Wayward Dogs has moved!

I have been tempted away from Blogger! Wayward Dogs is now a WordPress blog. Please continue reading about the dogs we keep finding and all the fun we have in the garden at waywarddogs.com.

Bats: Like dogs that can fly

Bat. My Free Photos

Bats are really cool. I have always thought so, and not just because I used to be slightly obsessed with vampires. Bats are mammals, but they can fly. Some species, like Giant Indian Fruit Bats, even look like dogs with wings. Seriously --  that's why they're also known as flying foxes.

Lost shi-tzu from the neighborhood

The pack and I encountered a red-eyed fellow putting these posters up on the trail yesterday. I hope little Static makes it home. There's a Craigslist post about him, too.

Machete finds a sweet Spot

Wily Machete escaped from me on Friday night. Having chased him down a few times now, I've figured out that it's best to just grab a leash, give him a wide berth and let him run himself tired. He dashes aimlessly but only within a three-block section of the trail that we regularly walk.

Sometimes, he'll find puddle of water and lay down in it. Sometimes he'll dive under a tree and emerge with a plastic sack looped around his neck and flapping in the breeze like a superhero's cape. (OK, that only happened once, and I desperately wish I had a photo.) On Friday night, I looked up to see him romping through the grass with a fellow bully dog.

You can't save 'em all (Musical payoff after the jump)

This disgusting picture is a turtle that Zach and I saw one afternoon this spring, scrabbling in the road near our house. We were in our car, and another young couple had pulled over and exited theirs to, presumably, get Mr. Turtle out of harm's way. They seemed excited and confused. Traffic was building up in the street.

New mascot for the Kansas City Chiefs?

UPDATE: Babette made the local news. Click for the story and video by KCTV 5!

Somewhere out there is a Kansas City Chiefs fan in need of a football-sized dog with whom to watch the games. Babette the terrier mix desperately needs to meet that person.
At some point during the game at Arrowhead Stadium on August 26, Babette wandered onto the Arrowhead grounds.
We have been in touch with the shelter and our friends in the dog rescue community since learning of her case. Babette is now officially available for adoption from the shelter. Check our her profile on Petfinder.com. For $100, you can take her home. For $15, a licensed rescue group can get her into a foster situation.
I wish that we could foster her, but with Machete we are already at the city's legal limit for pets (four dogs and cats in any combination). So, we are hoping some other local foster family will step up. Better yet would be a forever family.
As commenter Jennifer Hunter remarked in response to a Pitch post about Babette today, it would be awesome if the Chiefs decided to somehow help Babette get out of the shelter. Located not far from Arrowhead Stadium, Kansas City, Missouri's animal shelter euthanizes between 6,000 and 9,000 dogs every year.
If the Chiefs adopted Babette -- or just helped publicize her story -- the notoriety would surely help save more shelter animals' lives than just Babette's.
So, whaddya say, Chiefs? How about throwing up her picture at the next game for 76,000 people to see?

Special thanks to my friend Stacy A. for whipping up this e-flier for Babette.

Original wayward blond?

Time flies. I snapped these pictures on Wednesday, August 24. I believe this is the third sighting of this particular blond. (I think he's the original wayward blond that I mistook for a female several weeks ago.) He is always hanging around the same block. My hope is that he lives there. He and the boxer did seem to be friendly -- they definitely were not fence-fighting.
I pulled over and squatted down to see if he'd approach me. He seemed skiddish but didn't run away as long as I didn't seem to move toward him. Lacking a leash and the ability to take this guy on, I tossed him a milkbone and went to get back in my car.
At that moment, another woman pulled over, demanding to know if the dog was mine. She was pretty excited and claimed she'd seen it lunge at people. I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't get the vibe that this particular dog would attack unless it felt cornered. She mentioned calling animal control to come pick him up. I haven't seen him since.

Another wayward blond

On my way home from work, I encountered this guy wandering the streets. He looks similar to the wayward blond I recently spotted in the area (possibly twice), but this one is definitely a male AND he was wearing a collar.
I circled the block a few times and squatted down a few yards in front of him (that method worked on Meatball), but he wasn't interested in being caught at all.
Honestly, I didn't really want to catch this guy but since he had a collar, I thought he deserved a chance. His owners deserve a lecture for not neutering him.

Wayward Boston Terrier

It never fails that after a storm, dogs come a running. In the past three days, we have seen three -- what I think was the blond dog from the last post again, a chow and today I caught a Boston Terrier.
No signs of a family searching for him yet, but I can't imagine someone isn't. Almost immediately upon posting a found dog ad on Craigslist I had a message from someone who wanted to take him. She wanted him for her daughter today. I was like, um, we are giving his owners a little more time. (As I hope someone would if they found any of our dogs.)
We can't foster little Meatball, as we started calling the Boston, so I think a neighbor will take over tomorrow.We still have Charlie Machete, although he is slated to spend the night with a potential adopter tomorrow. She is awesome, and I so hope she takes Machete permanently.
We really cannot manage three big dogs (two of whom don't get along) plus Scooby. It's wreaking havoc on our house, actually. And Machete is not the easiest guy to deal with. He is as stubborn as he is sweet and a touch unpredictable in certain situations. I have a good feeling about his potential adopter's ability to manage with his quirks. She is quite smitten with him after just one meeting, in fact. But if it is not a match, I don't know how much longer we can hold out.
Suffice it to say, the foster situation would be a lot easier if Machete was Meatball.

Wayward blond dog!

I just spotted her in the neighborhood. Timid. Maybe feral. She was blocking traffic. I pulled over and got out, but she darted. Good luck, pretty thing. You could be Machete's sister with that face.

Stuff a rock in it

As Anonymous remarked on the previous post, a suspect was apprehended in the case of the Trolley Trail attacks. I admit that does make me a feel a little safer when I'm traversing the neighborhood alone with our pack.

Of course, I realize that bad things can happen anytime, anywhere and to anyone. Our house happens to be located on an emergency route, and so wailing sirens remind us of this fact several times a day. And although I genuinely feel that we are surrounded by a lot of great neighbors, sketchy things happen regularly in our general area. (For proof, check out the highy addictive crime mapping tool on the KCMO police department's website.)

Earlier this summer, I was inside a nearby liquor store when a fight broke out because the cashier asked some unruly guys to leave. Not many weeks before that, someone smashed the window of one of our vehicles with the chunk of concrete pictured above.

I have to remind myself not to get too worked up when these things happen. Life is unpredictable and as unfair as it is beautiful. The best we can do is try to be prepared for the bad things without obsessing on them, attempt to remain rational whenever the nastiness goes down, and make the best of the situation after the fact.

Zach's solution after the vehicle break-in: Turn that rock into a piece of our landscape.

Neighborhood sketchiness

I hope I don't meet this guy in my neighborhood.

A while back, after a woman was raped on a part of the trail that we frequent, I wrote about my anger over the insidious fear that can stem from such an incident. Suddenly, I felt a little less safe in my neighborhood, especially when Zach wasn't around, and in spite of having two sizable dogs with me at virtually all times.

When I heard that someone of a similar description had struck again in this area (thankfully it wasn't quite a rape this time), my first thought was, "Whew. I'm glad that we have Machete right now."

Now, isn't that the face of a living, breathing crime deterrent?

Sweet though he may be, our shovel-headed black foster dog looks like a roughneck. It's an attribute that I found appealing right away. But as it turns out, even armed with the bully-faced Machete, as well as the big-but-not-at-all-scary-looking Minnie and Luke, I remain hesitant to go into my front yard, much less venture onto the trail, after dark. (You can be damn sure that if I did, Machete would be sans his conversation-starting, dayglow "Adopt Me" vest.)

I hate feeling influenced in this way by a jackass who doesn't even strike at night (both attacks occured very early in the morning). I don't know if my reaction is rational, paranoid, culturally-induced or some combination thereof. It's frustrating that the dogs don't add much to my sense of security, but I guess that's an issue I have to work out with myself. Because there will always be bad guys.

Women reading this blog: Do your dogs make you feel safe? What else helps?

Heartworm Status Update: Negative!

Following my last post about Machete, the dog was tested again to be sure of his heartworm status before beginning the stressful treatment of the parasites. To everyone's surprise, the secondary testing came back negative. It took a little while, but all involved veterinarians were able to get their documents together, and as of today, we have official instructions to assume that Machete is heartworm negative. He must be re-tested again in six months, but for now, we are elated that we don't have to put him through the process that our dog Luke underwent when he had heartworms.

I am also hoping that this news will increase Machete's adoptability. Zach and I are both rather smitten with the handsome fellow. He is, hands down, the best snuggler under our roof, but four dogs are simply too many for our small house and budget. (Not to mention that Luke is still not Machete's biggest fan.)

If you have not already done so, please visit the Facebook event page that we created for Machete's adoption process. So far, it has generated some excitement about him from friends and friends of friends. We are beginning to interview potential adopters and with support from Friends of Halfway Home (who will receive his adoption fee), we hope to have him placed with a forever family within 30 days.

Wayward dog Chale Machete seeks a forever home

A little over  a week ago, I posted a photo of a coal black pit/lab mix that we found across the street from our house. Chale Machete, as we've taken to calling him, is still with us.

In spite of his menacing (to some) appearance, he's a great dog. From the first night, as soon as he realized we wouldn't hurt him, he showed an affectionate spirit. Sixty-pound Machete lives to snuggle -- nearly as much as my miniature pinscher does. He likes to lay at your feet in the kitchen and sprawl across you on the couch, bed or in the car. Having vehemently resisted a leash initially, he's now come to realize it means an exciting chance to go outside.

Of course, life with Machete isn't all puppy licks and cuddling. His incessant curiosity and eagerness to play inspires growls from the cat and our dogs, none of whom seem all that stoked about adding to the pack. Adjusting to his presence means changing the routines of feeding time, walks and guarding any open door because he's always ready to run out and explore.

Having found no trace of anyone searching for him, we are now faced with fostering Machete until someone will take him off of our hands.

I'd be lying if I said this whole experience hasn't caused me to question my desire to keep chasing after stray dogs. From having taken in Minnie and ultimately deciding to keep her last year, I have always understood that in catching loose canines, you run the risk of getting stuck with them.

And that can be expensive, inconvenient, even -- depending on the animal -- dangerous to you or your pets.

As I write this, I can see one of our neighbors walking past. A day or so before we caught Machete, he also attempted to capture the dog and failed. A few days later, his family ended up with a big, fluffy black and white dog that was running around, barely able to breathe due to a tether knotted tightly around its neck. I know my neighbor, who has the strange dog and not his own with him now, is experiencing a similar sense of "What have I gotten myself into?"

But what's the alternative? Letting people-dependent animals roam freely until they die or, even worse, attack a runner, pedestrian or child out of illness, fear and general confusion?

I completely understand that everyone isn't up to the task of taking in -- temporarily or permanently -- lost dogs that may or may not rightfully belong to someone else. But getting them off the streets is important, even if you aren't in the position to care for the animal yourself.

Animal shelters are depressing places, and I hope that we never have to surrender a creature to one and the high probability of death that comes along with that fate (especially for black dogs and cats). But the fact of the matter is that no one wants a neighborhood overrun with half-feral dogs. I have been to cities in Latin America with that problem. It's scary.

Shelters exist for a reason, and so does the huge network of animal rescue organizations and resources available to people who have lost or found pets.

We are extremely grateful to one local organization, Friends of Halfway Home, which has helped us to help Machete. (Please consider making a donation to Friends if you can.)

Thanks to this group's amazing support, he's now neutered (in accordance with Kansas City, Missouri, law for pit bulls), microchipped and up to date on shots.

Unfortunately, Machete happens to be heartworm positive, but he will begin treatment for that next week. We are optimistic that Machete, who is otherwise vigorous and younger than our dog Luke was when he recovered from heartworms, will be just fine.

We are also optimistic that someone will come forward to give this dog a new life in a less crowded home with snuggles to spare. Please contact me if you or anyone you know is interested in adopting Machete. He deserves love.

Neighbor love

I think I have indicated before that the reaction of the neighborhood to our decision to transform a large portion of our lot into growing space for vegetables and fruit trees has elicited some awesome interactions with our neighbors and passersby.

The project is still in its early stages, which means twiggy baby trees and empty-looking patches where things are beginning to sprout. The stuff that is growing isn't exactly what's typically considered attractive frontyard landscaping -- tomatoes, onions, melons. And then there are those bigass rain barrels...

Nevertheless, several times a week, when we're out working in the garden, drivers will pull over to ask about what we've planted or walkers pause to comment that they've been watching our progress. One woman even set to weeding with us while she chatted.

We were particularly touched by the thank-you card that showed up in our mailbox recently. Such a gesture seems uncommon in this day and age and makes me want to give these nice people a big hug (and a basket of tomatoes if I can keep the squirrels from stealing them). 

Our neighbors' excitement makes Zach and me feel like our growing experiment matters to more than just us. The totally unexpected attention is flattering, as well as intimidating. What if we fail, and everything that we've planted just croaks off? It's not like either of us really know anything about gardening yet. We just know what we want this land to give us: sustenance, beauty and respite.

I am so glad that the people around us can see that. And I hope that we succeed and can share our bounty with them.

Wayward dog #3 - Chale Machete

Found dog needs a new home

Will you be this pitty puppy's new mama?

Recently, I posted a picture of a Found Dog poster that I spotted on the trail. It looks like whoever took in that wayward pup hasn't had any luck finding her owners, and is now trying to find the pretty girl a forever home. The photo above and a couple of others are on Craigslist.

From the sound of it, the dog is a real sweetheart. I wonder if the good samaritan who took her in will have a hard time letting her go. The last time we found ourselves in a similar situation, I just couldn't bring myself to re-home the dog. I suppose that means I'm not an ideal candidate for fostering...

Why keep this blog?

Note: This post was originally a sort of explanation page called Where Wayward Dogs Go. I decided to make it a standard post because I think it's better suited as such. The new "explanation" is a Disclaimer, which spells out the point of this project more clearly and succinctly (and, I hope, assures you that I am not too much of a self-righteous, crazy pet lady).

The idea for this blog stems from a realization that there are a lot of wayward dogs in Zach's and my life. All three of our dogs were wayward -- either lost or escaped -- before we got them. One of them we first met cowering on the walking/jogging/biking trail near our house about a year ago. As it turns out, that trail is a regular dog magnet.

It's no wonder that dogs are so attracted -- for them, the trail presents a bounty of smells and intrigue. Not a canine that travels it -- on-leash or off -- fails to leave a mark. The trail is also bordered with grasses, trees and weeds that feral cats and other animals like to hide in.

Don't get the wrong impression -- we do live in an urban area. Our trail runs parallel to and crosses really busy streets at various points. But the sometimes-gravel, sometimes-paved pathway also leads through swaths of gnarled trees (which provide great cover for someone's backyard chickens) and passes by a bad-smelling creek. This trail is like a little artery of nature running through our part of Kansas City.

In that sense, the trail itself is wayward. It is a departure from the concrete, glass and metal of regular city living and therefore bears an obvious appeal for animals that -- even after thousands of years of domestication by humans -- still like to dig in the dirt and roll in the grass. Those are doggy urges I can understand. We usually spot loose dogs because we are outside digging in the dirt and tearing out grass for a massive and possibly too-ambitious food garden project.

In just the past month, we have found ourselves dropping our spades to chase after other people's wayward pit bulls, a border collie, a half-deaf and half-blind old mutt, and a beagle. Some of them we caught; some of them we chased unsuccessfully; at least two of them we happened to unknowingly chase right back onto their own family's property.

In the midst and aftermath of these little rescue missions, people have expressed both gratitude and puzzlement at our actions. We hope they realize that we are not trying to be the neighborhood animal control. We are just demonstrating the concern we hope our beloved dogs (or cat) would encounter should any of them ever become go wayward.

Wayward dog alert!

Zach says that around 1:30 a.m. some neighbors were searching the neighborhood for their lost dog -- a husky/german shepherd mix. I hope they find their dog...

So many wayward pets

I took my dogs to the vet today, and the bulletin board was full of lost dogs and cats, mostly from our neighborhood.

Did flea spray hurt my cat?



This cat did not die!

I can't say for sure that Sergeant's flea spray caused my cat Luxor to have a seizure and nearly go blind, but I will never use it again.

Maybe you wonder why a responsible pet owner who spends way too much money on premium, grain-free pet food would use a flea repellant available at the grocery store. The embarrassing truth is twofold: 1) I favor my dogs over my cat, who has always been prone to sinking his razor fangs into my calves regularly. 2) I succumbed to greenwashing.

Through greenwashing, companies play up the "environmentally responsible" or "natural" aspects of their products. Sergeant's spray does contain some natural ingredients, including peppermint oil. However, hyping the use of these naturally-derived ingredients seems disengenous if those same substances are potentially very dangerous when sprayed on an animal that grooms itself with its tongue.

What Sergeant's packaging doesn't say -- but the ASPCA does -- is that peppermint oil, although naturally occuring, is toxic to cats.

Sergeant's (and other makers of similar products) skirts the safety issue with the fine print. According to the label, the spray is "safe for use around children and pets when used as directed." Yet, the directions say to apply the spray onto the cat. Of course, the directions also warn of "Hazards to humans and domestic animals" and suggest contacting a veterinarian in the event of persistent "sensitivities."
Again, I can't be certain that my use of this spray is what made my cat very, very sick about 30 hours later. After seeing the bottle and considering that I had used the product on him before, the emergency vet seemed confident that his sudden seizure, glaucoma symptoms and frighteningly low platelet count were attributable to a systemic issue, most likely lymphoma.

To our great relief, a couple days and some powerful meds later, Luxor was almost back to himself. The rapid recover, though, does seem consistent with a poisoning or severe allergic reaction. The vet at our regular animal hospital agreed, although he did not discount totally the lymphoma possibility. It's just nearly impossible to know for sure.

My gut says the problem was the flea spray. And despite what my neighbor says, I'm not just trying to take on guilt. The simplest answer is usually the right one, and given the time elapsed and the cat's age (roughly 5), a reaction to flea spray seems more plausible than lymphoma or a tick bite or a rare immune disorder.

The truth is, I probably very nearly killed my cat. That sucks. It sucks so much that I can't believe I'm admitting it in public.

But if there is any silver lining to this scenario, it's this: If the flea spray was to blame and not lymphoma, then Luxor seems to have made a complete recovery, which means he still has a lot of years left to terrorize me. With a lymphoma prognosis, the future would be a lot more grim.
But I still wish this had never happened, and I promise to be a more conscientious cat owner from now on.

Wayward dog #2 - Stella (again)

I totally called it. We had a crazy storm on Friday night/early Saturday morning, and I said I bet we found a wayward dog sometime Saturday. I figured it would be some new dog, though.

Stella hadn't quite made it to the trail when I first saw her this time. She was nervously making her way through the neighborhood, randomly running from yard to street. Before greeting Luke and me (which is how I caught her), she nearly got hit by a car.

I should have known that was too easy. Not five minutes after I called her owner, skinny Stella slipped out of our backyard gate with Zach. So began a 20-minute game of chase as she zipped around the neighborhood a couple of blocks over. Her most infuriating trick is lying down in the grass as if she's tired and looking at you with eyes that beg for a pet. As soon as you get close to her, she takes off again.

Fortunately, she ran right up to a young couple and their son, who, as the owners of a sweet brindle pit bull named Zeus, were willing to help us nab Stella. Enticing her with french fries, their child, the chance for a car ride and the chance to go inside still seemed to take forever. But someone finally snagged her collar, and Zach fashioned his belt into a makeshift leash.

When we got back to our house, Stella's owner was pacing our property in confusion. He seemed embarrassed that I was returning his dog for the third time in about a month. (Apparently, this time storm damage messed up their fence.) As he put one of those slip-leashes the vet gives you around the dog's head, he explained that she's supposed to be part Greyhound. No wonder she can run.

Wayward dog #2 - Bella

When I first noticed this dog, she appeared to be walking off leash with a guy and another dog. When she got distracted, a woman reached for her, missed and shouted after the dude. He shrugged his shoulders and kept going. (People like this are really annoying. C'mon, dude, you have a dog. Now, have some sympathy for someone else's.) The dog kept going, too -- in the opposite direction.

I grabbed a leash (but not my phone, hence no picture) and took up chase. The well-groomed creamy white and tan creature, however, was not interested in being caught. She loped down the trail, occasionally slowing to sniff around someone else's dogs or a trash can, but as soon as I got within in 10 feet, she'd dart. After three blocks, I just about gave up, but some bicyclists assured me she was just ahead, and when I rounded the bend, there she was. With a guy, who was gripping her collar.


My relief was doubled when he said he was her owner, who turned out to be a really nice guy. He'd been at the bar and received a voicemail from his roommate informing him his dog Bella had gotten out. He was, in fact, just beginning to search when the dog found him. Smart dog.

Because Bella's owner was headed the same way I came, we walked together. Within a few sentences, he figured out that I live in the house with the new garden that he rides his bicycle past every day. I started to describe my own dogs, but he cut me off with his own descriptions -- "the cool ones who lay in the yard" and the "little one who always barks at me when I ride past." I didn't really know what to say beyond that, except, "Yeah, I was planting when we saw your dog but was actually a little relieved for the break."

I'm still getting used to being the person in the neighborhood with the crazy, evolving yard. We've taken out trees and put in trees, built a retaining wall and planted, planted, planted. It's awesome. I'm so proud of us and excited about what's to come. But I'm also aware that to some people, this endeavor could make us seem like the neighborhood eccentrics.

So does chasing after lost dogs. This, I felt keenly in the awkward non-response that Bella's owner provided after I breathlessly explained 1) that I just started a blog about lost dogs and 2) how we recently chased a hunting dog probably two miles before giving up.

Oh, well. It's not like he could judge me.

Go away, Trolley Trail rapist!

This was one of those weeks when I could have written a post every day. But for lack of time I've had to look forward to the brain dump, impressions mounting, for three days. And now I don't know where to start.

Do I update the status of my cat? (He didn't die, but I think it's my fault that he came close.) Do I explain my pursuit of Bella, the rough coat collie/akita mix? (She found her dad on the trail, and he turned out to know my own motley pack.) Or do I ruminate on how I feel about the fact that a woman got raped yesterday on the trail? (Pretty pissed off.)

Perhaps expecting to write a separate post about each of these events is neurotic. But I want to record notable and relevant experiences as they happen -- that's kind of the point of a blog. Surely, not every week will be so eventful...

In fact, it'd be great if the genesis for this whole project (lost dogs) ultimately didn't yield many posts -- dogs ought not be out dodging cars and bicyclists, anyway. As for everything else, I suspect the notable moments will occur intermittently or in waves. Isn't that what life's always like?

While I've been writing, probably 12 people -- some on bikes, some with dogs, some who'd obviously rather be traveling in a car -- have gone by. At this moment, three young, swishy guys are ambling slowly in one direction and two hipster chicks are biking fast in the other. We are told that the guy who lived in this home before us built it to face the trail, because that was back when the trail was actually a trolley track, and he worked on it. Supposedly, in his later years, he also used to sit and watch the joggers, bicyclists, dog-walkers and barflies go by. He'd wave.

Since summer hit and our neighbors began introducing themselves and asking what we're doing to our yard, we've been waving, too. Zach started it. Along with physically transforming the corner we live on, we decided also to tap into (if not transform) the spirit of the neighborhood by showing joy to the people who wander near and into our sphere.

It's actually great fun to flick your wrist and grin at unsuspecting drivers. If they don't know us -- and most of them don't -- confusion crinkles across their faces until, heck, they give in and smile back. It's awesome.

When we're out working in the garden, drivers are as likely as trail travelers to stop for a minute and talk to us about growing things. Occasionally, that whole phenomenon keeps us from getting tasks accomplished, but I like feeling connected to our neighbors and I am flattered by how impressed many of them seem by our effort to turn our property into a site of beauty and home food production. I guess I took for granted the prominence of our endeavor until I chased that collie dog several blocks down the trail on Wednesday and met a stranger to whom I wasn't so strange. (Well, actually, I think I was strange to him, but he had an idea of who I was.)

Overall, I don't mind being prominent. If our garden work and dog lovin' happens to inspire other people to behave similarly, while simultaneously yielding us fresh food, the enjoyment of nature, neighbors and doggy kisses, that's great.

But now a monster with a wayward sex drive had to go and revive my suspicious nature.

Every woman in this neighborhood had to be suspicious last year, when a serial rapist was on the loose in the area. The whole situation created a kind of mass hysteria. I tried not to get too caught up in it, but it's impossible not to worry a little. The worry can bring people together, but it can also drive them apart.

Since I heard yesterday's news, I've been thinking twice before smiling, much less waving, especially at men, unless Zach is within (their) eyesight. I wonder constantly if my dogs are big enough to deter a creep should I brave the trail on my own, in the dark.

I know better than to live my life in fear. The weirdest shit (like your cat losing motor control at 2 o'clock on a Saturday night) always happens when you least expect it, anyway. But I reserve the right to be angry about a jackass violating a woman on our trail. My trail. Her trail. Anywhere.

Ditched bike

Some kid just rolled by our house looking shifty and then ditched this cool old Schwinn bike half a block later.

Spotted on the trail

This is not a wayward dog that I found, but we spotted this poster on a walk. I'm glad other people in the neighborhood are kind enough to help out a list puppy. I hope his owners materialize!

What's going on with my cat?

Luxor and me. Blue-eyed and bright in our first year together.

Last night marked my first foray to an emergency vet. I feel lucky that I never needed to take one of my pets there until now. I always expected I'd be taking one of the dogs first...

Luxor did not come to me in typically wayward fashion. Rather, I sought him out via Craigslist. I had impulsively decided that I must have an oversized cat -- to go with my microscopic dog. In the photo and description provided by his former owner, Luxor seemed like the perfect candidate. With his arresting blue eyes, pink nose and creamy gray and charcoal Lynx Point Siamese markings, Luxor was undeniambly handsome. He had also spent the first two years of his life with a dachshund, so it seemed likely that he'd manage to get along with my miniature pinscher Scooby.

For the most part, they are friends. Scooby and I have both sustained many painful catbites over the past three years, and I swear that Luxor has framed Scooby for a few "accidents." But I have caught the two of them snuggling -- by themselves and with our other dogs -- on many occasions. My own relationship with the cat has been rocky. As I said, he's a biter, and I am his most frequent target. He has also done more damage to my house than any of the dogs. But when Luxor is being good (and that's most of the time, especially when weather permits him to get adequate backyard time), he's a dream. And he's definitely always on his best behavior around guests, so he happens to be one of those cats that all of my friends and family go ga-ga over.

Luxor's illness came on suddenly last night. He had been puky for about a day, but that's kind of a cat thing, so I didn't think much of it. Around midnight, I searched for him and found him lying in a clearly distressed state, huddled against a door in the darkest part of the house. Thinking I could comfort him, I brought him into the bedroom. On the bed, he seemed to go to sleep but his body seemed more limp than usual, and his legs, ears and muscles kept twitching. A few minutes later, Scooby scared him, and he took off but seemed unsteady on his feet. I actually thought he was going to fall backwards from the top step of our staircase.

Terrified that he might be experiencing an allergic reaction to some flea spray I had applied to him the night before (against my own better judgment), I rushed to the vet. By the time we got there, one of his blue eyes was clouded with blood.

The actual diagnosis is still not complete. According to the vet, it seems to just be a coincidence that I happened to apply flea spray shortly before this episode. Rather, it seems that some underlying unknown issues are coming to a head -- glaucoma and likely lymphoma. He can't come home until tomorrow at the earliest. And we have a lot to think about.

Wayward dog #1 - Stella

This is Stella. She was the first wayward dog that I chased down (and reunited with her owners) this summer. It was an unbearably hot morning, and as I stepped out onto my back porch I caught sight of a brindle blur loping down the jogging trail across the street. I darted.

Once I hit the road, I realized a bicyclist was following the dog. "Oh! She's yours?" I shouted sheepishly. "No," the woman replied. "I just can't catch her."

So I tried.

The dog chase was pretty typical: I darted one way; the dog darted another. She'd whiz by me, and my fingers would just graze her shoulder. This went on for three or four minutes. Then, she ran to our front door and cast a pleading eye back at me. I charged! Scared, the dog dashed off again, but just to the edge of the yard.

It was 90 degrees. Her tongue was practically dragging on the ground. I tricked her into my possession with a dish of water.

Fortunately, Stella's owners are responsible enough to tag their dog. Name, phone number, address, expired rabies license. It's all there. When I couldn't reach them on the phone, Stella and I hoofed it to the address (only about six blocks from my house). As I returned her, I sorta got the vibe that she runs off all the time.

So, I wasn't too surprised this morning when I glimpsed a familar figure soliciting two obviously disinterested joggers on the trail for a play session. Unlike the bicyclist from before, these ladies didn't even feign concern over what was obviously somebody's lost pet. This time, I grabbed Zach's dogcatching tool -- our golden retriever Luke -- and dashed down the trail. Stella greeted us like old friends.

This is what it's all about.