Loving my Oldies

I was reminded of this thread as I washed the deck this morning - has been raining off and on for days now and some of my dogs are too delicate to get their feet wet :D :D and wee on the deck - large and open luckily. I recalled a woman I knew some years ago who defintiely had too many dogs - about 12 or more the last time I saw her. They were separated into groups and contained in various rooms of the house and a couple of times a day, she'd "rotate" them all to give them a little time outside. The majority of them weren't house trained and she kept a bucket of water with a mop and each time there was a wee, she'd mop it up ......... and put the mop back into the bucket. Definitely a case of too many dogs there.

http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/when-fraser-met-billy-20140225-33fhs.html A little boy locked in his own world of autism meets a grey cat with a formidable personality. Could magic happen? Louise Booth tells the incredible story of Fraser and Billy. My husband, Chris, was at the wheel of our car while our two children were in the back. Our daughter Pippa was just over six months old and fast asleep in her baby seat. It was our three-year-old son Fraser who was, as usual, preoccupying us. He was sitting quietly, staring intently at the two small photographs he'd brought with him. We weren't quite sure what to expect from Fraser this evening. But then, we never were. He'd been diagnosed with autism just under two years earlier, at the very early age of 18 months. Like many boys with autism, he struggled to communicate and was prone to withdrawing into his own world. He was also capable of extreme emotional meltdowns. Cool cat … Louise Booth and Fraser with Billy. Photo: Cristian Barnett © Hodder & Stoughton In addition, he suffered from hypotonia, a rare muscle tone condition that made his joints loose and floppy. This meant he found it very difficult to perform simple functions such as gripping with his hands. He also found it a challenge to stand, let alone walk. In fact, it had only been in the past year he'd become more mobile, largely thanks to supporting splints on his lower leg and ankles. Advertisement For the past 18 months, Fraser had been receiving treatment from a small team of experts, including a speech therapist and a behavioural therapist. We'd been told that he would never attend a normal school, but we managed to find a small, private nursery to take him twice a week. The less good news was that his moods and behaviour were still highly unpredictable and volatile. This meant that our lives were never straightforward. Fraser is a loving little boy with a personality that melts the hearts of everyone who meets him. But I'd be lying if I said our life together was a bed of roses. We never quite knew what to expect nor what to do, especially if we changed routine, as we'd done today. All we could do was follow our instincts. Which was why Chris and I were driving to meet the local organiser for a cat charity. Our family's only pet at the moment was a cat, a rather portly and ageing grey called Toby. For most of his young life, Fraser had taken very little interest in his surroundings, or Toby. He was obsessed with anything that had wheels or spun around, and could spend hours watching a spinning washing machine, playing with an old DVD player or whirling the wheels of his up-ended buggy or a toy car, but beyond that very little seemed to engage him. Recently, however, I'd noticed that he'd become fascinated by Toby. He'd lie alongside Toby, placing his head on the carpet so that he could stroke and try to communicate with him. Toby hadn't reciprocated the interest. This didn't really surprise me. I knew that Toby wasn't a pet for a young child, but Fraser's behaviour had set me thinking. I sent an email to Cats Protection, explaining that we were looking for a "special" animal to be his friend. That was exactly the way I worded it, a "special" friend. I had no great expectation of such a creature even existing. I was soon contacted by the organiser, a lady called Liz. I could tell immediately that she understood what I was looking for. "I've got a couple of cats that would be suitable. But I have a feeling I know which one you will go for," she said. I received an email with a photo of two identical-looking cats, Billy and Bear. They were both grey, with white markings on their faces and bellies. I ran off a couple of matchbox-sized prints of Bear and Billy so that Fraser could see his potential new friends. He'd taken the pictures to bed with him each night and spent hours studying them. Goodness knows what thoughts went through his mind as he lay there, poring over the prints of these identical cats. I say identical, but the interesting thing was that he could tell the difference between them. To my eyes, they were so similar that I had to write their names on the back of the pieces of paper to distinguish them. But Fraser knew which was which and repeatedly explained that "this is Billy and this is Bear". Autism has so many quirks to it - Fraser could barely walk and couldn't communicate properly, but he could tell the difference between these two doppelgänger cats. After a week of preparation, I was fairly confident Fraser understood what was about to happen. We were going to see these two cats and, if we liked them, one of them would come to live with us. Sitting in the car, my mind was racing. There was nothing unusual in that. There were times when I wondered whether I had turned into the world's most neurotic mother. But the truth of the matter was that as the parent of an autistic child, I constantly had something to be anxious about. What if he was frightened by Liz? What if he didn't like the look of her house? What if he was upset by a noise in the house? What if he didn't like the cats? At the house, there was a raised platform where the two cats were lying down. One was half asleep and was facing in the other direction but the other one was sitting bolt upright, looking intrigued at the new arrivals. "This is Bear," Liz explained, pointing at the disinterested one. "And this is Billy." At that precise moment, the second cat sprang on to Liz's shoulder. He then jumped off and went straight to where Fraser was standing. Fraser didn't flinch - quite the opposite. He stood there smiling, fascinated. "Would you like to come in and say hello to Billy, Fraser?" Liz asked. "Yes," he said. "Mummy, will you come with me?" Chris and I exchanged a look that spoke volumes. For other parents this might have seemed like nothing but to us, the parents of a boy who had spent the previous three years being frightened of everything, it was very exciting. What happened next, however, was beyond exciting. To me, it was mind-blowing. Inside the pen, Fraser immediately sat on the floor. Before I knew it, Billy had strolled straight over and plonked himself on top of him, landing on his chest. Normally, I would have expected a bellowing scream. There was no noise, no bad reaction. Nothing. Instinctively, Billy seemed to sense that Fraser wasn't quite comfortable, so he slid off his chest and adjusted his position so that his body weight wasn't pressing on him any more, just his front paws. He then extended his neck as far it could go so that he could nuzzle his head close to Fraser's. The pair then sat there, cuddling each other quietly, as if there was no one else in the world. "It looks like Billy has already chosen you," Liz said. I sensed that Billy had an instinctive understanding of Fraser and his needs. For instance, Fraser loved to lie on the floor to watch TV. Billy cottoned on to this and would position himself within touching distance. Fraser always responded. He'd place his head on Billy's belly or curl up next to him. On a couple of occasions I sat in the room with them, sipping a cup of tea as I watched them interacting. One of the things that struck me early on was how, while they were rolling around on the rug, Billy would lean into Fraser, pressing his forehead into his chest as if he was head-butting him. Often he'd do this while Fraser was lying on his back, almost pushing him down into the floor. He seemed to know that Fraser liked this. How? I had no idea. It was only when Fraser was properly diagnosed with hypotonia that it was explained to us that he needed to feel solidity around him. So he lay on his back in order to get a feeling of contact, pressure, on his spine and on his legs. Any other position left him feeling unsupported and, therefore, insecure. Billy had sussed out in two days what it had taken us the best part of two years to work out. He was applying pressure because, somehow, he knew Fraser needed it. "They're like peas in a pod, those two," I told Chris over dinner one evening. "I think Billy understands him better than we do." "We'll see," Chris said with an arch of his eyebrow. "Let's see if he understands him when he's having a meltdown." It was a fair point. Bathing Fraser had always been a problem. I have a picture of his first bath and you'd think he'd been placed in boiling water. He was completely red but it wasn't from the heat, it was from screaming. If giving him a bath was hard, washing his hair was even worse. He hated it more than he hated anything in the world and, in Fraser's case, that was saying rather a lot. One night, Chris and I braced ourselves for the ordeal. We'd managed to get Fraser into the bath, but pandemonium had broken out. He had turned bright red and was screaming "No, no, no!" and "Don't touch my hair!", covering his head with his hands. Chris and I knew the signs well enough. It was so bad that we were facing a real mother of all meltdowns, an 11 out of 10. "This is pointless," Chris said, exasperated after five minutes of bedlam. "We aren't going to get anywhere tonight. I think we might as well get him out." I was inclined to agree. Apart from anything else, I thought our new neighbours might call the police because it must have sounded as if we were murdering a child. I was about to reach for Fraser's towel and start getting him out when I sensed an unexpected presence in the bathroom. Billy. "What are you doing in here?" Chris said. We were still holding a flailing Fraser in the water but we slid over to give Billy some space and watched in mild disbelief as he lifted himself up and proceeded to put both paws on the edge of the bath. He then stretched himself to his full height and leaned as far as he could over the water so he could push his face as close as possible to Fraser. He was soon soaked to the skin. At one point, Fraser flicked some of the bubble bath in his face and he had to wipe it away with his paw. But Billy remained fixed to the spot until Fraser started to calm down. "Look, Billy doesn't mind getting his hair wet, so why don't you let me wet yours?" Chris said, sensing an opportunity. Fraser didn't say anything, which, for us at least, was tantamount to a yes. Chris gently rubbed shampoo into Fraser's head and worked it into a lather as I, quietly, got ready to rinse it out. This was the bit Fraser hated the most. Ordinarily, it would have meant the outbreak of World War III. But on this occasion he let me gently wash out the soap. In fact, he went one step further and leant his head back to help the process. If I'd been more religious, I'd have considered singing "Hallelujah!" Edited extract from When Fraser Met Billy by Louise Booth, published by Hachette Australia.

Adorable!!

Could it have been snake bite?

Obviously I don't know the whole story, but hopefully no more dogs will be damaged. Can't say I'm keen on the name though :) :) . I honestly don't think I'd be sending my dog/s to a place called [anything] Rampage. Just the way I feel :) . It may be an absolute goer with some people.

In all serious, I think that is a great idea. It makes it so much more real to see the living breathing result of a campaign. And the next time something like this happens, there will be just that more understanding of what is at stake - life, love and happiness.

This is a timely reminder to really look into why something is happening, in that there can be a few reasons and owners need to try very hard to understand dog behaviour. Thanks Westiemum

Brian Newcastle - that was one of the most heartfelt posts I have ever read. Little Kirby. Your dad really loved you and you were a faithful companion to him.

A bit late

I've found the whole thing quite difficult to understand as well. The OP said in her first post that she wasn't one "to call the vet with every little question." I would think that whether or not a dog is pregnant or having a phantom pregnancy was hardly a "little question". The vet should be the first port of call.

I see. There is nothing like the personal contact. You have obviously been working very hard to get your name out there. More strength to you.

I'm curious as to how the owners of Ruby knew about Team Dog. Until this thread, I'd never heard of them, but then I am not exactly attuned to the radar :) . As with any problem someone may be having, there are groups and sometimes many groups who might be able to help, but it is actually knowing those groups exist for a start. There must be many people who find themselves in all sorts of problems not only the one which engulfed Ruby's family. Do they google? Do they just keep asking until someone knows someone knows someone?? Was is just sheer chance that led Ruby's family to Team Dog or what? Genuine question because it just seems so random and quite sickening to think of what would have happened had Ruby's family and Team Dog not connected.

Totally totally brilliant.

I have five now, have owned up to 6 with a couple of fosters/rescues in tow. Although I loved being surrounded by heaps of dogs with different personalities, I would not do it again. I agree that the overriding consideration must be whether the dogs are properly catered for in terms of veterinary treatment and attention to all their other needs, physical and psychological. Because she is the most needy in terms of wanting to walking, I'll sometimes be really really mean and sneaky and just grab Myrtie and take her for a walk on her own and I spend the whole time thinking how easy it is and if I just had her, she could have 1/2 dozen walks a day :laugh: :laugh: But when I return, there are four more wriggly, tail wagging bodies at the side gate greeting me as though I were the sun and moon. Priceless.

See "On Talking Terms With Dogs: Calming Signals" by Turid Rugaas. You'll love it.

http://www.smh.com.au/world/dog-walkers-find-us10m-worth-of-rare-gold-coins-20140226-hvdv3.html A Northern California couple out walking their dog on their property stumbled across a modern-day bonanza: $US10 million ($11.09 million) in rare, mint-condition gold coins buried in the shadow of an old tree. Nearly all of the 1427 coins, dating from 1847 to 1894, are in uncirculated, mint condition, said David Hall, co-founder of Professional Coin Grading Service of Santa Ana, which recently authenticated them. Although the face value of the gold pieces only adds up to about $27,000, some of them are so rare that coin experts say they could fetch nearly $1 million apiece. "I don't like to say once-in-a-lifetime for anything, but you don't get an opportunity to handle this kind of material, a treasure like this, ever," said veteran numismatist Don Kagin, who is representing the finders. "It's like they found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow." $US10 million worth of coins were found by a couple walking their dog. Photo: AP Kagin, whose family has been in the rare-coin business for 81 years, would say little about the couple other than that they are husband and wife, are middle-aged and have lived for several years on the rural property in California's Gold Country, where the coins were found. They have no idea who put them there, he said. Advertisement The pair are choosing to remain anonymous, Kagin said, in part to avoid a renewed gold rush to their property by modern-day prospectors armed with metal detectors. They also don't want to be treated any differently, said David McCarthy, chief numismatist for Kagin Inc of Tiburon. "Their concern was this would change the way everyone else would look at them, and they're pretty happy with the lifestyle they have today," he said. They plan to put most of the coins up for sale through Amazon while holding onto a few keepsakes. They'll use the money to pay off bills and quietly donate to local charities, Kagin said. Before they sell them, they are loaning some to the American Numismatic Association for its National Money Show, which opens on Thursday in Atlanta. What makes their find particularly valuable, McCarthy said, is that almost all of the coins are in near-perfect condition. That means that whoever put them into the ground likely socked them away as soon as they were put into circulation. Because paper money was illegal in California until the 1870s, he added, it's extremely rare to find any coins from before that of such high quality. "It wasn't really until the 1880s that you start seeing coins struck in California that were kept in real high grades of preservation," he said. The coins, in $5, $10 and $20 denominations, were stored more or less in chronological order in six cans, McCarthy said, with the 1840s and 1850s pieces going into one can until it was filed, then new coins going into the next one and the next one after that. The dates and the method indicated that whoever put them there was using the ground as their personal bank and that they weren't swooped up all at once in a robbery. Although most of the coins were minted in San Francisco, one $5 gold piece came from as far away as Georgia. Kagin and McCarthy would say little about the couple's property or its ownership history, other than it's located in Gold Country, a sprawling, picturesque and still lightly populated section of north-central California that extends east of Sacramento to the Nevada line, running through the hills and valleys of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. The discovery of gold at Sutter's Mill set off the California Gold Rush of 1848. The coins had been buried by a path the couple had walked for years. On the day they found them last spring, the woman had bent over to examine an old rusty can that erosion had caused to pop slightly out of the ground. "Don't be above bending over to check on a rusty can," Kagin said she told him. They were located on a section of the property the couple nicknamed Saddle Ridge, and Kagin is calling the find the Saddle Ridge Hoard. He believes it could be the largest such discovery in US history. One of the largest previous finds of gold coins was $1 million worth uncovered by construction workers in Jackson, Tenn., in 1985. More than 400,000 silver dollars were found in the home of a man who died in 1974 and were later sold intact for $7.3 million. Gold coins and ingots said to be worth as much as $130 million were recovered in the 1980s from the wreck of the SS Central America. But historians knew roughly where that gold was because the ship went down off the coast of North Carolina during a hurricane in 1857.

Hmm, thinking back to when I was first given Propalin for Tamar, my vet didn't tell me anything about side effects either, I just read up on it. I hope all continues to be well with Mac, Westiemum.

I've been associated only with two dog clubs: each had an annual subscription of $20 or $30 dollars and a grounds fee of $2 each time you went. Both run by volunteers.

You're doing good. Mighty, mighty good. It's fantastic to see committed dog lovers and those committed to getting better deals for dogs in all sorts of situations working so hard. More strength and energy to you all. Congratulations.

Beautiful Michelleva. Does Bonnie know she has a HUGE fan club ?

Calendar on Outlook on my computer. I also have filed every piece of paper ever generated by vets. Also normal paper calendars: one in study and one in kitchen .. the places I spend most of the time. Rain hail or shine, I am on my computer at some stage throughout each day, so that is the best place - I put all reminders in Calendar on Outlook and the thing is recurring events can be scheduled for years ahead and not deleted until done.

DD and Westiemum for Joint Presidents and dogs like Ruby will not be discriminated upon. I've seen enough of Wednesday's post to know Ruby is a Dogue cross :laugh:

There was a thread about this recently, hence the description under my name. If that is the only thing someone can find to recommend him, I'd suggest saving the $10 :) :). :)

F.A.N.T.A.S.T.I.C. Congratulations to Ruby's family for not bowing down in the face of stupid stupid bureaucracy. Hopefully you are on the home stretch to total resolution of these farcical rules.

I have had personal knowledge of what he has advised. That is a relative consulted with him, he charged exorbitant fees (so much so that she was too embarrassed to tell me) and what he told her to do was a crock of shite.