The Crate Tray

Since the *eh hem* incidences keep coming, I guess the blog entries will too.

Harlow and I slept in a bit which was very nice and the morning was typical, the weather outside mild.
I left around 10 for a photo shoot which was followed by a massage appointment (one I was in serious need of because of my recent workload at BU).

I returned around 3PM to find this...

She had somehow managed to rip apart the very hard plastic tray in the bottom of her crate. I didn't yell. I was almost impressed. Relieved that she hadn't somehow hurt herself. I wondered if this was anxiety related or just boredom?  Neither were very good options but since I was quite confident a Gremlin hadn't into my home and done this, it was at least one or the other.  And a clear sign that whatever inspired her to do this, it will likely happen again.  I plan on getting a replacement tray and spraying it's edges with bitter apple to deter any future redesign attempts.

I had hoped to puppy-proof the kitchen so she could be a bit more free when I left the house. 'Guess that's not happening for a while. I can't fathom what she'd do to my new cabinets!

I didn't punish her but I did grumble as I cleaned up her mess. Making it clear by not paying much attention to her that I wasn't happy about what she'd just done.

The afternoon passed and we were outside for a lot of it, cleaning leaves...

Harlow supervised. 

In the evening, we had fun playing the Ring the bell not because I have to pee or poop but because I wanna go outsiiiiiiiide! game.

I hate that game. 

I even caught her *pretending* to pee during one of the rounds and then running over to me proudly for a treat! I couldn't believe it.

Except I've met this creature, and I can totally believe it.

Harlow is 43 Pounds!

When I look at the photo from a few entries ago I can hardly believe that's my dog, that little thing! When I picked Harlow up in mid September she was already quite a bit bigger than she was in that photo from her online adoption ad, but still. She weighed about 30 pounds when I got her two months ago and now she's 43 pounds!

We have had our challenges but it's been great really. She still doesn't like her crate, but now that I take her by the collar (rather than trying to sweet talk her) and bring her to her crate, she's much more tolerant of getting in. I often put in toys that hold treats. When I arrive home at the end of the day, she is happy to get out, but also happy to grab that treat filled toy and devour it's contents. Apparently they taste better when someone is around to observe your treat finding prowess.

Dad comes to visit her often. I think they both enjoy it, and a dog walker come in the late morning every day to take her out. While it's not a service I want to keep forever and always, I do clearly see how Harlow has been socialized well by being taken out regularly, exposed to others dogs and even my walker's kid...

when I saw this one on my walker's FB page, I shared it, adding "Well, I don't know who this adorable child is but I'm sure glad my dog isn't eating him!"

She has become more comfortable with her yard. Very comfortable, actually. A few weekends ago she squeezed through the space between the gate and the carport and headed out for a little walk on her own. I saw this happen and knew if I chased her she'd fun. So, I casually walked behind her. She crossed the street, slowing down one car. I waved sheepishly.

A neighbor I had not yet met was leaving her home as Harlow crossed the street. "Well, thanks! I don't mind if I do invite myself into your home!" and Harlow ran right in!  Fortunately it was a closed in foyer, but I apologized profusely and fortunately the neighbor, who I now know is named Linda love puppies. Good thing.

She has endured a few baths and does very well with them. She will even start to shake while still int he tub and stop as though she consciously realizes that the suds will fly off her and in the end she will be less clean from the soap removal.

We've been recently having some frustration with house breaking. So quickly I forget that just because she seems to get the hang of it doesn't mean you stop giving her treats and making a big deal when she does the right thing. One day started off very rough when she pooped in the hall when I was in the shower and then got rid of the evidence. Later that evening, she refused to poop outside. I tried taking hr out over and over with no luck. We went out for one last try very late and still no luck even though I gave her plenty of time.

We went upstairs to my office. I sat at my desk and turned to find her pooping in the corner. I have never yelled at her like I did that night.

So, now it's back to lots of super-juicy treats and praise when she does it right and we seem to be getting back on track.

Harlow's allowed on the couch every once in a while, but only
when she's on someone's lap. Surprisingly (I'm probably jinxing it) she doesn't to get on it anymore.  Above is a video of her being weird with my friend Kristyn, who comes by regularly for TV and commentary fun.

for a little size comparison, this photo was taken in early October.

Pooper

Harlow still doesn't like her crate. Well, I don't think it's the crate so much as simply being alone. The other day I blocked her off from the kitchen using part of the puppy pen I bought and as I mopped, she barked. And barked. And barked. It's very annoying, but more that that, it's disconcerting. I don't want to punish her for being upset, so much like when I put her in the crate and she barks and barks and barks, I don't want to put a bark collar on her because that will simply make the anxiety that comes with the crate higher.

I don't have a huge amount of respect for humans who can't entertain themselves when alone, and as a kid, I had a time when I had very severe separation anxiety problems. The irony is not lost on me. 

The biggest concern which has now wained, was the fact that she wouldn't poop outside, but she would poop in her crate ten minutes after I put her in there. It seemed to me that she hadn't caught on to the right place to poop, but also it upset her so much that she just lost her shit, literally, when I crated her for the night (or when I went to work).  So, in an effort to get her to go outside, I would coax her into her crate with yummy treats and get her in there and leave her to bark and wail for ten minutes, at which time I would get her outside before poop happens.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.  Sometimes, it wouldn't work and I had to take her outside and tie her up so I could hose her down, then clean off the crate tray as thoroughly as possible, and pop more soiled towels in the laundry. Again. I did a lot of laundry for a bit there. Sometimes I would have to go to work and the dog walker would come home to a slightly poopy crate, but not too bad.

Which is when I realized she's eating her poop.  I did some research and discovered that adding pineapple to their food tastes good to them going down, but not once it's out the other end. Mission accomplished. The next time she pooped outside and approached, she recoiled!

Two weeks of effort - watching her patterns, figuring out her schedule, watching what she ate and drank and when she did so - have paid off. In fact, she has not peed or pooped in the house in four days at least. Though there was that one incident when I was blow drying my hair and that freaked her out and she pooped in her bed in the hallway right outside the bathroom. That was my bad.  Other than that she's doing really well with the house training.  So well actually, that I haven;t seen her poop or pee anywhere but out yard in a specific area.  Correction, she refuses to poop or pee anywhere but her own yard.

That's something to work on next.

My dog walker posted this on FB and I found it so funny. Apparently it was shy day int he dog walking club that day. I'm hoping one of these fellows can teach Harlow that it's OK to pee placed other than at home!

Harlow's Eyelashes

Pinky Pick-Up

On September 17, 2013, I drove up to Manchester, NH to pick up Pinky. She was there for her 48 hour quarantine after arriving from Tennessee a few days prior. When I got there, there was a bit of paperwork confusion which was settled quickly when they realized that I would not be able to adopt her until she had a health certificate. She would not be getting a health certificate until the parasites she was sick with where cleared.

Lovely.

But, she was a sweet love who didn't mind the car ride at all. In fact, she brought me to tears when she reached forward from the back seat and rested her chin on the center console, much like Oliver had done when I first picked him up years ago.

Mom and dad visited that night to meet her, and she greeted them at the door with wiggles and squiggles and a happy tail and little puddles of pee in the excitement and trepidation.

The first night, I put her in her crate and she barked for hours. She's clearly not a fan of the crate, but I wanted to train her to love her little space, and to not be able to wander much until she was housebroken.

The next goal (well, aside from training her to go outside and getting her to be OK with the crate) was to rename her.  It took me over a week to commit to one. I thought of Oliver but felt it was too close to Oliver. Toby, Scout, Moxie, Maggie. But none of them were quite right.  During one of our bajilion visits outside to get her to poop in the yard and not in her crate (she would get so upset when I left for work that she would poop in there), it occurred to me to look up names of actresses from old black and white films. I really wanted to play of her back and white coloring.

Jean Harlow! It's perfect for her, and her long Hollywood eyelashes!

It stuck.

She's already a big girl who can jump out of this pen I bought for her.

Harlow at 4.5 months!

Adoption Day!

Well, not quite adoption day, but pick-up day. Harlow, as it turned out, had two different kinds of parasites and needed to be clean of them before I could officially adopt her.

Are Four Legs Better Than None?

I am considering being unfaithful.

With my dating life a sham, I've been thinking more and more about getting another dog. I was looking around for adoption sites for dogs (I'd exhausted petfinder), and came across a listing for Survivor Tail Animal Rescue (STAR). And Pinky. This little one.

Now when I saw her she immediately caught my eye. Her eyes in particular. Big, brown and human-like. I like her ears and hope she never grows into them. I filled out an application thinking that, as a single person, I would get lost in the pile of families itching to get her.

My application was not lost, and after a few emails, a phone interview, a home visit, another phone interview and a follow-up, it appears I might be getting her in a few weeks, at which point she will be about five months old, I'm told.

I have a lot of apprehension about her. She is a border collie mixed with wire-hair terrier. She will be an active dog. I am not a runner. I am not a cyclist. And before you suggest I become one, I will just tell you that I will not adapt a whole new lifestyle (like running or cycling regularly) for a dog. No matter how cute she is.

I wonder if my "way" will be enough. Walks and visits to a dog park, and freedom in the back yard. That was enough for Oliver. My sweet lovely Oliver.

So I have talked to the agency about a ten day trial before I adopt her. Fostering, if you will. I have to believe that I will know after ten days whether I have a connection with this dog or not. I hope I will know after ten days whether or not she is a sociopath, or at the very least, I accept that I truly have zero patience and am a lazy git.

I am cautious. I am optimistic (which is funny because that's basically how I am about dating and wasn't I trying to get away form that?).

And then there's that other question. How will she ever live up to the wonderfulness that was Oliver?  Will she have fun, weird quirks like him? Oh, I do hope so.

And what I told my Mom was my worry; that I will forget the way Oliver's fur felt. I am in tears as I write this, simply thinking about his fur (Unfortunately, I think about the last time I felt his fur, when he lay warm but gone on the gurney in the vet's office. I hope that will fade, but in the meantime, I should probably work on that and think of another time when I felt his fur and hope that is the memory that will stick instead).

I don't always fall to tears at the thought of him. Mostly it's a smile that comes to my face. I just went to the basement to see what kind of dog stuff remains from him; holiday bandannas, his formal collar and necktie (for our most swanky parties), chew toys, and that's what started the waterworks. Ollie was my first dog. MY first dog. Not a family one. He was mine and I was his. My shadow. My sweet boy. I liked that he was a boy. Different from all our family dogs. I liked that he was not black and white for the same reasons.

And moving on seems unfaithful. Disloyal. The complete opposite of what he was to me for so long.

I hope when I meet her, things will clarify. I was unsure about Oliver when I first got him. Apprehensive. But after about a day, I knew. He wasn't going anywhere.

I hope I feel the same way about this one (within those first ten days) and if I don't, I hope I have the guts to accept that fact and not force it to be something it's not, and give her back without feeling guilty about it. Ten to fifteen years is a long time to wish your second dog was your first dog.

POY

I won a award.

Here's what the judges said and HERE'S the link to the images.
I'm really proud of what the judges said about my portfolio. Color, light, composition, patterns, all that matters, but to have my work described as "sincere and accessible" and providing "important documentation in the tradition of photography that preserves a sense of time and place, historically one of the most important contributions of photography in general." makes me proud.

Photographer of the Year

33 entries

The panel found this category more difficult to judge than the individual photographs, as many portfolios suffered from inconsistency of quality. The ones that took the prizes stood out in this regard, and in their ability to consistently create powerful images while serving to promote the colleges and universities they depict. As one judge put it, "The winning photographs and collections were distinguished by the simple values of evocation of emotion, time, and place. What the photographers have succeeded in doing in service of their institutions and clients is twofold. To promote a message as well as communicate with the power of authenticity."

Gold Award

Boston University (Mass.) - Photographer: Cydney Scott

The panel agreed that Cydney Scott presented a decisively distinguished body of work. The educational environment presents a special atmosphere of refuge where growth and inquiry are protected and flourish. That atmosphere is present throughout Scott's photographs. The photographer has managed to maintain the integrity of personal vision and sensitivity to the people and environments depicted, presenting a sense of authenticity as well as the inherent power of documentation. There is no sense of contrivance or overt messaging. It is simply sincere and accessible. Scott has recorded the natural interactions between people, at times with a touch of humor. Many years in the future, people will look at Scott's work as important documentation in the tradition of photography that preserves a sense of time and place, historically one of the most important contributions of photography in general.