Things Great Danes Eat

So This Happened

2011-11-13T18:28:00.000-08:00

A timeline of the gradual degradation of the Mountain Alder
that we planted this summer in honor of Mike's grandfather:

June - Our beautiful Mountain Alder.
Thriving in our extremely acidic soil consisting of
decomposing granite, which we thought would be
the only hurdle to clear.

Evidently we were mistaken.

An early August morning - Surely mine eyes deceive me.
Beautiful Alder is now two-thirds eaten.
Words fail me.

October - Completely gone. Two inches of stump.
Ivy has never been accused of not being thorough.

Thank You

2011-11-08T09:30:00.000-08:00

Mike and I just wanted to say thank you for all the flowers, plants, donations to rescue groups and humane societies, cards, calls and emails. And mostly, thank you for understanding the connection that we had with our beautiful boy. It is so very clear to us that the light in his heart and soul was visible to everyone he met.

In other news, Ivy seems to be giving us a break from constantly eating everything in sight except for an apple pie that we were actually really looking forward to eating ourselves. I am sure this is a temporary abstention, as she is a little down from missing her big brother.

Milo

2011-10-26T13:28:00.000-07:00

Our sweet boy
November 26, 1999 - October 24, 2011

I Really Don't Make This Stuff Up

2011-07-18T16:30:00.001-07:00

I am always impressing myself, as I am sure you do as well. The other day I decided to dismantle a rather ugly fence in the backyard that has been driving me nuts for about 10 years. There was this incredibly stupid bar that ran across the gate, so every time I went down to the chicken coop I had to duck down at a right angle to get under it. And almost every time I did I bumped my head pretty hard. I had asked a friend to help me take it down, thinking it wasn't a job for just one person, but as said friend was selfishly off getting married and subsequently honeymooning, I decided to just do it myself. You can only bump your head so many times before you are forced to start asking yourself the definition of insanity (according to my mother, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results - perhaps that was actually Einstein, but my mother is just as brilliant). And I hit my head so hard the night before that I actually made myself a little nauseous. So no more insanity. We are people of action in this house.

After using my do-it-herself tools, including but not limited to, rubber mallet, socket wrenches, zip ties, metal sharp thingy, crow bar type thing that doubles as a pencil (yes a pencil!), and sledgehammer (please - someone needs to invent a sledgehammer that is light as air but that gets the job done. Those things are ridiculous), I ended up with a massive disaster area. I put the fence fasteners in a large ziplock bag so I wouldn't lose any of the parts as Mike seems to think that some delusional will want a free ugly fence off of Craigslist (no, we're not going to do that, honey. No delusionals other than ourselves up here at the house). I left the ziplock bag on the table for a day and kind of forgot about it while I ran some errands.

Poor Milo - he is so hungry. He is practically skeletal, but we are feeding him a ton of food. I guess once you greet the century mark in life, you just get super skinny. Wow, what a generous tradeoff. At any rate, he is evidently so hungry that he tore into that bag of fence fasteners like nobody's business. I don't think he actually ingested any parts once he figured out that they weren't very accommodating to the teeth. Seriously, it's a texture thing, people.

Down the Pie Hole

2011-06-16T12:42:00.001-07:00

Ivy and I went hiking in the National Forest with my friend Julie and her Rhodesian Ridgeback, Kylie, one morning this week. Everything was going well, meaning that Ivy was slightly curtailing her exuberance due to Kylie's fairly shy nature. We were hiking along, everybody was pointed in the same direction (trust me, if you hike with your dogs you know how difficult this can sometimes be), and we spotted something red and gooey just up ahead. Julie sucked in her breath, I believe because she thought it was a chewed up critter. Ivy normally leaves those types of things alone, so I knew by the way she was running to it that it was something sweeter than carcass. As it turns out, it was actually an entire pie, of what looked to be the strawberry variety, right there on the trail. Seriously? Somebody left a perfectly good pie on a hiking trail? When you start seeing pies on hiking trails you really have to wonder where our country is headed. Just seeing such a lovely pie on the trail makes me feel both morally degraded and utterly dejected. I love pie.

This is a close approximation of what the pie
looked like. I would have taken a picture, but
it was down the gullet within a matter of seconds,
so this stock photography will have to suffice.

Hungry Much?

2011-05-24T16:34:00.000-07:00

You know those pieces of massive machinery that crush cars into tiny cubes of metal? Yeah, I have one of those. Let me start at the beginning.

Our vet recently told us that Milo's esophagus is at least 25 times larger than it should be, which basically means that when looking at a lateral radiograph, the edges of his esophagus run closely parallel with both his spine and his sternum. That is a widely-diametered piece of tubing there. Basically what happens in a dog with megaesophagus is that the esophagus is so stretched out that it doesn't constrict to force the food downward into the stomach. So we have had to drastically change the manner in which we feed Milo, as well as changing the schedule to accommodate quatro-feeding (my term for feeding four times a day). Milo lacks any real strength in his hindquarters and if he sits, he often needs help getting up. So we have to have Milo sit on a pillow, making his esophagus completely perpendicular to the ground. This increases his chances of the food he ingests (as opposed to the food he throws into the air while sitting and which ends up on his back) actually reaching the stomach rather than just sitting in that stretched out esophagus and quickly making its way back out.

I think that the quatro-feeding makes him hungry, as he's only fed small meals throughout the day. He's never been much of a grazer. More of a gorger. This was once a full-sized can of dog food with a label. Now it's just scrap metal, completely licked clean both inside and out.

So thoroughly compacted that there aren't even
air pockets that would allow an ant to survive for 60 seconds.

How much can you get for pre-crushed scrap metal anyway? Honestly, with the vast amounts of money we've spent at the vet this year, I think we may be entitled to making use of this new skill of Milo's.

I am beginning to see a pattern in both Milo and Ivy's eating patterns. Milo has progressed from inedibles, and now tends to stick with things that are digestible, mostly foodstuffs with the occasional cardboard or paper casualty depending upon how badly he wants to eat something that is encased in such a material. Ivy just plain eats anything that was not meant to be ingested: wooden knitting needles, shoes, sticks, plastic, rocks, chicken feathers - you name it, she's happily eaten it.

I Thought We Were Over This

2011-05-15T04:48:00.000-07:00

I really did. I thought Ivy was pretty much through her chewing stage. The last thing she chewed was the sad shoe all the way back in January. Evidently I was wrong.

I went out of town last week and left the dogs in Mike's capable hands. I was gone for 4 days and Mike stayed home during those 4 of those days with the dogs. However, he was called away to something called "work" and had to leave the dogs home one day. Since Milo is having health issues, and Ivy suffers from some type of syndrome that makes her absolutely obsessed with going outside every 15 minutes, my super sweet friend Kim dropped by in the middle of the day to check on things and let them outside. She subsequently called me in a slight panic, asking if an ingested wooden knitting needle would create much of a problem in a dog. I sighed, said no, as it was explained to me that the needle was really just chewed to shreds, and went about my day thinking that it was a bit of a bummer that I had lost a knitting needle to Ivy's boredom and obvious growing frustration with my extended absence. When I got home from my trip, I saw that Mike had left the knitting "needle" on the kitchen table for me to see, but alas, it was not just one knitting needle. No. It was about 15.

I've had these knitting needles in the same basket for about 2 years now with no problems. Now I just have an empty basket. Oh, the humanity.

Use As Directed

2011-04-26T12:46:00.001-07:00

Adding to his long list of ailments, Milo is in the full throes of megaesophagus. I'll spare you the details - google it if you are interested. Let's just say it is a noisy illness and I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in about 2 weeks. Thus, more medications are needed. Getting meds from the vet is pretty expensive - $28 for 30 tablets as opposed to $27 for 100 tablets from 1800petmeds. I've ordered tons of medications from online veterinary pharmacies, and it is my understanding that their primary function is to provide drugs for veterinary purposes only. In other words, don't expect to be able to get your own prescriptions filled via an online, again may I stress, veterinary pharmacy.

Imagine my surprise when I was inspecting the plastic vial that came in the mail filled with Milo's prescription:

"May cause drowsiness. Alcohol may intensify this effect.
Use care when operating a car or dangerous machinery."

This is the extra sticker that they put on the prescription vial when there is a potential for an adverse drug interaction. Placing this sticker on the vial is an action that actually takes human effort, and, one would think, some rudimentary research to determine if there is indeed a possibility for a detrimental effect. And so I am left wondering what actually facilitated the necessity for this sticker on a veterinary prescription.

So great. We have to take away Milo's alcohol stash. And have you ever tried to take the car keys away from an ancient Great Dane? I am not anticipating that it will go well. Nor will taking away his dangerous machinery.

Even a Surfing Accident Can Turn Into Things Great Danes Eat

2011-04-14T16:43:00.000-07:00

After re-reading this post to check for spelling errors, it occurs to me that this is one of the more disgusting posts on this blog. You know how you shudder and gag when you find just one hair where it's not supposed to be? This story is about a whole chunk of hair, so consider yourself forewarned.

I have been feeling the urge to purge the house of unnecessary items lately, and in the process I have been reorganizing pretty much everything in our lives. Mike and I recently went to Hawaii and surfed on the North Shore, which was, as I'm sure you can guess, utterly fantastic.

So I was cleaning out of drawer of surf accoutrements and I came upon one of my rash guards (for those who don't surf, this is a garment worn to keep you from getting these nasty rashes from your board - depends upon the board whether I wear one or not). When we got home from Hawaii I washed everything (really, I swear I did) and folded it up and put it all away nicely in a drawer. For some reason, this week I decided there was a better drawer for these things. When I pulled out one particular rash guard a lock of hair fell from it.

This is where we surfed. Obviously we aren't surfing in
this picture, but I can hardly take a photo while standing
still, let alone while standing on a surfboard.

I know this is gross and maybe you will stop reading at this point. But I will explain. I wear my hair in two pigtails when I surf. As you may or may not know, wet hair is much more fragile than dry hair. I got hit by a particularly nasty wave one day and knocked my head on the board, which resulted in a scalping that pretty much decapitated a good chunk of my hair from my head. I now have bangs when I really didn't want them, but you work with what you have. But I digress. So this lock of hair that must have just gotten stuck on the inside of the rash guard fell out and onto the floor, whereupon not 2 seconds later Ivy scarfed it down. I think it was because it was salty from the seawater.

So, grossly, add "salted hair" to the list of Things Great Danes Eat.

emmi is here!

2011-04-10T13:04:00.000-07:00

And by "emmi is here," I sadly do not mean that we have adopted another Great Dane named emmi. Nor have we gotten the pig that I have been wanting. More on that later.

Moving on! Very exciting things happening over here. I have begun a collar and leash business, and they are now in local stores! emmi is an acronym standing for "emily, mike, milo & ivy." If you are in the Evergreen, Colorado area and would like to see examples, please stop by Bella Vita.

Not only does Michele carry my products, she also has an excellent selection of sweet-smelling, organic, soft, lovely home goods. And of course, being ever mindful of appropriate themes, behold this adorable dog (named Bella, of course) made of recycled magazines that Michele has adopted to watch over the collars and leashes:

Bella

I have about 30 styles so far, and custom orders are available. I am working on my website and etsy shop. You can check it out here (www.emmilovespets.com), but please don't set your internet shopping expectations high. I am not winning at internet right now. Check back soon though for updates!

Sick Puppy

2011-03-20T18:58:00.000-07:00

sick puppy

It seems that all the organic, inorganic, unidentifiable, and truly disgusting things that Milo has eaten over a lifetime of 11 1/2 years has finally caught up with him. After three weeks of severe gastrointestinal issues, Milo has at last been diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Disease. I say, if I were Milo's bowels, I would be irritated too.

Some things Milo has eaten in the past 11 years that stand out include, but are in no way limited to:

Cell phone;
box of tea bags;
doggie diapers;
photographs;
books;
one over-sized stuffed chair;
empty ziplock bags;
bamboo knitting needles;
3 pairs of glasses (totally my fault. I had a fairly steep learning curve regarding proper storage of my glasses).

Seriously, I can't believe it's taken this long for his bowels to become so irritable.

Count Your Chickens

2011-03-03T15:36:00.000-08:00

For Mike and I, there is little else so disorienting and disgusting than waking up to the sounds of a dog retching. I'm sure you see where this is heading, so please feel free to bow out now. This story is not really for the faint of stomach.

At 5:50 a.m., I woke up to the sound of Milo throwing up all over the steps that lead downstairs from our bedroom. A quick visual didn't show anything too concerning, however, after gathering towels and carpet cleaner, upon closer inspection I saw something that looked like a soggy, swollen french fry. After some poking and prodding by Mike, who had since been recruited to assist, I, in my infinite veterinary knowledge, determined that Milo had vomited up part of his own alimentary canal. This was concerning, but Mike talked me back down and we went back to bed.

At 9:00 a.m., Milo went outside and vomited something that I was entirely certain was a part of his own stomach. I called Mike, who was en route to the Think Tank, and asked him to come home, as it was clear that Milo was not long for this world. I don't think you can live very long once the vomiting of body parts commences. Am I right? Right.

So we took Milo to see Dr. Jeff (best veterinarian in the world, and this coming from someone so obviously possessed of erudite veterinary wisdom, as you can tell). We took the body parts in sandwich bags so that Jeff could properly inspect them. Jeff looked at them, poked them and generally dissected them, and looked at me with obvious concern on his face. "Have you counted your chickens lately?" he asked. I told him I was pretty sure all eleven were accounted for, but I couldn't be certain. To which Jeff replied, "Well, these are definitely body parts, but they aren't Milo's body parts. I really think you should go home and count your chickens."

Sub-q fluids and some anti-emetic injections later, we're home and Milo is resting comfortably. All chickens are accounted for.

Moses Update

2011-02-10T12:11:00.001-08:00

I received this letter from Mosey Shep not too long ago (and promptly forgot to post it here):

How sweet is that? Mosey is loving his home in Texas, and I was able to visit him back in October. Andrea and Steve love him and he loves them, so it's all worked out quite nicely. His has siblings, Gage and Sesh (sorry for the bad photos. I am already a horrible photographer and these dogs move fast).

Gage

Huge dog. Biggest dog I've ever seen. Super sweet.

Sesh

Looks like Ivy.
Acts like Ivy in that she is apparently deluded into thinking
she is Queen of the house. But truly a lovely dog.

Because Life Would Just be Too Easy if Ivy Only Ate What I Fed Her

2011-01-21T07:22:00.000-08:00

You know those shoes you've had for years, the ones that are super comfortable and that you keep telling yourself are still cute and in style but deep down you fear may cause one of your friends to submit you as a clueless fashion candidate to What Not to Wear? Those are the shoes that were taken from me, ripped away without any warning at all. Mike and I went to dinner the other night, came home to what looked like a normal scene, and then Mike went upstairs and called me up by my given name (which he never does - sometimes I forget my name isn't Sweetie). And there it was - my super-comfortable-and-surely-still-in-fashion shoe, in an inconsiderately chewed up heap on the floor. Sometimes our choices are taken away from us, be it a good thing or bad. In this particular instance it makes me sad, but it's probably for the best.

I know it was Ivy. She seems to have developed a minor case of separation anxiety. Either that or we're not feeding her enough. Yesterday I came home to this:

My new purple beeswax candles from Bella Vita (lovely shop, by the way). Not a single piece of wax was left, just the wrapper and the black tissue paper that Michele had so lovingly wrapped them in. So I am guessing that Ivy has about 2 feet of candle wick working its way through her system. Sounds super fun doesn't it?

Good times ahead.

It's Hard to Admit You Have a Problem if You Can't Talk

2010-12-30T13:26:00.000-08:00

It's the day before New Year's Eve. It's practically blizzarding outside. We're working from home. Perfect day to have a beer with lunch, right? So we're done with lunch and Mike runs up to his office to field a phone call, leaving half of his beer on the coffee table. After I took the plates over to the sink, I came back to find that Milo had spilled the beer onto its side and has slurped up all of what was left. He's not drunk yet. Please don't report us to the ASPCA.

Ivy Delves Into The World of Metaphysics

2010-11-19T09:30:00.001-08:00

Can someone please tell me what this is? As far as I can tell, it is "black." Mike and I were going about our daily business and we kept finding a trail of slightly spongy/slightly crispy black chewings. Which led us to Ivy standing proudly by her pile of "black" looking as if she had just invented fire. It is absolutely unidentifiable and is limited to its very few visible characteristics. So evidently "black" is a Thing Great Danes Eat. I know, how very metaphysical. I believe the two questions striving to animate the metaphysical argument, i.e., 1) what is there? and 2) what is it like?, are definitively answered and satisfied by "black." Yes, that's Professor Ivy, if you please.

Things That Eat Great Danes

2010-11-19T09:05:00.001-08:00

Evidently Great Danes are not as high up on the food chain as I once believed. Last week, while playing with her pals at the dog park and being just generally adorable and perfect, part of Ivy was turned into a light snack for an Akita. I don't have anything against Akitas as a breed in general, I just say this so that you, dear reader, can have a proper visual idea of what preyed upon my sweet girl. Ivy didn't make a sound when it happened, so when my friend Christine asked me how in the world Ivy had started bleeding spontaneously and I looked up and saw the Akita and his human running for the gate, I was befuddled. It was only after some friends told me that they had seen what had happened that I got a wee big angry at this display of degustationary gumption. Food chain, indeed.

Vengeance, Thy Name is Potato

2010-08-19T07:18:00.000-07:00

Just today I was [sort of] lamenting the fact that the Danes haven't done anything of real interest lately, i.e., they haven't eaten anything off the counter, from the top of the refrigerator, etc., that warrants posting. I should have known that I would jinx myself in a most serious manner.

I have been super sick recently and Mike has taken very good care of me. So naturally I wanted to show him how much I appreciate his medical ministrations by making his favorite meal, which consists of homemade gnocchi and roasted kale. I made the gnocchi, which took about an hour and a half, then rolled it out and cut it on the counter. Have you ever made gnocchi?!? It's not one of the easiest or quickest meals to make. Then I trimmed the kale, and, thinking the chickens might like a leafy treat, ran down to the coop to give them the scraps. Upon my return to the kitchen - literally less than 30 seconds later - I found the counter top completely wiped clean and Ivy looking only slightly abashed. One solitary gnocchi remained.

So now I am vacillating between hoping that she experiences mild to medium discomfort and worrying that she experiences mild to medium discomfort. Luckily we had her preemptively gastropexied so I'm at least not worried that she is going to explode like an unforked potato in a microwave.

I am an Easy Mark

2010-07-27T08:20:00.001-07:00

I said farewell to Astrid the Rooster a few weeks ago. After a fairly terrifying drive down to meet Aimee in Denver, during which time I literally feared for my life due to the way Astrid was staring me down, she now has a new home where I was promised she won't be eaten. As I was walking away from Aimee's car, I heard the seductive words that all animal lovers both crave and fear, aimed specifically at the target on my back that states I will take in any of your stray and/or unwanted animals: "These poor [insert animal species name here] sure do need a home." So I slowly turned around and saw two hens in the back of her car. How could I resist? Poor Mike. I came home that evening with two new chickens. Persephone is an easter egger and Athena is a dark brahma. I had never heard of a dark brahma. After some cursory research, it appears that I have adopted one of the largest breeds of chicken available. I am afraid that I may have a chickizilla on my hands.

Athena

Persephone

I get a lot of inquiries about chickens. Evidently the backyard chicken movement is a global phenomenon. In that spirit, here are my girls rockin' out to Cibo Mato's Know Your Chicken.

Note to self: refrain from feeding the chickens red bell pepper. It just makes them mad.

Heartbroken

2010-07-14T07:50:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I drove to Southern Colorado to meet Andrea so that she could take Moses home with her and officially adopt him.

Milo and Moses have not been having an easy go of things lately, and Sunday night they got into a terrible fight. Milo did not win. As the emergency vet said, "Looks like Milo starts the fights and Moses ends them." That pretty much sums it up.

If Steve and Andrea weren't the wonderful people that they are and hadn't so readily agreed to take Moses back into their home, we may have been living in a split household, with Milo in one half of the house and Moses in the other. It would have been close to impossible to give Mosey up to people we didn't know and love. But we know that Steve and Andrea love Moses like he was their own, and there is no better home for him. When I called Andrea on Monday morning, she did not hesitate to say that they would love to have Moses again. Thank you, Andrea. You are my hero.

We are completely heartbroken over this, especially me. Milo is Mike's dog. Ivy is Milo's dog. And Mosey was truly my dog. He followed me everywhere I went, and either had his head in my lap or was laying at my feet. I don't know if I'll ever find another dog who I feel so connected to, but being an eternal optimist, I know I'll keep trying.

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

2010-07-05T07:59:00.000-07:00

Counterclockwise from top right:

Pidgeon Red Flowering Kale;
Italian Flat-Leaf Parsley;
Italian Large-Leaf Basil;
Thai Lemon Basil;
French Lavender;
Dirt.

It takes a super long time to grow anything at this altitude, so when I see sprouts I get excited. When I see actual herbs I'm pretty much over the moon. When I see a giant dirt hole where the lovely Purple Sage used to be, it's not exactly a red-letter day for me. But it seems that it was for Ivy.

You Have Got to be Kidding Me

2010-06-20T17:36:00.000-07:00

Last night I was hanging out with the chickens, sitting on my stump in their chicken run, getting pecked at by Vivian/Bitchian and loved on by Esmé and Marcheline, and I looked up to see Astrid coming out of the coop. She normally stays in the coop so I don’t see her that often. At any rate, I noticed that she has these looooong iridescent green feathers cascading down her neck, and curly feathers at her tail. She also has a notably red comb. And she is a BIG chicken. This at only three and a half months old. And so I think to myself, “Expletive! More expletives!”

Astrid doing her Sam the Eagle pose

Astrid is a rooster. Thus, she has to go. I can’t imagine the bloodshed we would have if both Ruthie and Astrid were to remain. Since Ruthie was here first, Astrid is the one who will have to leave us. And I’m really bummed because I saved that pretty name for a while and now after only three and a half months I have to let it go. Dammit. Luckily, the lovely lady who runs Manifested Wings always told me that if any of my hens turned out to be roosters, she would take him back. I think I’ll have to do this on the condition that he/she doesn’t get eaten. That would break my heart. And Moses would not approve. He’d rather eat her himself. I’ve seen him eyeing her.

Cannibalism in the Home

2010-06-15T07:52:00.001-07:00

Readers may or may not remember when I was talking about getting really weird keyword searches and that it was only a matter of time before someone inquired whether Great Danes Eat Great Danes? Alas. They do. Great Danes do eat Great Danes.

Remember those disgustingly large turkey legs at the Renaissance Fair? This is the canine equivalent of those. Except that quality control forgot to separate the leg from the rest of the body. Shoddy oversight there. (I don’t mean to offend anyone who likes those things. This is coming from a vegetarian, so I’m just being consistent). Milo just lets Ivy gnaw away at his poor little legs. He is a tolerant dog. It’s a little bit sad.

Things Mosey Eats and Doesn't Eat

2010-06-05T16:32:00.000-07:00

Now that Mosey has been coming out of his morphine fog, we're seeing some very cute sides to his personality. We are guessing that before living with his wonderful foster parents, he never even knew what a toy was, so now everything is a toy. He is still growling at Milo and Ivy in a seriously snappified manner, but we are hoping he is just fractious from not feeling well and that will pass.

We have never had a dog that won't eat, which is what Moses is doing. I'm afraid he's going to waste away so I fed him almost a whole loaf of bread this morning. When I asked my friend Kim how a starving, neglected, garbage-eating dog could be so picky, she wisely pointed out that he has probably gotten in to quite a few things that made him sick in the past, and perhaps that would explain his finicky nature. Helpful suggestions on how to get a picky dog to eat will gladly be taken. If you can find something he will eat, I will send you a super duper prize. Maybe a Great Dane.

Moses taking after Ivy (either an aspiring knitter or trying to
take down the knitting community one skein at a time)

Moses and Milo not eating each other

Moses helping us prepare for the carpet installers

Moses' idea of being on the bed is being in the bed frame -
less effort than actually jumping up on a bed

By the way, thank you to everyone for your well wishes and comments. I wish Blogger would allow reply to comments, but evidently that little widget expansion is beyond their ken.

Moses!

2010-06-01T08:31:00.000-07:00

Moses

As of today, I am hoping the hiatus from the blog is over. We have a new addition in our house! We adopted an adorable, male, Harlequin Great Dane over the weekend from Big Dogs Huge Paws. It’s been a while in coming. Since we lost Charley, the house has felt a little empty, even with 10 chickens, 2 Danes, and 2 humans. Maybe it would have felt different if Mike had allowed the chickens in the house. Totally unreasonable in my opinion. I mean, it isn’t as if I can’t figure out how to sew diapers for them. At any rate. Moving on.

Moses came from the Dallas/Fort Worth area, and was first reported as a calf running loose. He was starving and grossly underweight, infested with heartworms and parasites, and has scars on just about every inch of his body. I am guessing that he was clearly on his own for a while, as well as being severely neglected and abused. I have a photo of him taken the day he was rescued, but it’s a bit graphic to post. Super sad.

After going to a lovely foster family in Fort Worth he has turned into a completely different dog. All he wants is to be loved. Unfortunately, we have had to treat him for heartworm, which entails a nasty long needle full of arsenic that deeply penetrates the back muscles on 3 separate occasions, so he is quite sore right now. But I am happy to report that we are done with the heartworm treatment as of Sunday! We have to keep him almost immobile for the next 3 months. Evidently, if the heart rate increases there is a possibility of him throwing an embolism. So he’ll pretty much be confined to the house and backyard until September. Then the neuter and gastropexy…. This poor dog – no doubt after this is all over he will never want to get in the car again.

Moses & Mike

The foster parents, Steve and Andrea, drove Moses up here all the way from Texas on Friday and stayed with us over the weekend. I can’t be entirely sure, but there is a strong possibility that I am speaking with a slight Texas accent since our guests left. They were both utterly charming, and Andrea’s lilt is evidently infectious.

Andrea, Moses & Steve

Mike and I are quite smitten with Moses, as is Ivy. Milo wants to eat him, thus possibly turning him into a potential keyword statistic on the Google: “do Great Danes eat Great Danes?”

In other news, here is a little video of Ivy at the dog park enjoying a ride on her friend Starbuck. Not unlike seeing those little kids at the grocery store on the fiberglass ponies. I suggest making sure the volume is turned up to get the full effect. The mount and dismount are particularly graceful. She is clearly a natural horsewoman.

Normally Starbuck is the one doing the, um, “harassing” shall we say? Seriously, he LURVES Ivy. He cannot get enough of her. So it’s nice to see the tables turned every once and a while.

The ladies are doing well. I finally got to take the baby girls out of the bathtub and put them into the coop last weekend. Did you know that chicken is a chicken’s favorite food? Mavis and Vivian are very intent on making dinner out of a couple of the little girls. Gross. Ruthie the Rooster is starting to go a little funny. My friend Tamara and her boyfriend Brian visited last week and while we were in the coop, Ruthie attacked us with great ferocity. I’ve never been so scared of something so small and fluffy in my entire life.

Other than the rooster attack, we are very happy and settling in as one big happy family.

Big Chicks*

2010-04-07T18:03:00.000-07:00

Within the past 36 hours, I received this comment on the blog:

“No pressure, but could you post another blog soon? I'm jonesin. Thanks!”

Which simultaneously made me laugh and feel shame, as well as making me realize that my dogs are behaving totally appropriately for once and I really have nothing to complain about regarding their digestive habits as of late.

Ivy did destroy her outside bed, but I think she was just frustrated that it wasn’t drying out (we’ve had a LOT of spring snow). Who can blame a girl for getting violent with soggy bedding?

So it was suggested to me by my friend Valynne this afternoon, inspired while in the yoga position of downward-facing dog, to ask you, loyal readers, what, if anything, you would like to know about life with Great Danes and chickens. Anything? Really, our lives are open books here.

In the meantime, here is a little video of the girls. They are getting so big. I had planned on posting pictures of them that clearly prove the evolutionary link between dinosaurs and chickens, but that awkward phase didn’t last long, and as evidenced here, I am obviously not keeping up.

My girls have rhythm.

*Warning: In searching for my You Tube video so that I could post it here, I realized quite quickly that I should not have titled the video "Big Chicks." Fetishes abound, my friends. People post some funky stuff on You Tube.

2010-03-11T11:40:00.000-08:00

I am taking an e-course with Marisa Haedike, a lovely artist living in Los Angeles. She was one of my instructors at Squam Art Workshops last year, and I am so happy to have a chance to be in another one of her classes. Since my fellow classmates are showing their beautiful artistic endeavors on their own websites/blogs/etc., I am going to take the plunge and post a picture of Charley that I painted last Spring. And yes, I do know he looks sad. He always looked sad. But underneath he was an always sweet, sometimes goofy, and generally happy boy.

Peepers!

2010-03-02T09:52:00.000-08:00

We have new chicks! I got them from a wonderful woman in Byers, Colorado, who operates a hobby farm, Manifested Wings, specializing in breeding and hatching quality birds for people like me to love (no mass breeding here).

Mottled Bantam Cochins

Marcheline and Esme are mottled Cochin bantams, supposedly one of the friendliest breeds of chickens. I have what I believe to be a healthy suspicion of this claim after getting the Silkies based on the “friendliest of breeds” assertion. Calliope and Polly are terrified neurotics and Ruthie is a bit unpredictable and, quite frankly, more than just a little scary for a 3-pound rooster. We’ll see how these Cochins turn out. So far, so good.

Marcheline

This is Marcheline. I knew she was a Marcheline the minute I stuck my hand in the box. She is tiny, but she is mighty. Marcheline is French for “warrior like.” Look at that beak – it’s very spear-like, yes? And it comes at you at an alarming speed for her age. Once she’s in hand, however, she calms down.

Esme

Here is Esme. Esme if French for “to love.” Which is weird, because I named her that before I knew how cuddly and affectionate she is.

Easter Eggers

Astrid and Hannah are Easter Eggers. So far, they both look exactly like Coco did at this age. I am guessing they will look super similar to her, which is lovely, as Coco used to get many compliments from her adoring fans.

Astrid

So far, Astrid seems like a normal chicken. No surprises, a little jumpy, hungry, only slightly nervous.

Hannah

Hannah is a little rolling ball. She looks like a rolling windup toy – it’s pretty hilarious. She rolls right into my hand and doesn’t seem to mind just hanging out there.

Of course Ivy and Milo are interested in the chicks, but so far no frightening lunges or scattering of feathers. The chicks are living in a huge plastic tub in the bathtub for now.

I’m not exactly sure where they are going to live when they outgrow the tub but are still too little to be outside. Mike’s office is pretty warm, but then if I put the chicks in there, I have to weigh that against Mike going to live in a hotel. I’ll keep you posted.

And yes, I realize I am a horrible photographer. Baby animals move really fast! I think I need friend Rachel or friend Willie to come over some day and take good pictures of the babies. Rach? Willie?

Charley

2010-02-21T15:46:00.000-08:00

We lost Charley this weekend. Mike found him collapsed in the snow on Friday night, and the vet said he most likely suffered a heart attack. We had to let him go Saturday morning, and the house feels very empty without him. He was a part of our lives for so long, and we lost him just days before his twelfth birthday.

Charley came to me in October of 1998 when I was in graduate school at the Art Institute in Chicago. He was just 7 months old -- awkward, big-nosed, and gangly. I lived on the top level of a two-flat in Chicago, and my landlords, Art and Barbara, lived on the bottom. They were breeders and rescuers of Rhodesian Ridgebacks. At any given time they had between six and nineteen dogs, depending upon whether it was puppy season. We often left our back doors open and their dogs and my Great Dane, Claire, would come and go as they pleased. One late evening when I returned home from school, I noticed a rather odd looking Ridgeback in my apartment. Thinking that Art and Barbara had accidentally locked a pup out of their flat, I attempted to return him. I believe the response I got was, “Nope, not our dog. Must be yours.” And Charley was with me ever since.

Charley was abused by his former family, so there were a lot of preexisting conditions and issues that needed attention. He always accepted that I was his new caretaker, but he growled and barked at Mike for 3 months when he first moved in, and for years he would do the same to anyone else who stepped foot in our apartment. He seemed to dislike and mistrust everyone he came into contact with, but at the same time you just couldn't help loving him, and everyone did. I remember our friend Chris once whispering to me, "Don't tell the Danes, but Charley's my favorite."

Somewhere along the way, Dan and Chris gave Charley his own slogan: “I’m not gonna bite ya, but I don’t like ya.” So true.

Charley was extraordinarily strong, and could jump 6 feet into the air from a sitting position. I guess that trait came in handy when hunting the grand lions of Chicago. His neck was massive, hence his mafia name, “Charley the Neck.”

When we would walk Charley around Chicago without the Great Danes, we unfailingly got comments such as “Good Lord, that is a big dog!” And Mike and I would turn and look around for the big dog. Since we had the Danes, we always thought Charley was more of a lap dog. But at 90 muscular pounds, I guess he wasn’t really all that small.

His later years were marked with mountain activities. When we moved to Colorado we took him hiking, walking, doggie sledding down the driveway – he loved it all. Once when our friends Kevin and Kelly were visiting, we took Charley on a fairly long hike. At the destination waterfalls, he played with another young dog, and unfortunately stepped on some small pieces of glass. We didn’t realize this until we were on our way back down the trail and he just stopped. Literally dug his heels in and wouldn’t budge. We tried pulling him. We put Kevin’s socks on his paws, which lasted all of 10 seconds. We tried fashioning a stretcher out of those same socks and large branches. None of those solutions worked, so Mike and I ran to the trailhead, got into our car and drove home to get the Jeep, which we proceeded to illegally drive onto National Forest property for a few miles (surely the statue of limitations on that crime has expired – fingers crossed) and picked up Charley, Kevin and Kelly. My heart still races a little bit at the thought. We may still be rotting in a federal prison had we been caught.

Charley had a special fondness for my mom and my brother, Matt. Matt thinks it’s because Charley knew we are siblings. Just last week Charley got up on the couch and put his head in Matt’s lap, which he never does with anyone else. He would sleep in bed with my mom when she visited – they were perfect bedfellows – neither moved an inch during the night. As he got older, he seemed to love everybody in his own way.

We’ll miss Charley’s quiet, unassuming nature. When he loved you, it really made you feel special. We have holes in our hearts, but I just know he’s chasing the lions now.

Why yes, Virginia, we ARE made of money

2010-02-16T18:16:00.001-08:00

I can’t even count how many times people have asked me how much it costs to feed 350 pounds of dog. I normally just give some sort of vague answer, implying that it’s a lot, simultaneously refraining from panicking while thinking of just exactly how much the next trip to the food store is going to cost me.

Things are costing a bit more since we got Ivy. She evidently likes money, as illustrated below where she stole and is eating a dollar bill from my brother's wallet. Thus, we’ve decided it’s just easier to feed her the money rather than go to the pet food store and purchase actual dog food. Cuts out the middleman.

Have You Seen Us?

2010-02-05T21:18:00.000-08:00

Lost/Missing:

1 avocado;
1 tin of Christmas cookies;
One half dozen eggs, plus shells;
Three empty egg cartons;
1/2 tomato;
1 large bunch broccoli florets;
1 freshly washed, empty Tupperware container.

In the past couple of weeks, various items from the kitchen have gone curiously missing. Also within the past couple of weeks our vet recently told us that Milo needs to lose about ten pounds. Coincidence? Doubtful. So this week we have officially submitted Milo's application to doggie fat camp. Upon further inspection, he does look like he swallowed a basketball. So we cut his food by about 1/2 a cup per day, and I think he believes that we are starving him, hence the above-referenced indiscretions.

As you can see, he's overflowing in his own chair.

Legend*:

1. Avocado
2. Eggs
3. Egg cartons
4. Cookies
5. Half tomato
6. Broccoli
7. Tupperware

*It is more difficult than you might think to draw on a glossy photo with a white marker. You would never guess that I went to art school. I apologize.

Good Trade

2010-02-01T19:34:00.000-08:00

I'm not going to eat you, but I am going to sit on you
(Sometimes emily has good luck being in the right place at the right time with the camera)

So maybe that's the trade-off. We basically let our 150+ pound dogs walk all over us, thus avoiding becoming a news headline or a creepy Google search (see post below). We have bruises. Scrapes. A puncture wound or two. And scars. Lots of scars. But we are, proudly, Things Great Danes Don't Eat.

My Great Danes do not, in fact, eat babies

2010-01-21T09:44:00.000-08:00

As evidentiary offers of proof, please see Exhibits A and B, below.

I have a little feature that lets me see what keywords people type in to get to this blog, which is more often than not pretty amusing. My favorite entry comes from someone who is clearly thinking of getting a Great Dane but has small children and/or infants, or is possibly pregnant: "do Great Danes eat babies?" I would say that if you are worried a 160-pound dog will eat your babies you might be better off getting a cat.

As you can see here, the eating of children and babies is highly discouraged in this house:

Milo and Austin (Exhibit A)

Mitchell and Charley (Exhibit B)

Although Charley is not a Great Dane, he is at least as big as a five-year-old and can be particularly fractious on occasion.

Some of my favorite keyword entries that have directed people to the site:

Great Dane eats owner;
Bad things about Great Danes;
Great Dane eats rocks [yes, I am well aware];
Why does my Ridgeback puppy eat rocks [believe me, I wish I knew]; and
Dog ate crazy silkie chicken stuffed animal [not just a normal chicken stuffed animal, but a "crazy" one].

And then there was this poor person who was probably looking for Red Hot Chili Peppers song lyrics:

Thoity Doity Boids.

I do feel a little bit bad about that one.

Bye bye, pretty girl

2010-01-21T09:13:00.000-08:00

Coco
June 8, 2009 - January 20, 2010
Such a good little girl

Someone is in denial

2010-01-15T08:25:00.000-08:00

So apparently this is how Mike goes about not liking the chickens.* It has become abundantly evident to me this week that Coco is somewhat in love with Mike. On the days that he has been home, she eats like a small horse, winks and flirts a little, and tries unsuccessfully to fly out of her pen and into what she believes are his waiting arms (which doesn't actually work because she is so weak. And because his arms are not, in fact, waiting). On the days when he is at work, she pouts.

This seems to be the way of the world. The one who takes care of the animals gets crapped on (literally) and the one who couldn't care less is the one upon whom they bestow their unwavering love. Has anyone else noticed this?!?

Coco is still living in her pen in the guest room.** She'll probably be there for the duration of the winter, so if you want to come visit you may have to learn the love the poultry.

*Mike still firmly asserting that he does not like the chickens, and I do actually believe him.

**Forgive me this little rant, but please don't leave comments telling me that I am crazy for keeping a chicken in the house. Contrary to what some seem to believe, I am not a complete idiot and do practice sanitary and hygienic methods when dealing with Coco. And also, there is no other alternative. And in my own passive aggressive manner, I will delete those comments because they make me feel bad.

Um, I may have a bit of a problem

2010-01-07T15:40:00.000-08:00

Coco, my very favorite and lovingest chicken, is temporarily an indoor bird. She has what we suspect is hepatitis, but a visit to Colorado State University College of Veterinary Medicine will either confirm or deny that tomorrow.

Because she needs to be isolated from the other birds, I am a little overjoyed that she has become a house-chicken. I am simultaneously a little worried that Mike is going to move to a hotel until I put her back in the coop. Alas, trade-offs.

Up until yesterday, Coco had the run of the guest room (sorry Cara - I know how you feel about animals in your room). So I decided that to cut down on the mess I would sew her a diaper. But I'm not calling it a diaper. It's her "backpack." I mean, how embarrassing to be a teenager in a diaper.

But I digress. I spent about an hour making it. A pattern-maker I am not. This thing is contrapted to within an inch of its life. When I showed Mike, he said, "I would have just set up a dog crate for her." Well duh. Why didn't I think of that? Probably because I don't work for a government think tank.

At any rate, the backpack has been retired and Coco seems pretty happy in her enormous Great Dane-sized crate.

Not even surprised

2010-01-05T16:27:00.000-08:00

This post is probably going to pop up on Google for those people typing in search terms such as “dog ate chocolate,” “chocolate poisoning in dogs” and “oh my god why is my dog trying to kill himself by eating chocolate?”

Ivy and Milo recently ate a 5-pound batch of brownies. I'm not kidding - it was at least 5 pounds of German chocolate cake mix, 60 caramels, a can of condensed milk, an entire bag of chocolate chips, and a bag of coconut in an already-heavy glass pan. Actually, it was about as heavy as a large chicken, so maybe 8 pounds.

I would have taken a picture, but my mind was racing trying to figure out the best way to sweep up the tiny slivers of glass from the pan while simultaneously figuring out the mathematical equation for how much hydrogen peroxide to give a 160-pound-dog.

Trust me, I understand the perils of dogs ingesting chocolate. Which would explain the copious amounts of hydrogen peroxide we were pouring down their throats. One would think that by storing the brownies in the microwave that rests way above the stove, dogs would not be able to access said brownies. Wrong. Evidently these particular dogs have opposable thumbs.

It all worked out in the end, but I would highly recommend storing chocolate comestibles way out of the reach of 6-foot-tall dogs. Maybe try suspending them a few inches from the ceiling surrounded by elaborate booby traps. I'll let you know what I come up with.

Christmas Past

2009-12-21T20:27:00.000-08:00

Milo and Claire

We are missing Claire this year. She always had a fun time opening her presents on Christmas day. And, of course, there was the ham.

Milo always seems to get an early start on the unwrapping of gifts. He's not too particular about whose gifts he opens, but he's usually spot-on in guessing which are his. Unfortunately, one year Mike gave me a giant box of Ethiopian spices for Christmas that he wrapped like a guy (mostly tape, some wrapping paper) and put under the tree. Milo, ever the adventurer, made the mistake of trying out the berbere mix. That particular spice mix is so hot -- I think his eyes turned red and horns popped out of his head.

Milo getting an early start on opening gifts

We are looking forward to giving Ivy doggie presents this year. We are hoping to bribe her with those in exchange for a tree-chewing moratorium.

And yes, we do get treats for Charley, but lately he's not really awake enough to enjoy them. I think he suffers from narcolepsy as he often falls asleep on his feet.

The chickens are receiving the gift of life.

The Grinch

2009-12-07T20:34:00.001-08:00

I knew this would come back to bite me some day. Ivy's pal at the dog park, Brody (sweet Doberman, same age) taught Ivy to chew on trees, shrubs and various other foliage protruding from the ground. It's one of their favorite pastimes. While other dogs romp and frolic, Ivy and Brody sit and chew. It's serious business, and many a shrub has suffered.

So how did I not realize that this would translate quite nicely to our Christmas tree? The beautiful tree that Mike and I chopped down in the National Forest to aid in fire prevention. The one we dragged what felt like 10 miles through the snow in 20 degree weather and hoisted with superhuman strength onto the top of the car. All 18 feet of it. Yeah, that one. Ivy is slowly and methodically eating it. By the time Christmas gets here, we'll be lucky if the angel still has a place to rest on the top.

I tried to tell Ivy that the baby Jesus was watching. But that just made her throw up.

Green Egg!

2009-12-03T09:09:00.000-08:00

Our Coco laid our first green egg this morning! Very exciting. And please don't say it -- Mike doesn't like ham and I am a vegetarian.

I did have to adjust the saturation level so that you can see the green. It's green here in my hand, but my little digital camera just doesn't pick it up very well. But this is really how green it is.

Snapshots

2009-11-30T08:16:00.000-08:00

Charley
Likes: Licking velvet, sleeping
Dislikes: Ivy

Milo
Likes: Peanut butter, sleeping
Dislikes: Ivy

Ivy
Likes: Charley, Milo
Dislikes: N/A

Coco
Likes: Being sweet
Dislikes: The phrase "tastes like chicken"

Ruthie
Likes: Attacking my boots
Dislikes: Being referred to as a "she"
Realization: Likes and dislikes may not be mutually exclusive

Calliope
Likes: Hiding under the chicken ramp
Dislikes: Feeling forced to hide under the chicken ramp

Alice
Likes: Squealing like a pig
Dislikes: Being mistaken for a pig

Mavis
Likes: Being named after my grandmother
Dislikes: Being put in the [turned off] oven for photo shoots

Polly
Likes: Laying eggs!
Dislikes: Bad hair days, David Bowie

Vivian, aka, Bitchian
Likes: Biting me
Dislikes: Me

Photos by Dan.

Finally!

2009-11-24T08:50:00.000-08:00

Our first egg! And I have no idea who laid it. I was ecstatic when I saw it in the nesting box, but then I got a little sad when I thought of my little babies all grown up. But our first egg!

Icy Snack

2009-11-17T06:56:00.000-08:00

Ivy likes ice. When we get ice out of the automatic dispenser on the refrigerator, she comes running from no matter where she is inside or outside the house and waits for stray pieces to drop. I guess she got a little impatient here and thus dug up a big snack in the yard.

Big Hot Tranny Mess

2009-10-20T20:21:00.000-07:00

Many of you know how much I love Ruthie. Up until this past weekend she would sit on my lap and nap, watch t.v., and generally be sweet. Then she bit me. And now she is crowing. Although I paid extra for females, turns out this is a rather inexact science, shall we say art, and my Ruthie girl is a rooster. A chickooster. Mike thinks he remembers me saying that if we ended up having a rooster, I would find him a good home or if I didn't, Mike would put him in a pot. I don't remember saying or agreeing to either of these things. I have a plan, however. My goal is to completely emasculate this chicken so that she always thinks she is a girl, just with boy parts.

Luckily, she is a perfect gentleman with the other ladies. When I open up the chicken door that folds down into a ramp leading into the chicken yard, she lets all the other girls go outside first, then she makes her grand entrance by flapping her wings, crowing, and basically hurling herself down the chicken ramp. Silkies are not known for their ability to fly, so rather than being graceful, this is really quite hilarious. I tell her that she is terrifying, and this seems to sufficiently mollify her. But honestly, the reality is that she is one hot tranny mess.

Of course, I can't get her to do any of those things on video because she seems to be rather camera shy, so rather than flapping, crowing, and hurling herself down the ramp, here she is in at least half her glory, crowing, pooping, then crowing again. Please forgive the amateurish video. I'm new.

Something New, Something Lu

2009-10-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

Mike and I recently went back to Chicago for a vacation. We stayed a couple of nights with our good friends Kevin and Kelly, and of course, their lovely dog Lucy, who decided she may have a thing for Mike.

I Really Hope My Sister Doesn't Read This

2009-09-10T16:14:00.000-07:00

I have been working on knitting a lace shawl for my sister Kate's wedding for about a year now. I kid you not, it has been almost exactly one year since I knitted that first stitch. Kate's dress is gorgeous, and I truly believe that only something hand-made could complement it properly. This shawl is really quite beautiful.

Alas.

Ivy hates it. She hates it so much she tried to derail the project by chewing up my knitting needles. What I don't understand is that this particular project was stored in a cubby, nicely folded, and when I went to work on it, it was still folded up, but the needles were chewed. Fiendish and diabolical is Ivy's particular brand of magic.

Sadly, this is not the first pair of knitting needles I have lost to a dog. Milo once had a fondness for the bamboo as well. Wood is a difficult drug for these dogs to avoid.

Happy Chicks

2009-08-31T18:17:00.000-07:00

The coop is now finished, except that I would like to paint some flowers on the front (it is inhabited by a bunch of ladies, after all). Valynne and I painted it all pretty-like. The girls seem very happy in it.

There is still just a bit of work to be done. The fenced run is being built this Wednesday. By the way, the saw on the right was for cutting some trim. It's not for the chickens. I need to move it. It looks unseemly.

One very exciting development is the silkie's ears. As you can see on Ruthie, they are an iridescent blue. Am I alone in my envy here? Granted, the hair and feathers will cover up the blue soon enough. Ruthie is the best chicken of them all. She sleeps in my lap on the couch and watches t.v. with me. Tonight when I took her back to the coop, she started to cry when I set her down. It was very touching. Then she pooped on my shoe.

The lovely Ruthie

Goodbye, lemon soap. I loved ye well.

2009-08-31T18:13:00.000-07:00

Ivy has learned to open the shower door. This is unfortunate, as she polished off the lovely lemon poppy seed soap given to me by my friend Valynne, brought all the way from Idaho. I actually put the tiny chewed up remaining piece of the soap on the table to take a picture tonight, but while I was zooming in with the camera, Ivy snatched the remainder and swallowed it whole. So no picture of the soap. If Ivy starts burping bubbles, I will be sure to try and catch them on camera.

Thoity Doity Boids

2009-07-24T12:30:00.000-07:00

Coco, Vivi & Mavis

As you can see in the photo above, Coco, Vivi and Mavis have taken to roosting on top of the pen. We really need to finish up the coop, which is pretty much completed except for the run. We've run into a bit of a rock problem in digging the fence posts. "We" meaning, of course, "Mike."

Most days the chickens seem to like me, and Coco loves to be held. However, they do have their psychopathic moments. Vivi especially. Serious breaks from reality occur on a fairly regular basis.

I spoke too soon when I said that chickens are not Things Great Danes Eat. Chickens are, in fact, Things Great Danes Try To Eat When Humans Are Not Looking. Both Ivy and Milo have tried to set their jowls on tiny fowl, but have instead wound up with mere feathers a-flying. Danes are no longer allowed in the garage.

Bird in Bowl (Polly), Still Life (or, Terrified to Move)

Although it's hard to tell, that red bowl above is a very big bowl. Bigger than half a basketball for sure. Polly is a big girl. It looks like she is pigeon-toed, but in fact, her feet are pointing directly forward and those are just lots of feathers coming off of her feet. She is a bit camera shy, so this is the best I could do.

On Sunday, friend Valynne helped me install the floor. Isn't it beautiful? We were pretty proud of ourselves. We high-fived.

Award-winning Floor

Valynne

Mike is still my hero. He even used decorative hinges on the human and chicken doors (that he made totally from scrap lumber!). The doors fit perfectly and the entire coop is looking beautiful. I am going to paint the inside a lemony yellow, and the outside will be some sort of pleasing green.

Mike and the door. It has a handle!

Oh Really? This Was a Structural Support?

2009-07-07T18:12:00.000-07:00

former fence post

O Sad Chicken, You Make Me Laugh and Cry

2009-06-29T11:36:00.000-07:00

My Pet Chicken

I would be sad too if I had eyes that worked but yet I still couldn't see. Life looks as though it weighs heavily on your poultry shoulders. But don't worry, sad chicken. We won't let you starve. The dogs don't seem to want to eat you. And we won't let Vivi create a gang to braid your hairfeathers into oblivion. Cheer up, chicken!

Ivy is an Artist at Heart

2009-06-27T08:40:00.000-07:00

painted Ivy

Ivy likes paint. Especially the Benjamin Moore zero VOC, which is better than others I guess. But doesn't she look pretty in lavender? She also likes my Golden Heavy Body Acrylic tubes, so I have to keep those under lock and key.

Other non-comestibles Ivy has been observed to eat within the past two weeks include but are not limited to:

fence post;
obscenely copious amounts of grass;
styrofoam insulation;
pine floor studs;
wallboard;
granite;
foyer rug;
pine shavings;
chicken feathers. Hilarious doggie sneezing ensued.

Well Apparently Not

2009-06-26T13:09:00.000-07:00

It does not seem that the chickens are going to be Things Great Danes Eat.

Charley and Coco

As you can see, Charley is not a huge threat to our new poultry friends. Judging from this photo, I think the predominant thought that runs through Charley's head at any given time is "What exactly are you going to throw at me today and how am I best going to circumnavigate it?" Or in the alternative, "You have got to be freaking kidding me."

Ivy wants to lick the chickens. One of them got a little wet because of her, and let me tell you, the phrase "mad as a wet hen" was not first uttered for no reason.

Milo wants to poke the chickens with his giant nose. That seems to be his thing. Poking smaller animals. And nobody wants to be poked. So that may be a problem, but at least it's our biggest problem.

Vivi

This is Vivi. Every time I stick my hand in the home she jumps on it. I think she thinks it is an elevator. Which is actually pretty accurate. Lately Vivi has been running at my hand and pecking at it rather violently before she jumps on. Routine elevator safety precautions I guess.

Now We Are Twelve

2009-06-12T11:31:00.000-07:00

box o' chicks

The chickens all arrived safely on Wednesday -- all 8 little girls were healthy and seemingly happy. One little girl, quickly named Calliope because of the incredible amount of noise she makes, has a little eye infection, but the vet gave us some antibiotic ointment that seems to be helping.

home

Mavis, named after my grandma (who happily said "O, that would be great!" when I asked her if she was okay with having fowl named for her) and Vivian are the two Barred Rocks. They are very spunky and a little unpredictable.

Mavis & Vivi

The two easter eggers are very friendly and like to be held. Friend Lia named the brown one Coco and friend Judy named the other Dusty, after Dusty Springfield. Lia and Judy came to the post office with me to pick up the chicks, and we created a bit of a raucous party in the parking lot. Lots of chirping and general revelry.

friend Lia

friend Judy

The silkie bantams are indeed the lapdogs of the chicken world. They are so incredibly adorable. One is almost as big as golfball, and the other two are just slightly larger. The only way I can keep track of them is that one has an eye infection and a little Karo syrup on her head (Calliope), and the really tiny one has a very poopy bum. I think I will name her Ruthie. Don't hold me to it, but she just seems Ruth-ish to me. We lost one of the bantams today, and it's actually quite upsetting. I have no idea what happened as she was doing so well the past two days. The other bantam is as of yet nameless. How rude of me.

silkie bantams

The bantams have furry feet and five toes on each foot.

feet!

What really cracks me up is the amount of time Mike has spent with all the chicks. And it's not just one or two chicks. If he holds one, he makes sure to hold them all. And when Calliope's eyes were looking ghastly, he did a lot of research on chicken eye ailments on his own.

It is very hard to photograph chickens. I need photographer friend Dan.

The Chickens Are Coming!

2009-05-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

I am hoping hoping hoping that chickens are Things Great Danes Don't Eat. I have 8 chickens coming the week of June 8. They aren't born yet, so the wonderful folks and photographers at mypetchicken.com have given me permission to post their photographs of the little lovelies.

Mike had originally stated in no uncertain terms that he would have nothing to do with the chickens, including, but not limited to, the following:

Coop Building
Egg Collecting
Poop/Coop Cleaning
Feeding
Petting
Looking
Liking

He did say that he *might* feed them when I am out of town. I have my doubts. However, a few weeks ago he changed his mind and he is helping me build the coop. I see veiled excitement under his thick crusty exterior. In the alternative, he may have just been worried about the potential disaster that is me with a hammer.

Silkie Bantam

We will be the proud caretakers of four of these little muppets. If your first reaction was to clutch protectively at your throat and back up from your computer screen, click here (probably not good for the little ones or those of you sensitive to, um, the salty language.) If you think they are adorable and you want to carry them in your pockets and rub them on your face like a cotton ball, here you go: "lapdogs of the chicken world." Where do you think they keep their eyes?

Barred Plymouth Rock

We will have 2 Barred Rocks, or "Stripey Jailbird Chickens." See the ankle monitor on her right leg? They are supposed to be plucky and docile. I'm not sure what this means, and the word "plucky" makes me a little nervous, but I do like a good black and white ensemble, especially one with red accents. They lay a lot of eggs, but since and Mike and I don't really eat too many eggs on a regular basis, I may sell some at one of our local farmer's markets one day.

Easter Egger

Easter Eggers have a gene coded for blue, green, or pinkish eggs (one color, not all). They are a kind of hybrid, and I think they will nicely round out the flock. Normal chickens.

The Mother Cluckin' Hen House

We've been working on the coop by thinking furiously about it. We plan every weekend to work on it, but thus far it has rained or snowed every single weekend for the last 5 weeks so only a little demolition work has been done. Most of you have seen our old goat condo, which is what we are using for the coop. We are adding windows, a large run fortified as best as possible to keep out bears, mountain lions, raccoons, foxes, and hawks. I was planning on hand-digging a 12" trench to bury fence in, but my brilliant father-in-law suggested that maybe renting a trencher would be more efficient and less back-breaking. I researched trenchers and they all have about 50 pages of safety warnings, so with my propensity for bad accidents, I'll leave this decision up to Mike. Maybe I will post pictures of our progress.

This Dog is Lazy

2009-04-09T17:10:00.001-07:00

Ivy has a bit of a sensitive stomach, so we have to cook for her. Beef (which is totally gross for a vegetarian to cook -- I don't know if it's that I don't have a good grip on the spatula or if ground beef is just prone to go flying everywhere?) and rice, supplemented with a dog food that smells suspiciously like saw dust. We've been assured by our veterinarian that it is a fully nutritious meal, but we are looking forward to feeding her something that has less resemblance to wood shavings and is more akin to your general purpose dog food, at the very least.

At any rate, we are in the habit of giving Ivy the pan to lick the fat after the beef is cooked (don't worry - we don't use this pan to cook food for ourselves or for any of you). This makes the pan easier to clean and then the fat doesn't clog our septic system. As you can see in the above photo, Ivy has gotten so lazy that she just lies on the floor to lick the pan. I don't know if this says more about us or about her.

Evil Outside Influences

2009-03-04T16:33:00.000-08:00

When we got Milo, he was just the tiniest thing. He was terribly frightened of walking down stairs, which we finally figured out was due to the massive amount of skin he had on his head. Every time he pointed himself down the stairs, gravity would pull all that extra skin over his eyes so that he was temporarily blinded. He couldn’t get up onto the couch without assistance. He fit nicely into Mike’s lap for naps. He was so cute we could hardly stand it.
At this time, we were unskilled in the art and necessity of crate training, so we would leave the dogs to free-roam while we were out. Looking back on it, this was not one of our more brilliant ideas. We had just bought some new furniture from a trendy boutique around the corner from our flat in Chicago, and so I’m sure you know where this is going. It seems that most of the stories start out this way: “One day, upon arriving back home, we found [chewed bits of any number of foodstuffs, unidentifiably alarming remnants, mysterious fluids of unknown origin on the walls]….” This story is no different. We found that our new sofa chair had been most inconsiderately un-upholstered. Large sheets of velvet lay on the floor like throw rugs. All of the upholstery staples were curiously absent and never were found. I actually found a priest in our neighborhood who moonlighted as an upholsterer, and who kindly reassembled our new chair and offered to cure Milo of evil outside influences. The priest did a good job on the chair. We still have it. Milo, however, is still susceptible to outside influences.

Things Great Danes Don't Eat

2009-03-01T16:49:00.001-08:00

I am so proud of Mike and Lars and their ice sculpture at this year's World Ice Art Championships!

Terror Alert Level: Orange

2009-02-25T17:04:00.000-08:00

Why is it that the one dog who just wants to
be left alone is the one dog who puppies
insist on terrorizing?

It was a good pie

2009-02-23T06:41:00.001-08:00

Mike and I used to have friends over for dinner and pie on Sunday nights when we lived in Chicago. I love to bake pies (see this movie for all the crazy deliciousness that pie can be).

One Sunday I had baked an apple pie. Out of all the pies, this is the most labor intensive to make. It’s a lot of peeling and a lot of very thin slicing. The pie crust is my grandma’s recipe (Looking for a good apple pie recipe? Let me know and I’ll send it to you).

I made the pie in the late afternoon, and for safekeeping, i.e., out of the reach of certain canine inhabitants, I put it on top of the refrigerator in the pantry to cool. Claire and Charley were visiting the downstairs neighbors’ Rhodesian Ridgebacks. Bo was hanging out at home with me having recently been banished for bonking the freakishly large Rhodesian Ridgeback Taylor on the head in an exciting and nail-biting match of canine wits. Hours later, I went to get something out of the freezer and tragedy struck. The apple pie tumbled to the ground, landing facedown, of course. Alas, there was no way of saving the pie. Thinking that there was only one way to make the best out of this miserable situation, I got a fork, called Bo into the kitchen, and while I ate the portions not touching the kitchen floor, Bo ate those that were. I cried a little bit, but it was a perfect exercise in symbiotics. And it was a pretty good pie if I do say so.

Potatoes & Onions

2009-02-16T15:37:00.000-08:00

Bo came to us by way of Iowa, where he had been kept in someone’s front yard on a chain. I believe this life hardened his stomach and gastric accoutrements into steel. To give you an idea of his size, his head, if hollow, could have comfortably slept two Chihuahuas, plus bunk beds. Bo provided hours of entertainment for us, not all of it food-centric. He inspired a line of crocheted hats that I make for my husband, Bobo Hats, because his poor ears flopped down on top of his head and made it easy for him to wear a hat.

One day Michael and I came home with friends Chris and Dan in tow. As we entered our apartment, everything seemed normal. We were greeted with the usual canine enthusiasm of Claire, Bo and Charley. We all settled in and very slowly things started to come into focus. Like when you are looking at something and it all seems fine until one little detail stands out and alerts you that something is terribly awry and you become increasingly more alarmed as your eyes adjust to the scene. Little flecks of reddish brown littered the floor, creating a trail from the living room into the kitchen.

Chris shifted in his seat on the couch, which made a crackling noise, and then extracted an empty, chewed through bag that screamed “IDAHO POTATOES 10 POUNDS.”

We followed the trail into the kitchen, but alas, nary a potato did we find. Upon entering the kitchen we also discovered an empty bag - ONIONS 5 POUNDS - the dry crackling skins sticking to the walls due to winter’s static electricity. Now that I think back on it, I cannot come up with a good reason to explain what I was possibly doing with 10 pounds of potatoes and 5 pounds of onions.

It’s interesting – if you look up toxic foods for dogs, onions make the list. One would assume that a whopping five pounds might have a disastrous effect on a dog. Even in a 175-pound dog, one would assume that 5 pounds of raw onions would at least cause some sort of gastric distress. And that’s on top of 10 pounds of potatoes. I mean, come on – 15 pounds of raw vegetables?!? But I believe Bo did sleep well that night.

Reason #1 to become a vegetarian: The ham, the Christmas ham!

2009-02-09T15:01:00.000-08:00

Christmas Claire

And I do mean the whole ham. When I went home to visit the family for Christmas, I found out that I probably needed to adjust the level of complacency I had surrounding leaving food out on the counter. Claire was 9 months old. She was a big girl, with a cavernous maw that we soon found out could accommodate an entire ham. While helping my mom with Christmas dinner, we were running back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room. As you have most likely guessed by now, upon one ill-fated return to the kitchen, we found that Claire had the entire Christmas ham in her mouth. My mother, ever the perfect hostess, quietly and without fear delicately extruded the ham from Claire’s jaws and promptly placed it in the sink, whereupon she began muttering to herself, "the ham, the Christmas ham!" The calm way that my mom handled it, the clandestine task of “washing off all this slobber” seemed an every day event. As I stood watching, slack-jawed, my mom simply said, “Be glad you’re a vegetarian.” If my family does indeed read this blog, then Mom, I’m sorry, but everyone will probably want to eat out for a while.

An introduction...

2009-02-05T17:28:00.000-08:00

From left: Milo (hiding), Michael, Claire, Emily, and Charley (trying desperately to escape)

This blog is for:

Anyone considering adding a Great Dane to the family.
Those who have Great Danes and those who have loved them.
Those whose grocery bills are at least four times that of a normal person with a dog under 120 pounds.
Those who run to the internet to type in "Great Dane ate [insert appropriate food product/building material/wildlife/etc.]" to see if the dog needs to be rushed to the emergency vet.
Those who just want to know what Great Danes eat. I can't tell you how many times people have asked me that question. Evidently it is fascinating.
Those who have a dog who feels kind of bad that he or she isn't as big as the Great Danes in the house.

I can't be sure, but I am guessing that topics of discussion may deviate from those things allegedly comestible by large canines.

About the dogs:

Claire came to us from southeast Kansas. Iola to be precise. I do not remember where Iola is or the roads I drove to get there. But I'm glad I went. Claire left us recently, but she pretty much sits her 130-pound self on my right shoulder at all times, or so I have been told by Terri O'Hara, our animal communicator.

All of our veterinarians have said the Milo is the biggest Dane they have ever seen. Clearly they haven't heard of Gibson: http://www.bigpawsonly.com/worlds-tallest-dog-features.htm

Milo is definitely a big dog. As you can see, he has alien eyes. And he slouches.

Our Rhodesian Ridgeback, Charley, has his own slogan, created by friend Dan: "I'm not gonna bite ya, but I don't like ya." It's true, he won't bite you, but he won't exactly make you feel confident of that fact either. Charley is sweet, but he was abused as a young puppy, which has kind of formed his worldview.

Ivy is our newest addition. She is half sweetheart, half demon Dane from the underworld. We love her. She is 13 weeks old and 40 pounds in this picture. Ivy eats rocks, flagstone benches, tile, wood, and rubber, that we know of.

*By Smiley Blanton