One of the neat things about Cedar trees is their uncanny ability to reproduce like jack rabbits. There will be one big old cedar tree and 40 little ones gathered around it; where the pollen fell last year. I went through the whole 2 acres with the blue tool pictured above and cut down the baby cedars when they were only inches tall. There were hundreds of them. Just combing the woods and the grass for them was time consuming, painstaking work. Cashew followed me wherever i went. She was always underfoot; in my way. So i said to her, “Make yourself useful. You see this? Find me one of these.” I picked up a baby cedar i had cut and brought it to her face. She sniffed it. She took it from me and laid it on the ground. I thought she would sit down and chew her new stick, but she didn’t. Instead she disappeared into the woods. I went back to looking for baby cedars. Suddenly i heard barking. It was Cashew’s bark. I made my way through the trees in the direction of all the noise. I expected to see a poor armadillo or a possum but that wasn’t what she had. She’d found me a cedar tree. As i looked, there, in the dirt, was a baby cedar tree. I stared at her in awe. Somehow, i’d just trained my dog to find cedar saplings. I thought, “maybe it was a one-off.” So i held it up to her face and praised her, scratching her behind the ears and saying in a baby-talk voice, “Good dog. Good dog!” Then i held the little bitty tree up and said “Go get it.” She ran off. Within seconds i heard barking. I ran to where she was. To my amazement, she was standing right over a baby cedar tree wagging her stump of a tail. I couldn’t believe it. The dog had learned a new skill, one that i hadn’t thought it possible to teach her. Amazing. All afternoon she sniffed out the cedars and i cut them down. Then i went around with my wheel barrow and collected all the baby cedar trees for the brush pile. Not all of the tree clearing work we had to do involved the baby cedars. Some of the cedar trees had dead or broken branches. I trimmed those off with Cashew in tow and when it came time to drag the giant branches to the brush pile Cashew would clamp her jaw down on the end of the branch that i was not holding and try to run while lifting it just about an inch off the ground. She was helping, or trying to steal the branch. One of the two. She helped me drag the branches to the brush pile and then sat back and watched as i tossed each branch on top. There was only one thing left to do. I needed to cut down a juvenile cedar tree that was blocking sunlight in my fruit tree area. I needed to prepare the space for future fruit trees. So, i bought a handheld saw. I went over to the tree and began trimming the branches off one by one with my blue tool. When i had most of them removed from one side of the tree, i put my saw against the trunk of the tree and made a nick. I set the saw blade in the slight indentation and began pulling the blade back and forth in a rhythmic motion. At once the saw began traveling through the wood like butter. When the saw reached the other side the cedar fell and i had a juvenile cedar tree on the ground. I felt so able to manipulate the lanscape of the yard. I knew then that i could solve any light or resource problem that arose on my property. If i needed more light or water for a different tree, i could just cut the juvenile cedar trees down. If i needed wood for a fire, well there were 100 juvenile cedars that looked just like this one that sprang up each year. I could just clear a few. The sun was hanging low in the sky so i called it quits for the day. However the following morning, i threw the juvenile cedar tree in the brush pile and i went to the tool shed to get my axe. I chopped the remaining stump into little pieces and pried them from the ground with the blade of my shovel. With the cedars copulating on a regular basis it seemed i would have an infinite amount of wood for the fire pit during winter. I quickly decided the handheld saw was my favorite tool in the shed. There’s nothing like a tool that can be used to realize your vision for a landscape.
An All-Day Process
After my last experience with the laundromat i’d had enough. I vowed never to set foot in an establishment that didn’t allow my machete again. Another week came and went. It was Saturday. Come Monday i would need clean scrubs to wear to work. Just because i was living my little house on the prairie dream at home did not mean they wouldn’t hold me to 21st century standards in town. When i looked into what it would take to hand wash my laundry i came to three conclusions. 1. Vintage **** is expensive. 2. Laundry during those days was made better. 3. If you buy a piece of vintage laundry equipment you have to wait for shipping. I’d be doing laundry in 5 to 10 business days. At some point i just accepted that it was going to be an all day process with mostly macgyvered materials. I was right. From sun up to sun down my day revolved around the laundry. I would continue to set aside one whole day to do laundry each week until a coworker’s husband (an electrician) so graciously agreed to trek into the woods to create an outlet for the washing machine for a discounted fee. I could not scrub my laundry against a washboard because the thread-bare and poorly-made modern garments would come apart and disentigrate. I had to rethink this hand-washing idea. I decided to use the bath tub and a broom handle to stir and agitate the laundry. At least, that was the plan. However, when i got down to it my two good old fashioned hands were a way better washing machine agitator than the wooden stick. I leaned over the tub and stirred the garments all around in the soapy water, rolling them over and swishing them under one another with my hands. I had to do the laundry in batches because only a handful of garments would fit in the tub at one time. I rang as much of the soapy water out of each garment as i could before tossing them into a cold bucket of fresh water to rinse the residual soap out. I rung the garments out by hand once again over the porch steps and hung them on the laundry line to dry. I did this for 8 hours. All of the laundry was clean, sweet smelling, and wrinkle free. I was absolutely exhausted and my hands were raw and red. However, i did not have to relinquish my weapon and the clothes got washed.
I Could Only Hold her and Listen to her Cry
I had never experienced such a reaction to vaccinations with Sili. She was a couch potato to begin with. If she napped more than usual on the day of her shots i didn’t notice, but it was never like this. We went back for puppy shots 5 times before she made it through the series of mandatory doses. If i were to put a stop to this madness, they would hold the heartworm medication she needed hostage until i relented and let them continue. If i refused, my animals would be removed from my care for neglect and i would be barred from further adoption. I didn’t have a choice. Nobody really does nowadays. I’m not against the idea of vaccinations at its core. What im upset about is that i cant see the added ingredients. Whether its egg whites or mercury, i want to know what i’m putting in my dog’s body. I think it’s strange that we want to read the ingredients on every package of food we purchase and yet we’re not the least bit curious what’s in our medications. I spend the few dollars i have making sure they eat wild salmon, organic sweet potatoes, carrots, and blueberries. I have no idea what’s in those vaccinations. I don’t get the right to read the ingredients. All i know is that three out of three vets i called in a panic that day advised me that it was completely normal for the shots to induce tremors, fever, vomiting, and muscle pain. Call me crazy but when did we accept that standard as the new “normal”. The first time it happened i was terrified because i didn’t know how severe the reaction was going to get. As the minutes ticked on Cashew seemed to get worse and worse and i wondered if i should be driving her towards a city, as there was no vet to help a dog in distress in our small town in the woods. She shook uncontrollably in my arms, her jaw clenched and leg muscles stiff. She had a fever. I wrapped her in my jacket and held her to my chest. She pressed herself into my shirt and closed her eyes. The part that broke my heart was the noises she made. She would cry, like a baby. Not a whimper or a noise you would associate with a dog. She would whine like a distraught child. It was almost a human noise and each time it went on for hours until her fever would break and finally able to achieve some level of comfort, she would collapse in exhaustion in my arms and sleep soundly for hours. The first time it happened i felt so bad. I told her it was going to keep her healthy to get them and the shots caused her to be sick. I was her mother. She was supposed to be able to trust me and i had required her to do something that had rendered her sick, exhausted, and crying for hours. At first i told myself that it probably wasn’t as bad as it sounded. She was probably just tired. But when i called the first vet he said that she was likely crying in response to the muscle and bone aches that the vaccinations had been known to cause. Her symptoms always started within twenty to thirty minutes of receiving the shots and worsened in severity over the next few hours. She would start out shiverring ever so slightly and end up shaking violently in my lap. I asked the vet what i could do to ease her pain and he said, “just leave her alone and let it pass.” I couldn’t do that. After her shots i would wait in line to pay. By the time we got to the car the symptoms would already be appearing. She would refuse to walk. She would take a step or two and then lay down on her belly in the parking lot so i carried her. I placed her on my lap while i drove and i held her and spoke to her in a soothing mama voice as i drove towards home. My heart was too broken to even get her out of the car. When we made it to the land i’d pull the car in the gate, park under a big oak tree, and watch her ride it out on my lap, stroking her head and holding her little shaking body. I would lay there with the seat back reclined and the air conditioner on, soothing music playing on the cell phone and i would cling to her until her fever broke and her muscles relaxed as she melted into my lap like chocolate on a hot day. I would turn the music off and hold her and we’d sleep. When she woke i’d turn the car off and we’d go inside. She was wild and healthy and crazy fast and every couple of weeks i’d render her helplessly vulnerable and sick. I didn’t feel like i was protecting her from anything. I felt like i had failed her as her guardian, and in order to keep her in our home, i would fail her again.
A Butterfly Buffet
As Spring unfolded, so too did the flowering plants of the yard. The wildflowers were first. Then the thistles in the grass. The butterflies and the bees alike visited each flower at a purpose-driven pace. It was like a super highway of buzzing creatures. The dogs chased the butterflies and i chased the dogs, yelling at them to let the delicate things of nature be. My favorite flower this year became the thistle. I had always loved hibiscus flowers but when i saw how many creatures the thistle supported i realized what an amazing gift God had left us in this purple weed. I mean, these things nourished everyone; the butterflies, the honey bees, the beetles, the dragon flies, and the hummingbirds all visited them in turn. I picked an area and designated it “thistle field”. I refused to mow the grass there and let the area become overrun with thistles. It supported an abundance of life. There were bees, butterflies, and birds all the time. When i hung the bougainvillea on the porch the hummingbirds began to come around more often. They would hover above each flower right outside the kitchen window. I had a magnificent view of them while cooking. My neighbors up the road kept bees in little boxes on their property. There were 2 hives. I liked to think that my dogs and i were helping my neighbors’ bees make flavorful honey by growing flowering plants for them to pollinate. I delighted in the little vibrant buttons of color poking their heads above the grass in the field. In the city, the changing of the seasons was marked by boxes on a calendar. In the hill country one only needed to open their eyes.
The Laundry Line
When i first moved out to the homestead i did not bring my washer and dryer. I left them back at the apartment for a few months. When my friend and her husband could help me move the units with their trailer, they joined me. Only problem? The tiny house had a stacked unit in it and there was only an outlet for a stacked unit. There was no outlet to support the washing machine, only the dryer. I needed an electrician. Until an electrician rewired my tiny house, i was not going to be able to use the washing machine that was now in my house. I was not carting it back to the apartment either, especially since the trailer left with my friend and her husband. I did what i thought was the only logical thing to do. I went to the laundromat. I started going to a laundromat each weekend. It was such a hassle. I had to stay with the clothes until they were done so i couldn’t run any errands or do any chores for a few hours while the clothes went round in these big metal drums. I was constantly trying to get the grocery store to exchange dollar bills for quarters or buying things with cash instead of card; trying to get a twenty dollar bill broken up a bit so i could have at least two quarters. I kept forgetting laundry detergent and having to shell out for the individual packs in the ancient dispenser. And there was always somebody weird hanging around just waiting for conversation. This one guy told me i looked like one of his students but wasn’t so it would be legal for us to date. Another guy admitted to me that he had laundry units at home and they were in perfect working order, but he chose to come here and pay to do laundry just to have the opportunity to “pick up chicks”. I could not for the life of me understand why someone would pay to come to such a place if they had working appliances at home. I made the mistake of voicing my opinion that there were other less expensive and more interesting places to “pick up chicks”. He clarified, in case the situation wasn’t awkward enough, “i like to look at all the women’s bras.” Yeah. You try spending 2 hours in a room with that conversation. Surprisingly, it was none of this that turned me away from the laundromat in the end. It was a crazy person with a crew of buddies and a tree saw. One day i was standing in the laundromat waiting for my clothes to dry. I had finally gotten rid of the weird guy that was old enough to be my grandfather and kept asking me questions about my heritage to make sure we weren’t cousins before deciding if he wanted to ask me out. There was just me and an older woman putting clothes into a washing machine on the other side of the room. A beat up SUV pulled up outside and a group of guys began emerging from the vehicle. They stretched their arms and legs and then the driver stood up on the side of the vehicle and untied something long from the roof. It was a saw on a stick, the kind landscapers used to cut tree branches. The man untied that and lifted it down off the roof. At first i thought he was just going to secure it better on the car and tie it down. However, he lifted it away from the vehicle and began walking towards the laundromat. The other men followed. The woman across the room said in a low voice, “something’s not right about them dear. Something’s not right about them at all.” I looked up at her but said nothing. I was quietly assessing the situation. I didn’t keep a habit of panicking about things, especially when there was reason to. I had learned long ago, if one acted like prey in front of a predator, they would be prey. The man with the tree saw came into the laundromat. His buddies waited outside the door in the parking lot. He walked in, took a look at the soda machine, the laundry soap machine, poked his head into the bathroom, came back out, poked his head in two more times, came out, went all the way into the bathroom, examined the door, and left the building. He paced in the parking lot, some of his buddies gathered around him and some were looking at us through the window. The woman whispered to me, “he’s gonna rape us i bet. That’s probably why he keeps going in the bathroom. He’s checking it to see if there’s a window or a door lock. He’s probably canvasing the place so he can drag us in that bathroom and rape us.” I told her, “calm down.” She said, “i don’t mean to alarm you but it just isn’t right. Something’s not right with them. None of them have quarters or laundry. They didn’t use the bathroom or buy a soda, so what are they doing here? What did they come to use here? Not laundry machines…”. They were watching us intently through the window now. She was right. They were not here to do laundry and it was not looking like the odds were in our favor as the group went back to the vehicle and retrieved more landscaping equipment with sharp pointy edges. She began to panic. I was losing her. She put her hand over her mouth and said a little too loud, “Oh my God. Oh my God. They’re gonna rape or kill us. Oh heavenly father, Lord above, hear my prayer. Protect us from these evil men who would do God knows what to us. Deliver us from the trouble the Devil would bring on us today Lord. Have mercy, Lord, protect us.” I said, “Be quiet. Do your laundry. Pretend you don’t see them.” She said, “We have to get out of here hun. Forget the laundry. Just take it out wet.” I heard her and i agreed with what she was saying, but we were far outnumbered and there was nothing else located in the parking lot. It was not a well trafficked area. We needed to play things as smart as we could, because in a regular hand to hand combat scenario, outnumbered as we were and with my machete in the car, we were not going to win. The sign had said “no weapons”. I obeyed the sign. Turns out, crazy homocidal people usually don’t. I suspect these guys were either on or off some meds. The guy with the tree saw spoke to himself, a lot, about nonsense. He was having highly charged, nonsensical, ranting conversations with himself as he paced back and forth, walking in and out of the bathroom, all the while carrying his saw on a stick and looking in various washing machines. One of the other guys occasionally swore out loud in a raised voice as if someone had said something that pissed him off, but nobody i could hear had said anything to him. The woman had her cell phone out. She was texting somebody. Suddenly a black pickup truck pulled up in the parking lot and parked facing us through the window. All of the guys migrated over to the truck. They left us. The woman seemed calmer now. She had gotten her wits about her and was thinking with a rational head. She said, “Did you see them all go to the truck like that? They were up to no good, and now that my husband’s here, they wont be able to do whatever they had planned without an audience. My husband just texted me. One of the guys is telling him they like his truck. The guy asked if he wanted to sell it.” She gathered the last of her soaking wet laundry in her basket and walked slowly past me, “i told my husband not to leave until you made it to your car. I’m going to my husband’s truck. You go too, because once my husband leaves here, they will not be this friendly. He is the only thing keeping them in check.” I nodded. She said, “may God bless you.” I said, “and you as well.” I put my wet laundry into my basket, grabbed my keys, hoisted the basket onto my hip, and walked calmly out the door towards my car. I saw the door to the pickup close. She was in. The truck remained. I loaded my basket in the back seat, then opened the front door, climbed in, and locked the doors behind me. The first thing i did was grab my machete. I was angry i had been parted with it in order to follow the societal rules that do not allow weapons in places of business. If i followed the rules and the criminals didn’t, what did that make me? A sitting duck. I placed the machete on the center console, satisfied that the fight would at least be fair now. The truck began pulling away. I followed its example. The woman’s husband tipped his hand in an acknowledging wave as he pulled out onto the main road. I did the same shortly after. Behind me in my mirror i could see the men loading into their SUV and pulling away from the laundromat. Whatever purpose they had, it had nothing to do with the laundromat. I didn’t want to know what they had planned but the woman was right. It had something to do with us. There was nothing in the laundromat they wanted now that we were gone. I thought how lucky we were that the woman and her husband only had one car and that her husband hadn’t gone far when she texted him to come back. I made a rule right then and there. With the exception of work and the local grocery, if the machete wasn’t welcome, i wasn’t going. I had never been so angry in my life. It didn’t matter how well i sharpened my weapons. If they were in the car they were not going to be of much use to me. I hated that i was outnumbered. I felt like i’d been caught with my pants down on the porta-john. I was never going to a laundromat again. At that moment i had a trunk full of sopping wet laundry and while i was glad to walk away from a situation that felt like it could have gone way farther south than it did, i had to figure out what i was going to do to dry that laundry. I drove to home depot. I told the employees i wanted to build a laundry line between two trees. They kept directing me towards what was basically an oddly shaped metal drying rack. I knew what the problem was. I hadn’t found Sally. Sally would know what i was talking about. Sure enough, i found Sally helping someone in plumbing. She took me all over the store and picked up everything i needed to construct my own laundry line between two trees. There was plastic coated rope, u-bolts, and clothes pins. I said with gusto, “yes! That’s exactly what i need.” She smiled, “yep. Glad to help.” Off she went because there was already a line of other customers waiting for Sally’s help, though there were plenty of people standing around in orange smocks with nothing to do. I went home and stood on a chair in the yard next to a big cedar with my machete hanging from my hip. I was so angry. I could defend myself but not void of weapons. What was i going to do, blind them with detergent and steal the tree saw? (The thought had crossed my mind). So i picked two trees in the yard and as the sun grew lower in the sky i stood on a chair and attached one side of the string around the tree trunk, securing it in place with 3 u-bolts. Then i hopped down off the chair and drug the string across the yard to the other tree where i pulled it tight and stood on my tippy toes on a chair to wrap it around the second tree trunk against a branch to hold it at a certain height and secure it in place with the remaining 3 u bolts. I hung all of my wet clothes on the line with the package of clothes pins. I finished pinning the last one as the sun set behind the trees of my neighbor’s property. Confident that the clothes would no longer mildew, i took the dogs inside the house and sat down. It was only then that i let myself think about how lucky i was. Some people just make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck and the backs of your arms. Sometimes its as if you can feel the ill intentions oozing out of someone’s pores. I didn’t know what those men had planned but i knew it was something sinister, something we had narrowly escaped. I thought about the woman. I had told her to be quiet. I was trying to use my street smarts to get us out of that situation. She asked God.
I hadn’t thought to ask God that afternoon in the laundromat, but i think about God every time i hang the laundry now. I think about how he let me walk out of that laundry mat and return to my dogs. I think about how i’m not buried in a shallow grave somewhere in the woods or in the back of a semi headed for mexico. Every time i hang the laundry and the dogs run back and forth under it i think how lucky i am to be here witnessing these shenanigans. It may not have been me that asked, but i am thankful God answered.
Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Too.
Cashew was separated from her mom when she was 6 or 7 weeks old, so she didn’t really get a chance to learn from her mom how to be a dog. Instead, she started mimicking Sili. If Sili peed, Cashew peed. If Sili ate grass, Cashew ate grass too. If Sili scratched her ear, Cashew had to scratch her ear. If Sili dug a hole, Cashew dug one right beside hers, and if Sili chewed a stick, Cashew went and got a stick to chew on with her. It was the cutest thing. She studied her big sister, watching her from a distance and then emulating all of her behavior to a tee.
One day they had been chewing sticks. Sili paused to look up at Cashew. Cashew looked up at Sili to see when it was time to go back to the stick. Sili didn’t go back to chewing the stick so they sat there in the grass, face to face, looking at each other. Cashew was poised to immitate Sili’s next behavior. She was a good little copy cat. Unfortunately, she learned to emulate all of Sili’s behavior; good and bad.
One of These Things Doesn’t Belong…
I don’t want to talk about it. Its hard not to though when its the first thing visitors see in the yard. You drive up and BAM, there’s a laundry machine visible through the windshield. I never intended it to be there. It was supposed to go to the landfill, and when that didn’t happen a person on craigslist, and after that fell through someone on the online garage sale website. I’m going to summarize this **** fest as best i can in as little time as possible. The guy with the trailer is not willing to help me cart it to the dump. The guy willing to help me cart it to the dump only has a mammoth livestock-hauling truck and not a trailer with a ramp that lets down to the ground. The company that would rent me a pick-up has a strict “no towing” policy and the truck will not come with the pieces required to hitch a trailer. The company that would rent me a trailer does not have trucks; you have to bring your own. The dolly i tried to order is on back-order at lowes and home depot swears they don’t make it even though im staring at it on their website right now. The moving companies will send a crew to move things from a living space to another living space, but not to a landfill. Everyone on the online garage sale page says they’re coming, i take the day off work to meet them, and never hear from them again. Everyone on craigslist gets super axe-murderer level angry about “this thing that’s been sitting in the yard for God knows how long, even though i’m acquiring it for free and its listed ‘as is’, it better work when i plug it in or i’m getting right back in the truck and i’m coming for you.” The last guy that threatened me about the functionality of the hunk of metal in my yard…i told him to keep the truck where it was cuz i was keeping the washer, declaring it yard art, and saying to **** with the whole thing. I took the ad down. I went back to work. I didn’t have any more time to spend on peoples’ nonsense and their lies about “i’m gonna be there, i promise. I’m coming to pick it up.” And now i have a washer/dryer unit in my yard. It will probably be there when i’m 90. And i hate the **** out of it, i hate that blindingly white out-of-place rectangle of metal so ***-****** much, and yet, there it stands…quietly defying my determination to have a landscape of uninterupted nature. A giant modern appliance; one lone pillar in a field.
Cashew Learns Stairs
When i first brought Cashew home she was pretty little. Fearless as she was, the porch steps were too tall for her little legs and she couldn’t make it no matter how hard she tried. So i carried her up and down them each time. However, one day i noticed her reach for the next step with a paw and i realized her legs had grown longer and she was finally capable. I started encouraging her to try the stairs. I would leave her at the top of the stairs and then Sili and i would go down them and call to her to join us. Similarly, when it was time to go in Sili and i would climb up on the porch and call to Cashew at the bottom of the steps. She would whimper and pace and sometimes even sit in the dirt and cry but she would never come. I was bewildered. She found a way around all the things she wasn’t supposed to and yet she couldn’t figure out stairs. Then one day i let Sili out in the yard, i went in the yard, and Cashew remained at the front door on the porch. I called to her and she took a triumphant running leap. She landed clumsily on the next step but you could see the realization on her face that she didn’t die. Suddenly she had found her courage. She did the next step and the next and before she knew it she was in the yard with the big girls. I was so proud of her! I felt like my heart might explode. I threw my arms open and said, “You’re such a good girl! Co’mere!” She came bounding towards me in the yard, ears flapping and tongue flying in the wind. She knew she did good, for her little stumpy tail was wagging a million miles an hour. For the next few days she went up and down and up and down those stairs a million times, cuz she knew she got cuddles and baby talk every time she did it. Cashew had a new skill to add to her bag of tricks. She could do stairs.
Sili and Patience
My dog Sili had the patience of a saint. She never complained. She never lost her cool. She never turned on Cashew, though i myself was ready to pull my hair out 80 percent of the time. Sili had infinite forgiveness for Cashew. She seemed more amused by her behavior than threatened or upset. There were plenty of things that Cashew did that im sure were difficult for Sili to deal with. For example, Cashew missed her mom. She frequently tried to nurse, rather aggressively, from Sili’s empty nipples. She would bite them until she’d made a cut, which was why she spent her time in the crate when i couldn’t watch her. I couldn’t leave them unsupervised for fear she’d take one of Sili’s nipples off when i wasn’t looking. She was constantly trying to chew Sili’s collar into a gummy mess of sticky, wet leather. She had a habit of using Sili like a jungle gym. She had absolutely no spacial boundaries and would lay right on top of Sili and use her like a pillow. Sili sat patiently while Cashew got petted but if i pet Sili, Cashew would bark in a high-pitched screaming noise until i stopped. So every time Sili got loved on she would have to listen to angry yelling and wasn’t sure if it was directed at her (it wasn’t). Cashew tried to eat all of Sili’s food and steal her treats. She constantly took her bone (i gave it back, don’t worry). She even kicked her out of the water bowl. She would hog it until she’d drank her fill and then walk away leaving Sili to lick the leftover from the bottom of the bowl. I got her more water every time but Cashew had to have the first taste of the second bowl too. I knew right away Cashew was going to be dominant. Not just because she would grow bigger than Sili or because that was my hope when i bought her. I knew because during her first vet check-up, at 5 lbs and barely able to stand up, she walked right up to a great pyrenees in the waiting room, stood there on her stocky legs and went, “BARK!” The great pyrenees just looked at her. He seemed unafraid but she was sure she and her 5 lb self was scary as ****. She had balls, this one.
My Escape Artist
Australian Shepherds are known for being smart. Nobody ever said those smarts had to be used for good. They just said the dogs were smart. I started noticing things while i was working on projects or cooking in the kitchen. I would turn around and Cashew’s crate would be closer to me than i remembered it. Her crate was somehow moving across the floor. One day i faced her as i did a project and i finally got to see how she was doing it. She would run towards the front of the crate and slam her shoulder into it, moving it a good two inches forward. Then she’d shake it off and repeat. She became quite good at this and whenever she was in the crate and unhappy with her location, she would use her body weight to take advantage of the rollers it sat on and move the crate to wherever she felt she needed to be. I thought this was mischevious enough but one day i had moved her crate to the bathroom to try and contain some of the water she flung everywhere when she decided to play helicopter propellor disaster with her water bowl. I noticed she got real quiet, which scared me. Quiet with Cashew was unnatural. She was either hatching a diabolical plan or dead. I peeked around the free-standing closet to see her problem solving how to unlatch her crate door from the inside. But, freedom was no fun experienced by oneself. So, she figured out how to unlatch her sister’s crate as well. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Soon Cashew and Sili were loose in the house and timeout appeared to be over. I made a run to the dollar general that day and bought a padlock. I thought i had solved the problem and was quite proud of myself for all of 2 days. I started noticing a smell. There was a definite odor of poop coming from Cashew’s area but every time i checked the crate there was no poop either on top of or underneath her pee pads. There was no poop anywhere. The problem persisted for days until Cashew peed everywhere but the pee pads in her crate and i decided to remove the tray to rinse it under the spigot in the yard. Underneath the tray in the bottom of her crate was a thousand smooshed-up dog turds. I was bewildered. How was she getting them down there? One day i left the curtains to the front door window tied up, fed her a full bowl of food, put her in the crate, and made like i was leaving the house. I took my purse and keys and everything. I started the car. Then i tip-toed back up the porch steps and stood at the window. There was Cashew, throwing her weight in one direction and riding the tray in the bottom of her crate like a surfer. She would throw her weight in the same direction enough times until she had slid the tray about a third of the way out of the crate. She would hang her butt over the edge of the tray and make a turd. Then she would stand up, reposition, and throw her weight in the opposite direction; once again riding the tray like a surfboard and rolling the tray back over her freshly laid turd. She had made a self-cleaning litterbox. Well ****. I was in over my head with this one.