Blogging Out Loud: Voicing The Bairn

Deb and Barbara: When we were taping our Blogging Out Loud series, we had a little fun. We decided to post this one today for a few reasons. Deb is in the Yukon! (yes, story to follow), and Barbara is getting ready to visit her daughter in Paris! (yes, Paris Diaries next week). We hope you enjoy our silliness as much as we did. If you want to know how much fun we had, just watch the last 20 seconds … of non-stop laughing…

The Dog Park

As we said yesterday, we took our dogs to Pawsway last Friday. Pawsway is run by Purina, but this dog playground/training centre is the only one of its kind anywhere. It is an indoor teahouse/hall-of-fame/shop/off-lead park/agility course. Every day has a different schedule for the pet-owner’s/pet’s need. We went with our friend, Cheryl, and her pooch, Teddy. For Chaplin and The Bairn, it was a chance to get to know each other and socialize. Yes, dogs do need to learn how to socialize. While we don’t have footage of the agility course (where you coax your dog through the course with treats until they “get” it), we do have a bit of their adventure on tape. Bairn is the blond cairn terrier, Chaplin is the white cockapoo in red leather, and Teddy is the black “poo” mix. Chaplin is still a bit awkward, as you will see, poor pathetic little pooch.

Quick Video: Interview With A Young Self

Deb: First of all, the foresight of this young man blows my mind. I wonder, did he forget about it for years and rediscover it, or was he waiting until just the right amount of years had gone by? These kinds of things always blow the creativity of the human mind out of the water! Enjoy and put on your own thinking caps. It got me to thinking I can tell you.

Visitors To Our Garden

Deb: Barb called to wish me a Happy Birthday yesterday and at the end of the conversation casually said, “Are you sending me something for the blog later?”  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,”  said I, thinking it was Wednesday and secure in the knowledge that I had all day tomorrow (Thursday) to write a blog. Suddenly it hit me that it was indeed Thursday already. But ... so entranced was I in birthday relaxing splendor that Barb and I both agreed that I would not do a formal post. After all, it was late afternoon and I had to get ready for our lovely dinner out.

So I am posting a tiny little video and photos of three visitors to our garden who dropped in and stayed for a while. First off were two lovely butterflies partnered on a cornflower soaking up the sun. And the second was a first for us in the 13 years we have lived here. A wee duck came a calling, had a swim, and left. The ducks arrival was much to my delight and much to the Bairn’s chagrin. But it was loverly. Ducky, in fact.

As I write this I am having a wonderful birthday and thanking you each and every one for the wonderful birthday wishes!

Family Dog

Deb: I went on to Facebook last night to see if there was a charming video or the like to share on the blog. My friend Moira Dunphy had posted this. It was the first story I read and it struck me to my very core. I got her kind permission to share it with you. The dog’s name is Cahill, rhymes with Pal. 

Moira: I'd like to tell you a story. It is about a boy and a dog. Only this boy had Tourettes, and often felt frustrated and isolated. And the dog actually belonged to the boy's grandma. Boy and dog meet from time to time, love playing together. But when the dog is 9 & the boy is 13, the families move in together, and from that very first night the dog and boy are in love. But the Tourettes gets worse. The boy is horrified that sometimes his tics make him suddenly pinch or squeeze the dog. Every time, the boy's face freezes in pain when the dog winces or gives a whimper or yalp. And every time, without fail, that dog-in-love would immediately turn his face to the boy and give him a big lick. "It's ok" his eyes would say, "I'm not hurt, I know you didn't mean it." and the boy would relax and continue to pet and play with him. And today, the dog-loves-boy-loves-dog story ended. The 12&1/2 yr. old dog, at peace but dying with tumours, was put down, already half-asleep, with such gentleness. The boy could not leave the car and come into the clinic, but the dog turned around and gave him one last kiss. The grandma gave him the dog's collar, and he does not want to let it out of his grasp. Thank you, dog. Well done, my good and faithful servant...

Igby Goes Up

Barbara: My daughter showed me this video the other day—it hasn’t gone viral yet so chances are you haven’t seen it yet—that her friend took of her amazing dog, Igby. Sadly, Igby got hit by a car and had to have emergency surgery to repair the damage to his hips. Turns out Igby wasn’t going to take his recovery lying down. No, he had other plans for dealing with his bum sitch. If only we were all so resourceful in the face of adversity!

A Furry Teen In Our House

Deb: I remember the day she stopped paying attention. It was a week ago Tuesday at 6:21 PM. She was now ten months old. A teen. A friggin furry teen.

I did what I always do when she starts to bark. “Bairn, come!” Works like a charm. Say it only once or the word will cease to mean anything.

Waiting. Waiting.................................................................................................Waiting.

No come. Not a come to be found. Now what?

Can’t say “Bairn, come” again. The trainer told me that. DO NOT SAY IT MORE THAN ONCE.

So now what? Me waiting. She running amuck. Waiting. More amuck. Waitingness. Amuckness.

Me putting on rain boots. Yes, raining. Pouring. Downpour. Monsoon. I knew it would happen like this.

Out I went embittered and soggy. I stand my ground. She circles the pool. I reach for her. She eludes my grasp. I strain my back and curse her. She doesn’t give a flippin damn.

So ... after ten minutes of this Tom Foolery, I cave.

Bairn, come....................Bairn, COOKIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She comes faster than the speed of light.

And when she crosses the threshold I shout “NO COOKIE. NO COOKIE! You are bad! Bad Bairn! Bad. Bad. Bad. BAD. BAD. No cookie! No friggin cookie because you DID NOT COME. Ha ha. Yeah you think there’s a cookie coming, but there is NO COOKIE.”

I stood there soaked in triumph.

And she looked at me trusting and wide-eyed.

Bairn

Gave her a cookie.

Who’s the asshole now?

Barbara: Oh, Deb! So funny!! This is like me and my teenaged girls. “Girls, pick up your stuff. Girls, pick up your stuff. Girls! Stuff! Pick it UPPPPPP!” Except, wait, they never look at me wide-eyed anymore. And my bribe isn’t “cookies”, it’s chai lattes. Okay, we’re back on track here—I definitely give into those even when stuff isn't picked up. Even un-wide-eyed, these girls sure are cute. Plus I’m a sucker for chai lattes (which in order to get, by the way, requires leaving said stuff-strewn house).


PS: Stay tuned for a wonderful new 3-way on Wednesday!

Littered With Trouble

Fanny and Bairn

Deb: Getting a new puppy is an exciting and joyous thing. After losing our darling Frisker, we decided to go on a waiting list for a new pup knowing that we would probably have to wait till the spring. But as fate would have it, a perfect little pup presented herself to us. She was the darling, the pick of the litter. The breeder had big big plans for her and treated her as the chosen one, giving her the lovely name of Harlow.

Then one day Harlow’s fate turned a corner. Her beautiful tail ... decided to bend. Just a little in the middle. The tiniest of crooks. But there it was. And if it continued to dip, she would loose her status as the golden girl, just like Shirley Temple did in The Little Princess.

So the call came from the breeder. If her tail continued to bend, did we want her? Well, we were not quite prepared emotionally for a pup yet, but we decided to see how it played out.

And a week later we were picking up our darling Harlow from the breeder. As the breeder was saying goodbye, she said, “Please don’t tell me if her tail straightens out as I had high hopes for her and she is soooooo pretty.”

We decided on the way home that her new name would be Bairn, which in Scotland means baby or child––and it suited her. A friend thought it was mean to change her name but I explained that breeders name the litter for identification. They do not call the puppies by name. They just call “puppy, puppy, puppy” and the whole litter comes running.

Well, we took our wee Bairn home and all was well until we walked in the house.

Fanny took one look at this little fur ball in our arms and froze. Her eyes narrowed and her brow set. It was hate at first sight. Loathe at first smell. Despise at ... you get the idea.

And Bairn looked at Fanny with a love of the ages. “She is my BFF,” Bairn was clearly thinking.

And try though she might, every show of love by Bairn was met with scorn by Fanny. We expected a bit of a rough start given that Fanny had mourned Frisker for weeks by searching endlessly for him and refusing to eat. I have no doubt she thought this insipid little creature had a hand in his demise.

As the days went on, it got worse and worse. We didn’t know what to do. We were devoted to Fanny and she was our priority, but we had fallen so deeply and quickly in love with Bairn. After consulting an expert and making some progress as a result, I decided that rather than force this relationship, I had to spend some special one-on-one time with Fanny. So The Boy took the Bairn to his room and I played alone with Fanny.

In the middle of our play I was horrified to discover a large red lump in her mouth which I hadn’t noticed before. I called the vet immediately and after examining Fanny, the vet said that it was a mass and that we had a fifty-fifty chance of it being malignant. After losing Frisker, you can imagine how we were feeling. She also said it was causing Fanny no end of pain and discomfort––but the good news was that the surgery would eliminate that. So Fanny went into surgery and came through with flying colours.

Bathed in relief we brought her home, toothless and benign. She was still a tad groggy and as we walked through the door. We were careful to keep Bairn out of her face. Suddenly Fanny looked at the Bairn as if she had never seen her before, eyes wide, tail a wagging! Cautiously we placed Bairn on the floor and before we could stop her, she made a running leap for Fanny’s head. And Fanny loved it! Then Bairn jumped on Fanny’s back and just like horse and rider, Fanny trotted around proudly. She looked up at us as if to say, “Hey, when did we get the new Puppy?”.

Bairn and Fanny

It was a blissful moment and we have never looked back. For the record, Bairn’s tail never did straighten out. It’s my favourite part of her because It’s the reason we have her. Fanny is pain-free and reborn. Fanny and the Bairn. They live puppily ever after.

Barbara: Deb has said it all, but let me just add that watching these two puplets play and frolic is too adorable for words. How amazing is play and fun that a young ‘un can bring a fully-grown one some joy and exercise in her middle-age? A little lesson for all???

Here’s a little video of Deb’s two dogs enjoying the fall weather. 

Contemplating A Dog's Life

Barbara: The post the other day about wee Bairn making her precious way into our lives made me contemplate the other side of a dog’s life. The side where things gets a bit harder. Well, I guess I also got to thinking about this other side because times are a bit … twisted at the moment, for me and pretty much all those around me. And when life gets twisted, we all get a bit dark and twisted with it, don’t we?

Chaplin

My dog, Chaplin, is my own dear, sweet pooch and, as much as I resisted getting a dog, I don’t regret finally making this decision. Not one bit. He, like Bairn, also started off with no fears in the world. Everything was exciting and wonderful. Every person. Every dog. Especially every dog. If you have one, you know that look dogs get when they spot each other—they’re out for their morning walk and suddenly a fellow-species member trots by and the world stops for both of them, like they’re the only two beings alive on this earth. You half-expect some sappy love-song strains to start up, say “Lady in Red”, as they strain to nuzzle and sniff each other. I always used to say, Chaplin is a people-dog, but he’s even more of a dog-dog.

But that all changed one day when I was walking Chaplin and we passed a large white (leashed) dog who, apropos of nothing, suddenly clamped its jaw around Chaplin’s neck. The master reacted in seconds and all finished okay. But Chaplin was a changed pooch. He was, well, gobsmacked seems the best word. It was like he’d just discovered his best friend was cheating on him.

Now he never looks at dogs the same way, with that innocent joy and heart-bursting love. No, now he growls or retreats shaking behind my legs, or sometimes he even lunges. For what purpose, I don’t know, I hardly see him as the jaws-around-a-neck type. And if the dog is large and white, all the more difficult to soothe him down.

Anyway, all this to say that it makes me wonder if we all aren’t a little doggy in our lives. We too start off sweet and innocent. But if one white dog clamps its steely jaw around our neck, life can change forever after. Yes, it teaches us a valuable lesson that some dogs bite, but it often just ruins dogs for us completely. Suddenly, for no better reason than something bad happened to us one day in the past, we now tend to cower or retreat or lunge out in angry self-defense at even the whiff of large-white-dog-breath.

But should one mean-spirited (or misguided) dog affect everything we try to do from now on? If one person or event or challenge or shock sideswipes us, should we lie in wait every day after for the same thing to happen again? Or can we somehow start fresh, reprogram our brains, and learn to not assume every dog will bite even if we know some certainly will? And in so doing, will we become more accepting, more courageous, and much more present in the moment?

All I know is that for me most, if not all, of my fears and anxieties grip me because of the sheer force of this habit. Ironically, there’s nothing more mundane than a habit, especially a bad one. And habit is a very difficult habit to break. Just ask Chaplin.

Deb: I guess that’s why when I am in a room full of people that love me, I will navigate to the one who doesn’t. Cause I have to sell them on me. Have to make them get the Deb.

I relate to Chaplin on this, but because my brain is bigger (YES, I AM SMARTER THAN THE DOG!), I have found my way around this one. I have really started to succeed in not letting the big dog bully me. I have found more and more that I am making small steps in that direction. My issue is the pendulum. I find myself struggling with the two extremes. I go from “Carpet Girl”––walk all over me––to FUCKYOUYAMEANSPIRITEDBULLYBETTYTHINKYOURPOODOESNTSTINK!

This is my issue. I need to find the middle ground and I am working on it. I can tell you this––and I stand by it 100%––if someone is not worthy of my love and friendship, I move on with no bitterness and no regret. My world and the world at large are too full of sweet pups to choose a bully. I am officially over them.

Chaplin, are you listening? Good dog. Smart Dog.

At The Paws Of My Master

Deb: I am learning life lessons at the paws of my master. Her name is Bairn. Our wee Bairn, which in Scotland means baby or child. Cute has come to town and she’s peeing all over our hearts.

Wee Bairn

We get a new puppy and, like all of us when we get a new pup, we think of all the things we will have to teach her, but we forget just how much she is going to teach us. About life. She is going to remind us to be curious every single second of the day. She is going to show us how to play and play and play. She is going to demonstrate the importance of stretching every morning when we wake up and after every time we have been still for a while. She will amuse herself with a falling leaf or a butterfly or a piece of fluff backlit by the sunlight. She finds wonder in all things.

Every day is brand new to her like she just got here. She will show us how to follow our instincts, blindly sometimes, even if it means maybe getting hurt. She is going to hop hop hop on her way across the yard cause she is so damn happy to be here. She is going to react to our shouts of “owww” when she nips too hard. We will show her that we are hurt and eventually she will never ever hurt us again. Incredible. She is going to take a good long stare at her poo just to make sure it looks good and that everything is coming out okay. She is going to eat like it is her last minute on earth and cuddle like her life depended on it.

She is going to LIVE in the moment––demonstrated best when she pees and then walks through it. She pees. Then she’s over it. She walks through it to do something new and exciting.

She is going to stand tall, give over, make amends, submit, advance, frustrate and entertain. And she will do all that in the span of two minutes. Then she will do it all over again.

And best of all, she will cock her tiny head reminding us that the world is your oyster when you are too too cute. And she will delight as she watches her human make every sound known to man to try and get her to cock that tiny head again. 

Thank you, our darlin’ wee Bairn. You have reminded us.

Barbara: Deb, this is sooo true—this living in the moment through the eyes of a pup (or baby, for that matter). I remember it with my once-pup, Chaplin, and I remember it with my two once-babies.

Deb and Colin's big bairn with wee Bairn

The other day, watching wee Bairn discover a bumblebee in the bushes in your backyard while you dealt with some of the many hundreds of Deb’s-life interruptions was the sweetest, most calming thing I’d done in a long time. Because, truth be told, I am in a frenzy of work and obsessions and distractions right now, and Bairn––as you so beautifully said––made me stop and watch that bumblebee with her. And so I came to know that a bumblebee can seduce a plant for many many long and patient minutes. That a bumblebee will choose a flower-bud over here and then another one way over there, despite the fact that dozens of other, seemingly wonderful buds dangle between here and there. And that a bumblebee when left alone won’t mind that you watch her. And I also learned that a puppy like Bairn will be just as happy staring in wonder at a bumblebee as she is to discover a minute piece of bark on the walk that just begs to be pounced upon. Over and over again.

It is peaceful bliss when times are hurtling forward at breakneck speeds. Thanks, Deb, for writing this beautiful post, but also for letting me share Bairn’s precious babyhood with you.


Deb: Sadly Bairn is just as awed by the Russian bricklayers next door as she is the bumblebee.  Any port in a storm!

***stay tuned for the next video installment “Deb and Barb Try To Get Work Done With A Puppy Around”***

Frisker Mochrie R.I.P.O.S. (Rest In Pursuit Of Squirrels)

Deb: Frisker is not afraid or in discomfort anymore. He was really only in distress for a total of an hour while we got dressed in the middle of the night and took him to the emergency clinic. We said our goodbyes quickly, both of us through leaden hearts and drenched eyes. It took only 20 seconds and he had his reward. His reward for twelve-and-a-half years of faithful service to our hearts.

He added years to our lives by making us sit down with him and play when we entered the house stressed. He made us laugh on more occasions than we can count and he melted us every time he picked out his toy for the day. He was even a hero. Our hero to be sure, but his sister Fanny’s hero when he saved her from drowning in the pool. Fanny had not been with us long––she was still a pup––and for him, I am sure, she was a pain in the butt. But when we heard him wailing––a sound he had never made––we ran outside to find him leaning over the pool’s edge trying to pull her out of the icy water with his paw. He was terrified of the water, which made his heroic act that much more special. I’m sure right after he saved her and she ran over to steal one of his stuffed babies for the umpteenth time, he thought, “What the hell did I do that for?” But he couldn’t help it. His instincts kicked in. And so have ours. Our instinct to stay close to home and mourn him. To give him his due. To stop our world and feel his absence.

We are following our instinct to go about our business, then break down when the moment overwhelms. Our son is a camp councilor this summer, so the poor guy is struggling with the fact that he was not here when Frisker, his boy pup, left us. We will have a little service and bury Frisker’s ashes when Luke comes home. We will put them in amongst the cedar trees where Frisker happily wiled away the hours, his snout peeking out from the foliage, his fat little arse burrowed in the cool dirt.

I just took up his bowl this morning from its spot and it was as if he had just died all over again. But with the bowl tucked away, we put another foot forward. And we focus on wee Fanny who is confused and unsure of herself. She still runs out the door, stops, turns around, barks and waits for him. She loved him as much as we did. And more than that, he was her Yoda, her role model. He was a good boy. He was a good Frisker. As Colin posted on Facebook: “He was a serious dog who brought serious Joy into our lives.

Frisker Mochrie

R.I.P.O.S.

Our Little Boy, Frisker

Deb: Frisker, our dog, is sick. He is 12 years old. He is a Cairn terrier. He is a soulful creature not given to frivolous things. He exposes his belly for a scratch to anyone who comes through the door. He lives for the sweet touch of the human, the scratchy love of an adoring creature. But he is a serious pup who seems more concerned with our investments than our attention to him. He is not like his sister, nor is he like any other pup I have known. He loves to frolic with our daily game of “gimme it”, but then he wants to settle down to a good think about our fiscal responsibility and his place in it. In essence, Frisker cannot be defined. He is still blessedly, thankfully, with us, and hanging in for all he’s worth. 

So I have decided to grant him a living funeral in this blog. It worked for Tom Sawyer and it will work for Frisker Mochrie. And even though he can’t read, I will know that I have done it and I will be able to look into his liquid, hot chocolate eyes and he will be able to see that respects have been paid. For that is what he would want. The proper speeches, protocol being adhered to, and all the trimmings that accompany it. 

He is a traditional pup, respectful of his position, but with a love that knows no bounds. Despite his accountant demeanor, Frisker is a people pup. I am sure many of you have them or have seen them. I know that Barb has a people pup in her Chaplin whom I love so very much. But this is for our Frisker, our boy’s first pup, a pup who turned our boy into a dog lover. As our boy was leaving for camp this summer, he said his goodbyes to Frisker, spending so much time with him, not knowing if he would see his dog again. And neither did we. We still don’t. 

But what I need to tell you is that our Frisker is kind and relenting, smart and wily, gentle and giving. He is a toddler of a dog one second and then all at once serious and wry. Our girl pup, Fanny, whom we equally adore for her own traits is a dog of ancient instinct who will walk the walk before she eats, circle and circle before she lays down, and grab one of her stuffed squirrels in her mouth and, with a snap of her head, break its neck. Frisker on the other hand treats the stuffies like his babies. He carries them around and protects them with his paw. Anyone who comes to our door is treated to a stuffed animal delivered personally by our Frisker. He will run to the basket and push his way through it until he finds just the right gift for the particular person at the door. We have laughed watching him push toy after toy out of his way until he finds just the right one. 

We love them both so much because they are them and because they are different. But this blog is for Frisker, fighting for his life as we fight with him. We are so filled with the whole of Frisker right now. Every breath is special and every move is the first and last move. Someone said to me yesterday, “That is why I cannot have another pet, I just can’t take the loss”. I understand that, totally. However my point of view is that I would not trade one second of pain for the many, many years of joy that we have had with our Frisky-boy. So please, pray for him or think of him because he is our boy. Our boy’s first boy. He sleeps in our bed. He is our family and we are losing him. 

Barbara: Weeping as I read this, Deb. How many times would Frisker come to me with one of his specially chosen stuffies, make his serious business known, pet my leg with his paw, and lay down at our feet while we worked in your kitchen? He is truly a beloved soul. 

It is partly thanks to Deb and her pups that we even have our Chaplin. I was never a dog person––or didn’t think I was—and Deb introduced me to the sweet pleasure of that unique relationship. I wish we didn’t have to lose them, but I wouldn’t trade one moment with these little loves either. 

You know Frisker is in my thoughts, Deb. But so are you.