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Clinton, Obama, the Dogs, and Me

I continue to master the technological aspects of podcasting with more or less success. But a report on Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton’s historic unifying visit to my little town of Unity, NH last week seemed like something that would cause people to overlook my electronic limitations, so enthralled would they be in the story of the dogs’ and my first foray into national politics. Well, our sort of first foray…

 

 Meandering With Myrn #2: Clinton, Obama, the Dogs, and Me [17:05m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (68)

Below are links to the show I did with Drs Kim Bloomer and Jeannie Thomason on June 17th about human emotions as they affect animal health and behavior. But as always happens with these two great folks, the conversation strayed to other areas, too.

For the written/streaming version, click here.

For the mp3/download, click here.

It’s that time of year again in New England when the fireflies flash their distinctive calls as they court members of their own kind. On clear,  moonless nights, they look like low-lying twinkling stars. On foggy ones, the tiny points of light become fuzzy golden globes zipping around the yard and garden.

Although we humans with our complex relationships might find their simple on/off form of communication simplistic (or even enviable!), when it comes to courting, it’s not without its unique twists. Each firefly species has its own distinct flash pattern to avoid breakdowns in communication, but as we all know, the path to true love almost never runs smooth.

For example, so-called femme fatales of some predatory species (genus Photuris) will mimic the flash calls of other species to lure unsuspecting amorous males of those species to them. Males who reply to this bogus come-on become lunch rather than find love.

How, you might ask, does such a species manage to survive given this unfriendly female orientation? Usually the females of these species alternate between reproductive and predatory behavior. As long as the male is good at reading female behavior, he survives.  But as most human males and females know, that’s often easier said than done!

In another variation on the firefly theme, males of some species also will mimic the flash patterns of others. Based on observations, one explanation is that these males are more interested in tricking the femme fatales of their own species than preying on others. These tricky males allow themselves to be called in by the female’s fake call, then switch to their own species-specific reproductive patterns at the last minute with the idea of convincing the female to mate with them.

Needless to say, their timing must be perfect. Nor is it surprising that this technique is referred to as “kamikaze-copulation.”

If you have kids or are a nature-loving kid at heart like me, you too can call fireflies by mimicking the flash sequences of those in your yard. Use a pen light or other focused light source and blink it on and off in the palm of your hand. When you see a flashing firefly approach, answer with the same call. After the firefly lights, he’ll quickly figure out that you’re not what he’s looking for and fly off. But for that one brief instant you’ll know what it feels like to be a firefly femme fatale who maybe even attracts a kamikaze lover.

Just a little early summer magic to enjoy in your own back yard.

In the Beginning

Join me as I make my first foray into podcasting, share my angst as I come to grips with imperfection, and learn about some of the characters you’ll be hearing in the weeks ahead–whether I want them to comment or not!

 

 Meandering With Myrn #1: In the Beginning [9:20m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (189)

One of the wonderful things about working with companion animals is that I get an intimate view of how behaviors change as the animals mature. The puppy and kitten toddlers we get at 8-12 weeks give way to adolescents, young then mature adults, and then senior citizens, with each life stage adding its own unique spin to the basic canine or feline behavioral repertoire. It’s unfortunate that as our society has become more remote from animals as animals, we no longer recognize these changes as normal. Quite the contrary, when these occur, and sometimes they may occur as suddenly as they do in humans, a common response is to think that the animals experiencing these have lost their mental marbles.

But in spite of the fact that I know all this, I naively thought that BeeBee’s brain problems would preclude these transitions and she would remain in her own admittedly eccentric but fetchingly innocent little world. But that hasn’t been the case. As she’s moved into young adulthood, she seems to have become aware that she’s different, almost certainly at least partially because of the way other people and animals respond differently to her. When she was younger, she seemed oblivious to their reactions. But now sometimes she pays much closer attention to what the other dogs are doing, as if she were trying to learn how to be more like them.

When she can’t do what they do, her behaviors can take on an edge. Her frustration perhaps?

When I see her doing this, I find myself feeling the way I think the parent of an impaired child must feel, aching for her to be like the other dogs. I know it’s foolish because there’s really no comparison. Plus she isn’t like those other dogs and never will be.

A case in point: each morning after I finish doing my yoga, I cradle each dog upside down in my lap while I sit in the lotus position. Then I massage their ears, eyes, and feet, and finish with a tummy rub, all while doing deep breathing and relaxing myself.

I don’t do this in response to some scientific article that said this would be a good calming and bond-affirming activity, although I do employ other such in my work with patients and clients. If there’s actually an Upside Down Dog Lotus Pose, I’ve never heard of it. I do it because years ago I discovered that the dogs would come and lie next to me when I got to this part of my routine. Once they did, it seemed only natural to include them in it.

Over the years, I’ve learned many things from this accidental interspecies interaction. One is that there’s a difference in the way young, adolescent, young adult, and older animals respond. Within the current canine population, Ollie, the 6-month-old pup does the wriggling wagging routine for about 30 seconds before sighing (sometimes more in resignation than relaxation I think), closing his eyes, then going limp and giving into the calming massage message.

Mature Frica reminds me of myself during these brief interludes of relaxation; she sees these interludes as mini-spas and takes full advantage of them, perhaps to fortify herself for another day of putting up with two high-energy young canines. Some mornings, she practically throws herself upside down in my lap, puts her head back, and shuts her eyes as if to say, “Please, please, massage me and send me to that place with the soft ocean waves and broad expanses of empty silver beaches, where I can sleep when I want, gnaw on my bone or play with the toys I want when I want without having to deal with puppies!”

At a little over a year of age, BeeBee sometimes accepts the massage message to relax, but now sometimes she fights it. She never resists me manipulating her feet or rubbing her tummy. But when it comes to massaging her ears and eyes, sometimes she’s OK with it, but other times she isn’t.

At first it seemed odd to me that a deaf dog with impaired vision would be sensitive about me doing something that would limit the function of organs she didn’t act like she depended on that much, if at all. But when I saw this behavior in the context of the other changes she’s experiencing as she enters adulthood, it began to sense.

Like the rest of us, when BeeBee doesn’t feel sure about herself and where she fits in, she wants access to every means of sensory data collection she has at her disposal to make sense–”literally!–of the world and those around her. The more limited a particular sensory collector and processor, the more she wants the freedom to use what little of it she has. I can understand this because without my glasses, my distance vision is pathetic. Put me in a situation in which distance vision is crucial and take away my glasses, and I would resist any attempt by others to interfere with what little visual ability I have.

So for now, I’m trying to find BeeBee’s soft spot, that position in my lap that will allow her the freedom she needs to feel secure at the same time as it teaches her to relax. Today, that meant just cupping her head and ears in my hands. Maybe that’s as far as she’ll ever get. Maybe she’ll never go back to the blissful Ollie-like puppy oblivion that marked her younger days, or grow into Fric’s zoned out bliss as she matures. But maybe with time and patience she’ll make her peace with this new phase of her life and learn to accept and enjoy it as much as she did its predecessor.

Because I know what an important role modeling plays in animal learning and how that includes modeling human behaviors in domestic animals, I look down at BeeBee’s head cradled in my hands and think, “This dog just might help me find peace as I grow older, too.”

Do you ever get the feeling that your dog or cat is trying to drive you crazy? I’m not referring to the way you feel when your dog rolls in maggot-infested dead animal guts 5 minutes before your boss arrives, or when the cat pees on your $75 French bra just because it’s new. I’m referring to more subtle behavior of the things-that-go-bump-in-the-night variety that makes you think neurons are leaking out of your brain when you’re not looking.

Such has been my experience for the past week or so. At first I attributed it to the fact that my shitzu mix, Frica, is in heat. She’s normally a laidback, fun-loving dog, but you’d never know it if you saw her around the other two dogs lately. When BeeBee, the deaf, brain-damaged corgi does something Fric doesn’t like,and I admit BeeBee does a lot of things that would try the patience of a saint, canine or otherwise, Fric’s snarling response gives new meaning to the word “bitch.” When her young son Ollie tries to check out the strange scents emanating from his mom’s nether regions…

Well, a rough translation of her response would be “Get away from me you disgusting male pervert pig-devil or I’ll rip your heart out!”

Still, even though Frica’s testiness has me yearning for large volumes of chocolate, I don’t consider her behavior abnormal. And while the other dogs vacillate between staying out of her way and baiting her unmercifully, I consider that well within normal limits, too.

The only animal who really worried me was the cat, Whittington. He’s 14 and showing his age. Several months ago I started putting a chair next to the kitchen counter where his food dish is because every once in a while he’d have trouble jumping up there. It’s the kind of thing people do to accommodate an older arthritic animal that’s so common, I didn’t even think about it when I did it. But then about a week ago I realized I was filling Whit’s dish a lot more, and yet he seemed to be losing weight.

Being a vet, several possibilities went through my mind.

I didn’t like any of them.

That same day, I put Ollie in his crate, and let the other dogs have the run of house because it was too hot to take them outside with me while I worked in the garden. Normally when I come back into the house, BeeBee is sleeping against the door, I startle her when I open it and bump her, she gives out her godawful deaf-dog screech , this which wakes up Ollie who starts barking the equivalent of “Take me out, take me out! My bladder’s gonna burst!” and Frica yawns from the rocker where she’s been sleeping.

But not that day.

That day Bee wasn’t by the door and Fric wasn’t on the rocker. Fric was sitting on the chair by the counter and Bee was in the floor below her. Ollie was in his crate and he immediately started barking about his limited sphincter capacity as usual. In my rush to get him out, the meaning behind the other dogs’ deviation from their normal routine didn’t sink in…

…until later when two things happened. The first was that I noticed that the cat’s dish was licked clean. Although Whit keeps himself impeccably groomed, he has never stooped so low as to lick his bowl clean since I’ve had him. If anything, he leaves little pieces of kibble around as if to point out how inferior what I feed him is to the locally grown rodents he catches himself, even at his advanced age.

That triggered the memory that there have been other occasions when the cat dish had been similarly tongue-scoured.

I then turned to Frica to see if she looked guilty because BeeBee couldn’t have made it onto that chair and then the counter unless Fric put her there with a forklift.

But expecting Fric to feel guilty is like expecting two suns to rise in the morning: it might happen, but it doesn’t seem likely. In behavioral terms, she’s much more in tune with her most ancient roots than I am mine: She accepts that does what she does because it represents the most energy-efficient way to get what she wants.

Just like we all do.

If I want her to act guilty about that, that’s my problem not hers.

I never got the guilty look, but the circumstantial evidence was plentiful enough, I didn’t need it. The most damning piece was something else I’d previously noticed, but dismissed. In spite of cutting Fric’s food way back since she weaned her puppies several months ago, she still hadn’t regained her girlish figure.

It a classic example of human projection, I rationalized this saying that it’s harder to loose weight as one gets older.

Hah! My dog did have the same problem I did, but it had nothing to do with our ages. We were both eating too much.

OK, my part of that was sort of depressing, but I had to admire Fric’s intelligence for getting that food, and convincing me that I was losing my mind and that the cat was seriously ill.

With a triumphant look in Fric’s direction, I moved the chair back to the table beyond little-dog counter-jumping distance. Convinced I’d solved the problem, I took a quick shower to get rid of the gardening grime. When I finished, and returned to the kitchen, I discovered Ollie grazing on the table.

Being the learned professional I am, I also handled this with great skill.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted. “Get your puppy butt off that table right now or I’m going to sell you to a laboratory.”

Or something like that. Whatever, it had the same result as Fric snarling at him and he disappeared under the couch. Unfortunately, the cat was also under there and they immediately started playing so I’m not sure how much of my message got through.

Be that as it may, this told me that Ollie hadn’t been spending all of his time sleeping while Fric was raiding the cat food. Instead, he had been watching and learning.

And making plans.

Sometimes I wonder how long he’s been browsing the contents of my kitchen table, the place where I and others eat. Most of the time, though, I decide I don’t want to know.

So, no ghost snarfing up cat food, no seriously ill cat, one dog on her way to regaining her figure, one human who is probably no more insane or thinner than she was when this started, and one puppy and one brain-damaged corgi who still think that all of life is a game.

Not a bad day’s work.

Fat Cats and Top Dogs: Animal Behavior and the Business World

Recently Walter Brandes of To the Tipping Point, a New Hampshire business consulting practice contacted me for permission to use that business name because I’d already claimed TippingPoint Inc. I agreed and then he and I had a delightful chat about the role of tipping points in human and animal behavior. That discussion later caused me to muse yet again about how much more readily our society accepts what we can learn from animal physiology compared to animal behavior.

To read more, click here.

PS: Sorry for delay getting this notice out. The commentary has been up since the first but I completely forgot about announcing it in the blog.

Human and animal perception, particularly as it relates to the same event, always fascinates me and last night’s events gave me a good example of this. It’s been extremely hot and humid, the kind of heat and humidity that has me leaving key pieces of clothing at strategic locations so I can grab them and put them on as I race between the office and the front door if someone arrives unexpectedly.  Because the nights are also exceptionally hot and humid, I dragged the large fan out of the closet, aimed it right at the bed, and turned it on. This simple, what I considered benevolent act toward human and animal alike set into motion a set of events that made me a bit wiser as well as in need of sleep.

It began when Ollie–who is back in his crate on the bench at the foot of the bed following a bout of house-training amnesia–began whimpering pitifully, his response to anything unfamiliar. Then Frica went back and forth between the bench and rug a few times, probably weighing the consequences of trying to sleep on the bench in the breeze, but next to her whiney son vs. moving to the rug away from said whiney offspring where it was hotter. I ignored them both and Ollie soon quieted and Fric soon fell asleep on the bench beside him.

As usual, BeeBee offered the most in the way of surprises. The first was that the fan didn’t bother her at all when I turned it on. She merely positioned herself on the bed to take full advantage of it once I made it clear that I did not welcome her 101.5-degree hairy body plastered against mine under these tropical circumstances. She soon fell asleep and I foolishly congratulated myself for shepherding all of the dogs through this novel event.

I don’t mention the cat here because Whit doesn’t even deign to come upstairs when it’s so hot. Instead, he spends most of his time in the basement except for a few forays outside. If I could figure out how to do it, I’d be there myself. As I’ve mentioned before, the house is very old by American standards with the core of it dating back to the 1700s. One wall of the basement  is of dry-stone construction. That is, there’s no mortar between the stones. This allows a steady flow of air from the soil around it. It takes a prolonged string of abnormally hot days for the temperature in the basement to get above 70-degrees (F) in the summer. Anyone with any brains would spend their time there if they could, which is why the cat does. The dogs probably would too, but the stairs are so steep they won’t even try to use them, and look at me like I’m demented every time I do.

Returning to the bedroom where the fan is circulating the soupy air, once before I fell asleep Bee suddenly sprang into full alertness and started alarm barking, setting the other two off, and introducing me to a problem I’d never encountered before. Normally, an added benefit of fans or air conditioners for pet-owners is that they block sounds that normally would alert the animals. But when one is blessed with a deaf dog with an incredible sense of smell, it turns out that a fan also is capable of sucking in a lot of scents from outside that would not have made it in otherwise.

From a physiological and Understanding-BeeBee point of view, this was very enlightening. In terms of getting sleep, it was not. During the night, Bee went through this routine 3 times, although by the third time the other two dogs ceased to respond. I, of course, woke like a shot every time and had visions of serial killers creeping up the stairs or some substance-abuser stealing the voice recorder I finally figured out how to use that I’d left on the kitchen table. And each time I decided I was so hot, sticky and tired that death couldn’t be much worse and went back to sleep.

But even though I did take a cavalier approach to Bee’s warning while I was in bed, that all changed when I took the dogs out the next morning when it was still dark. For the first time, Bee refused to move from my side. And either because she didn’t or because the other dogs could now smell what she did, they refused to move, too.

So here’s the dilemma, Animal-lovers. You have three dogs, one whose sphincter control is marginal under the best of circumstances, one who is brain-damaged, and one who is not above harassingly you interminably to let her out if she has to go, all of whom have not eliminated in 8 hours. Do you try to coax them to move off at least the minimal aesthetically acceptable distance from the house to do so? Or do you say, “Hey, no prob. Obviously something’s out here that’s bothering you. Let’s go back inside” ?

My primitive aversion to cleaning up animal waste in my nightgown is so strong that it unfortunately overcame my higher brain function. I moved confidently into the darkness and called the pets who then, somewhat reluctantly, followed. However, while I’m waiting in the dark for them and watching Bee’s collar flash nearby like a mutant firefly, memories of the black bear and moose who once occupied the very same space I did at about that same early morning time came back to me. (Why is so easy to remember the things I want to forget and so hard to remember the things I want to?) These thoughts immediately caused me to realize that maybe the dogs were right and that we should get the hell back into the house asap. That’s when I discovered that I’d done such a good job of communicating confidence to the dogs that they decided to do a meticulous molecule-by-molecule analysis of the area looking for The Perfect Spot to urinate and defecate.  Or so I thought.

Just about the time I was ready to turn on my flashlight and turn myself into mosquito fodder to reinforce my, I admit, softly hissed rather than commanding, “Come here this instant!” which, obviously the deaf dog couldn’t hear, Bee moseyed toward me anyhow, followed by Ollie with Fric bringing up the rear.

I haven’t looked around outside carefully since it’s gotten lighter and don’t know that I will. Sure there’s a part of me that’s always fascinated by wild animal prints or droppings near the house. And over the years, I’ve gotten used to the feeling–sometimes proven, sometimes not– of being watched by deer, moose, and other wild creatures in the woods above the house. But this time the heat and humidity, coupled with the silence made whatever was out there seem like he or she was everywhere at once. I found that more unnerving than going eyeball to eyeball with the bear or the rabid raccoon.

But now as I sit in the office and the first sunlight heralds what’s supposed to be another brutally hot day, I realize that I probably won’t find any evidence any closer to the house than usual. Although Bee almost surely barked at a wild animal, most likely it wasn’t a real animal out there that brought all the dogs up short when we went outside. Instead, it was animal scent that had been concentrated and perpetuated by the heat and humidity. Undoubtedly my scent-oriented dogs were able to figure that out which is why their fears diminished. Visually-oriented human wimp that I am, I could not.

I’d been afraid of nothing more than a low-lying cloud of animal scent.

The Baby in this post is my 2-year-old granddaughter, but for alliterative purposes, I co-opted the name her cousin Lauren calls her, Baby Geneva. BeeBee and I stayed with Geneva last weekend while my son and his wife took some much needed time off and I saw a side of Bee I’d never seen before. Even more interesting, I didn’t realize its full meaning until after we were home again.

When we first arrived, Geneva was still at daycare so I wasn’t paying as much attention to what was going on as I should have been. Consequently, I didn’t realize that the resident cat, Lena, was downstairs until she suddenly came flying by with Bee in hot pursuit. BeeBee loves to play with my cat, but Lena probably didn’t know that and had no desire to learn. Before I could grab Bee, Lena shot up the stairs, but Bee didn’t realize this and made a few more circuits hoping to catch up with her. After that, Lena made herself scarce and my daughter-in-law created a private space for her to eat and drink in the basement. When Lena wasn’t there, she was on top of or under the bed in the master bedroom upstairs to which Bee had no access.

As expected, Bee was excited when she first saw Geneva, but she responded well to kenneling to take the edge off before Geneva got home from daycare, than calming pressure on shoulder and hips coupled with tethering to the leg of the kitchen table. Based on her response to these activities over the months we’ve been together, limiting her motion enables her to process stimulus input more effectively and prevents her from overloading. It’s easy to tell when Bee overloads because she lets loose with high, piercing barks and jumps up repeatedly. Even if you know and love her like I do, it’s annoying.

Once Bee settled down I began implementing The Plan, The Plan being that Geneva and I would walk BeeBee around the fenced yard with Bee on my left, me holding the bulk of her leash in the middle, and Geneva holding the end of the leash on my right. That didn’t last long because it soon became clear that Bee had no intention of going anywhere other than where we were going while she was leashed. Although I was always right there, it wasn’t long before Geneva was walking Bee herself and we spent many hours walking around that yard. In fact, I soon felt like I was on first-name basis with the individual blades of grass I’d seen them all so many times.

Needless to say, I also got pretty good at cleaning up after Bee. Granted this sounds like an idiot simple task, but everything is more complicated when there’s a very active 2-year-old around, the grass is high, and one is wearing bifocals. It’s amazing how fast one can miss a pile of dog-do and said active toddler can find it under those circumstances. “Look, look! See, see! Oh, oh. Yucky!!!” Call me anal, but I didn’t want to go there.

Because of this, part of my walking-in-the-yard ensemble included two garden trowels. One to scoop with and one to scoop onto. Not exactly haute couture, but very functional. In fact, I got so good with my tools that I could even get one trowel under Bee so she defecated right on it. Alas, this isn’t the kind of skill that impresses many, and I doubted the 2-3 it might lived in that neighborhood, so I limited my use of this newly discovered skill to when no one else was around.

If this gives the impression that not much went on during those walks around the yard, that’s pretty much true with two notable exceptions. One was a virtual downpour of spiraling maple seeds, which I’ve since discovered are actually maple fruits with the lovely name of samara that filled the air like thousands of miniature pinwheels.The majority were the familiar light brown color, but there were also much smaller ones that were green and magenta. Watching them spin in the wind with the brilliant blue sky behind them and the sun turning the brown to gold was a spectacular site. Hearing them at night hitting the roof was an eerie experience. Imagine being in shower of hale with wings. 

The other notable outdoor event occurred when I noticed Lena observing us from her perch on the sill of a basement window. Because she was eye level with Bee, I figured this would not be good. However, before I could point this out to Geneva, she took Bee right up to the window, squatted down and talked to the cat, and Lena spent all of her time hissing at the dog. Throughout all this Bee was oblivious to Lena’s presence.  If I had to guess, I’d say this resulted from a combination of the wind that caused her to focus on more readily available scents, plus the glare on the glass that rendered the cat invisible to an animal with Bee’s decreased vision.

Inside the house, Bee was equally well-behaved although she quickly proved that the part of her brain that contains the Little Kid Eating = Free Food on the Floor Center works fine. Because of that, she spent all of Geneva’s mealtimes tethered to the leg of the kitchen table where she quickly fell asleep. When Geneva was napping and I was working, she’d spend a few seconds looking for Lena and then sleep at my feet. When Geneva was awake, she wanted to be where Geneva was and had less interest in Geneva’s toys that Geneva had in Bee’s. The one exception was Mr Potatohead’s arms for reasons I can’t guess unless it was because Mr Potatohead was a horse’s patootie in Toy Story. But we didn’t watch that movie until later after I threw the cable/TV/DVD/alien-summoning device into a seizure that made watching anything else impossible.

My big concern relative to Bee prior to our arrival was the zoomies, the zoomies being those racing spells dogs get into, either as a form of celebration or a stress-reliever, depending on the context in which they occur. BeeBee, Frica, and now Ollie all experience several daily sessions of these both inside and out. In Bee’s case, these begin with a peculiar jump in which she arches her neck, lifts the front end of her body, and leaps forward. I assume she does this to create the momentum she needs to get her uncoordinated legs working in a coordinated manner sufficient to reach zoomie speed. Even though the resultant gait isn’t normal, it does enable her to move low to the ground at an impressive speed, although she can’t turn as quickly or maintain the pace for as long as the other two.

When she zooms indoors, she sometimes likes to zoom in and out of her crate or under the dog couch in addition to making repeat circuits around the center chimney. These variations usually result in the crate being propelled across the floor and her ricocheting off the couch because she lacks the fine motor skills to avoid collision.

Although the joie de vivre communicated at such times always delights me, the idea of a 2-year-old getting clobbered by Bee during a fly-by or my dog hitting someone else’s nondog furniture did not, so I was always on zoomie alert. But not once during the long weekend did BeeBee zoom.

The trip home was as uneventful as the trip to my son’s, but that all changed after we arrived. Such a joyful canine reunion! Purely speculation on my part, but the dogs’ interactions so reminded me of those that occur when little kids are reunited after similar interludes away from their favorite playmates. All of them were vocalizing at once as if trying to describe what they experienced and ask about the other’s experiences during the separation. No sooner did I let them out than they zoomed.

And zoomed.

And zoomed some more. 

In addition to pulling out all the toys I’d just put back in the toy box, they zoomed inside, too.

But I’d expected them to do that. What I didn’t expect is that, in the week after we got home, Bee would have her own private zoomies, some of them even when the other dogs were asleep. It was only then that I realized how much she had contained herself during all those walks with Geneva and as they played together in the house.  Because she’d done this so willingly and seemingly effortlessly, it never dawned on me how much self-control this required.

Does this mean that I think Bee didn’t enjoy herself with Geneva? Not at all. I think she enjoyed all the new challenges and experiences every bit as much as I did. But once she got back in her familiar environment, she wanted to celebrate all the new experiences she had survived (mostly all by herself!) and all the familiar ones here that she’s come to love and trust in our time together.

First, I want to thank all of you who listened to Getting Fixed and look forward to you comments, either in the blog or personal email to me at mm@mmilani.com  For those who asked, a complete recording of the theme song for the book, Irritations into Pearls by Jeff Firestone is available for your listening enjoyment here. Just scroll down to the bottom of the page and you’ll find it.

When Jeff gave me a CD of his compositions, this is the one that immediately struck me reflecting the tone of the story and its characters. When I asked him what’s its name was, he said that it had none, but then remembered later that this was the only composition on that disk that did have a name and its name was Irritations into Pearls. I considered that a good omen because that image so perfectly suma up what Khali went through, and what so many of do when we come to grips with animal-related issues we’d rather avoid. At first, they irritate the hell out of us and sometimes the process is downright painful. But if we hang in there, we learn so much about ourselves and animals that the end result is something quite worthwhile and lovely.

Just before I started writing this, I ordered a digital voice recorder in hopes that I’ll be able to master its technology and periodically share more pod-casts with you. My goal is to be able to record away from the computer because there are times when I’m out with the dogs, working in the garden, or thinking about something I read or heard on the radio as it relates to animals that I’d like to share. But by the time I get back to the computer to record or write about it, pffftt, it’s gone. I’d worry about this, but there’s been some great news this past week about how the brains of us more mature folks process input differently and yes, even more wisely than those who may be more fleet of foot. Whew! I like this explanation much better than my fears of creeping senility!

If you have any ideas regarding future pod-casts, please let me know about them, too.