I just received this e-mail and have to share it here.
This really works!
Don't believe it? Just try the experiment.
For more stories about hiking with Emily, check out "Emily Only Hikes to Swim" at the following link:
http://www.mysonomalife.zzn.com/zlog/writeblog.asp?UserID=12549973&Cat_ID=105047#GO112301
I had to say goodbye to an old friend recently. I got the call from my mother – the words a little too forceful at first, becoming hesitant by the end of the question. “Your father and I have decided that it’s time to put Tipper down…Can you do it for us?”
It was my turn. When my first dog had gotten to the point that she kept falling down and was not able to get up, my father took over. He told me what I already knew -- that it had gone on too long and that he would take her to the vet for me. I had been present at the birth of that beloved Collie, raised her, trained her, went off to college with her, but I wasn’t ready to be the one with her at the end.
It was my turn to relieve the pain and suffering of his best friend.
My father is in poor health and virtually blind with macular degeneration. Tipper, my parents’ Australian terrier, has been a constant companion for him, teaching herself to be his service dog -- Barking at my mother when my dad had fallen. Alerting her also one morning when my Dad couldn’t wake up due to kidney failure. Warning my Dad about the phone ringing, people at the door, the mail was here. Guiding him on his daily scooter ride.
I worried that Dad would follow Tipper to the grave. We needed to find a replacement quickly, even though Dad said he didn’t want another dog. But how could we possibly find another Tipper?
I spent the weekend of my mom’s request at a horse clinic seated next to a woman with the cutest Cairn Terrier. Everyone loved that little dog. On Monday morning there was an ad in the paper for a Cairn mix -- Dexter. Sweet, 1 ½ years, great with kids, not housebroken. And Dexter was a blond version of Tipper with crazy terrier hair, happy personality and a gentle soul. There were trouble signs, his current owner said she had adopted him a couple of months before, although he was billed as a runaway. She said that with her long work hours she could not house break him.
This might be a red flag for most people, but I have trained several terriers with long histories of wetting. The key is vigilance. I tether the dog to me or I crate it. Period. There is no freedom in the house. We go out often and we reward with treats. After a while, the dog forgets its anxiety and learns to love the routine. We decided to take Dexter home.
Dad laughed with delight upon meeting Dexter. Dexter was the same size and shape as Tipper and to my Dad, he felt like Tipper. Dexter instantly bonded with my folks. Instead of being tethered to their chair, Dexter snuggled on their laps or chests.
At first Mom complained about having to take him out on supervised “walkies”, but I kept telling her that studies show that people who walk dogs get more exercise in a week than people who go to the gym three times a week. I know Dexter will improve their happiness, health and longevity.
And Dexter knows that he is finally in the right home. He is joyous in his bond with them…and he has learned how to do more than use the dog door. He knows that his job is to take care of Dad.
My Mom accompanied me as chaperone on an all day school field trip. She left two foil-wrapped pizza slices on the table as part of Dad’s lunch. When she got home the foil was on the floor.
“Did you have lunch?” Mom asked my father.
“I ate what he brought me,” answered Dad, indicating the foil wrapper.
It turns out that Dexter stole the pizza from the table top, helped himself to one slice and delivered the other to Dad who was grateful for the bedside service.
He thinks he’s becoming a service dog. When Dad calls my mother, Dexter runs to her and barks, then he runs back to Dad and barks again. It’s as if he is saying, “Dad’s calling,” to Mom, and “I told her” to Dad.
There is no replacing a lost pet, but there’s room in our hearts for a new love. And it’s Dexter.
Children and Mountain Lions Don’t Mix
I had just moved to West Sonoma County. My twins were toddlers and my oldest son just three when my next door neighbor spotted a young mountain lion in my backyard pasture. I was alarmed. I called the sheriff, ASPCA, Fish and Game and finally the correct location – Animal Control. The officer was very courteous.
“Where do you live?” he asked. I told him my address in the hills above Occidental. He replied “Oh yeah. That’s mountain lion habitat.” I waited for advice or a plan of action to protect my children. Nothing. Finally, I said ,”Well this is a problem for me because I have three children under three and a mountain lion in my backyard.”
“Yeah, I could see why you would feel that way,” he responded. More silence.
I waited for suggestions.
“Your children are actually less safe in a group because the sounds of kids playing attract mountain lions,” he added. Still no offer of help.
Instead he recommended that I keep my children in my sight at all times and that if I were to see the mountain lion, I should not stoop down to pick them up, because that would be presenting the back of my neck to the mountain lion – an apparent invitation to attack.
“Carry rocks that you can throw at the mountain lion while making loud noises,” he suggested. I was silently wondering, “When you have three children under three what free hands are you using to carry rocks?” Again, “don’t stoop down to pick up any rocks.” “Oh, and be sure not to run, they like to chase running animals.”
Mountain lions seem much more beautiful and benevolent when they are in someone else’s backyard.
At my urging for more information, the officer offered to send a brochure to my address. Finally, he began to offer practical suggestions: Since the animal was young, I should make sure there were no deer on my property; I should walk the property multiple times a day with my dogs while making lots of noise; reduce the height of the pasture and remove all brush that provided cover. I followed all of his suggestions and for years we didn’t see any more mountain lions.
Back Again and This Time All Grown Up
I had noticed that there were no wild turkeys anymore. Then one night last summer, my horse panicked in the middle of the night, galloping and screaming.
In the morning I found a really large dent in the top rail of my pipe gate where a feed bucket was broken off its metal handle from being pulled into the lane. 
I speculated about which large animal got caught in the bucket handle on the way over the gate, bending it and breaking off the bucket. What kind of animal could put a 12 inch dent in my gate railing? My horses were accustomed to dogs, turkeys, deer, and foxes. What had been so frightening? I assumed the mountain lion, and I moved the horses to a friend’s farm for a few weeks.
Later that summer, a mountain lion killed a sheep in my next door neighbor’s pasture. The entire neighborhood of dogs barked and snarled most nights. The mountain lion was spotted on the lane north of us, and then south of us. My chickens began disappearing during the late day. 
The mountain lion was seen stalking the goat at the end of the next lane. Animal control was now interested in our problem.
We bought pepper spray and carried it when we went out in the morning and evening to feed horses and lock in our chickens. The kids, now 9 and 11, didn’t go out alone. We made jokes about making sure that we always chose something smaller and slower than ourselves. “Cougar bait” we joked, mostly about an adopted neurotic jack Russell terrier who is my least favorite pet (but my son’s dog).
And then my niece and son were picking blackberries along the roadside across from our house. They looked up to gaze into the eyes of a mountain lion watching them from less than 10 feet away. The mountain lion was not afraid of them. He held his ground, watching them with too much interest. They backed away and rushed through our front gate.
Animal control agreed that the mountain lion had become dangerous for humans and livestock. They would trap the mountain lion. Would my neighbors who owned 80 acres allow them to hunt the lion on their property where we believed it lived? No, the husband wanted to protect the lion.
Soon after, I went out for the newspaper in the dark as I had safely for 10 years. I froze at the sound of heavy, soft padded feet very practically next to me. The sound turned toward my neighbor’s driveway, bounded through the underbrush, crossed the road, and banged heavily against the metal of the high chain link gate across the road as it jumped and pulled itself, cat-like, over the gate.
I went out again, but this time with my kids, and we carried trash can lids, pots and pans with metal spoons, starter horns, and whistles. We made as much noise as we could several times a day for weeks. The animal control officer warned that the mountain lion would leave but would probably return later.
It has been over a year. My golden retriever isn’t snarling in the middle of the night, my children aren’t carrying pepper spray, the horses seem calm and the chickens are OK, I think. I am still making sure that both of my dogs are right next to me when I go out for the newspaper in the dark every morning. And I listen for that sound of heavy padded cat feet. Every morning.
Free range eggs. Yeah, I'm into it. No chemicals, no antibiotics. Fresher and healthier for my family.
I live in the country with pasture and horses, it's perfect.
Almost. The problem is that I can't convince the chickens to go out and range. It may just be a misunderstanding, but I consider the range to be the pasture, the barn, the chicken house, the vegetable garden and even the back lawn. The girls, however, prefer the back patio, the front step, the garage and, yes, even the bird bath in my front yard.
I'm looking for a chicken whisperer or a chicken translator to help these girls understand their role in free range eggs. When I want front porch eggs, I'll let them know. But right now, get out and range, girls. Please...
For more information on the health benefits of true, free range eggs (Pastured Eggs), check out slow foodies
My mower broke last summer. I decided NOT to fix it. After all, with global warming, I probably should not fire up my noisy, gas sucking self-propelled mower every weekend. On top of that, Sonoma County has been suffering through a drought. I felt guilty every time I heard the gurgling sound of water filling up the pipes of my sprinkler system as it prepared to sprinkle water on my lawn that sits in the brown landscape of the coastal mountains.
I have been planning to reduce the size of the lawn for several years – this was a great time to experiment with a green lawn maintenance concept – EQUINE MOWERS.
Troubador, my retired thoroughbred, loved the idea. He galloped through the opening in the electric fence and headed directly toward the tallest, lushest patch of unmown lawn as though he had GPS plugged into it.
After a few days, I could see why my neighbors have sheep mowing their lawn.
Troubador is a specialist. He specializes in eating delicate tall grass, he only nibbles at clover, he pulls at crabgrass runners and spits them out, and he totally neglects all of the spots that he has carelessly contaminated with his own droppings. As the lawn got more uneven and ragged, a colony of gophers moved in, apparently attacted to the wild pasture that my lawn had become. The manure piles were surrounded by dirt piles.
The experiment is over. I am still planning on reducing the size of my lawn. But until that happens, I’ve decided to repair the mower.
It was snow FRENZY with fresh powder on the slopes. The Snow Hounds were going big and fast at Tahoe this week.
For those fashionista pooches, there was also a lot of action. All eyes were on Colby, who was very glam in her faux fur and black leather insulated bomber.
Rufus submarines under soft snow, popping up occasionally for air. In order to catch him in a photo, we had to make sure he was on a firm surface!
Now for the tips:
Our snow hounds got very thirsty racing up and down after each sledder. Snow does not provide enough water and can lower body temperature of wet dogs. Bring water for your snow hound.
Painful ice balls canform between toes and pads. A little Vaseline coating the foot is good prevention.
I also use my horse’s Show Sheen on my Golden’s long coat. It creates a dry slippery (and gorgeously
shiny) coating over the dog’s fur to prevent tangles and ice balls.
My skinny, short-haired terrier always wears a coat in the snow, and when she stops moving, I make
sure that she has a dry, warm place to rest.
On the other hand, Emily, my golden retriever, is happy out in the snow for hours. She spent the morning breaking all of the ice at the shore of the lake before heading out with me to the slopes.
Finally, a human on a sled can impact dangerously with a dog. Make sure your dog is out of the path of any speeding objects. In these photos, we had the slope to ourselves. If there had been a crowd, we would have used leashes to make sure there were no human-canine collisions.
If you've been keeping up with this blog, you know that Emily thinks all trails and car rides lead to the water.
Well, many coastal trails will lead only to a big, expensive ticket whether or not your dog is on a leash. Recognition of endangered species of coastal plants and shorebirds has resulted in the tightening of leash enforcement as well.
Signage can be confusing in some areas, so I contacted a state park ranger as was given the following list for Dog Friendly State Beaches in Sonoma County.
My personal favorite is Doran Beach, a county park.
Don't forget private Dillon Beach where I have actually seen a number of dogs off leash, on the sand and out in the surf.
Now for the most important advice...
Once you have been to the beach with your dog (and your children), you may wonder, as I do,
"Is any sand left at the beach!!??"
I got a great tip from my orthopedist who also has three young boys and a never-clean SUV. He opens up all the doors and uses his leaf blower to blast dirt and sand (and food) from all of the cracks and crevices. He says that his neighbors used to make fun of him, but now he sees everyone on his block leaf blowing their own car.
Now that you have that perfect pet photo, what are you going to do with it?
Screensaver, virtual album, keychain, coffee cup? Maybe…
OR, how about something that reflects exactly how much you cherish the special relationship that you have with your pet, who is really so amazing, and why do people have trouble understanding just how cute and special your pet really is… (maybe you should start a blog, oh wait, I already did that).
In all seriousness, I know some amazing artists who raise the standard of pet portraits to, well, to fine art. I love paintings of animals, and I love them even more when they are animals I know.
Here is Wonderhall and my niece.
Here is my friend Kathy’s baby.
And a few animals I don’t know, but would like to meet.
There are so many fine artists, including animal artists, here in Sonoma County, but I'll introduce you to just one -- Jewel Kishmirian.
Even if she weren't my friend, I still would have found Jewel's work during the Art Trails open studio weekends. I love her paintings -- they remind me of English landscapes filled with peaceful cows and proud horses. But they're even better, because these landscapes are of Sonoma County and its country pets.
Taking photos of pets is just like taking photos of kids – you’ve got to be fast because they aren’t going to hang around until you get it right.
When I first went digital, I found that all of my photos were not what I had planned. When the kids were learning to dive, I wound up with photos of a diving board and empty air. The space over the show jump was empty. Eyes were closed, mouths were open and everyone was looking somewhere else.
I went to the camera shop and came home with a new Canon Power Shot camera. It was BIG because it uses regular AA batteries, but those batteries give it SPEED. It was more expensive than my previous, little digital because it had ZOOM. And it took GREAT PHOTOS! 
I have three boys and they provide a perfect exercise in animal photography. They are always moving, they don’t necessarily want to be photographed, and they will change their behavior when they know I am watching.
Taking all of this into account, I learned that more is better.
The beauty of digital is that more memory is cheap. The more memory I have the more photos I can take. So, I take lots of photos. I take dozens for just one candid shot.
More distance from my subject is also a good idea. If they don’t know I’m shooting, they keep doing that cute thing that makes me want to take a photo in the first place.
I use high resolution with zoom and end up with great close-up shots by the time they are cropped and printed.
Finally, my last piece of advice is to remember that animals have faces.
As humans we are hard-wired to see faces. A cluster of any three things looks like a face to us. So use that natural connection to make emotional photos that make your friends smile when you show them (as you know you will) all of your pet photos.
My cat and I have a disagreement about her favorite sport. When it comes to mousing, she practices “Catch and Release”. The problem is that she catches outside and releases inside.
If you have cats, you will recognize this scenario… I walk into my kitchen and the cat is watching the stove. She stares as if the giant glass window in the door of my Wolf range were an HD TV showing Animal Planet episodes.
My Wolf stove weighs what seems like thousands of pounds. I don’t even want to try to move it. So, I have to dedicate myself to monitoring the visitor through the interest of my pets. I know it is time to act when I walk into the living room and all the cats and dogs are positioned in a circle around the armchair. Chairs are just not that interesting. I beg and bribe my sons to get out a plastic container, we lift the chair and trap the bright-eyed creature. Not a mouse this time. A gopher.
As a gardener I hate to admit that gophers are kind of cute. I’m a sucker for bright eyes and twitching whiskers. The only penalty this gopher will have to pay for being caught trespassing in my lawn is being released in the empty field across the road.
Once again, I am forced to act on my last ultimatum, “I am closing the cat door”, I say to Friskie. “I’ve told you before -- no critters in the house.” But then the next day, Friskie lies contented and satiated on my bed as I discover critter pieces on my front door step. The cycle of my life continues. The cat door is unlocked and we keep an eye out for telltale cat and dog stakeouts. Friskie is practicing "Catch and Release".
Chickens are smarter than we humans give them credit for. I once had a chicken, with the uninspired name of "Chick" She was a bantam hen – small, red, bright and cocky. Chick was one of my favorites and followed me around the barnyard as I did my horse chores.
One November, for no apparent reason, Chick molted and lost all of her feathers. Except for her bright, perky eyes, she looked like a chicken who was plucked and ready to stew. Well, I don’t eat my chickens, I name them. So I had to figure out what to do to keep her toasty until her feathers regrew.
I made her a cozy cage in my house just inside the back door in the mudroom. I worked at home in my office next to the mudroom, and she clucked and talked to me all day as I typed on my keyboard. When her new feathers were beginning to fill out I moved her to the barn with a heat lamp. She was no longer content as a barnyard resident. In her mind, she was a house pet. She scolded me at the back door and would sit at the windows looking in with resentment. Finally, she started leaping up to the window in the back door, clinging to the molding around the window panes and shrieking, “I AM YOUR HOUSE CHICKEN. LET ME IN!”
If I didn’t block the entire opening when I opened the back door, she would rush past me to her favorite spot. There she would be walking up and down my computer keyboard, clacking the keys contentedly and pecking at the screen. If only I could have taught her to blog…
I don’t remember life without a pet. Other children slept with their stuffed animals, but I can only remember snuggling with my Siamese cat, Toi. Today, my bed is accessorized with two black cats. That rug next to my feet is my golden retriever. The cute dog statue next to the fireplace is a fox terrier. I crawl out of bed and look out the back window to check on my horses before I make my coffee. The chickens are clucking and cackling, undoubtedly solving some girlie argument like I was here first, no you weren’t yes I was. It’s my turn to lay the egg. And then there’s the wildlife – demanding humming birds and sweet songbirds, proud hawks, sneaky, egg-stealing, chicken -eating raccoons peer with their cute expressions into my house from skylights and trellises. Snarling barks from the dogs means that the mountain lion is visiting again or the coyotes are on the lane. The pair of twin fawns wandering through the bushes means that mom is out eating and they are getting a little adventurous. Welcome to Sonoma Country, I’d like to introduce you to our pets…
