Yes, yes, oh yessssss!

I learned a lot of things about Grady fairly quickly – that he was quirky, had a bizarre sense of humour, and would eat anything that did not hiss at him. What I did not realize for the first while was that he is a…sensualist of sorts.

The first clue should have been the way he likes to scratch his chin on almost any hard surface including the top step, the edge of my desk, the toe of my sneakers, etc. He enjoys it almost too much, then primed with the endorphins or whatever else is being secreted in his little pea brain, he runs off, grabs his flying monkey toy and flings it at my head.

The next tip off was the way he behaves when groomed. It’s not just the leaning in to me, or rolling around in ecstasy and throwing himself into my lap, it’s the moans that make it sound like he’s been reading the doggy version of 50 Shades of Gray.

But my eyes were really opened when I, figuring my lap can only take so much rapturous wriggling, decided that the lovely Lori O’Hara and hubby were going to get the honour of bathing him. Well, see for yourself….

Not only did he moan, his eyes glazed over and he almost toppled out of the tub. The more she rubbed the glassier his eyes got. He could barely walk when he got out, and if it meant getting any further from those magic fingers, he wasn’t going to move an inch. I think he’s brought me her business card at least once a week ever since.

He’ll just have to do with the chest massages he gets at home, that are still enough to reduce him to a quivering mass of hair and slobber. Unfortunately, his partner in perverse humour, my son, feeds his addiction. And then he expects me to continue this thrilling pastime. Good luck with that Grady.

Here, kitty kitty.

Between evolution and revolution, the line that separates species has become blurred over time. I first understood the complexities of Man versus Ape when I started dating. And as every other mother of a teenager knows, the line between Man and Pigs is even slimmer. But you would think the line between cats and dogs is pretty clear. I mean bark versus meow, growl versus hiss, whizzing on bushes versus litter boxes….

But that demarcation line apparently does not exist at my house. That made me think that perhaps I live in some kind of feline/canine Twilight Zone. I first realized this when Precious the kitten (now an adult) became very fond of Grady. Very, very fond of Grady. In fact, when she cuddled up to him she went into an ecstasy of purring and kneading which Grady accepted without protest. You’d have thought he would have protested most vigorously. Because I discovered the reason she was so ecstatic, was that she was nursing on him.

Apparently man dog teats are great substitutes for the real thing. Precious had not been weaned early, either. In fact, she had been off the milk bar for a matter of months when she discovered this delightful pastime which persists to this day, with Grady’s full compliance. And so I began to wonder….does he realize he’s not a cat?

We don’t know when Grady went blind. The ophthalmologist’s best estimate was at least two years ago, due to the deterioration of his optic nerves. So one can safely presume that Grady had seen and would recognize the sight of a cat. But did that mean he could also identify a cat by sight, smell, sound, etc.?

His history with cats was unknown, but he seemed to understand the boundaries with Betsy’s cat when he was first taken into rescue. Then he came here and was surrounded by cats. Literally. And he liked it. His assimilation began.

He doesn’t chase mice yet, mostly because it would be a suicidal mouse to chew his way in here with all the Birmans. But he does love his chest rubs to the point his eyes glaze over, and I swear he’d purr if he could. Then, there is Fuzzy.

Fuzzy was best friends with Nikki, one of my last rescues. You never saw Nikki in her bed without Fuzzy. When Nikki left us Fuzzy would sit where her bed used to be. Without Nikki, he had plenty of time to harass the other cats, and harass them he did. There’s nothing he loves more than a drive-by smack, or a staring/stalking attack. So after Grady joined us I figured that would distract him. Boy, was I wrong.

Fuzzy is more diabolical than ever. And now Grady has joined him. As followers of his blog may remember, Grady has been known to charge up the stairs and grab Precious, in lieu of his stuffed duck. They hang together like the best of bro’s. They tag team annoy the other cats in turn. Which is when I began to ask myself….does Grady now think he’s a cat? Have the lines become blurred in his darkness? Has he crossed over the fe-line to the dark side?

(Lest anyone be alarmed by their interaction, please note that Fuzzy’s claws are not out, and that Grady is very careful how he touches Fuzzy. They only play like this as long as it’s mutually fun, then one quits and the other one sulks.)

Of Birds and Birdbrains

I love Grady, I really do. I tell him that every day no matter what bad thing he’s done or how badly I wanted the lunch he just ate. But I digress.

When he came to me in June of 2012, Grady did not bark. That’s not unusual for a Golden, so I didn’t think anything of it. Then one day in August, I stood up from my office chair to take something from the shelf over the desk and he dropped his ball in the seat behind me. I didn’t know this and sat down.

As soon as my behind touched the rounded surface I jumped again and screamed, thinking I had sat on a cat’s head. This in turn caused Grady to jump and bark. Apparently he figured that if she makes that sound she’s either in mortal terror or unspeakable pain and in either case it would be a good idea to bark. And bark. And keep on barking forevermore.

Grady has a…distinctive bark. It would do a maddened wolfhound credit for both tone, volume and threat level. He barks at the normal noises, e.g. strangers knocking at the door, things knocked over by cats at 3a.m. etc. Then he barks at what I call “cat things”. Just as cats stare at or jump and run from things that can’t be seen by anyone else, Grady barks at these phantoms. I am beginning to think he has lived with the cats too long and they are taking their revenge for my refusing to buy them more nip.

So this afternoon I bring up a video a friend has posted that shows a Doberman trying to eat his supper in the presence of some equally hungry chickens. Note that the dog was not making any dog type sounds. The only sounds were the food rattling around in his metal bowl. Grady understands food sounds on a MENSA level. He started to bark.

Lest anyone misunderstand, I don’t really mind that he barks, but dear god in heaven, does it have to sound like the hounds of hell are baying at my elbow, especially when I’m on the 57th layer of the internet, trying to figure out whether there is really a technical problem with a client site or not.

As the poor Doberman tried to get his lunch, Grady tried too. Grady recognizes the sound of even the most microscopic piece of food hitting his bowl, whether it’s soft, hard or in between. So he rushed into the kitchen to check, then back to me. And barked and barked and barked.

Things might have calmed down at this point if it hadn’t been for my suicidal partridge. For the last three years, the same (it has to be, they can’t all be this stupid) partridge has taken up residence in the little woods beside my house and periodically tries to commit hari kari by flying into either my picture window or the plexi glass insert over the front door. Today he settled for sitting on the front step and pecking at the metal lower portion of the outside door. Which to Grady, apparently sounds pretty close to food hitting his bowl. He was up and down the stairs so many times I lost count.

Eventually he collapsed, either from exhaustion or disbelief that someone else ate his dinner.

And this is what set it all off.

Deep Thinking Food Thief

I have discovered since giving Grady pig ears, that he has a philosophical streak. He will lay there and tear, bite or chew off a piece and masticate it while questioning and/or solving all the issues of man and dogkind. This of course, is when he’s not filching food off the counter. Fresh or frozen, it’s all fair game to him.

A typical session of inner examination goes something like this:

Bite 1: Mm, good. Not as much fiber as the cat hairball I ate last night, but good. I really ought to get a job as dietary consultant to dogs in third world countries. Give a dog a bone, he chews for a day. Teach him to fetch it and you’ll never have peace. Bark! Bark! Bark! That will teach whoever it is that knocks at the front door and leaves things that make her swear. I wonder if she’s still mad about the rolls I snagged off the counter last Friday.

Bite 2: You know what the problem with the world is? They don’t have enough chew toys. If everyone just laid down and chewed for a while like this, there’d be far fewer arguments. A pig ear in every pot would solve the world’s woes. Unless the pot was on the counter, and you knocked it over trying to get the pig ear out. There’s that freaking squirrel trying to climb the patio door again. I wonder if there are any rolls left.

Bite 3: I wish she’d turn off the radio. I still think inflicting CBC radio on us every day is animal cruelty. Though at times I would like to call in to the noon program when they have the smartass vet on. He is so wrong on so many things. He knows nothing when it comes to why we lick our butts if there is someone visiting. It’s a displacement reaction that allows us to hide our embarrassment for our humoms when Aunt Sallie shows up in Spandex. And doesn’t bring us anything to eat. Not even a roll. Sneeze! Sneeze! Sneeze! Damn cat farts under my nose every time.

Bite 4: Now if I were a politician, I’d tell the government they were barking up the wrong tree. Mail delivery every two days? Do you have any idea what that will do to the dog population of Canada? There aren’t enough doggy psychiatrists to handle the backlash. I would try and convey how passionate I am about the issue by worming my way in between her knees and staring, but I’m pretty sure she’s still ticked about those rolls. Ah nuts, I’ll just scratch my ear with my back foot instead. Oops, cat stuck between the toes again.

Bite 5: I don’t understand “fashion”. Why do humans need to keep taking off their fur and replacing it with new fur. I have one suit. It does for formal occasions like butt sniffing, and for casual encounters like trying to toss a cat. It’s wash and dry, no ironing, and if I get food on it, like crumbs from frozen rolls, I just lick them off. What was that? Did I hear the rattle of grocery bags?

Bite 6: Shrinkage, it’s all about shrinkage. You get less and less stuff in packages these days for higher and higher prices. Just look at this pig ear – only a shred left. Not even good for a half hour chew. It wasn’t hardly enough to take the edge off before dinner. Maybe I ought to go check the counter again, in case she got more rolls. I should probably put on the innocent face, first.

Stuffed chicks at high noon.

There are many famous battles throughout world history: the great clash at Culloden, the fearsome Charge of the Light Brigade. And now, right up there with them….Grady, and stuffed chicks at high noon.

The Pet Valu store in Sussex, N.B. was sponsoring an Easter event- photos $5 and free nail trimming for a donation, with all funds going to the PAWS rescue group. Well, who could resist that? It’s just giving back for his own rescue, so back to the car I went to get Grady.

I perhaps should have had a suspicion of what was coming when the nail trimming turned out to be more like an exercise in foot-ility, with the girl diving under him while Grady did his best to climb the mountain that was her assistant. I confess, I admired her agility. So did Grady. Over and over and over. I was afraid they’d end up permanently knotted together from all the twisting and manoeuvring.

Then we were over to the charming little set of their photo shoot. There was a sunny yellow backdrop, a delightful “Easter” banner, baskets of stuffed toys and mounds of plastic eggs. In other words, Grady Heaven.

The first thing to go was the lovely mat which shot out from under him while he tried to reach the upper shelf on the far side of the store. Then the artfully gathered eggs fell next. Or rather, scattered as he bounced up and down, then off the photographer’s assistant.

By now he was fully ramped up to engage the enemy – the stuffed animals. It can only be described as an epic battle, with fur flying right and left, bunnies bombing a customer the next aisle over, and one yellow chick giving a strangled squeak for mercy, as the assistant tried to convince Grady that he would rather sit pretty for a picture than mangle the pretty bird. He disagreed.

When it was over and the lovely set strewn across the floor, Grady strode away victorious, and tried to do some quick shopping in the marrow bone display on the way out.

We are going to nominate the entire staff for Purple Paws in gratitude for their bravery. Then, if we are very, very, very good, we may be allowed back in the store.

Grady, just before the bloodbath.

Wearing of the grin

” O’ Grady he was eighty, though his humom was just a pup…”

I’m not as think as you drunk I am, Occifer.”

A Valentine’s proposal!

Unfortunately for me, the proposal was that I go out in the kitchen and cook some more bacon, so he could keep up his strength for the Valentine Ball, and the long list of lithsome lovelies lining up to dance with him. But I did at least get a kiss. Likely because he wanted to make sure there were no bacon crumbs on my face.

Here he is, dressed to the nines for the Blogville Ball, with his dates, Sheba and Ashley.

Ever the true gentleman (coughcoughcough), Grady gifted his sweets with a few sweets for the occasion. Ash received this toothsome bag of doggie safe chocolate dipped heart cookies from treatmeright.org, where a portion of every bag goes to benefit a pet charity. In January, that charity was the Blind Dog Alliance.

The lucky Sheba received a fabulous bag of goodies baked fresh for her, right in the UK! You too can find these luscious treats at May’s Dog Bakes.

And the girl’s were generous in return. He received a beautiful card from Sheba in the UK that still has the post office talking.

The card has been/sampled approve by Precious, his Birman cat pal. Or perhaps she was jealous.

Ash sent him these scrumptious treats from Road ApplesLV on Etsy. They are fabulous, and the packaging impressed Grady, who loves the crinkling sound.

The paparazzi who follow Ash everywhere, managed to get video of them doing a retro number at the ball!

So it appears that a good time was had by all, thanks to the hard work of Mollie and Ranger and their Blogville assistants.