And Now We're Twelve Again

So a couple of uneventful weeks went by after Tiberius found his new home.  Then we heard a dog barking in the woods behind the house--which is not at all unusual, but something we keep an ear out for because we have had problems with strange dogs attacking our animals.  This one sounded like it was on the other side of the stream, and it was a lost and scared sort of bark.  And it went on for hours.  I finally made my way down to the stream (not an easy task--it's still all storm debris).  I just wanted to make sure that the dog wasn't caught under a limb or stuck somehow.  I caught a glimpse of a small brown dog about 50 feet away and he took off through the underbrush so I knew he wasn't stuck and I came back home.  He barked awhile longer and that was that -- we figured he found his way home or his owners found him.

Fast forward two weeks to last Thursday.  A small dog--same size and color--runs across our yard, tail tucked, heading towards a row of houses at the end of our property.  We think nothing of it (too small and scared to do much damage)

Friday Bob sees him desperately trying to get bits of the cat food we toss out for the peacocks.  Soft hearted him, he put out a bit of food and went inside.  Came back out--and apparently the dog is capable of reading the cat hobo signs that say "soft hearted suckers live here."

This is the hobo sign for "kind woman lives here"

 He was on the bench on the front porch, cringing.  At first Bob thought he had an interesting coloration--sort of a striping down his sides, like a tabby cat.  Then he realized it was the dog's ribs.  He was starving.

*OF COURSE* we fed him.  Tiny amounts that disappeared the moment that we set them down, with whining for more.  We dribbled food to him for the next seven hours until he finally had enough and went to sleep.

WE HAVE A DOG.  I don't do dogs.  I'm a cat person.  Dogs are needy and want attention and want to please you and need training.  Cats just let you know when they want something.  To make things worse--he's not even what I call a real dog.  He's a frippin' chihuahua (or mix).  I think chihuahuas are the most annoying excuse for a dog ever.  But I don't let anything starve when it has asked for help.

Sigh--on to the usual attempt to find an own.  Flyer postings.  On line postings.  Check at the feed store (communication central on Highway 20).  Nada.  Zip.

OK--we don't do dogs.  We'll feed him for the weekend and then, sadly, take him to the shelter and wish him luck.  Yeah, that worked.  I think Bob and I blinked simultaneously.  He was scared and hungry and wanted to be scratched.  He left the cats alone (surprisingly, they ignore him). He stood patiently for a bath.  He relaxed a bit.  And we knew that if he was in a cage with other dogs barking he would be terrified.  He went to the vet instead of to the shelter.

So we seem to have a dog. (Bob named him Tweek) Mostly he stays on that bench.  When he comes inside he follows me around and sits by my feet.  At night he goes into his crate without a fuss.  He's actually a good little doggie.

But fingers crossed--the social media blitz has given us a nibble and someone is coming to meet him tomorrow.  In a way I'll miss him, but I'll be back to *just* 11 cats and that seems OK to me.

Edit:  4/14.  The first prospective owner decided that she wasn't really ready for a dog yet (she had recently lost hers) but another couple came by and bless that little dog because he acted as cute as possible and they took him. Tweek has a home!  (and yes, I do miss him, but just a tiny bit, like I miss all my fosters.  But now I won't judge chihuahuas or the people who like them quite as harshly because he really was a good little dog)

And Then We Were Eleven

Last January I posted about cat #12, Tiberius.

Tiberius was a problem.  He was very friendly with us, got along OK with most of the other cats, did some hissy-boo at Wilhelm and Apache-- and became a mortal enemy of Hamish,

There was a lot of cat choreography done to try to keep the two separate (even after we had him for 5 months we never could let Tiberius in the house--I at least wanted Hamish to feel safe indoors).  It got to the point that I wasn't even seeing Hamish during the day anymore--but if he did show up, Tiberius would blindside him and run him off.

I missed Hamish.  He used to follow me around and want tummy rubs.  Now, even at night, he was growling and on edge and the rest of the cats were getting nervous.  I was starting to be afraid that Hamish would leave.

It came to a head one day when Tiberius attacked and Hamish jumped the fence into the neighbor's yard.  I went to go get him, and he fought me.  I finally got him into a carrier and inside.  That was it--I was crying, but told Bob "Tiberius has to go"

I *hated* the thought of taking him to the shelter--it's slammed now, because of the number of pets being rescued from the Bay county area (I may have mentioned that there was a major hurricane there).  And he's an adult male.  We had tried to find him a home when we got him, and we tried again.

Then the Cat Goddess smiled on me.  I was going to post an ad on Craigslist--and I saw one of someone wanting a barn cat.  I thought that might be OK--he'd been living outside anyway.  And I thought it sounded positive that the poster said that she would prefer free because she would be paying for the shots and neutering (and hey--Tiberius already had both of those)

So we corresponded, agreed to me--packed Tiberius and food and his favorite bed and went to the meeting point (because it's a good policy not to tell people you meet on Craigslist where you live).  I was still feeling horrible about "getting rid of him" and told Bob that if we heard banjos we were going to turn around and leave.

The new owner got out of the car--and I recognized her!  She works with the Florida Wild Mammal Association (the place where I get my foster possums and squirrels).  He was going to a rehabber!  They take care of animals.  Maybe it would be all right.

And it is--she sent me pictures.

It doesn't look like he's spending all of his time in the barn.  And even when he is, it looks like he doesn't mind it too much.

He just looks so relaxed and happy (and gets along with her two older female cats).  And within two days Hamish was following me around and wanting tummy rubs.  Sometimes things work out.

A Bit Of Downsizing

Our refrigerator has been slowly dying for the last year or so.  It was really annoying during the 8 days that our power was out (I believe I may have mentioned the hurricane a time or two already) when we had to run the generator all day just to try to keep it cold (eventually we gave up and just piled everything into coolers, and ended up tossing most of the freezer contents).

And then the electronic controller went out, pinging happily so that it sounded like an arcade in the kitchen.  And it was stuck on ice, so I couldn't get water through the door anymore.  Sometimes I don't realize how many times a day I grab a quick drink as I walk through the kitchen (I noticed this during the 8-day power outage--I tended to stay a little thirsty).  Time to say goodbye.

Appliance shopping we went.  We had it fairly well narrowed down--we didn't need one with WiFi, or a coffee maker, or one that would keep a shopping list (other than a piece of paper stuck to the front that we could write on). I didn't need a special freezer compartment sized to hold frozen pizzas, or a wee shelf in the door for juice boxes and holders just for sodas.  We didn't need to talk to the International Space Station, or one where the clear glass front would light up when you knock on it so that you can see what's inside.

I did want some amenities.  As well as two crispers, this old one had a snack drawer where we kept our cheeses and sausages.  I liked that.  And I really wanted to be able to get ice and water through the door.  Preferably with the two separate, so we wouldn't have to punch a button to keep changing it.

The big decision was to go smaller.  There is always a tendency to keep filling a fridge, to use it for permanent rather than temporary storage.  Smaller would keep us from doing that.  And we went for energy effecient (reasoning that it would be easier to keep it cold with the generator next storm season).  Our old one was  26 square feet; the new one, 22.

Funny how I stressed over that during the next week before it was delivered.  What if it was too small?  What if I needed more?  Then I gave myself a reality check.  Wasn't this the classic definition of a First World Problem?  What if I had Too Much Food?  I thought about Amanda, with a hungry husband and two kids, living in their tiny rental with an ancient fridge that *might* be 18 square feet.  Or Della, with the RV fridge (and the nearest grocery store in the next town)?  Get real.

Delivery day came.  When we ordered it, we had told them that it would have to be delivered on a small truck--the big box truck wouldn't be able to come up our narrow canopy drive.  Repeated that when we paid for it--"please make note."  Talked to their dispatch the day of delivery.  So of course I stepped outside to see two men walking up our drive.

"Bringing me a new fridge?"
    "Yes, ma'am"
"And they didn't tell you to bring the small truck?"
    "Someone else has the small truck, ma'am."
"Shall I get our pickup truck?"
     "Yes, please."

They got the thing wrestled into and out of the pickup and into the kitchen (and also the old one wrestled into the pickup) and then discovered that it didn't come with the hardware to hook it up to the water supply.  $3 part--but 15 miles to the store.  I was impressed--one of the guys McGyvered a solution and got everything working (although he did warn me to be careful if I pulled out the fridge to clean behind it--yeah, I'm going to be doing that).

So it's in, and it's a little packed (we keep a lot of condiments) but we'll be eating it down (if the chickens settle down--at the moment we have 7 dozen eggs in there.  We need to make more friends).

It's supposed to be fingerprint-resistant stainless.  Guess what I see already . . . .