Right Wing Nation

McCain has 22 pets:

• 2 dogs
• 1 cat
• 2 turtles
• 3 birds
• 1 ferret
• 13 fish

McCain leads among pet-owners, too.

The dogs on the porch, soaking up the warmth, and as you can see from the look on Dolly’s face, totally uninterested in coming inside.

Meet Lex.

Operation Puppy Love.

Before we go to NYC. Our vicious guard dogs. Click on the pic to see the album:

Anybody who’s ever had a dog could have told them this:

For serious scientists, Lassie and her friends were deemed little more than dumbed-down ancestors of the wolf, degenerated into panting morons by millennia of breeding. But a younger generation of researchers has set out to restore the reputations of our beloved pets. “Dogs can do things that we long believed only humans had mastered,” says Juliane Kaminski of the Max Planck Institute (MPI) for Evolutionary Anthropology in the eastern German city of Leipzig.

It is precisely their proximity to people — which disqualified our four-legged friends as a model for so long — that now makes them interesting to animal researchers. “When it comes to understanding human behavior, no mammal comes even close to the dog,” says Kaminski. Her Leipzig research team has demonstrated that dogs are far better than the supposedly clever apes at interpreting human gestures.

The researchers held two containers, one empty and the other containing food, in front of chimpanzees and dogs. Then they pointed to the correct container. The canines understood the gesture immediately, while the apes, genetically much more closely related to humans, were often perplexed by the pointing finger.

That’s not all. Many dogs were even capable of interpreting the researcher’s gaze. When the scientists looked at a container, the dogs would search inside for food, but when they looked in the direction of the container but focused on a point above it on the wall, the dogs were able to understand that this was not meant as a sign.

Cat lovers won’t like what the researchers found. Hat tip to Betsy Newmark.

because it happened again.

No matter how many times we tell our dogs they wouldn’t like bacon, sausage, steak, whatever, and that dogs only like boiled turnips, they just don’t seem to believe us.

And they get stuck under the sink.

Dolly’s doing that “love me” thing again:

So we went over Skytop and found the luxury dog resort. Since we were so close (and on the west side of Skytop), I decided to try Clem’s. Clem’s has no walls; it’s one roof surrounded by tents, with no seating (though you can stand and eat off the barrels in the parking lot)–and even here in Pennsylvania, it’s open all year, despite no walls and no heat (other than the barbecue fires, of course). It’s just off 220, and I’d noticed it a few times but figured hey, this is Pennsylvania, the barbecue probably sucks, and drove past it. Then, NYC Educator sent me a URL to a review of Clem’s on Roadside Food. Then, I tried Fat Jack’s (PDF menu), and it was actually pretty good. Then, I found this review in the Collegian, so I decided today to run down the road and pick up some pulled pork.

It’s too late for lunch, so I put it in the refrigerator. I’ll try it for lunch tomorrow and report.

Well, not really a road trip. We’re off to find Royal Pet Resort, which will be boarding our dogs when we’re in Charleston (SC) for Spoleto next month. Note the hot oil treatments and spa. Seriously.

I’m a little late. The plum is still blooming, but the leaves are coming out, and the petals are falling off (click the pic to get a larger one):

And the dogs are practically living on the back porch–Dolly has to sniff, even when she’s thinking about taking a nap:

Unless of course Minnie comes around, and then Dolly starts thinking about playing:

In the front yard, the peony went from tiny to huge in a matter of days. Soon, we’ll have ants everywhere:

Sorry. Like I said I was late. I missed all the pear trees when they were in bloom (no leaves, nothing but white flowers). That’s St. Josef Stalin behind the trees, where I voted this morning:

The maple is going strong, though the oak needs to catch up:

July 1, 2005, a cool clear Friday morning. That was the day the movers came (to move us out of that wonderful great big ranch in the country in Monroe County–a house I will always miss) and Dolly and I got in the Explorer, loaded so tightly I could barely see behind me in the rear view mirror, and left Monroe County at 7 am. I had only been out here once, and just past the Pittsburgh exit we had taken some godawful two-lane all the way here, full of traffic, and impossible to make good time on. It may have been fewer miles, but I was going to take the Pennsylvania Turnpike to I-99. Trust me. After you’ve driven all the way across Ohio, you really, really, really want to get here as soon as possible.

We stopped at nearly every available opportunity, not just because I needed to pee (and half the time, I didn’t), but because I had a puppy with me. There was much sniffing and excitement along the way. Traffic was awful from Bloomington to Indianapolis (rush hour), and even worse on 465 (Indianapolis rush hour), but once I was on I-70 and past the business district, the traffic was thin.

There was very little traffic in Ohio, which is a good thing, because even though it’s one of the most boring, soporific drives imaginable, if the State Troopers aren’t out (and I didn’t see even one), you can make really good time. I-70 is wide and straight and level, until you get to the eastern part of the state. That’s when you start to climb into the Appalachian foothills, just before you get to Zanesville, and Ohio is no longer boring.

Wheeling, then the Pennsylvania Visitor’s Center in Claysville. We stopped there (it’s a good thing, too, because it’s the last one for a good two hours) and Dolly stretched her legs, hopped around, and did a great deal of sniffing. There still wasn’t much traffic, though I’d never driven the road, and I’d forgotten the map, so when we got to Pennsylvania, I slowed down because I had only a vague idea of how far I was from here.

You have to exit I-70 to get onto the Turnpike. I didn’t miss that exit, but as soon as you exit, you have to take another exit (depending on whether you’re going west to Pittsburgh, or east to Philadelphia), and the exit is ass-backwards (you exit to the LEFT to go east). I almost ended up going to Pittsburgh, and would have, had there been anybody else on the road, but I switched lanes and got on the Turnpike.

The Turnpike was almost spooky. The whole time I was on it, I saw fewer than ten cars. Of course, that’s when I found out what the Pennsylvania Turnpike is like–forget making good time, even if it is empty. That’s also when I found out you go for miles between exits, and how few rest areas there are in this state (much like Indiana). Since I’d forgotten the map and didn’t really know how far it was to the exit, and since it was so far between exits, it seemed like the longest part of the trip, but I finally got to the I-99 exit at Bedford–and chuckled, because the first sizable town south of Bloomington is Bedford (Indiana).

It’s astounding how many place names the two states share. Dubois (pronounced the same way, doo-boiz). Bedford. Palmyra. Paoli. Oh. I’m off on a tangent. Sorry. I-99.

I might have gotten lost as soon as I got off the Turnpike had the “Altoona” signs not been there. Left, another left, then exit onto I-99. It’s a little rough when you first get on it, but it smooths out, and once you climb into the mountains, all I can say is wow. I-99 is one, great big, picture postcard, following the mountain ridge, with the adjacent ridge on your immediate left as you drive northeast, and the valley beneath. I knew I was about two hours from here when I got on I-99.

Thank God I was driving an Explorer. Maybe the best thing is how comfortable the seats are. My butt never got tired, and it was probably about 4 pm when I got to I-99 (yeah, yeah, I know, but I’d never driven out here before, and wasn’t quite sure where I was). But when I got to where I-99 abruply ends in Tyrone, I knew where I was.

Almost here, in Centre County. One thing I find strange is that the first sign you see that mentions Penn State isn’t until you get to Centre County. You’d think there would be Penn State signs on the Turnpike, or even on I-99, but there aren’t. I climbed Skytop, and in less than five minutes, parked in the driveway to let Dolly pee (the last time we’d stopped was at the truck plaza on the Turnpike). I pulled into the garage and parked, then entered the empty house. I was just glad to be here. Dolly, however, was a ball of curious energy, and wanted to play as soon as we got into the garage (click on the pictures to see the larger ones).

As soon as I unlocked the garage door and went into the house, there had to be much bounding and running and other doggy behaviors–particularly when she discovered the stairs:

Then, of course, much sniffing about:

The last thing I wanted to do was drive, but it was an empty house, and I nothing to sleep on, and we were both hungry. So I put food down for Dolly, and went to (ta-da!) Wal-Mart to get an inflatable bed. By the time I’d turned around, she’d finished one side and was ready for the other:

By the time I’d inflated the bed and tossed the pillows and sheets on it, Dolly decided it was just for her:

I did manage to scoot her over far enough that I could sleep on the bed.

Just an observation I sent some friends who all feed their pets ultra-chic petfood, and are now freaking out because of that melamine recall.

I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes or anything, but you have noticed, have you not, that all of the recalled pet food brands are chi-chi, pinkie-up, free-range, bistro, nouvelle cuisine, “we use only ORGANIC rice!” DESIGNER petfood, specifically targeted to people who really think dogs have a sophisticated palate? And you have noticed, have you not, that Purina isn’t recalling their petfood? Well, let’s check and make sure.

Okay, just checked. Purina Dog Chow not recalled. Another reason to stick with the company that’s been feeding our animals for over a hundred years, instead of feeding little Foo-Foo her Pretty Pooch Brand Fusion Cuisine Sushi in a cut crystal bowl.

Not that they’ll pay any attention. They’re far, far, far too into that whole bistro pooch thing. But after a great deal of yowling and whining, I just couldn’t resist. I mean, ferchrissake, they’re DOGS people. They’ll eat anything. Dogs are like that.

Tomorrow. The eyes aren’t getting better.

A big hunk of beef and a black lab. What more could you want? Hat tip: Tim Blair.

Also from Ace: Man says dog saved him from black bear.

CATARACT, Wis. - Jason Schindler says he wouldn’t be alive if it were not for his dog, Dude. The 27-year-old rural Cataract man said the 8-year-old mixed-breed hound jumped between him and an attacking black bear Thursday night, saving his life but giving up his own. The animal sustained at least 28 puncture wounds to his chest and neck, he said.

“I’d hate for someone else’s dog to go through what mine did,” he said.

Schindler and his wife, Kimberly, buried the dog with a blanket and pillow the next day, using a rented jackhammer to dig the grave in the frozen soil.

He said he heard the dog yelping loudly Thursday after dark and went out to see what was happening.

Suddenly, “all I saw was this dark thing lunging at me,” Schindler said.

But his dog jumped between the two and was quickly snatched up in the bear’s jaw, he said.

“If not for the dog, I wouldn’t be standing here,” Schindler said.

The bear, estimated at being between 400 and 500 pounds, dragged the dog to his nearby den under a thicket of downed trees.

Ace says:

The relationship between dogs and humans is wonderfully strange. Are there any other examples of two entirely different species caring for each other just because they like each other?

Intestinal parasites do not count, nor do cats, for similar reasons.

Parasites. Cats. Works for me.

Have I ever mentioned what vigilant guard dogs we have? Minnie — our Queen Alpha Bitch of all Queen Alpha Bitches — is guarding the floor:

And Minnie, the puppy, is guarding the couch:

About two hours ago, I let the dogs in. Rather, I let in Dolly, the puppy. Minnie — our Queen Alpha Bitch of All Queen Alpha Bitches — wasn’t interested in coming in just yet.

So an hour ago, I figured it was time she came in, opened the door, and called her. No response. I called her again. No response. So I went outside.

At the time, it was in the mid-20s, but up here on the ridge, the wind was very strong (howling) and painfully cold. I believe I’ve mentioned before that Minnie — our Queen Alpha Bitch of All Queen Alpha Bitches — has always been scared of storms and quivers. I guess because it doesn’t thunderstorm here, she decided to downgrade her phobia, so now, if it drizzles, she quivers. If she hears the wind, she quivers. Sometimes for no perceptible reason at all, she quivers.

I found her, finally, down in the window well — quivering. She couldn’t climb out by herself, so I had to lift her out. She followed me indoors, but only after I had to inform her that no, trying to climb into the otherwindow well was not acceptable.

So now, she’s quivering in her corner. Ridiculous.

What did I say about no blood?

Strike that. One of the guest dogs — the big one — was bleeding like a stuck pig when we got back to the house.

Oh well.

Our highly energetic, vigilant dogs were so happy:

Until last night, when two other dogs came to visit:

Telling our dogs that it could have been worse, since four dogs could have come to visit hasn’t helped. However, they’re all happy because Christmas is almost here!

Our friends brought two of their four dogs with them, so we have two guest dogs. The last time, our Queen Alpha Bitch of All Alpha Bitches, Minnie, put Kuboda — about three times Minnie’s size — in her place not five minutes after she arrived. You know those forensic shows where they show blood splatter on the walls? That’s what our hallway looked like, blood everywhere, red splatter all over.

It hasn’t happened yet. Thank God.

A decade ago, we had Whiskers, a seventy-five pound Shep/Husky mix, who chewed through wrought-iron, chewed up videotapes, CDs, and once ate a frozen hen, then barfed it up, bones and all, onto my feet.

Then one day when I was in the office working, a colleague came up and started telling me about this puppy she had found in the street, how she couldn’t take her home, so she put her in our front yard. Uh-huh. I don’t know if you know how bad college towns are for dogs and cats, but students get pets, find they can’t keep them in the dorm or apartment, then toss them out on the street. Anyway, we called the shelter every day, put up flyers all over the part of campus where she’d been found, and whoever had tossed her out wasn’t looking for her. So we ended up with another dog, Minnie:

Minnie is about half the size Whiskers was, but we soon found out she was the Queen Alpha Bitch of All Queen Alpha Bitches. She quickly asserted herself, Whiskers wussed out, and Minnie — being the younger of the two — regularly beat him up. Minnie asserts her position with whatever dog may be around, though, not just Whiskers. We once agreed to keep a Great Dane for some friends while they went on vacation. They brought Sam — the Great Dane — over to the house with his food and bowl, took it into the kitchen, talked a while, then left. Sam went into the kitchen, and Minnie followed.

About two minutes later, there was this awful yelping, and Sam — many times Minnie’s size — came galloping into the living room, jumped up on me, and shook. Minnie was calmly eating his food out of his bowl.

Whiskers passed away in July, 2004. Some months later, I went to the shelter and saw Dolly:

Dolly was a puppy. Minnie was ten years old, and in no mood. Unfortunately, Dolly didn’t get it right away. She has several holes punched through her ears (by Minnie’s teeth), as well as a few scars on her nose. Several times there was much blood all over the place. But Dolly finally figured out that Minnie was the Queen Alpha Bitch of All Queen Alpha Bitches, and they get along fine now.

In fact, Minnie has given Dolly a lot of leeway — after all the blood flew. Minnie has never been interested in playing with chew toys, though when we first got her, she decided chew toys existed only so she could make sure nobody else got to them (she even objects if I get near a chew toy, and will take it away from me, then go hide it). She actually let Dolly have a couple of her own chew toys — which was pretty amazing. And Dolly has decided that she doesn’t like going out into the yard without Minnie, who often isn’t interested in going out. So Dolly herds Minnie outside, whether she wants to go or not. And Minnie puts up with it.

There are these creatures in the house called dogs:

And when they’re not napping or eating, they want to be petted. When they want to be petted, they tend to climb up on top of the keyboard, effectively preventing one from blogging. Sometimes they nap on top of the keyboard.

Just so ya know.

What’s the dog for, “I think I’ve been sniffed enough, thank you.”

Hat tip to Ace for this (he has more pics). This dog does not look like he’s enjoying Halloween:

courtesy of Gunn Nutt:

Put anything you may be eating or drinking far out of reach, and click here. Hi. Lar. I. Ous.

No matter how many times we tell our dogs they wouldn’t like bacon, sausage, steak, whatever, and that dogs only like boiled turnips, they just don’t seem to believe us.

And they get stuck under the sink.

All together now.

One
Two
Three

Awwwwwwww!

I got this in a private email message, so I can’t link to it.

MEMO TO THE FAMILY CATS AND/OR DOGS

1. When I say move, it means go someplace else. It does not mean switch positions with each other so there are still two of you in the way.

2. The dishes on the floor are yours and contain your food. All other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note: placing a paw print in the middle of my dinner does not stake your claim on it, nor do I find it aesthetically pleasing in any way.

3. The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn’t help because I fall faster than you can run.

4. I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed. Locate your inner beast and remember that sleeping animals can actually curl up in a ball, so it is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other, stretched out to the fullest extent possible.

5. My CDs are not miniature Frisbees.

6. For the last time, humans like to use the bathroom alone. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it won’t help to claw, whine, meow, bite the knob, or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. Trust me, I have been using the bathroom for years; canine or feline attendance is not mandatory.

7. When you see me asleep on the couch, it is not funny to make a sudden leap onto my stomach and drop a chew toy, bone or jingle ball on my crotch, no matter how much that makes other family members laugh.

8. Dog: Don’t think for a minute that making a sad face and whimpering pathetically will get you out of trouble when I find a puddle of pee on the carpet. The face and the whimpering only validate that you knew it was wrong when you did it.

9. Cat: My sitting down to bite into a juicy sandwich is not a signal
 for you to begin gagging loudly and then choke up the most disgusting
 hairball in history.

10. Dog and Cat: the proper order is kiss me, then go lick yourself. I
 CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

To pacify you, I have posted the following message on our front door:

MEMO TO NON-PET OWNING GUESTS

1. They live here; you don’t.

2. If you don’t want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.

3. I like them better than I like most people.

4. To you, it’s an animal. To me, it’s an adopted child who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and is speech-challenged.

5. Dogs and cats are better than kids: they eat less, are easier to train, usually come when called, don’t ask for money, never drive your car, don’t hang out with losers, don’t drink or smoke, don’t worry about the latest fashions, don’t wear your clothes, don’t need a gazillion dollars for college, and if they get pregnant you can sell the children.

How terrible a dog’s life must be!

We’ve had four inches of snow for a week. Yesterday, they first said we’d get 4-6 inches last night. Then, they said 6-8 inches. Last I heard, they were saying 6-10.

It’s still coming down. A couple of hours ago, we had 9 inches of snow:

The dogs love it. Here they are, after romping around in the snow, being their usual energetic selves:

It looks much the same in Connecticut.