Quote of the day

"A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken."

-James Dent

To brush or not to brush?

My introduction to the importance of canine dental care came in 2002 when my vet in Michigan informed me that Bailey needed a cleaning. With both a father and brother practicing dentistry, and knowing that Todd and I quit having regular cleanings soon after high school, I found this suggestion ridiculous - especially since to this day, my brother's mouth is free of fillings. (I really think it's all about the home care - if you brush and floss with due diligence, you should be fine). While my father agreed that "Bailey going to the dentist" was absurd, I conceded and Bailey got his cleaning for a total cost of $130.25. When I got Zoe in November of 2005, her teeth were foul, so her first cleaning was completed that month for a grand total of $283.

Now that Bailey is 10-and-a-half, my current vet says he's due for another scrub. Of
course the current estimated charges are closer to $400! I also worry about putting him under at his age, but when I learned about the complications that can arise from an abscessed tooth (kidney infection risk, for example), I realized Bailey's plaque encrusted jaws shouldn't be ignored.

So, you may be wondering why I don't just brush my dogs' teeth instead to avoid this hassle? While I'm sure there are dogs out there that are somewhat receptive to having their mouths held open to be probed by a foreign object that often gags them, my dogs do not fall into that group. Bailey gags and struggles to bite down on whatever is placed in his mouth - he doesn't differentiate between my fingers and the toothbrush. Zoe is far more receptive. She even allows me to pick at her teeth with dental tools, but her mouth is so small that it is quite difficult to effectively maneuver any kind of dental instrument.

So Bailey will likely be getting his teeth cleaned at the end of the year.
Zoe, however, is quite satisfied with my alternative solution for cleaning her teeth: Greenies! I'm glad she loves them, too, because it has proven to be a challenge to find chews/treats that are appropriate for a dog as tiny as she is (7-and-a-half lbs). These little toothbrush-shaped digestible dental treats are genius. Not only are they effective, but as evidenced in the photos below, dogs find them to be quite tasty!

In closing, I feel I must say that if your pets will allow you to brush their teeth, by all means make the effort to do so. Your wallet will thank you!

Zoe the Greenie destroyer

The aftermath: enjoying any and all remnants available

Check out that tongue! S'pose that treat was lip smackin' good.

Quote of the day

I am not afraid of storms for I'm learning how to sail my ship.

-Louisa May Alcott

Love My Ride

A summary of my CR-V acquisition and deep devotion...
In July of 1997, I drove my old Honda Accord to Rehoboth Beach to visit my roommate who was lifeguarding for the summer. Long drive. Way too long on 1-95 (I loathe that highway) and small country roads. For perhaps a three-hour segment on a two-lane highway, I followed a Honda CR-V. They had only just become available, so this new tiny SUV (oxymoron, I know) caught my eye. A mental note was attempted, but then I quickly tried to forget it, reminding myself that a new car was nowhere in my future - near or far.

Then fate stepped in. On July 23, 1997, I was on my way to a doctor's appointment when the driver of something like a Lincoln breezed through a red light and plowed into my poor Accord. After I was spun around about 3 times and managed to gain my balance, I came face-to-face with a seemingly inebriated lawyer who exclaimed, "Now how am I going to get my golf clubs out of the trunk!" I nearly punched him, but I am happy to report that he was found to be at fault and reparations were in order. Enter the beloved CR-V. Many ecstatic hoorays follow.


As seen in the dash photo, my precious CR-V has been with me for 136,828 miles, and has never let me down. Eight moves, three dogs (really a couple dozen dogs if you include the ones I've cared for that aren't mine) and two severe collisions later, the Honda remains stalwart. Prime automobile. Highly recommended. Devastated that Honda has obliterated the original design, which is perplexing since I received maybe eight letters between 2000-2004 begging me to trade mine in because the demand for the model was so high, yet entirely unavailable. I do not try to make sense of such things.

Maybe the only point of this post is to express my admiration of my 10+ year companion, but I'm okay with it being a shout out to Honda - particularly the original CR-V. Drive on.

Quote of the day

It's no trick loving somebody at their best. Love is loving them at their worst."

-Tom Stoppard, The Real Thing

Green Tuesday

Tuesday is trash and recycling pickup day at our house. I never gave much thought to the trash/recycling pickup, as I'm sure most of us don't, since all it really requires is dragging some bins to the curb for emptying. Well, not at my house, oh no.

I began to notice some strange "rearranging" early on, but never questioned it because hey, what do I care as long as my waste doesn't end up in the local landfill? After a few weeks of random recyclables showing up in my bin (strangely while my own were missing) the mystery was somewhat solved.

My parents were visiting, and my dad is an über recycler/trash picker-upper/composter extraordinaire. He has always asked that I save my aluminum cans for him (I'm a Diet Dr. Pepper junkie) because he turns them in for profit in Winston-Salem. I must interject here that dear Kendall is not trying to make a buck off of our carbonated addictions, but he is merely getting a small reimbursement for helping to clean up our surroundings.

So, back to the explanation. My dad was in town and had picked up a few cans roadside. Strange man approached my dad and practically forced him to hand over the aluminum, while proclaiming that he is the neighborhood "recycling captain."

I admit I have never attended a neighborhood or Home Owners Association meeting, but I get enough mail to fill me in on the rules and regulations and I can assure you there are no "recycling captains."

Perhaps I shouldn't really complain, since Strange man takes it upon himself to mow my lawn with his own lawnmower (and gas), even though I have a perfectly capable lawnmower. Had he not destroyed some of my projects that were drying on my front porch (yes, they were made out of cardboard, but you would think that to MOST people the objects weren't recycling) I would probably be singing his praises.

However, he recently terrified a group of my friends, at my house for a party, by weed whacking with a bit too much zeal and no communication with bystanders. Some of them compared him to Leatherface.  Jeez.

Blue Monday

Mondays in their entirety aren't always all bad - it's the Monday mornings that get me. Since the end of my days as a competitive swimmer, I've become increasingly less fond of hours prior to 9 a.m. You would be, too, if you were forced for most of your life to wake at the most indecent of hours, only to plunge into freezing cold water and push yourself to physical limits I couldn't begin to comprehend now. Honestly, I often think back to those days and wonder how I didn't go absolutely cuckoo spending so many hours staring at a stripe on the bottom of a swimming pool; back and forth, back and forth; my mind constantly counting down the laps until I could go home and eat and go to bed. I used to dream about my bed...

My current physical regimen is quite modest, but it does require that I rise before 7 a.m. on Monday, Wednesday and Friday - therefore I hate those days except for Friday, because well, it's Friday.  Next Monday will be day three of vacation at the beach, so I'm actually looking forward to next Monday, but for now I'll look forward to Tuesday. (I'm starting to feel oddly Seussish).

And I still dream about my bed... 

Quote of the day from the August 2008 issue of Real Simple Magazine:

"I love living. I have some problems with my life, but living is the best thing they've come up with so far."

-Neil Simon

Four years and counting

We're on the brink of entering our fifth year in Orchard Lakes. Bailey and I moved in at the end of July 2004 and welcomed Zoe in November 2005. This house suits us - not too big, not too small - with room for visitors (in Bailey's mind this equates to people who may rub his ears - score!)

Today is a typical Sunday in hot, humid Durham. Walking the dogs is somewhat trying on days like this. One would think they would not want to spend any more time in the sauna-like outdoors than necessary, but alas this is not the case. Both canines are often seemingly unaffected by the blazing heat, while I increasingly wither and melt with each step. Zoe in particular must smell every inch of the landscape, stop to gawk at any passersby, and should there be any other four-legged creature within 100 yards, she loses it.  Think squealing, furry, miniature pig with super-human strength. It is very embarrassing. Very. In fact, I've noticed other dog-walkers (namely those with whom we've crossed paths before) turn on their heels with warp speed at the sight of us approaching.  Hey, maybe it's me, but for my ego's sake I blame Zoe.

This unwelcome photo was taken on the sly late this morning, but it does illustrate at least part of my average Sunday. Naps are required preparation for Mondays.