Bug Horror!

So it has come to this.  I, the person who has trouble pulling weeds because I don't want to hurt 'them', have now become a major thorn in the side to stink bugs.  And by thorn in the side I of course mean I am killing them.  Killing lots of them unfortunately.

Time was when I didn't kill them.  My scenario was to just ignore them for as long as I could and then abandon the tomato plants when things got too buggy.  Then I thought I should just net the tomato fruit so the bugs would not get on them.  This resulted in my discovery that netting tomatoes is made difficult by this thing called a tomato plant.  It worked, but it was very hard to get the netting material all around the tomatoes and the netting had to be placed on every set fruit or else the stink bug hoards would descend.

As the netting process became more arduous, I resorted to killing the multitudes of stink bug babies.  I chose them as my victims for the sole reason that I could do it without touching them with my hands.  My method was to place a small container under the area the babies had congregated (usually a tomato) and then shake the branch causing the babies to fall into the container.  The first few times I did this I then added soapy water into the container to take care of the 'business'.  Soon though I left off the watery death in favor of crushing them beneath my foot.  I figured at least it was quick.

This gardening year my bug killing behavior has further evolved.  No longer do I use the container unless there are a multitude of babies in a hard to reach location.  Now I just grab them with my gloved hand.  I think it has helped that I got a new type of glove this year.  A Playtex Living Glove that comes up my forearm like some sort of rubberized gauntlet.

I purchased these gloves because I wanted something to use when I watered the plants.  We are afflicted by dribbling water nozzles.  No matter how you tighten them or use pipe tape, they dribble like some incontinent little creature all down your hand and wrist.  Regular gloves become drenched and then have to dry out before being used again.  The Playtex gloves are waterproof and the additional length means I can water impervious to both dribbly nozzles and the ever present mosquitoes.

The people at Playtex are savvy about the gardening uses of these gloves.  First of all they made them a very attractive green color and second of all they came with a free packet of flower seeds.  Smart move Playtex.  What I wasn't expecting was the bug invincibility shield these new gloves have given me.

Take for example today.  I did in over two dozen stink bugs hand harvested off of my tomato plants just like yesterday and the day before (gah - what a horrible, horrible year of bug this has been) - all with my Playtex gauntleted hand.  Mind you there was a moment or two where I was cringing in anticipation of some sort of aggressive bite from the stink bug as I clasped their little bodies.  No worries - either these bugs don't have a bite capability or the gloves are impervious.

Now I am sure you are wondering, just as my husband asked me - 'What do you do with the bugs after you grab them?'  I throw them onto the ground and stomp on them.  I wish I could say that I do all of this with a suave, matter of fact nonchalance, but the truth is, a keen observer would see a little bit of sissy prancing in my manner.

Yes, it weirds me out this 'killing of bugs' and from the moment I spy the critter to the moment I am frantically stomping on the beasty I am in a highly stressed out frenzy.  I liken it to the way my dogs address the tree roach problem in our home.

Being as how it is a paradise of heat and humidity, the Texas gulf coast has quite an assortment of bugs.  There is quite a list to pick from but the worst of the bugs in my opinion is what is often called a tree roach.  It goes by several names including Palmetto bug, but it is classically called the American roach, Periplaneta americana.  I have been horrified and disgusted by these creatures ever since my childhood where I can recall many instances of run-ins involving the awful things flying around rooms as well as other diabolical actions.  The horror.

Since I choose to live a life without pesticides other than those considered organic, my choices in pest control are limited.  Periodically we dust our household floors with boric acid and sprinkle it in cabinets and that does quite a good job of controlling their breeding indoors.  However, being as how our old house is for want of a better term - porous - in its assortment of nooks, crannies and holes to the outside, there are always new volunteers of tree roaches joining us from the great beyond.  So, there are frequent roach episodes indoors.

Ensign Wasp - Photo by Muhammad Mahdi Karim

We have an ally in a little parasitic wasp who plants its eggs in the egg cases of tree roaches.  These little torso-less wasps as I call them are always inside during the summer.  For the longest time I would place them back outside thinking I was doing them a favor.  Then I looked them up and realized they were actually doing us a favor by preying on the tree roaches.  Now I let them go where they want.

We also employ another organic roach killer which is also known as a Westie.  Every since his childhood he has revealed an impressive skill at finding, catching and killing those horrible roaches.  For this noble job he receives cheese.  Even though we have also had a Mini Schnauzer and now a Border Collie, none have rivaled his roach killing skill.  The Mini Schnauzer would not even try, knowing no doubt that even though he was not involved, he would get cheese anyway each time a roach met its demise via Westie.  In short, the Westie was subsidizing his brother.  The Border Collie on the other hand shows a desire to do in the roaches.  It is just that she is not as efficient.

Westie - aka Roach Bane

When the Westie discovers a roach he goes boldly toward it and swoops in to grab the hideous thing in his mouth where he swiftly delivers a death bite and then spits the disgusting thing out.  The Border Collie can find the roaches, that is not the problem, she is actually very good at this part.  She can even rush towards them in hot pursuit.  However when it comes to actually putting that nasty roach in her mouth, she balks.  Who could blame her.  Her method instead is to try and stamp on the roach with her front feet.  This seldom has the desired effect and the roach usually gets away.  However, recently her method did take out the intended prey and she proudly earned her own cheese.

Border Collie - aka Roach Dancer

The Border Collie stamp method and my stamp the stink bug method have a lot in common. Both of us know we have a job to do and both of us really don't want to do what is most effective.  She doesn't want to put the bug in her mouth and I don't want to squash the bug with my hand.

So we dance.

Short Legs

A Westie's legs are very short.  So short in fact the Westie breed is one of the 'little people' of the dog world.  His body is average sized; he has a big head and impressive jaws; he is in all ways a mid sized dog except for one.  A Westie's legs are very short.  

Short legs are good.  Being low to the ground gives good balance and traction.  Having a regular sized body on short legs aids in making hairpin turns.  The Westie's short legs are thick and sturdy and great for driving his powerful front claws.  Short legs allows a Westie to 'go to ground' and get into holes and burrows where varmints live.  Short legs are good.

A Border Collie's legs are very long.  So long in fact the Border Collie is one of the 'gazelles' of the dog world.  Her body is long and light and might have some Suluki ancestry which makes her fast.  Oh she is so fast.  A Border Collie's legs are very long.

Long legs are good.  Having long legs allows you to make long strides which takes up a lot of ground with each step and leap over things in your path.  Long legs and a long body allow a Border Collie to make tight hairpin turns.  A Border Collie's long legs are strong and springy and allow her to fly.  Long legs are good.

I never really thought that much about legs.  I certainly did not spend a lot of time pondering my dog's legs.  Sure the Westie had short legs, but he was totally okay with that and very agile.  He might not have been the fastest dog running in a straight line, but he could turn on a dime, a fact that used to cause our Mini Schnauzer all sorts of frustration.

Dogs like to chase things and they also like to be chased.  Unlike a human children's game, the one who is 'it' is not the one who is chasing.  The 'it' is the one being chased.  If you catch me then you can be 'it' otherwise - I get to stay 'it'.  Oh, how the dogs really, really want to be 'it'.

For the Schnauzer and the Westie the match was fairly even.  The Schnauzer was faster on the open straight path, but the Westie was able to make incredible hairpin turns, leaving the Schnauzer yipping in frustration as he shot past the turn the Westie performed.

Zoom ahead a few years and now the game is between the Westie and the Border Collie.  The Border Collie has steadily been losing the 'it' position since as a puppy she could not outrun the Westie.  He was able to outdistance her and make his famous turns to outsmart her.  What he didn't count on was that she was not always going to be a little girl.

Suddenly it seemed that everything came together for the Border Collie.  Not only could she run fast, but she had learned from the master and could make these incredible hairpin turns.  She got to stay 'it' more and more.  Since he was not able to catch her very often anymore, the Westie stopped trying very hard.  He would run for a few steps and then just give up.  He didn't seem to be upset about it, but he wasn't going to waste his time.  She could stay 'it' for all he cared.

It turns out the 'it' game is not very fun unless someone will chase you.  She would circle back after he stopped chasing her and initiate a wrestling match.  How dare he not chase her!  Then she decided she was not going to be 'it'.  The Westie was 'it' and he needed to run from her.

The Westie did not want to run and he certainly did not want to run with her chasing him.  She could catch him easily now and he did not want to admit she was better than him.  He decided to win by not playing the game.  This did not please the Border Collie, so she decided to force the issue.

We were in the garden together and the Border Collie began to run full out around the yard.  Every time she passed close to the Westie she paused to snap and wrestle with him.  This annoyed him and he began to move from the outer edge of the garden area to a center area near a large fig tree.  As the Border Collie made her circuit this time she did not pause.

This time she took aim at his long side and ran hard into him, leaping only after she had made contact.

This blast did not just knock the Westie over, it rolled him over several times and he ended up smacking into the trunk of the fig tree.

The Ufff he made sounded painful and he struggled to get back to his feet.  Since I had witnessed this heartless attack I was shouting at the Border Collie and making my way toward the Westie to see if he was okay.  He was shaken and snorting and angry, but also scared.  The Border Collie was not stopping her mad run and was zooming from one end of the yard to the other, faster and faster, oblivious to my yells.

I straddled the Westie because the Border Collie was making another pass and I could tell she was aiming right for him again.  She had a gleeful look in her eyes as she came near.  I crouched down to further shield the Westie with my arms and as she came close I swatted out at her to drive her off.

Just as I swept my arms out toward the Border Collie, the Westie decided to take matters into his own hands, or jaws as it was.  He surged forward toward the Border Collie just as I swatted at her and my arm ended up in his mouth. He bit down hard.

I screamed and he let go immediately.  I sat down and he jumped into my lap trying to console me.  He was absolutely horrified that he had bitten me and was looking deep into my eyes trying to apologize.  Of course I told him it was okay and he was a good boy.  I picked him up and carried him inside, leaving the now tired and panting Border Collie outside.

Once the Border Collie discovered this new way of 'playing' with her pal, she wanted to do it again and again.  We intervened when we were outside and chastised her for this action, but we couldn't be there all the time and she learned to do this when we were not there to put a stop to it.  But eventually these bashings did stop.  We were worried, but it turns out we didn't need to be.  The Westie had a plan.

The Border Collie is running and barking at the edges of the yard but then she pauses.  The Westie looks up and I look up and it starts.  The Border Collie begins to run full out.  As she starts to zoom down the path way the Westie starts to run toward the patio.  He knows that depending on where he is when she starts the chase he may need to change course several times.

He must not be in the open when she comes close.  He must not be broadside to her nor can his back be turned to her.  He is in the middle of the garden when she starts and he runs to the orange trees and places his back to them.  She zooms close on her first pass and he turns and makes a fake lunge toward her as if he will chase her.  He must make it look good so she will make a full circuit away instead of circling back too soon.  The distance from the orange tree to the patio is long and completely open.  Once he commits to it he will have no cover.

He snaps and starts to chase her which delights her and she takes off the opposite direction.  Seeing this he makes a hairpin turn and uses his momentum to launch himself toward the patio.  He is running full out but his short legs don't cover much ground.  She is at the back of the yard and turns, seeing him in the open.  She streaks across the yard and leaps over a garden bed to gain ground.  She is running full out.  She is not just running toward him, she is running at him.  She will hit him if she can.

He is running harder now, sensing her approach.  He must make it.  He is almost there. 
He. Is. Almost. There.

At the last moment he darts under one of the patio chairs.  He fits under its seat perfectly and does not even have to duck.  Safe at last.  She on the other hand has to put on the brakes.  She cannot fit under the chair unless she gets down on her belly.  He has won; he is still 'it'. 

 According to the Westie's rule of life, if you cannot change something then you should learn to cope with it.

The Westie Rules

The Westie 10 Commandments:

1.  I am the Westie, the only Westie and there are no other dogs before me.  In fact the Westie is not a dog; He is the King and all others are His subjects.  You are here to do His bidding.

His royal Highness.

2.  There shall be no closed doors between Mommy and the Westie.  And yes, this includes the bathroom door and He doesn't care if she wants privacy because He must be near her at all times.  No, this does not mean He wants to be in the shower with her, He is just fine out there on the bathmat, thank you very much.  Mommy is not to go outside without the Westie or if He is outside she is not to go inside without Him and if she forgets this for even a moment it is only her fault that He must bite her feet.

Westie eye view.

3. The Westie's back is made for scratching and you, His subjects, are supposed to do this whenever He wants it for as long as He wants it.  It doesn't matter if it is 3am, damn it, scratch His back. This is why combs have been invented and you should be combing Him right now.

Like the wind.

4. The Border Collie is just a dog and beneath the Westie in every way, so she needs to stop towering over Him.  She needs to stop biting His neck and she especially needs to stop straddling the top of Him and walking when He walks so that the only part of Him that is visible is His royal head.  This is not okay and it is definitely not funny.  She is to be meek and submissive to His will, especially those times when He finds her to be sexy.

Never again!

5. There is no food better than cheese except for bacon so you should not feed the Westie anything else.  And for the record, when He wants to eat inside instead of out on the back porch you should immediately bring His bowl inside, being sure to leave the Border Collie outside.  He doesn't care if He makes a mess on the kitchen floor.  He is the King - He does what He wants!

Mandarin oranges are good too...

6. The Westie shall not be touched while He sleeps.  This rule especially applies to the Border Collie.  If you touch Him while He sleeps then it is your own fault if He startles you with his loud RAURRGHHHH! and snaps at you.  And if this happens you are to be very afraid and not laugh or smirk or fuss at the King.  And you are especially to never touch Him again really quickly and then run away gaily as some Border Collies are known to do.

Submit!

7. All vermin belong to the Westie to be chased at His whim.  He is the one who decides what is vermin which includes all mice, rats, opossums, bugs in the house, other dogs, cats and squirrels... especially squirrels.  The Westie is not to be admonished in any way for chasing, barking at, attacking, harassing or otherwise dispatching any vermin.  He is also not able to hear you when He is focused on vermin so why even waste your breath?

All in a night's work.

8. The Westie will roll in whatever He wants to roll in which includes bird poop, slugs, rotten fruit, crushed grubs, snails and especially opossum poop.  If He has rolled in something He is not to be admonished in any way and certainly He is not to be bathed.

It might be a squirrel.

9. Do not touch the Westie's nails and in fact, leave His feet alone.

They aren't toe nails, they are tools.

10. The Westie is full of love for you and wants you to be happy doing His will.

Westie kisses are better than gold.

The Whole Dramatic Story and Hot Action Photos!

Little was I expecting this morning when I awoke that by the end of the day I would be dealing with "GARDEN DRAMA" ... cue the intense music.

The weather reports talked about a front moving through and quite frankly I was looking forward to a little more rain and cooler weather.  'How nice,' I was thinking, 'a little more spring before the hot weather settles in.'  How naive of me.  Nature is nothing but an opportunistic drama queen looking for a stage.

Was I worried when I heard the weather report stating that there would be 'thunderstorms' and 'wind' and possibly 'dime sized hail' - pfft - of course not.  Am I not a veteran of 'weather'?  Have I not lived my life in southern coastal Texas where weather is an action verb.  I have been 'weathering' storms all my life so I was not about to raise an eyebrow at something as simple as a spring front blowing through.

So okay, it was a little dramatic when the storm hit and immediately blew the transformers at my office.  And yes, okay, I did step away from the windows for a few seconds when the bushes outside the windows looked like they were trying to come inside.  Yep, the wind looked a little whippy and the sky a little greeny and I did the prudent thing and moved a little more inside the building I was in.  No sense tempting the tempest to throw a branch through a window.

What fronts typically do in Texas...

But hey, being the cool nonchalant weather hardened person that I am I quickly returned to the window area.  After all the front had hit and that meant the worst of the storm was essentially over.

Did I spare a thought for the garden - no.  

Well, while I was working in darkness my husband was observing the storm on the home front.  He described it as at first just rain and wind then he thought he heard a couple of hard sounds... like hail.  Then he heard more hail and went out on the back porch to find it was hailing pea sized ice.  Then it was garbanzo bean sized and finally it was maybe dime sized.  For about three minutes.

What dime sized hail looks like on a patio.

When he told me this after I got home my first thought was 'goodbye garden' because three minutes of dime sized hail might not be much to your roof or your car, but it can be vegetable murder to a garden.

I went out with much trepidation to check out the damage...

The bush beans were tussled and some of their cages had been knocked over as if a very rude bunch of air had sat on top of them.  The were disgruntled but okay.  The okra plants looked stunned but otherwise none the worse for wear.  Same for the cucumbers, the squash, the collard greens, the onions, the other cucumbers... it all looked okay.

But then...


NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!  Bunny Tomato!!!!!!!!

Bunny Tomato prior to the storm...

Bunny Tomato after the storm... sniff...

Yes, Bunny lost a major limb and two pounds of fruit.  Shudder!  I broke the news to the dogs and this was their reaction:

The Westie was stunned.

I know it might look like he is just relaxing on the kitchen floor, but I tell you he was stunned!  Just look at his eyes:

You can see it all in his little beady eyes...  the horror, the horror...

The Border Collie was not much better:

Oh sure, she might look happy and smiling, but really underneath it all she is mortified.

See?  See the mortification in her eyes?

We will get through it all right.  Bunny Tomato is sure to rally with her other limbs and devote even more resources to the remaining dozen or so tomatoes she has set.  I am sure in time the dogs will get over their emotional upset.   No doubt a serving of fried green tomatoes will help us all.

The chickens have come home to roost...

Mud chickens that is.  For the last three days we have been receiving water from the sky.  A very unlikely event for 2011.  We normally will have over 34 inches of rain by this time each year.  This year we have 11 inches to date and about an inch of that fell in the last three days. 

We have become grudgingly accustomed to this year.  In addition to the lack of rain there has been many days of over 100 degree temperatures so that by now, when it is only in the mid to upper nineties, it feels relatively cool.  We have altered our lives to the extent that we water our struggling vegetable garden every single day.  We do this in spite of a water ban because of a happy little loophole in that ban.

If you water with a sprinkler system, you are relegated to watering only two days a week and those days are specified by whether your house address ends in an even or odd number.  The ban also requires you to water at certain very inconvenient times, basically from sundown to sunup.  The loophole is that you can water to your hearts content any day of the week and at any time if you hold the hose.  Now that is already our basic way of watering because it is much more efficient and effective than using a sprinkler.  If we were watering our vegetable plants with a sprinkler we would have either 1. dead plants because we would not be getting enough water to the plants we want to cherish and instead be watering the entire yard, or 2. have a water bill that pushes into four figures a month.  So the ban has not actually limited our watering of the plants.

The plants have shown their appreciation of this by dying by degrees instead of all at once.  The attrition level continues to climb as these poor plants, faced with a pitiless cloud free sun and temperatures more suited to cooking decide it is just not worth it and finally expire.  Others valiantly struggle onward.  The attrition has been worse on the cucumbers.  My husband has been nurturing and coddling these guys with cleverly placed shade cloths that he must remove at sunrise so they can get some sun but recover by noon or they just fry away.  If we get even one cucumber this fall it will be due to his undying cucumber loyalty.

In the beginning of September the 100 degree plus hatred of the Mega-Summer relented for about a week and we had temperatures in the 60s at night and 80s in the day.   The effect on everyone was transformative.  Unfortunately that kind of weather is so foreign to this part of the world it quickly continued its journey to its actual home somewhere far, far from here, but it did the job.  Mega-Summer was vanquished and although our temperatures have crept back into Summer realms, the waning daylight has effectively nixed any more of those 109 degree days.

And then it rained.  It wasn't just me who upon hearing the rain became startled and confused (what is that sound???) others reported the same.  I had to actually walk out into a pelting shower in order to seek the long forgotten umbrella somewhere hidden in my car.  It was raining - oh joy!!!

The joy has been somewhat diminished by its effect on a portion of our pathway in the garden.  At the first of the year when we were breaking ground on the new garden areas we found a brilliant solution to what to do with all the tons of clay we were unearthing.  We will just put it into the pathway and sprinkle it with grass seed and presto - instant grassy path.  We pulverized the clay and bought the grass seed and waited for a rainy day.  Fast forward about six months.  That clay path has become powder and now that it has rained enough to actually wet the soil it has become a clay bog.

This would be something that could be avoided except for two reasons.  A Border Collie and a Westie.  Now the Border Collie is doing what she thinks is a grand job in mixing up the clay for us.  It looks like a herd of Border Collies has passed back and forth through the pathway so that there are clingy little ridges of it strewn up onto the fence and surrounding garden areas.

The Westie who is older and therefore more reasoning about how staying clean will allow you better access to being allowed indoors avoids this pathway most of the time.  He does not avoid it when I am outside in the garden areas adjacent to the muddy path.  In fact, his sister the Border Collie likes nothing better than to ram his little body down into the mud any time he ventures into that area.  The net effect is muddy paws.

For the Border Collie the muddy paws are what you would expect.  A little under the nails and a little in between the pads.  For some reason, the Westie has feet that collect mud better than anything on this earth.  I was coming inside after scouting the areas I was going to plant my new squash plants (either destined for a wonderful fall garden or a continued source of plant sacrifice to the gods of unreasonable drought).  My husband was watching from the kitchen window and pointed out poor little Lewey's progress behind me.  His little feet had managed to attract so much mud they were like little puppy snow shoes, fully twice as large as normal.  His halting progress also indicated that this was very uncomfortable.  So, I scooped him up and spent a good 10 minutes in the tub de-mudding his paws.  The Border Collie also had to be debrided before coming inside.

This has all the makings of a big pain in the neck which is forcing my husband and I to come up with alternative solutions, of which there is really only one.  We have to fence off the muddy area.  Luckily we have the fencing for it, but unluckily we are out of fence posts.  This means we will either have to make the enormously bothersome trip to the lumber store or devise some alternate plan.  The problem with alternate plans is that the Border Collie absolutely loves the muddy part of the yard because that is where she has shouting matches with the squirrels, something that rates very high on the Border Collie obsession scale.  This will mean she will try with all of her abundant energy and intelligence to get around any barrier we place in her way.

It should prove to be an interesting time.

Border Land

I never set out to become the mom of a Border Collie. It just happened sort of like an unplanned pregnancy. Granted we were looking to adopt a dog following the death of our beloved Schnauzer but Border Collie was not even on the list of dogs we were considering.

We have had several dogs since we have been together, the first being a Mini Schnauzer who taught us everything we ever needed to know about being the parents of a fur child. Dewey set the bar for any other dog we will ever have and I would tell you more about him here, but he deserves an entire post of his own. Suffice it to say his life embiggened our own and his passing nearly crippled us. But he was not our only Schnauzer. During his life, for reasons I will eventually reveal, we acquired a second Mini Schnauzer, Chewey, who was also a peerless entity, and also eventually we brought into our family a Westie, our dear little Lewey, who happily still graces our lives with his bold presence (if you are seeing a pattern to the names you are not imagining it - our next male dog will be named Stewey).

It was after the death of Chewey, an event we had seen on the horizon like the approach of a train, steaming our way unstoppable and unwelcomed. We had always talked about having a third dog and had discussed the type of dog we wanted. We said a big dog, something rugged and protective. The kind of dog we wanted changed after his death when we realized that Lewey was not taking to being an only child very easily. We decided after a few weeks to begin the search for another dog.

Here is the list of the dogs we were considering: Schnauzer mixes, Corgi mixes, Poodle mixes, all small, fun, intelligent, and active dogs. I scanned the Petfinder listings daily. We wanted to get a younger dog because we felt that would help Lewey accept them faster. Ideally, this dog would be between 4 months to a year old. I fell in love again and again with Schnorgis, Schnoodles, and Porgis, but there was always something that made the choices less than ideal for our situation. Usually, it was because they were already adopted. Sometimes the listings were out of date and the 'puppy' that was listed was now a full-grown dog. Sometimes the candidate was listed as being bad around cats or other dogs. Sometimes they were over a hundred miles away. We were taking our time and began to visit the pet adoption events at local pet stores.

My brain began to be consumed with the search. I began to get a thrill when looking at the Petfinder listings and felt withdrawal symptoms when I couldn't check them for greater than 3 hours. Little did I know but I was setting the stage for what came next. I was in the zone, the trap was set and I was about to trigger it.

It was after we had spent another fruitless time searching at a local pet adoption event. We were this close to adopting a pit bull mix puppy. I know, not at all on the list but apparently, this puppy put its little feelers right into my husband's canine center (a dog-shaped area just below the limbic area of the brain) and pulled hard. We would have gone home with that little guy except someone else had put in adoption papers on him already. We left dejectedly. I should have known by that event that the decision-making part of getting a puppy had ended and the universe was now in charge.

It was the same evening that I received an email from a friend regarding a puppy needing a home. Two pictures and a sentence. That was all it took to lock my brain in. I emailed right back and as fortune had it we were the first of many others to request her. We found out more about her and talked to her foster parents. They had found her abandoned at a hunting lease in 100 plus degree weather. She was desperately trying to survive in a dried-up mud puddle. She was 7 weeks old and according to the vet they took her to was a Border Collie perhaps mixed with a sheepdog. He said she would end up being about 50 pounds. Currently, she was about 6 pounds and recovering from dehydration and about a million bug bites. We set a time to go get her for the next weekend.

I was all excited but also all "Dear God, what have I done". I spent the rest of the week looking up everything I could find on Border Collies. The news was less than comforting. We had just adopted a furry human-dog who would need a tremendous amount of appropriate parenting or else end up as a neurotic destructive whirlwind. Also, Border Collies take about 2 years to fully mature. Great.

We picked her up on Sunday. I think that if someone were to have listened very closely they could have heard my heartstrings being plucked. Or probably if you want to get all scientific about it they would have heard a gushing noise from the gallons of oxytocin my brain released. I was a mommy and she was my baby, that was what the biological imperative was screaming in my hindbrain. Granted she was a baby riddled with mange, but my baby all the same.

We took her home, took her to the vet, and treated both her and Lewey for mange (mange mites are very transmittable, but also very easily treated these days). We found that she was obsessed with always having water available and drank about six cups a day. We let her have all she wanted considering the ordeal she had endured. She also needed her very own fan because getting hot seemed to panic her. She was nowhere near housebroken and what with all the water produced copious amounts of urine every hour. She would only rest for about four hours at night before howling to get out. She had needle-sharp fangs and liked to sink them into my hands at will. She learned how to sit, lie down and stay during the first three days we had her. I was head over heels in love.

But love was not the only thing offered to her. Lewey made it very clear that "I do not like the puppy." He also, in what I am sure was just an example of sibling rivalry, expressed a desire to kill and eat her. She was oblivious to his clear expression of his feelings and would do her best to get close to him. We kept an indoor kennel fence between them. Lewey bit that fence several times the first two days. Then on the third day as I was monitoring them in the back yard she worked her magic on him and he began to play with her. After that, he stopped trying to kill and eat her and only occasionally told us that he did not like the puppy. After about a week she finally told us her name was Trudy.

Here are some things I have learned about Border Collies in the months since we adopted Trudy:

 1. You must do routine things exactly the same way each time. There can be no break to the pattern or there will be puppy hell to pay.
 2. Your arms are just another chew toy.
 3. It is possible to take apart any toy in less than an hour. Just today the inflatable child's ball I got for her went from "Wee this is fun to chase around the yard" to deflated in less than 60 seconds.
 4. She understands sentences, not just words and she speaks a very physical language that involves pokes, prods, nudges, and body slams.
 5. If you let her she will gently but exuberantly mouth your neck, which my husband said brought visions of being savaged by a wolf from some deep recess in his brain the first time it happened to him.
 6. Everything can be herded including other dogs, people, cats, birds, and lizards. Also some bugs.
 7. Water is the best thing in the world. It is important to stand in your water dish and dig to the bottom. If the water is deep enough you can stick your head in and blow bubbles through your nose. If anyone is having a bath then the resident Border Collie is allowed in the tub with them.

I am not sure if number 7 is a Border Collie thing or just a leftover from her abandonment but I have never met a dog more focused on water. I can only water the garden if she is allowed to bite the stream. Her first useful talent was pulling the hose around the garden for me. So far this remains her only useful talent.

She is a delight and she is exhausting. Every time she does something right I feel full of pride. Every time she does something wrong I feel like a failure because I know she could get it right if only I knew better how to instruct her. I always said if I ever had a child I would home school it. Well, I have a child. She wears fur. Class is in session.