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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.