Oliver's "Lineage"

We have all been wondering. People ask me when they meet Oliver. Along with "How old is he?"  I get, "WHAT is he?"  Even the vets are stumped. Well, be stumped no more!

Many of these traits are no surprise. I've been pretty sure, because of his pork chop ears, excessive shedding, and the spots that show on his back when I trim him short, that he had some kind of cocker in him. I am surprised though that there seems to be so much cocker there! And the Irish Wolfhound? Talk about random!  It does explain Oliver's height. He's not big, by any means, but he is not as short as a typical cocker, either.

Still no answer on where the big fluffy curly tail comes from.

Oliver

I am grateful for these days. Long lazy ones where I am doing little aside from people watching, chatting, wandering the web, eating good food, and best of all, being with my Oliver. I am grateful for these days because it is coming more apparent to me that he will not make it to another summer.

So far, it's been a good summer. A great one, really (he's still here, after all!) I thought he went missing last week-end, but as it turned out, he had followed my dad down to the docks and dad decided to take him along for the boat ride. His first boat ride! At fifteen years old! Not bad.

He is slowing down appreciably. Physically, he is not the dog of last summer. Not much  running around, chasing the younger dogs. I am thankful that he seems to know his limits and lays low consciously. He does wander from time to time, but never goes far. If he wanders with any conviction, he returned panting in excess; a side effect of his heart problem. It simply doesn't pump quite right and he breathes heavier to compensate, albeit unsuccessfully. So, we are all conscious of this and sort-of encourage him to not move around so much. It's good that he is happy to simply be. That is clear. Last night he laid on my lap on the couch, purring/groaning/moaning louder than I have heard him do before, for a very long time.

I think his taste buds are going along with his sight and his hearing. He doesn't eat as much as I'd like him to. So now, because he is growing a bit skinny, I give him treats more often, small table scraps, plus I add a very small amount of ground beef to his kibble and he eats it right up. It's very exciting for him. He sort of bounces on his toenails in anticipation of the ground beef addition when he seems me heating it (I know heating it is silly, but it just seems inedible cold).

To look at him he still looks like a puppy. People say that all the time. They are surprised when I tell them his age when they ask. When I truly stop and look, he is an aging man. A sweet, aging man. I think about his antics in years past – running around like a wild man, chasing lizards, humping all the other dogs at the dog park, sticking his head out the window with such interest, attacking the mail as it came through the mail slot, and the general excitement for everyday stuff that only dogs can show.

It's a different phase I hadn't thought about witnessing. I guess I thought he'd just be one way until the end. I never thought I'd have an aging dog on my hands. He is not decrepit by any means, he is perfectly content, and his quality of life is great. He is not suffering. For this I am grateful, but the aging, the slow slipping away of him? I just hadn't thought about that part. I love him in any capacity, and I will continue to love him and hold on to him until it seems his quality of life is in jeopardy. I will not tolerate him in pain.

I worry about how he will go. I know it is morbid, but I cannot help it. I am crossing my fingers it will be in his sleep (please, let it be in his sleep!). But, if he is awake, I hope that I am with him (please, let me be with him).

Now I will wipe the tears of anticipatory grief from my eyes, because after all, there is nothing to grieve - he is snoring at me feet! He is still here! And he is still happy to follow me around and lay at my feet...or the feet of whomever might scratch him behind the ears next or pass him a treat. And we are all happy to give it to him!

I don't know how he doesn't get a neck ache!

I took this while trying out a new ring light. Sort of as magazine portrait effect.

Waiting for treats. You'll notice his bum isn't quite sitting. He's sort-of faking it.

Old Oliver Video

This is three years old. I love it. Back in FL, looking for lizards!

Lonely. So Lonely

I am all alone in the house today. I sent Oliver to the cape with this Grampie because I am simply not around enough this week end for it to be fair to keep Oliver here when he could be in the cape, sniffing after chipmunks, picking up ticks and getting regular scratches behind the ears from all the guests.

Dad called shortly after arriving in the Cape with Oliver to ask where his dog bed was. He also told me that when Oliver followed him out to the van to head to the cape, Oliver reached the van, looked around, saw I wasn't with them and B-lined it back to the house where he sat in front of the door, staring at it waiting to be let back in. Dad said he got him back into the van and gave him lots of attention on the drive there and that now Oliver is happy as a clam to be at Scott's End. And who wouldn't be - my dog's no idiot.

But, now the house is empty and quite lonely. It's strange. I lived alone for so long but now have gotten used to at least some commotion at all times. It's especially strange to not have my pooch beneath my feet wherever I go. I confess one of the reasons I dislike it so much is because it gives me a taste of what it will be like eventually, you know, YEARS from now, when I no longer have Oliver.

Barf

Last week, my brother and sister in law came to the house to celebrate her birthday and my Dad's birthday over dinner. They brought along their dog, Lucy, so it was quite a pupfest with all the four legged creatures wandering around, sniffing at the low coffee table, and wrestling beneath out feet and chairs.

We managed to keep the dogs corralled together for the evening, but at the end of the meal, Oliver walked into the dining room and threw-up a nice pile of mystery something-or-other on the rug in the butler's pantry, in plain view of all to see. I looked at it, trying to identify the contents without making a scene right next to the dinner table. It was all white and looked like chunks of potato. Weird. I cleaned it up and we went on with out evening.

After my brother and sister in law left with their pooch, Dad and I were cleaning up when we got to the living room. All of the cheese that remained on the coffee table after appetizers was now gone. Ah-ha! The sound of the living room doors shutting which I took note of earlier in the dinner, was in fact, the sound of the doors being opened (for whatever reason). Oliver had hoovered-up a good sized chunk of brie, Gouda and Cheddar. And then redelivered it to the dining room. How thoughtful.

Eventful Week

Oliver one week after surgery - before they took the stitch out.

It's been an eventful week or so for Oliver.

I learned last week that he had yet another eye ulcer. On Tuesday last week, we went in to have it repaired and spent the next week watching him and scolding him if he scratched at it. He does quite well with these as far as leaving them alone to heal.

We went to Maine this weekend for our yearly ski trip together and returned with no broken bones. I refused to give myself the opportunity to eff myself up in some way and spent my time sewing and baking and then going for a massage on Sunday with my sister-in-law Jodi and Mom. The massage was fantastic.

When I went into the room and the masseuse asked what she needed to work on or watch out for, I pointed at my shoulder, "If you would just avoid the end of my shoulder, which I broke here last year and which is still giving me trouble". She was awesome! 'Avoided the shoulder and gave a killer massage. In a good way. Her name was Candy if you're ever at Sugarloaf and trying to avoid using the place for what it's for - skiing.

Now back in MA, I went with Oliver today to the vet for his one week post-op appointment to learn that he has completely healed! Quite exciting! We returned home and I forced him into a modeling session for his new collar which he recently won with my help, and which we got in the mail last night.

Grid Keratotomy

Poor Oliver, headed for another Grid Keratotomy to fix his corneal ulcer. Right now I'm trying to do research on the cost of the procedure, because I'm pretty sure the place I'm taking to him now is price gouging or something. $900? You're nuts!

I took this of him just this morning. I heard him clamouring to get into the laundry basket at about 5:30. He's never done this before. Very funny little man!

Oliver's A Winner!

How funny. I looked into entering Oliver into a pet photo contest a few months back. Some of them resulted in cash awards which is really what I was going for.

Today I recieved an email from pamperedpuppy.com, "As you know, you photo was a winner in our December 2009 photo contest - congratulations!"
Then it goes on talking about how they had a system failure and need me to respond so they can get my info to the sponsor so I can get my prize for Oliver - "a bling personalized collar".

I had no idea he'd won, so I emailed back, yadda yadda.

Too funny! My dog is definitely not a bling type of pup, but still, I'm very excited about it.

Here's the winning pic!

Day Caper

Since I try to avoid posting when it basically translates into whining, I have not been posting much lately. Not that life is terrible, because it certainly isn't. I have two legs. They are handy and that's good.

I was talking with a close friend of mine recently, who's family lives on the same block as mine and we were lamenting about the condition of our families; broken ankles, kidney stones, colds, ear infections, seizure disorders; it just seems to be all around us. And now, Oliver appears to be having his yearly allotted eye ulcer. I don't have the money to fix it really - I wonder if super glue is out of the question? Oh, wait, I'd have to find the super glue in the carriage house full of boxes which used to be my apartment.

On Saturday, Dad and I went on a little trip to the Cape. I think it's an excuse really, for him to go the Bourne's very thorough dump. He likes it. It's fun. You show-up there with a van busting at it's soldered points with cardboard, catalogs, Styrofoam and more and you leave with nothing. It's very therapeutic, really. And I like a day to myself with Papa Bear.

There's always the car dance, of course. With the dogs. They must come with us. There is one seat in the back for them to share and whatever side Oliver's on, Bootsie MUST be there too. Like, right where YOU are, Oliver! RIGHT THERE! At first, this led to Oliver teetering on the edge of the seat while Bootsie leaned on him in an effort to herd him from his spot because actually, it's her spot, don't you know?

When we made our first stop for a breakfast for the road, I moved the dogs so Oliver was on the side of the seat which abuts the car door. This way, Bootsie could take all the room she wanted and not shove him off the seat. But sure enough, Oliver's view out the window was better than what Bootsie had, so she shoved and shoved until Oliver was smashed-up against the window and finally, he somehow climbed over her to go back to where he started. Of course, he was laying down on the seat at this point and lowering your center of gravity clearly makes shoving you less interesting to Bootsie because she left him alone.

We made a stop at Scott's End, too, just to check on things. The minute we made the turn onto Wing's Neck Trust, Bootsie started to cry. Whimper. With excitement of where we were going. They always know. We opened the van doors and they shot out of the van like it was on fire. Each one in a different direction. They love it there. The room to run and of course, an ocean for Bootsie to jump into a day after she's been groomed. Because really, what's the point of being groomed if you can't completely ruin it with some salty water and sand fleas the very next day?

they played nice on the ride home, too tired to shove each other around.

It's In The Ears

His ear fractures me. The way it's flopped up over the arm of the bed. My brother calls them pork chops.

My Little Dreamer

My Little Dreamer from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.

Snorer

Nice to know my Mt. Kilimanjaro-sized pile of clothes is good for something. Snore-inducing, even!

Snoring pooch from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.

I Mean, Really...

Could be be any cuter?
I say no.

Not Gettin' Up Yet

This morning I got out of bed. Oliver did too, all rickety and bed-bodied. He moved a few steps away from his plush, cushie couch-bed, stopped, thought for a moment (or seemed to) turned around and got back into bed.

It was awesome.

Homemade Card for the UPS Guy, Mark

The inside reads, "I'm really sorry I bit your knee!" and will be accompanied by a copy of his rabies vaccination (the dog, not the UPS guy).

I wasn't home when this incident happened, but my dad was leaning down to get something at the side door while simultaneously opening the door, not realizing the man in brown was right on the other side. "Your guard's down, Grampy! I'll get him! Grrrrrr!". Oliver shot out at Mark, and clamped on to the poor man's knee.

He is OK. My parents got some antibacterial whatever for him and he was very understanding, knowing that the circumstances were a bit weird, not knowing he was on the other side and all.


When he came the other day, Dad asked him again how he was. He said he was ship shape. Very nice man. Very naughty dog.

Dog in Fog

Snow Nose

SNOW NOSE - Technically called "hypopigmentation" (or snow nose, winter nose) it results from loss of sunlight, and causes the nose to fade to brown in winter; normal colour returns as summer approaches. Snow nose occurs mainly in light-coated breeds; the colour change can become permanent in older dogs. It is not associated with disease.

I took this picture at exactly this time last year. We were still in sunny Florida.

I took these these two pictures below just today. Funky phenomenon, eh?

Sandwiching

My parents have hired me to photograph some of the places they have designed for documentary purposes, but hopefully soon for their company website, Scott&Scott Architecture.

I have photographed interiors many times in Florida while I was still on the newspaper staff. But, somehow, this is different. I think maybe Florida had more light in general, and shooting interiors in a large room where there is little light like the one I attempted the other day is quite challenging. There's a reason why architectural photographers get the big bucks. It's like, wicked hard 'n' stuff.

My friend and colleague, TJ, told me about the "sandwiching" technique, used in Photoshop. The premise is that you shoot one picture with the light in a certain place in the very dark room, then your move the light to light another location in the room and shoot another picture. The camera remains on a tripod the whole time. Then, in Photoshop, you sandwich the two images together and viola, you have a perfectly exposed image.

I tried it out the other day and while I had no issues photographically, I could not get the sandwiching to look right in Photoshop. One of the challenges is that I am getting my lesson online from others who have done it and written about it in their blogs.

Like This Guy.

While I did attempt the effect without the blur, I couldn't seem to get it right. I did use the technique from that website to make a funky filter effect out fo a portrait of Oliver though.

B.U.N.N.Ys

When Mom, Dad, our house guest Patty and I rode into the driveway in dad's Sweet Pickles van after dinner tonight, there were two rather large bunnies running through the dark across the lawn.

Coming into the house, I got Oliver to let him outside. "Are you taking Oliver out?" my Mom asked. Yes, I told her.
"Well, be careful of the B.U.N.N.Ys" she said as we headed out the side door of the house.
I thought about it a moment and burst out laughing. First at the way she spelled it, second at the fact that she spelled it at all. I don't know that Oliver even knows what a bunny is, let alone realize that at the sound of it's name, he'd been tipped-off. I mean, he might perk-up at the sound of "walk" and "treat". But, "Bunny"? No.

Oliver has a Chat with GMa

Every morning there is a routine in our home. I am pulled slightly our of my slumber early in the morning when Dad cracks open my door and whispers to his granddoggy, "C'mon, Oliver. It's time to go outside!".

Like a reluctant teenager, Oliver slowly creeks his way out of the bed and tiptoes out to him. The two sit on the stairs heading to the first floor just outside my room, where they whisper sweet nothings to each other to start their day off right. Then, they head downstairs for a morning pee. Well, the dog does, anyway. Not my Dad. I'm guessing Dad peed on his own prior to this routine. Just a guess. Before long, I hear Oliver making his way through the dark of my room to curl back up in a cozy ball on his warm bed, blatter empty.

A few hours later, his GMa, as my Mom has now come to be known with relation to her granddoggy (yes, we're one of those families), sits on the stairs outside my room and calls to Oliver. For the next few minutes they enjoy a mini-love fest during which Oliver rubs his shedding body of white fur all over Mom's usually black pants and groans while Mom talks to him, tells him what a handsome boy he is and how wonderful he is. He loves it.

This video is a sampling of those chats the two have with one another. The difference here is that Jealous Nell, aka Bootise, is a bit in the way. But, you get the idea.


Oliver Has a Chat With G-Ma from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.