Furry Friends

Moments Unexpected

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Jul 1, 2020 category Furry Friends

I had just settled into my favorite chair on the screened porch, Ivy sniffing at the floor. I looked out onto my rear-facing driveway and the access road beyond it. The morning was quiet aside from the early-rising birds. It was then that I saw a fox walk down the drive from the road, and continue past our driveway. It was hidden behind our neighbor’s hedge when Ivy suddenly stopped, no doubt catching the fox’s scent. I stood and approached the screen—Ivy at my side. We focused our attention hoping for a closer look at the fox, when it retreated from the hedge and entered our drive. It looked about, nose-to-the-ground near the sage, clematis, hosta, and bird bath.

It glanced up and caught us staring. It looked disheveled, its white and reddish coat in need of a brush. The face, long and narrow; the prominent tail, orange and fluffy. After several moments, it turned in the direction of the road. It appeared to be heading toward a neighbor’s home—the one with the five cats that freely roam the neighborhood snatching birds from friendly feeders. Instead, it turned and suddenly, from behind it, an orange animal, low to the ground, scurried in pursuit. I wondered why a cat would be following a fox. It wasn’t until they were both out of sight that I realized the orange fluff was a kit. And, that momma, undoubtedly, had been searching for it.

Raising Ivy (4 months)

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Apr 17, 2020 category Furry Friends

Someone is growing up. She sleeps until almost 5:00 a.m. now, goes out, eats breakfast, and sleeps on my feet while I have my morning coffee. She loves her people, often getting excited when we enter a room, even if we’ve only been gone a few minutes. She sits in our yard facing the neighbor’s house waiting for her people who live on the other side of the fence to come out.

Ivy thinks our cat is a dog. The cat is not amused.

She comes running when she hears the sound of the kitchen drawer opening—the one that holds the box of treats. I’ve discovered that she walks better on a leash if she is carrying a stick in her mouth.

The little girl retrieves with expertise. She is fast, and has a preference for sprints over marathons. She’s been practicing her skill at collecting more than one thing in her mouth at a time. (This skill is still being perfected.)

She drinks a lot of water at one time. She is not a sipper or a grazer. It’s all or nothing for this girl. There’s nothing gradual about her. She runs hard—lets out a bark of relinquishment—and collapses into sleep. Deep sleep. Snoring sleep.

Ivy responds to directions. She’s really good at sit and wait. Down is a work-in-progress. Come is hilarious. I use a hand motion with the word. She sits. She looks at my hand. Then at my face. Then at my hand. And, then she comes. Sometimes.

She makes us smile. For that we are grateful. She loves us, and we love her in return.

She’s growing up alright.

Raising Ivy…the saga continues

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Mar 4, 2020 category Furry Friends

Ivy’s discovered a parallel universe. Her world has now moved beyond what is on the floor, to what is three feet above her head: bright blue S’well bottles; creaky, shiny doorknobs; luscious Granny Smith apples; herb-rubbed top round roasts; unsuspecting cats on the radiator cover.

She sees.

She stops.

She barks.

I’ve discovered some things, as well.

Rain beads on her back like bulging drops on a windshield.

She doesn’t need to go out as often—yet, I don’t rest on that knowledge.

She likes to bark and it sounds like yelling to me. I remember that she is a puppy, and likely trying to communicate something to me. (Couldn’t she just whisper?)

She enjoys the bathtub.

She makes me laugh out loud.

I’m told by her breeder, Beth, that Ivy is bored. I am not another puppy. She can’t lay on the ground and bite my ears and wrestle. No matter how many times I throw the ball across the dining room floor, I am still not her pack member in the way she needs. I’m told two are easier than one.

I simply can’t imagine it.

Thursday, February 27, 2020
11 weeks, 6 days

Raising Ivy (12 weeks)

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Feb 29, 2020 category Furry Friends

I awoke with a start and looked at the clock. It showed 5:02 and I quickly sat up, listening for movement from the downstairs kennel. Nothing. Could she still be asleep? Quietly, I found my glasses, put on my socks and tiptoed across the creaky wooden floorboards to the no-less quiet stairs. One-by-one, I began my descent. I reached for the doorknob, bracing for its squeak and slowly opened the door. There she sat, across the room, in her kennel. I went directly to her, opening the two latches, waiting for her to sit quietly before I opened the door, and invited her out. Not stopping to fuss, I opened the French doors to the dining room, moved toward the kitchen, turned on the overhead stove light, said hello to Graycie, and placed the pink collar and leash on Ivy. I unlocked the door, and said hello to the dog that appeared to have grown overnight. She yawned, sat, got up, and moved toward the kitchen door and the outdoor lighted steps to the yard. Graycie ran out ahead of us, encouraging Ivy’s movement down the stairs. Another day begun.

Today marks three weeks since the little bundle came to live with us. In some ways it seems a long time; in other ways, like the blink of an eye. It’s hard to imagine life before Ivy. I don’t have to anymore. There’s no time for thoughts of that nature.

She is more predictable than that first day she arrived. Now, she gets up, pees, drinks water, eats, poops, pees. Feeding time is interesting as she is not particularly food-motivated. I place the kibble in the palm of my hand and she is willing to take it. I place more on the cool, tile floor and she cleans it up. There’s something about that big stainless steel bowl that doesn’t interest her. I’m learning, too.

I keep her still during the hour after she’s eaten, and she is fine with that. She sleeps on or near my feet, or with one of her soft toys, near my chair. I drink coffee, read, or watch the Eagle Cam on my computer. I look forward to the day she will join me for my quiet time on the porch, but currently, it’s not quiet when I bring her out there. It’s dark and too difficult to follow her movements when I’m trying to pray.

As soon as she decides she’s rested enough, it’s out to the yard she goes. Another pee. Most times, another poop. More water. And then…she’s off! Retrieving balls, biting bones, crawling under the hutch, pouncing, barking at Graycie. Moving, running; playing; going outside again; watching, listening, going outside again. There’s a rhythm to this dance, and after a while I can’t help but feel a part of her world.

About an hour or so later, boom, down she goes. It’s the end of her busiest time of the day. It’s when (in addition to indoor play) I walk her around the yard; today we ran in circles—six times, six times, five times. It’s when I wish we had a fenced-in yard; she has energy to burn. I’ve told friends that she plays hard and sleeps hard. Her snores confirm that.

Routines change from day to day, but I force myself to look at consistencies and focus on the things she does well. Yesterday morning was one of those times that did not go well. I had been up with her since 4:30 and at 9:00 decided I needed a shower. I thought she was ready for rest and she agreeably stepped into the kennel with her usual treats and safe toys. Her usual fussing did not cease and I was, by then, already soaking wet and unable to get to her. I called out words of comfort over the hum of the shower. I dried as quickly as I could and dressed. I went to the kennel with my hair dripping to find that she had already pooped and stepped in it. I whisked her outside knowing it was my fault. She tried to tell me, but I didn’t reach her in time. I bathed her, cleaned the tub, scrubbed the kennel, put her mat and toys in the wash, and went back to finish my preparation for the day. My hair had begun to dry into an unruly mess and at that moment I wanted to cry. Yet, she rested. My hair eventually dried. I got dressed. And, life went on.

Welcoming Ivy has filled a gap. Her questioning head-tilts make me laugh. The way she pounces on an unsuspecting toy is pure delight. Her excitement at seeing me warms my heart. Watching her grow and learn gives me hope.

Saturday, February 29, 2020
12 weeks, 1 day

Raising Ivy

by Denise Marotta Lopes on Feb 25, 2020 category Furry Friends

Raising puppies is not for the faint of heart.

Ivy discovered dirt today. Not the muddy form of dirt that spreads itself across the yard like peanut butter on bread when temperatures are above freezing, but, rather, the dirt that supports our five-foot tall Dracaena Janet Craig. The plant that has found a home in the corner of our dining room for the past two years. The plant that minds its own business, filling the corner with lush green. That plant.

I found Ivy’s Kong ball inside the container, setting atop the soil; her nose covered in brown, and her paws spotted with crumbs. She appeared nonplussed at my response; for her, digging in dirt was as natural as splashing in puddles.

The little girl has been with us for ten days. She eats morning, noon, and night, though prefers drinking to eating. Her teeth are sharp, though she willingly trades a hand for a Nylabone. I note her growth based on how much she looms over our dilute tortoise cat, who wonders what she ever did to deserve the likes of this bubbly little creature.

One of the puppy’s first lessons was: we don’t eat library books. We also do not poop in the crate, pee on the rug, or chew on the table legs. We do, however, pee outside when her humans take her out after eating, playing, sleeping, and breathing. We do poop twice after each meal (this was discovered the hard way). We do pull in the direction of our neighbor’s side fence to visit Henry, the Bichon Maltese, and if he is not there, will sit facing his yard in wait.

She wags her tail at breakneck speed when meeting someone for the first time, or seeing her humans magically reappear in the morning. She retrieves (I swear). Our floor is littered with her toys, colorful, fluffy, hard, soft. I remind myself that these trying, all-consuming puppy days are limited. She will not always need constant watching. In time, she will let me know when she needs to go out, instead of me having to calculate those outings. But, she will then be too big to carry and will have lost that sweet, musky puppy fragrance.

Raising puppies is work and laughter and exhaustion and appreciation of those relaxing moments when I cuddle her and breathe in all that she is and all that she will be—one day.

February 18, 2020
10 weeks, 4 days