over and made room for Lady, not our dog but one who stayed with us for six months when she needed a port in a storm. The biggest trick there was keeping the leashes from tangling.

In April this year Tussah died of a fast-moving cancer. Our best guess is that she was sixteen. We got the sense right off that she would want us to give another needy dog a home as soon as possible. She had that sort of generous spirit. There was also a question of Ceilidh's adjustment to being without her buddy. She seemed depressed, yet based on her delight in seeing Lady, when Lady came to visit, we thought that the right companion might help.

The process didn't go all that quickly, even though we got in our applications to the rescue organizations right away and started the matching process.

On their first meeting, Ceilidh and Jak were more interested in exploring the new-to-both dog park than in interacting with each other. Jak especially was a bit hypervigilant in that environment. We knew we wouldn't be able to tell anything until we spent more time with him. So we signed the papers to be his foster family, put him into the back of our car, and drove the hour back home. At the least, our goal was to make him more adoptable by another family. At the most, he would join our crew permanently.

Jak taught us a lot, including about how to house-train an adult dog. He and Ceilidh didn't interact badly.

But he wanted to play in a style that she initially thought might be interesting, although she wasn't entirely certain . . . 

. . . and then she got tired of what he thought was fun sooner than he did.

Ultimately she preferred not to come up the stairs if he was at the top. Or down them if he was at the bottom.

He didn't attack her or anything. He was just there.

As time went on, we became increasingly fond of Jak—and increasingly aware that having him in our household was cramping Ceilidh's style. We knew that we would not let Jak move to a different home unless it was even better for him than ours was, but that left us in limbo for a while.

We "interviewed" a number of other dogs, while Jak remained on the "adoptable, in a foster home" list.

Cricket was a true sweetheart, and we humans thought she had a lot of potential for our household, but when we took Ceilidh and Jak to visit her, she and Jak played and Ceilidh watched from underneath a bench. We thought that we wouldn't be able to tell how Ceilidh and Cricket would get along until Jak was not part of the interactions; we lost out on Cricket, because another, less ambivalent, family came along for her; and then Jak found his Perfect Forever Home. We were sad to let him go, but it was totally obvious the minute he walked into the new family's house for a visit that this was His Place.

We went on a road trip with Ceilidh.

The first two days were rough for her. On the first, we met somewhere between eight and ten rescue dogs, several of which were charming, and one of which—after about an hour of good-natured play—attacked Ceilidh. Quick response from the humans, no damage, but the next day Ceilidh was attacked by another dog in another location. Again, quick response, no damage, but yikes. This trip wasn't turning out very well for our sweet pup.

With some trepidation, we sought out the Spokane dog park for one of our travel breaks. Was Ceilidh giving off "kick me" vibes for some reason we didn't know about, and would there be more trouble? We did know she needed some strong positive experiences to balance what had been happening.

What a blessing that dog park was for her!

It's huge. It is laced with trails. It goes up and down a mountain. Ceilidh took off, tail happily waving.

We followed. It was a challenge to keep up with her!

She chased around the entire perimeter, at top speed. In places, we had to hang onto chain-link fence while descending through areas that she powered down at top speed.

The other dogs there were fine.

It was good to be out and about together. We figured Ceilidh might be thinking "it's better to be an only dog than to live with Jak. Or any of the other clueless dogs who are trying to chew on me."

Yet we have watched her enjoy other dogs' companionship, so we still thought that the right dog associate would be better than none. She and Lady have been such good friends on backyard squirrel patrol, but Lady only visits now.

Another treat of the trip was Greenbank Farm, which has off-leash areas.

On the way home, we had a good visit with another adoption candidate. He stayed on the "possible" list, pending a second visit, which, for one family-event reason or another, didn't happen before the holidays began (my trip to Scotland; his foster family's addition of a grandchild; everyone's teaching schedules). Because of some special needs that he had, both his foster family and our family thought he would end up with us. But we had to have at least one more get-together to determine whether the chemistry, human and canine, was right.

And then he found his forever home: with exactly the right person who needed him more than we did, and who also had the skills to meet his special needs—plus that person has horses, which we don't and this dog loves. What a match! We were in on every twist and turn of the process, and applauded loudly when it became obvious that the other home was exactly right for this dog.

But we were also little sad, and back to zero.

Back home, Ceilidh was attacked by a loose neighbor dog while we were out for one of our regular walks. Even with quick action, this encounter resulted in a lengthy visit to the vet hospital's urgent care clinic, and then some healing time.

It had been quite a six months so far. If it weren't for how happy Ceilidh normally is with the right four-footed friend at her side, we likely would have given up.

But she and Tussah truly enjoyed each other.

And Lady is a reliable companion, if not a daily (or even weekly) one any longer.

Ceilidh and Maisie get along really well, when they see each other, which isn't often enough.

When Skid comes to visit, it's obvious that the two of them find each other's company comfortable.

So we continued our search.

And then we interviewed a dog at the time called Baxter, who had been surrendered to a pound in Utah and picked up from there by HeRD of Wyoming. Having already visited dogs eight and twelve hours from home, this one was a ten-minute drive away. Pretty weird. We had to go say hi. On the first visit, at the foster home, Ceilidh was a bit doped up with pain meds because of an infected lymph note, but even with that handicap they seemed compatible.

Here's what he and Ceilidh looked like on their second meeting—our first visit at our house—when we "borrowed" him to take him for a walk in our neighborhood, and to see how things would go in the place he would live if he came to us. The walk and time together went just fine.

We called his foster family to ask if we could just keep him, instead of bringing him back. They checked with the head of the rescue organization (who had met all of us in person) and got a "yes."

As the days went on, it became apparent that a friendship was developing between the dogs.

There are several unusual things about the next photo. We'd been told that Baxter (no longer his name) liked to sleep on beds. Because he didn't act like he was entitled to be there, we let him continue the practice. As long as a dog understands which beds belong to humans and that canines are allowed only by invitation, dogs are allowed on beds in our house. (I know, it's a subtle distinction, but it works for us.)

So unusual thing #1 is that there's a dog on the bed. Unusual thing #2 is that there are two dogs on the bed, because Ceilidh didn't previously sleep on the bed when there were humans around. We'd come home and find a warm spot, but if we tried to get her to be on the bed when we were there, she'd get up but then leave almost immediately. She now gets up a bit more often and, more interestingly, she stays longer. Whether or not the new pup is there.

We worked on the new dog's new name: although he knew his old one (and being an owner-surrender, he'd likely been called by it for a while), he didn't seem like a Baxter to us. The name was too percussive. At one point we were tempted to call him Joie de Vivre, because if this dog has anything, he has enthusiasm and an optimistic approach to life (although that's a lousy call name and never made it past the messing-around-with-names stage).

After much deliberation, he is now

Tempest's River Tam o'Shanter

also known as Tam, Tam-tam, Tammer, Mr. T., and, in different situations, Tam-lamb and Tam-a-lam-a-ding-dong.

He and Ceilidh are getting along really well.

This is more like what we had in mind.

At the same time, Tam has turned out to be a good deal more of a handful than we expected.

His description was "mellow," and indeed he has his moments. On our first walk with him, the introductory one, he had excellent leash manners. He loves to nap with a friend, two-footed or four-footed. He's good company around the house. He's eager, but not over the top (well, not all the time). For herding dogs, this is usually phrased as "s/he has an off switch." He does have one. But apparently he hadn't revealed his full personality in his foster home, in which he didn't spend a long time. We think it takes him about three weeks to feel enough at home to reveal his true colors.

Qualities that he's started displaying since he joined us are: extreme athleticism (we're working on basic obedience, and then considering treibball); vast amounts of energy; serious pulling on the lead (after three weeks—my daughter says "it seemed like 300 walks"—of both of us leash-handlers working with other techniques, we broke down and got an Easy Walk harness, which makes all the difference in the world and which we'll wean him off later); and an extremely energetic chasing instinct (often called "prey drive"). While we would like to have another cat, it looks like we'd need to be very careful to introduce only an adult feline that was capable of putting such a dog in his place.

But we can work with all of those things. Over time. With basic personalities so everyone has a baseline of comfort to work from, the rest can be managed.

It's interesting to note that Ceilidh would not play around Jak. She wouldn't bring us her rope toy for a game of tug, or her ball for us to throw. With Tam, she does those things without a qualm. He's a little confused about this play thing—we're going to need to teach him about it, along with the other skills—but he doesn't get in her way.

Just last week, we received the HeRD of Wyoming calendar for 2014, and there is our new family member, lower left, as he looked at his foster home:

And there he is again, lower right, as a representative of the month of October, also a photo by his fosters:

With us, he's learning how to approach a dental chew-stick (he is happy to chew on it, as long as someone will hold it for him):

He spent ten days in the Utah shelter, and then only a little over two weeks with his foster family. So when we got him, he had a few medical challenges left over from his previous life. He had bilateral ear infections and giardia, both now cleared, and was underweight. On the body-condition scale of 1 to 9—where 1 is skeletal and 9 is obese and 4 to 5 is a good, healthy place to be—he registered as a 2 at his rescue intake exam. His foster home fed him terrific quality food (as we're continuing to do), and our vet estimated him as at a 3 when we got him. He's gotten up another .4 pound since he came to us. His teeth need cleaning and likely one extraction, but we won't do that until he's a bit more secure. It was bad enough to have to treat both ears twice a day right off the bat.

In between romps around the neighborhood on the harness; joining Ceilidh in protecting the back yard from squirrels; and going to obedience class and alternately being a star pupil and a total overstimulated ditz, he's resting and gaining his strength.

It looks like we may be part of a nascent treibball group in our area, including Tam, Ceilidh (who can do treibball despite her arthritis), and (see above) Skid, plus a couple of others.

More updates to come, I'm sure, as the canine future unfolds.

This is how our chosen family, fur and otherwise, is right now: none of us is anywhere near perfect, but we're all getting along with each other's quirks just fine. That's all it takes. And it's no small thing.

 

Mainland Orkney, and the Boreray boys (plus a new dog note)

The travel notes continue. I'm skimming the surface, and still there is so much to say. . . .

The next series of posts will be about mainland Orkney. (To allay some confusion: I was in mainland Scotland; also in Orkney, where the largest island is called Mainland; and then in Shetland, where the largest island is called Mainland.)

While on mainland Orkney, I got to visit Jane Cooper and her Boreray boys:

Jane recently moved to Orkney and is getting settled into her home there, new to her and now with sheep.

Borerays are one of the rarest breeds, and are one of two rare breeds that originated in St Kilda (in case you're reading this in a library, that site loads with an audio clip of sea sounds), a group of islands in the North Atlantic west of the Hebrides. (The other breed from there is the Soay. The Rare Breeds Survival Trust's PDF about Borerays is here.)

These are just little guys. They're a bit skittish, but they can be enticed to come closer (temporarily) by food. They're growing fast. I'll bet Jane will be nostalgic looking at these photos, which were taken not so long ago!

It was great to see Jane again. We met at UK Knit Camp in 2010. Jane has been the instigator, in close collaboration with Sue Blacker, of the Boreray yarns that have been coming from Blacker Designs. Having collected Boreray fleeces from far and wide for those mill runs, it's only fitting that Jane should now have her own Boreray sheep. And I was delighted to be able to make this visit. Thanks, Jane!

To celebrate these special yarns, Liz Lovick designed a special pattern for a shawl or scarf. There's a lot of history and story and delightful creative energy at that post of Liz's that I linked to about the pattern.

Next I'm working on posts about Kirkwall, which was "home base" during most of the Orkney days (except for the ones I spent on North Ronaldsay—and Liz is responsible for the extraordinary time I had there! more soon).

But for now, we can just enjoy these charming fellows and all those lovely related links.

___

P.S. We thought we had a name for the new dog, but it's not quite sticking. He came to us as Baxter, yet he's really soft for a Baxter; it just doesn't fit him and doesn't roll off our tongues easily when we look at him. We thought River, but that's a little too soft, even though it has the same cadence, which is a plus. Oh, the matter of names! As he goes to the vet, gets a microchip, and so on, changing his name will get more complicated the longer it takes us to find out what he wants to be called in our family. Sholmet, because he's white-faced? (Not quite a good call name.) Rakki, because he's a dog? (Too percussive for him.) Wash? Maybe. Tam? Also maybe. Spark. . . . Speck. . . . Fendy (meaning "seaworthy"). ?!?

Does anyone know a good word for "happy" in some semi-relevant-to-our-lives language? He has a very optimistic outlook on life, strong even yesterday, which involved immunizations (one did sting a lot), microchipping (which took two tries), a complete physical including blood draw for heartworm check, treatment for mild yeast infections in both ears (drops will be ongoing for a while), and THEN getting stung by a nasty flying INSECT! Poor pup! But pat him (or even just look at him) and he smiles.

New to us: one slightly used dog

As of about three hours ago:

Ceilidh thinks he's okay. This is a pretty big deal. She is very "soft," but doesn't like to be pushed around. He can take a hint. (Jak, our foster, couldn't.)

In fact, even when it's hard not to step on her or body-check her, he doesn't.

We don't know what his name will be. He came with a name (Baxter), but we're not sure that's what he'll be called in our household. We're pretty sure it isn't.

It's good to be home

I've had another blog post almost done for several days. There are more that I need to write.

Meanwhile, even after a wonderful trip it's good to be home.

November 4

November 5

November 6

November 7

It's time to take the dog for a walk. She wakes up really fast when she hears the leash jingle. Despite the somewhat deceptive and yet fully accurate appearance in the photos above, she is a Border collie. And in obedience practice on Wednesday night, she was amazing. I just find it very difficult to get good photos except when she's napping.

More soon.

Thurso to Kirkwall (Scottish mainland to Orkney)

I'm very far behind, because I didn't have my laptop with me on some of the most recent travels. So here's one of a series of short catch-ups that won't begin to do justice to what I've seen and done. I actually prepared a lot of photos for this next bit, but we'll hit the high points in order to have a bare chance of getting to today, perhaps by next week some time, if I'm both diligent and lucky.

Thurso is at the far north of mainland Scotland and a ferry for Orkney leaves from nearby Scrabster. This is the early morning view from my hotel window—the Press and Journal opens up before dawn. (That is, of course, a reflection of part of my hotel room. I'm enjoying many of the inadvertent reflections I'm capturing as I photograph frequently through glass, due to timing or weather.)

Their sign says why:

Breakfast in the hotel set the tone for the day: relaxed and very good. Sorry that the next photo is blurry. The poster was behind a wooden pillar in the hotel lobby, right next to the reception desk and hard to miss but also a little hard to photograph, especially because I was not quite awake. It advertises the Cast Ewe Ceilidh Band. The event is tonight, although I'm now in Shetland and won't be able to see what it's about. (Those who have caught any of my blog posts about our Border collie will know that her name is Ceilidh. It's pronounced KAY-lee.)

The ferry crossing was fairly short, and it was extremely windy out on the observation decks. Note the other passengers' elbows braced on the railing to keep a photo moderately steady. That's the Orkney island named Hoy.

That pillar is the rock called the Old Man of Hoy, taken from inside the ferry:

The soft morning light disguised the Old Man a bit. To get a stunning photograph would require different timing and location.

Later, as we were pulling past Hoy, the conditions shifted.

Our arrival point on Orkney's Mainland was at the town of Stromness. (On this trip, there are mainlands in (1) Scotland, (2) Orkney, and (3) Shetland; they are all islands, although the Orkney and Shetland ones are more obviously so.)

It's a pretty place, which we zoomed through in the interest of getting settled over in Kirkwall, although we came back to Stromness later.

I'm taking a lot of photos through the car windshield (windscreen), and that reflection on the right side is a permit for parking.

I'll pick up a few of those later Stromness photos now, out of concern that I won't get back to them later.

There's lots of stone building (because stones are here and trees, for the most part, are not), and it tends to be a soft sandstone, so gets weathered. A lot of Stromness is being either refurbished or revised.

Looking down narrow passageways while walking along the main street reveals interesting vistas, large and small . . .

. . . leaving me with questions about who has created and who tends some of the unusual and charming combinations.

J. L. Broom, Bookseller, is a wonderful shop. It's small, but the selection has been made by a proprietor who loves books.

"Displayed face out" is, for the most part, not an option, because there are too many books. It's a browsing sort of store and spines are adequate. The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook was there, as was Donna Druchunas' Ethnic Knitting Discovery.

Some of the shelves added commentary.

That bit advises:

Turn unwanted hair into
Coats for the family

I saw books that I have read and like—a clue that others selected by the proprietor are likely to be interesting. Yes, I bought a book or two. . . .

The owner said that The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook is a regular seller (friends had spotted it in the window of the same shop last year) and referred us to the Northlight Studio, just up the street, as being owned by someone who had recommended it to him.

What another gem! This is Ros Bryant's personal studio, where she also teaches classes. On display were two exhibits, one of Ros's recent work (photo in a moment) and another of a group of small tapestries produced through a challenge called "Sea Journey," where each weaver took the same photograph as inspiration. The contributors came from a number of different countries. Some worked in parallel, meeting during the process, while others worked independently. The techniques and visions produced a collective show composed of purely individual creations.

Here's the introduction to the show:

Some more of the delightful pieces:

On a side table, several notebooks offered insights into the independent creative processes:

Another wall displayed some of Ros Bryant's own work from a recent series of explorations:

As someone who loves textiles, graphic design, words, letterforms, and calligraphy, I was most taken with the pairings of the pieces. And I didn't get a photo of the slate carving that I liked the best of all: yet I liked it best, perhaps, in the context of the others. I would love the whole wall of these. All. Together. To live with.

Also, the array of colors (working materials) along the shelf below tantalized.

We found an excellent lunch at Julia's, right across from where we'd arrived on the ferry from Kirkwall.

That corner of a yellow and blue sign is the readily recognizable indicator that delicious Orkney ice cream is available nearby.

And I was amused to note the font Papyrus engraved on the window, viewed, in this case, backwards.

One of the things I immediately appreciated about Ros Bryant's lettering is that it is informed by a well-grounded knowledge of letterforms and typography, and yet is not limited by any constraints that might come from that knowledge. Her work in the multiple media displayed (but did not in any way flaunt) a deep understanding of craft and the ability to launch from the foundations and produce fresh combinations and insights.

She's nice, too.

And has a splendid dog, Millie.

An excellent day becomes perfect when it includes a superb dog.

Tussah: 19?? - April 23, 2013

We were Tussah's third home that we know of. She lived with us for eight or nine years. She was somewhere between six and eight years old when she came to us.

She had initially been abandoned at a reservoir in North Dakota. From there, someone picked her up and took her to the humane society in our area. She was adopted from there by people who were able to give her a good home as long as they lived in the foothills and let her run. They adopted two human children, moved to town, and didn't have time for the dog, whom they kept closed off in a shed after she'd eaten a deck and some trees. She managed to get out of the shed and to scale six-foot fences, repeatedly, looking for companionship. Their vet finally talked them into allowing her to be re-homed. At the time, we weren't ready for another dog, and several people were anxious to take her on but for one reason or another couldn't right then. We offered to foster her until a home could be found, and put her on the waiting list for a no-kill shelter in the area. The shelter never called. Before long, we wouldn't have let them have her anyway.

She helped write The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook (with Ariel).

She preferred to have company when she ate. Ours. 

If we were going somewhere, she wanted to go with. And she was a very good traveler.

Wherever we were, that was home.

Just the right size for a lap dog, but never insistent, always invited.

With my aunt, my mother, Ariel, and me, in Long Beach, Washington.

Picnics were good (again with Ariel).

Or any time we were all together. Which was most of the time.

Especially liked wading: this is Long Beach again.

And a local farm pond. Happy to putz around. Not so eager to actually swim.

Superb at enjoying whatever was happening at the time.

And exceptionally good at basking.

Learned to walk on a leash early on (she didn't have that skill when she came to us) and enjoyed the twice-a-day outings, as well as longer hikes. (Here with Ariel again.)

This was the Ariel Memorial Hike, at Dakota Ridge west of Boulder.

She never met anything on two feet or four whom she didn't think would make a good friend.

But she was not fond of flies.

She always liked learning more about the world around her.

And helping others do the same. At times like this, we would say, "She misses her shed. . . ."

The next photo was taken about fifteen minutes after we'd been introduced to Ceilidh at the meet-and-greet set up by Western Border Collie Rescue. Our primary criterion for a new member of the family: Must Not Harrass Tussah. Ceilidh went home with us, and while she taught Tussah a little bit about how to play, she never harrassed her for one second.

However, they did have different opinions about how much sniffing needed to be done (Tussah = more) and whether it was time to see whatever was next along the trail (Ceilidh = now).

At the top of the mountain.

Helping out at the Puppy Up! walk to raise money for canine/human cancer research. It was a very windy day (with Ceilidh).

Tussah was always willing to share. She knew there was plenty of love to go around. Always.

The only thing she asked was to be able to go with.

Even if it had just snowed a foot or more. This was last Wednesday.

__________

Details: 

At 2:30 this morning, my daughter woke me, saying Tussah had had another episode, consisting of yipping and slight seizure; she's had maybe a half-dozen of these over the past three months or so, and has had several incidences of canine vestibular syndrome, or CVS, since last September. However, this one was not resolving as quickly as usual, and there were some different symptoms, and she wondered if we should get her to the vet hospital. We've had her to our vet about the episodes, of course. The next step in diagnostics was going to be a cardio/neuro workhop at the vet hospital, and they already had some records on her there from the CVS experiences. While what was going on with Tussah didn't seem severe, we thought it was important to have someone examine her while it was happening. Although the vet hospital operates 24/7, when we got there it oddly appeared not to be open (locked door, no people in evidence, lights very dim), but there are two other 24-hour alternatives available to us, so after a few minutes of trying to figure out how to access the hospital we headed across town to the next-closest option. (Tussah had not been to this second facility, but we'd taken other animals there and had good experiences.)

To make a long story short, ultrasound and needle biopsy showed that Tussah's liver was severely enlarged (indicative of massive tumor) and she had significant amounts of internal abdominal bleeding. It was almost certainly hemangiosarcoma. Even if it wasn't, there was no acceptable treatment route considering her age. We could have brought her home for a few weeks dedicated to pain control. She didn't deserve pain, so we made the decision to spare her an inevitable truckload of it.

Once we got home, I napped a bit, read some about hemangiosarcoma, and am now only more relieved that we were not seriously tempted to take her home to hope for the best. There wasn't any "best." The potential diagnosis also correlates with many of the other symptoms that she's experienced over the past six months or so. The vet and tech at the emergency clinic were fantastic. They took thorough, gentle care of Tussah and gave us clear, even-handed information, and plenty of time, although the decision we needed to make was pretty quickly clear. It was as good as it could get, for something that was so sudden and drastic.

__________

Tussah was the sweetest dog on the planet. We're so fortunate we were able to share a good portion of her life with her.

Tempest's Tussah Redfurr

— thank you for everything, T-bear. You are a treasure.

High Park Fire, 10: Gardening, such as it's been this year

This has not been a great year for gardening.

Our raised beds got built a few years ago. We didn't have the repeated hailstorms pounding the tomato plants into green pulp before they had a chance to get started. There's been a drought, but the water's been applied regularly, if judiciously (none extra for the grass). The squirrels have been far less interested in devouring the vegetables—mostly because of the new reasons that the garden never quite got going with gusto this time around.

(Lady, a visitor, and Ceilidh, a local, very interested in where the squirrel went.)

This has been the year of the High Park Fire, and of resulting guests: Bear (in back) and Lady (in front).

That photo was taken just after they arrived to stay with us in June, when their home burned down. In our back yard it was very hot, although not fire-beset, so they hung out under the deck, where we wetted down the gravel. Later, Bear went to live temporarily with a bunch of livestock for him to protect. Bear is a sweetheart, but he isn't an inside dog (we tried). Lady was scared to come into the house for the first week or two—we could barely get her up the stairs to even look inside, but she's since adjusted.

The house is a bit small for playtime with close to 200 total pounds (90 kg) of dog, but they make do.

Our friends, their dogs, their cat, and their llamas are still living in separate places around the country, most in-state but three critters out-of-state.

I do need to do a fire update.

It's far from over. For those who lost their homes, the process of digging out and determining where, and how, to live next is still in the beginning stages. The fire itself isn't out, although it's 100% contained. During some of our friends' clean-up work this week, which involves removing debris, they saw a plume of smoke very close to where they were working, and discovered a still-hot spot.

Here's Earl's account of what he experienced at their property a couple of days ago:

Way back in June when the wildfires raged through our hills we heard that the danger wouldn't be over until the first snow flew. I didn't take it seriously at the time and was stunned to find smoke coming up from a small pile of rubble uncovered by the clean up crew this week. As I walked up the hill to the barn site I was smelling smoke and wondering if it was just the smell of all the ash that had been pushed into one pile prior to removal. That wasn't the case and as I rounded the corner at the top of the grade I saw a plume of smoke. What ever was smoldering had been under a pile of ash and when that was removed the wind rekindled the hot embers. Three months out and hot spots still remain!

And here are Kris's notes from just two days ago. Samaritan's Purse, which she mentions, is a group of Christian aid-workers that has given them more tangible help than any other organized group, including the government or the Red Cross (or insurance).

As we've been sifting up there, even after Samaritan's Purse, and all the rains, we'd be standing on a pile of soot and have to move, because the underlying soot was still giving off heat. Thankfully, the work boots the kids sent us are heavy enough that we didn't toast our toes. Will be interesting to go up today, see if there was snow there, and where there might still be hot spots—or were. The cleanup crew is amazing. Have already taken over 4K pounds of metal to the recycler. . . .

Toward the end of July, Samaritan's Purse sent a large crew that spent days helping our friends sift through the ashes for anything that might have survived the inferno. Our friends have no connection to this group. Someone who knew about Samaritan's Purse just asked if help was needed, were told "yes" (the timing was perfect: our friends had been estimating it would take many months to even assess the damage), and a large crew was assigned to work "as long as they're needed" to go through the ashes and retrieve any personal belongings that could be salvaged.

Those are only some of the workers on the team. That's Kris and Earl in front, in the (appropriately named) fatigues.

So first there came the "do we have anything left?" part. The next photo comes from early July, when our friends were (1) allowed to go look, because the fire was sufficiently controlled, and (2) able to face seeing what had happened to their home (not easy).

The so-called shabin (the small shed with no utilities that was on the property when they bought it) survived untouched, as did the tractor.

The barn didn't.

That's a steel beam from the barn, along with its roof and a stock gate. Wildfires are both unpredictable and fierce. Note the damage here, and see the building at the upper right in that photo, which is their only neighbor's house, untouched.

Their own house did not survive any better than the barn. Our friends had built it recently, over several years, using all the best fire-resistant techniques and materials. It wasn't quite finished inside. Firefighters who checked their property during the Hewlett Fire (which was nearby not long before the High Park Fire) assured them that their ranch would be easy to defend. The fire took its final run to the north with a speed and intensity that nothing could withstand, and against which defense was impossible.

That's the metal roof of the house, along with melted glass from the windows. Not even the foundation can be salvaged because it was too extensively damaged. Concrete, well-known to be a fire-resistant building material, is not immune to failure when exposed to excessive heat.

Then there's the scraping away and disposal of the debris—very costly, in work, equipment, and dumping fees. Here's some debris that needs to be hauled away and disposed of:

Yes, there's a car in there. The vehicles that our friends saved were the livestock trailer and the truck that hauls it, as well as the small SUV (with a lot of miles on it) which they used to evacuate the small animals and the few personal belongings they could grab. The SUV's removable seat was in the fire, and they've been unable to find a replacement for it, so they now have no method of transportation that can carry more than two people at a time. They have to rent a car when they need to take elderly family members to or from the airport.

Note: Corning ware made it through—just needs cleaning.

The rest of the cookware didn't.

Ditto the washer and dryer.

Yet a pot I had made and given Kris did, albeit re-fired and so not the same colors it used to be. It looks more like raku now.

The Samaritan's Purse folks also retrieved Earl's wedding ring, which he'd taken off while working in the barn. (That's a press release. I'd link to the original news story, except that our paper doesn't make "older" news readily available.)

Our friends are now at the debris-removal stage of the process. They are still living in another set of friends' spare bedroom, with the few things they've gathered to begin replacing their lives stored at our house and in a storage unit. They are still wondering whether, where, and how they might rebuild. (At the end of September, for 259 homes lost in this fire only 20 owners had gotten to the stage of having a permit to rebuild.)

Returning to dogs, Lady has decided that we are okay company, and her safety and well-being is one thing our friends don't have to worry about at all.

Which returns us to the garden. We got some plants in the ground about June 20, which is three weeks after our frost date, but we were busy with all sorts of things.

While both Bear and Lady were with us, it became apparent that it didn't make sense to plant much in our raised beds. (We also didn't waste water on the lawn.) This is what the garden looked like on June 30.

Once Bear moved to a place where he could guard ducks (they're not llamas, but it's a job), we dared to get more plants into one of the beds. (The small bed has a couple of perennial herbs in it. The plan was to plant more. It didn't happen.) The second four-foot bed still was appealing to the remaining visitor. The biggest problem was that the nesting instinct tended to transfer our carefully prepared soil (not the local clay) outside the frame.

We tried putting in an impediment to sleeping in the bed (it's a BED, but still), or at least something to slow down the removal of the dirt. That worked for a few weeks, but I removed it when I discovered it had been knocked over and was posing a risk to the canine members of the household. 

Here's 5:50 a.m. two mornings ago, just after the smoke alarm started chirping to tell me that its battery was low and two of the dogs decided they'd like to be outside, thank you (perhaps to see whether the squirrels were awake yet):

And the same morning at 7:20:

Just before the recent frost warning (we iced up last night), we gathered our final harvest of the year. The ripe tomatoes about double our take (from the entire gardening push) for the whole season.

We have a good recipe for a green-tomato curry.

I think most of what we grew in the garden this year, other than a few marigolds that did reasonably well, was a big white dog. Fortunately, she's very nice.

Waltz for the Wolves

Last Saturday night was the Waltz for the Wolves, the annual major fundraiser for W.O.L.F. Sanctuary, a rescue and education organization working with wolves and wolf-dogs, which recently has been hit by the High Park Fire, although all the wolves were—over a number of days and by a number of means—relocated to appropriate alternative locations outside the fire area. (I hesitated over adding the word "local" on that description of the fundraiser, but left it off because people attend from quite far away.)

Here's the room where the Waltz was held; I'd guess there were between 300 and 400 people there. 

The slide show primarily documented the relocation process. The wolves normally live in large, customized habitats, a number of which now contain specially constructed fire dens—recent additions that likely made a big difference in the survival of the less socialized wolves who had to be evacuated later, rather than sooner. 

The balloons were part of a raffle for special, donated prizes, one of which will appear later in this post.

Here's this year's program for the event, with the special bookmark featuring Whisper:

Some of the wolves and wolf-dogs serve as ambassadors, because they are able to handle, more comfortably than the others, (1) travel by van, (2) being around people, especially ones they don't know, and (3) unexpected events. These animals are key to the sanctuary's educational programs. I have always seen them taken out together (that is, at least two wolves in each adventure), and their needs always come first. The two ambassadors at the Waltz were Pax and Sasha, who are habitat-mates.

At this year's Waltz, the main room was quite noisy, so Pax and Sasha came inside and looked around (meaning cruised the WHOLE perimeter of the space, quickly), went outside and got quiet again, then got curious and asked to go back inside for another speedy tour, part of which was captured above. They were on site for about an hour, then taken back to their temporary residence while the humans continued to do their thing. If you have access to Facebook, there are much better photos of Pax and Sasha on the W.O.L.F. page there.

Tunyan and Sigmund are also, as two pictures from 2010 show, quite social, but they aren't ambassadors. Among other reasons, Siggi doesn't like the car-transport part of the equation and Tunyan is a sneak-thief with a special interest in cameras.

Here's Sigmund with Kris Paige, who introduced me to the sanctuary and has spun and knitted items of wolf fur for the Waltz for the Wolves auctions for the past several years. Like many of the others, Sigmund is a wolf-dog, with too much wolf in him to be a good household pet. Tunyan is coming up behind Siggi to see whether she can steal my camera.

She didn't get it that time. (Tunyan is Lakota for "brat.")

These are some of the wolves whose fur I spun for The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook, thanks to Kris's introduction.

One of the reasons that I am fascinated by and interested in the W.O.L.F. Sanctuary is its strong, clear advocacy and its blend of empirical and intuitive guidance. When faced with thorny questions, they consult various people beyond their immediate boundaries, including bioethicist Bernie Rollin, and they pay a great deal of attention to the wolves themselves: what their behavior indicates about what they need. Also because we know Michelle Proulx, who began as a basic-level volunteer (when she was working at the same bookstore that my daughter did) and is now the educational program director for the sanctuary, in addition to being a brilliant animal caretaker.

Michelle is a reason that one of the program items at the Waltz is belly-dancing, because that's another thing that she does. So we enjoyed the proficiency and variety of the Rocky Mountain Belly Dance Company.

This year, Michelle didn't dance with the troupe because, with the fire, she had too many other things she was responsible for. This year her fellow dancers told her enough.

The Stone People Drummers played for the dancers and also by themselves.

The belly-dancers even, later in the evening, got a lot of people up dancing with them because of this kind of energy. 

The live auction included some of the items made by Kris, who had been working on them both before and during the time when she was evacuated from her home. The GREAT auctioneer for the live auction was Debbie Stafford (for an interesting time, read her bio!), who I gathered is the sister of the sanctuary's clinical director, Priscilla Dressen. She did an amazing job.

Back to those gold balloons. They had ticket numbers on them, and could be purchased for a reasonable sum for a chance to win one of the raffle items. By means of her gold balloon, Kris won a custom skateboard with an image of Shaman, a wolf who has been important to her, as well as to a number of other people involved with W. O.L.F.  Kris looks whomped here because she and her husband Earl lost their house and barn to the fire just a week earlier, and she'd recently seen photos of what was left, although she hadn't been to the site yet—pictures of that are forthcoming. We had to egg her on to go to the Waltz, which is a lot to take in for humans as well as wolves—but a number of us, all over the country, thought it was really important for Kris to be there, even though we knew it would be hard. It was hard. It was also worth it: Shaman said so.

Shaman, who has now (as the sanctuary phrases it) returned to spirit, is a perfect guide for the Paiges' rebuilding effort. Two people came over with offers to buy this item from Kris, but we all agreed that it was the perfect thing for her to have as a cornerstone for bringing into existence what will be the Paiges' new home. Shaman was, for a long-time, one of W.O.L.F.'s primary ambassadors, and he's still doing good work.

Here's one of the items Kris donated to the fundraiser—fingerless mitts from Sigmund's fur:

And another, a hat from the signature wolf for this year's Waltz, Whisper:

In all, Kris made two hats, two pairs of fingerless mitts, and a six-foot-or-so scarf, all from either Whisper's or Siggi's fur this year.

Kris is doing much better now. It's one step at a time, and Saturday night was a big and important leap. Thanks to everyone who has sent messages and/or help through the website I mentioned in a previous post. Kris keeps saying things like, "There's someone here who says they came from your blog!" and "Scotland?!" The support, both emotional and practical, is priceless.

Here's another photo of Kris from our visit to the sanctuary in 2010. In this one she's with Rajan, who is a sometimes ambassador (in a pinch, though I hear he'd rather stay home). I think he'd just been nibbling on Kris's hair.

Photos by Judy Fort Brenneman (at the Waltz, because I forgot my camera) and by me and Kris Paige (at the sanctuary).

The wolves have all returned home to their sanctuary habitats now, with much relief all around. W.O.L.F.'s major advance fire planning has paid off—combined with a bit of luck that the fire, when it reached the sanctuary site, was not burning more fiercely than it was. Several small buildings were lost, but the main buildings and most of the habitat—and the fire dens! which worked!—came through.

High Park Fire, 9, relocating dogs

Our friends Kris and Earl Paige have eleven llamas, four livestock guardian dogs, and two cats (one still missing, and we are hoping she found a safe place during the fire: it's possible). Since their house and barn burned down, the Paiges need a place to live, but first the animals need to be settled.

The llamas have been in a first set of temporary digs (two locations, one for the males and one for the females). They are in the process of being moved to a second set of temporary, but more long-term, housing, since it's obvious now that rebuilding will have to occur before they can go home.

Two dogs, Bear and Lady, have been with us, while the other two, Hoss and Heather (siblings), have been boarded at a vet clinic. Just before July 4, Bear was moved over with Hoss and Heather because, while he will protect his llamas from mountain lions, coyotes, and bears, he's afraid of thunder, lightning, and other things that go boom. We have been having daily bouts of thunder and lightning (without much rain), and even with a fireworks ban, we didn't trust folks not to explode things around here. (For the most part, they haven't. But a small handful of people did ignore the prohibition.) 

Hoss, Heather, and Bear now need to be transported to North Carolina to be cared for and to have work to do while demolition and reconstruction happen on the home front. They will be with the friend of the Paiges who introduced them to livestock-dog rescue. The trick is getting the dogs there.

Obviously, with the heat and distance involved the transport vehicle will need to be air-conditioned in the cargo area as well as the passenger area. Unfortunately, it appears that auto rental agencies don't do one-way rentals on cargo vans. What's needed is probably an air-conditioned panel van. The driver who is available and familiar to the dogs has a regular, rather than commercial, driver's license. We're working on finding interior measurements of regular vans to see whether big-dog crates will fit. That information is not readily available online (we keep finding cargo-area width measurements but not length measurements).

Putting this together is like building a house of cards and hoping it doesn't fall over.

All of the dogs were rescues and all have been given appropriate work to do with the Paiges. Directly after the fire, Kris thought she was going to have to turn three of the four over again to guardian-dog rescue for rehoming, until the friend stepped in with the North Carolina solution (offer of housing, as well as support for the expenses of transporting the dogs)—a great relief all around, even if the logistics are complicated.

Bear is a true sweetheart as long as you don't threaten his family, four-legged or two-legged. He's not a house dog or he'd be in our house.

We've done our best to keep him entertained, mostly with frozen peanut-butter-filled bones. When bored or anxious, he tends to go through fences. We thought ours was sturdy. He's determined. It's been reinforced several times during his visit.

We were really sorry to see Bear go to board elsewhere, but we couldn't protect him adequately from the daily weather rumblings and he was so happy to be allowed to share a run with Heather! He was also lonely here, despite our best efforts. We even took our work to the back yard and sat with him to keep him company, but he needs a job to do.

These are Heather and Hoss, in what Kris describes as "an unusual calm moment." Someone in California intentionally crossed Akbash and Irish Wolfhound (I think I have the breeds right) and then, when the pups were ten months old, became alarmed at how large they were getting (this was a surprise?) and wanted to get rid of them.

They're statuesque, and LIVELY. We didn't even consider trying to keep them entertained at our house.

This is Heather:

That's a corner of the house in the background. Kris and Earl were on the property yesterday and in another post I'll share some photos of what is left there. Throughout evacuation and all the other phases of this process, getting the animals settled has come first. Then the people. Then the buildings and property can be dealt with.

And this is Hoss, up on a hay bale, looking for trouble:

His paws are HUGE. So's his nose. Kris says of that photo, "Hoss, standing on the TOP of the hay, woofing down (from about 8 feet up) at me walking into the barn . . . it's his favorite trick."

This morning, FedEx delivered to our house three GIANT dog crates for the transport of Bear, Heather, and Hoss.

Those boxes weigh more than 50 pounds (23 kg) each. I had to hip-shove them out of the way so we could get our bikes in and out of the garage.

Lady understands how to behave in a house, so she will be staying in Colorado during the regrouping time. She can walk on a leash, and do other tricks. She's not as good a livestock guardian as the others, but she's very protective of "her" people. 

We now count in that number of honored folks.

It took a number of days before Lady was willing to come in the house, even when Kris was staying with us. (She and Earl are now with friends who have more space than we do.) Then it took a while longer before she decided she could go on walks with us. Now she's in the house most of the time, and walks with Ceilidh (the Border collie rescue) and Tussah (the red-dog rescue) twice a day.

Which is pretty darn nice.

I'll be glad when all the transport pieces are in place and Bear, Heather, and Hoss can be past this phase of the dislocation. This morning, we measured big dogs for harnesses to be used during travel, and those are being ordered. Food has been ordered for them (four big bags of dog food burned up). The crates have arrived. Now all that's needed is a vehicle that will hold three big crates and is air conditioned.

One step at a time.

Kris and Lady

(The photos are a combination of mine and Kris Paige's.)