Naming conventions

Bettina. Cora. Grace. Ella.

Cora. Ella. Grace.

Belle.  Bella. Clary. Clara. Gemma. Maybelle. Norah. Beatrice. Frieda.

Cora. Ella. Grace.

Georgia. Layla.  Sookie. Beulah. Felicia.

Etta. Adele. Adella. Joanne.

Ella. Grace. Bettina.

Ariana. Vesta. Tessah. Vanessah. Helena. Alanna. Septima.

Honey. Maybelle. Gemma. Adele.

Ella. Grace.

“How about Daisy?”

?   [inaudible pop noise and Scooby’s “Rowr roWR?”]

Daisy?

Daisy.

No, that couldn’t be right. Not for a…  But…yes.  Yes, that’s it. I think.

Daisy?   Daisy.

Daisy.

So, after weeks of naming indecision, meet Daisy.

 

She’s supposedly 10 months old now – I still think she’s more like 7 or 8 months old.  She’s long and lean and lanky, and has a lot of growing to do, but every day she reminds me of why fell in love with this breed over 26 years ago.

She was an owner release at a local shelter; I saw her on Petfinder and zoomed out to get her the next day.  It was touch and go – another family was looking at her just as I got to the shelter.  First come, first served (WHY did I stop at the bee supply store on my way to the shelter?!) and all that.  I loitered long enough so that when they put her back in her run to look at the other dogs available I all but pounced.  The volunteer brought her out for me, and after less than five minutes of visiting with her, I adopted her.  She showed nothing but normal puppy playfulness, interest in her surroundings – people and other dogs – without shyness or too much “enthusiasm” and seemed pretty unscathed.  I’d been looking for months, and in earnest since Dinah’s passing in early April.  I talked to several breeders about upcoming litters, but timing was always off for me.  Too soon in most cases, then, after Dinah left, I didn’t want to wait months for the next litter.  I still hope to get a puppy from one of these breeders – they have some stunningly gorgeous dogs – but for now, the stars aligned for me and Daisy.  Rescue has always been near and dear, so I was glad to get a young shelter dog to add to the family.

She was turned in by her owner early in May, with her mother, and adopted out quickly.  In less than two weeks she was back – returned by the adopter because she wasn’t housetrained and they were unable to train her otherwise.  She’d been raised as an outdoor dog, so housetraining was new to her, but even as a half grown puppy it still takes longer than a week or two.  Their loss, my gain, I guess (though I did realize within 24 hours that she had a raging urinary tract infection – this could account for a difficulty in housebreaking!).  Her name at the shelter was Jordan – I have no idea if she was surrendered with that name, or the shelter named her that, or if the first adopter named her that.  All I knew was that it didn’t work for me.  And after much deliberation, Daisy does work for me.  And her.  And, in a long tradition of pet names for my pets, she will be called Daisy-woo, in honor of the one who suggested the name to me.  Dinah was Dinah-doo, Cutter was Cutter-Butter, Farley is Farley-foo (“I love you!”), Pal is Pal-o-wal.

Cutter and Pal came with their names – I considered changing them, but they were obviously the right names.  Though Pal was being called Rascal by the people I got him from, his original name from his first owner (and his registered name), was Pal – it fit him much better than Rascal, and better than any name I could come up with.  Dinah was named by my mother, via a long distance telephone call as I lamented about trying to find the appropriate “D” name for my puppy, to comply with the breeder’s “D litter” request for naming.  I’d been through a long list of D names, none of which she’d even batted an eyelash in response.  “How about Dinah?” my non-animal-lover mother suggested.  I tried it out on the four month old puppy chewing on a bone nearby.  “Dinah” – she looked up at me with a “yes?” – the first time she’d ever responded to any of the names I’d considered for her – and I knew that was it.

Farley was a little tougher.  He was a shelter rescue, and Asya, who rescued him, called him Cooper (for all of two days before I got him from her).  I didn’t like the name for him but struggled with finding the one that fit him.  One that came close was Domino – for his mostly black and white coat, and for the fact that he counter surfed a bowl of blueberries I was thawing in the first week that I had him. He had no house manners (though he was housetrained – odd) and took every opportunity he found.  I was eating dinner one night and heard him choking behind me in the kitchen.  I got up from the table to investigate and found him trying to inhale a large block of cheddar cheese I’d left on the counter (I’d grated a bit of it onto my dinner before sitting down to eat).  The blueberries were a total score for him (Farley 1, Home 0) and brought to mind Fats Domino and his song Blueberry Hill.  Blue was also briefly considered.  By then I was getting to know him – a spirited, determined pup, full of drive and ambition.  And I named him for Farley Mowat, the author, in honor of one of my favorite books growing up, “The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be” a memoir of Mowat’s childhood bird dog, Mutt (Springer and/or Setter cross).  Mutt and my Farley were cut from the same cloth – I knew it when he climbed a ladder to the attic, just to see what I was doing up there, a classic Mutt move – I just couldn’t name my dog Mutt.  And Farley is so him.  Far.  FarFar.  The Farster.

So Daisy the Rottweiler has joined the family.  And once again, my life is complete.  In the couple of months since Dinah’s passing, and Cutter before her, I “forgot” how my Rottweilers center and fill me up.  The little things Daisy does that remind me of her heritage, and the ones I’ve shared my life with who have gone before her.  And why I adore this breed, with its calm demeanor and thinking responses.  And I am crazy in love with my Setter boys, but it would never occur to Farley or Pal to bark/herd/attack the garbage bins when I wheel them down the driveway for pickup (or back up the driveway, empty).  Or the wheelbarrow.  Or my feet – she loves to attack my feet when I’m wearing my garden “duck” shoes or wellies, grabbing my leg with a paw and my foot with her mouth (gently).  I remember how Wil, my Boy, used to do this years ago in his patented “tackle” move.  And it warms my heart to be reminded of him again.  And how Cutter would attack the lawn mower, biting the wheel (I only allowed him to get close when the cutting blade was disengaged), or how Trinah would barkbarkbark at the wheelbarrow when I was using it.  Daisy has a great time playing chase with the sheep – something none of her predecessors really had access to (Cutter loved them in the brief time he had with them).  She chases them in play, with the two ewes turning tail and chasing, then butting, Daisy (if they can catch her).  Daisy thinks this is great fun.  I’m not sure what the sheep think, though I know they are far from terrorized.  Conan just stops and stands there when she comes running up to him.  It works – she rarely bothers him now.

And today these came in the mail.

 A talented local artist, Limelight Design, creates these beautiful pieces using the ashes from your cremated pet.  I found her through Precious Pets, and finally ordered the pendants last week.  She sent me a packet with a small vial (in my case, two vials) to collect a tiny amount of the cremated ashes.  There’s a short questionnaire – colors preferred, mounting orientation, etc. – and you return the sample in prepaid padded mailer she sends.  In about a week I these two gorgeous pieces back in the mail and couldn’t be happier.  Cutter is the green and gold diamond mount, Dinah is the pink and orange square mount.  I knew I’d love them, and am especially enamored of Dinah’s – the color is so pleasing, and so her.  Cutter’s is gorgeous too, and I can’t wait to wear each of them.  Actually, I am wearing Cutter right now.  Warm fuzzies. I heart my Butterball.

Juicy Jungle June

The best of intentions have been waylaid once again.  Life has a way of happening – time marches on and all that – and before you know it an entire month passes by.  There’s no question that the month of May into June is a busy one in the Northern hemisphere, and especially if you’re at all outdoorsy or garden-minded.  And here in the Seattle area, it’s almost like living in the tropics (well, except for the cool temps) – the vegetative growth this time of year is just phenomenal.  The jungle-like growth peaks in late June (solstice) and from here on out it will slow down as the flowers and seed pods begin to form, just as much going on but not quite so frenetic feeling as the juicy spring growth. 

This is, of course, a long winded entrance to saying that I can’t believe it’s been over a month since my last post here!  Despite my best intentions to stay more current and conversational with frequent short posts, I’m once again playing catch up here on interests, doings and updates.  A lot can happen in a month, and here are some of the things I’ve been up to (I’ll probably miss more than I’ll report on!). 

The weather continues to be a major player, with most of May being unseasonably cold, and plenty of the wet stuff too.  June followed suit, and while it is a skooch warmer, it’s been rainy and cool for much of the month.  The bees are hanging in there.  I had a scare a couple of weeks ago where I thought I’d lost my queen, but things seem to be okay.  I did an inspection were I saw no larvae at all (compared to my jam packed frames of mid-May).  A more thorough inspection (like, every single frame) the next day showed a handful of small larvae on one (just one!) frame.  The rest of the frames that had comb (only about 50 percent of the frames have comb built so far) were capped cells, with some burr comb that looked like supersedure (queen) cells.  I also saw a large number of dead drones on the stoop below the landing – obviously there’d been a good sized hatch at some point.  

The frames all felt lighter than they did just a few weeks earlier, but at the advice of another beekeeper I waited and did another inspection a week later (rather than run out to purchase a new queen to introduce).  He felt that perhaps the lack of larvae was just the fact that the queen had nowhere to lay eggs – yet.  As a new hive this year, the bees have been working around the clock to build comb, as well as tend brood, collect pollen and nectar and all the other myriad things they do to keep the hive going.  On my next inspection I found more larvae and even eggs (normally hard to see) in many open cells.  The capped brood had hatched and there was now room for more laying.  More hatch means more bees to build more comb and collect more nectar, etc.  The collecting nectar part has been a little weak, due to the previously mentioned wet, cold weather.  The bees can handle one or the other, somewhat, but the combination keeps them in the hive and grounded.  

A chance conversation yesterday with another beekeeper at the local hardware store (I knew one of the employees there had hives, but hadn’t run into him before) made me realize that my bees were hungry.  I took out the feeder back in May when they were going great guns (lots of brood and lots of honey being made), but the ensuing wet weather, large hatch, and lack of available nectar had them surviving on the honey stores they’d just begun to make.  The light bulb came on as he talked – my frames were so light…no wonder!  I put a pint of sugar water out there yesterday evening and it was drained by midday today.  I checked to be sure it hadn’t just leaked out (nope) and filled it up again.  This weekend has been very wet, though today it’s been merely overcast, not raining.  As long as they’re draining it like this, I will continue to feed them.  We’re a couple weeks out from blackberry blooming – the annual nectar bonanza for bees in this area – and by then I’ll hopefully have plenty of healthy bees ready to maximize the abundance and store enough honey to see them through the winter months. 

The garden is coming along slowly too.  I finally got all the compost spread and planted some seeds a few weeks back.  When I planted what seeds I had, I realized how gi-normous the garden plot is (~765 sq. ft); while I’ve had larger vegetable gardens before (I’m thinking of the Jack-and-the Beanstalk bounty of when I lived along the Issaquah Creek – fertile bottomland where you basically just dropped a seed and stood back), but this one is my first with ‘just me’ and exclusively for veggies.  Most of my gardening in the past decade or so has been medicinal herbs and edible landscaping beds versus a true vegetable garden plot.  I have it about half planted now, and need to get a few more things in the ground before it gets too late.  I have some stuff for fall planting, too, so there’s time, but with solstice just a day away, it feels more urgent.  And of course there’s the maintenance of weeding and pest control.  Slugs have been dining on my lettuce sprouts, as well as my pumpkin and green bean seedlings.  I go out at night with a flashlight and collect the offenders, then feed them to the ducks the next day.  

The critters are all doing well – the sheep are happy on their green pasture and plenty of browse.  The pasture needs mowing right now, as they tend to ignore all the seed heads in favor of tender sprouts and leafy browse (the mowing is scheduled for next Saturday).  I let them out to graze the rest of the property too, though they usually end up on the front lawn.   The littlest sheep, Pebbles, is especially goatlike in her foraging.  I see her standing on her hind legs trying to get up to low hanging branches of the maples and fruit trees.  She loves any pruning trimmings, and of all of them seems happiest with the variety of browse to graze.  My friend Susan came by a few weeks ago and loaded up Bo and Curly, the two horned boys.  She’s the one who kept them for me last summer until I got my pasture fenced.  It’s a win-win for us both – she gets her steep pastures mowed and my pasture isn’t overgrazed.  And the other three – Pebbles, Cinnamon, and Conan (Coco) – aren’t bullied by the two more aggressive ones.  When they come back from their summer mowing job it’s likely that one or both will go to the butcher.  Bo can be a jerk – butting the others over food as well as the fence, gate, wall, etc.  After a couple months in the confinement area (during the winter they are off the pasture to prevent overgrazing) he starts making moves at me too, which will earn him a trip to the freezer this year.  Since he’s super aggressive with the dogs, they can have the last laugh dining on him all winter.  

The ducklings have been growing and thriving – they’ve been out in the chicken tractor for several weeks now and are loving it – a fresh patch of grass every day or so, and a pan of water to swim and play in.  They are beginning to look like ducks, feathering out and are even growing wings now.  Chicks grow wings pretty much immediately – within the first week or so they have feathered out wings and usually tail feathers too, even while the rest is just fuzz.  Ducklings’ wings are just useless stubbies until about four or five weeks, when they start to grow longer and even grow wing feathers.  Right now they have juvenile plumage, which means that they all look like females.  They are all still mostly peeping, but every once in a while I hear a quack, so I know there’s for sure at least one female in the bunch (male ducks don’t (can’t) quack). They continue to be very wary of me, but the dogs don’t faze them.  Pal loves to point on them, when he’s not pointing on the chickens or hunting moles (he’s a champion mole hunter – at least two so far! – he’s lucky I don’t mind the pits he digs on his hunts. 

One or two other things I’ve been up to…