dogs

Misterjaw Flea…

Yesterday, after dinner, Bill and I decided to take the dogs for a walk. The weather was beautiful. It was sunny, but not too hot, and there was a pleasant breeze. This time of year, the sun doesn’t go down until well after 10:00pm, so we had plenty of daylight. The dogs were delighted to have both of us walking them. Nowadays, that’s a rare treat for them.

As we were walking, we started talking about dogs of the past. I’ve loved all of them, but probably my favorite of the lot was Flea. We got Flea in November 2003, about a month after we lost our very first beagle mix, CuCullain (CC). On October 12, 2003, CC died of a nasty mycobacterial infection. They are exceedingly rare in dogs and our vet had never before seen a case of it in her long career. We ended up taking CC to a speciality hospital in northern Virginia, where we spent a couple of thousand bucks we didn’t have to find out that the situation was hopeless. We’d only had CC for sixteen months and we were devastated to lose him. He was part husky and had beautiful blue eyes.

CuCullain… our first rescue. He was a great dog, but we didn’t have him long enough.

Flea was everything CC was not. Feisty, temperamental, loudmouthed, and vain, everyone in the neighborhood knew him and where he lived. CC, by contrast, was known for being sweet, quiet, gentle, and having startlingly blue eyes. CC also used to shed like a husky.

Of the five dogs we’ve rescued so far, Flea was the closest to being 100 percent beagle. He was someone’s hunting dog before he was rescued, half-starved, afflicted with Lyme Disease and heartworms, and covered in fleas and ticks. A lady spotted him standing on the side of a road in Chester, Virginia. She picked him up– actually, Flea was very good at hitchhiking, and he was gorgeous and charming. The lady nursed him back to health, though she neglected to have both parts of his heartworm treatment done.

Flea and MacGregor in 2oo8. MacG is the one looking at the camera. Flea hated having his picture taken.

When we went to Richmond to pick up Flea– she had named him Fleagle after the Banana Splits’ beagle– he was obviously trying to overtake her busy household. Although he was much smaller than her other dogs, he would regularly challenge her large male shepherd. He adored the lady’s toddler aged son. We took Flea for a walk/test drive, and he surprised us with his energy and boldness. His rescuer told us he needed to be “top dog”, and live somewhere where he could “be a star”. She was definitely right about that. Flea was the smallest of our dogs, but he was also the most alpha. Sometimes I wonder how Arran would have reacted to Flea. I think Flea would have kicked his ass. One of our former vets hated Flea’s name and said we should change it, but I think it actually suited him perfectly. He was just cool enough to pull it off.

MacGregor was an adorable puppy when we brought him home to keep Flea company. Flea terrorized him at first, but then they became best friends.

Flea was a bit blue when he became our dog. He liked having other dogs around, and got really bad separation anxiety when he was alone or not the center of attention. He also missed the little boy. He would have loved it if we’d had a son for him to play with. Flea loved kids– especially boys. I remember he would bugle for me if I so much as left his sight. After a few months with us, we had him tested for heartworms again and learned that he was never fully treated for the disease. We got him healthier, then picked up our dog, MacGregor, who is probably Bill’s “special” dog– although Arran runs a close second. Once we had MacGregor, Flea totally changed. MacGregor was perfectly happy to be second banana, and that was just what Flea needed. Once he had a sidekick, he was a lot less anxious about being left alone. He turned into a great family dog who was super protective of me and also liked to play canine pranks.

As we were walking last night, Bill chuckled and said, “I remember when Flea used to purposely sneak up behind you and startle you.”

It’s true. Flea was just like Misterjaw… “Gotcha!”

Flea had the personality of a shark. He liked to sneak up behind me and scare me out of my wits! This episode is actually not unlike Flea’s story, only Flea was a dog rather than a shark.

I’d be sitting at my computer, hard at work writing something. He’d saunter into my office, silent as a church mouse. He’d sit down and watch me for a minute. Then, just when I was in the middle of a thought, oblivious to his presence, he’d let out a sharp yelp. I’d jump, then turn around to give him a dirty look and a sharp word. Bill watched him do this many times in the six years we had Flea. He thought it was a riot. I’m sure Flea was amused, too.

In the summer of 2009, Flea was diagnosed with prostate cancer. We were living in Germany and our former vet in Herrenberg– same one who treated Zane and Arran for the past four years– told Bill that Flea had cancer. We took him to Stuttgart, where they did an ultrasound and x-ray that confirmed the presence of cancer. It was July. Ever since then, I’ve kind of hated July. It seems like the worst things happen in July. I’m always relieved when July is over, and I generally dread its onset, even though July is also the month my dear husband came into the world in 1964. It’s also the month in which Bill will become a grandfather again, when his daughter has her baby girl. She chose July 9th to be induced… the fifth anniversary of my dad’s death.

A couple of days before we lost Flea to cancer. We lived in Georgia. MacGregor was standing guard. Three years later, Zane would do the same for MacGregor when spinal cancer overtook his body.

We managed to keep Flea going for another four months after he was diagnosed with cancer. He made it back to the United States with us and died on November 18, 2009, two days after our wedding anniversary. The night before we had him put down, he’d lost the ability to walk. Even still, he didn’t want to die and made it very clear to us, although it was obvious he would not live much longer as the cancer turned him into a skeletal version of himself. Of the dogs we’ve had euthanized, Flea took the longest to give in. I was beside myself with grief when we lost him. He was such a little character– full of self-confidence and spunk. He reminded me of a canine version of George Jefferson. Flea was also instrumental in our getting to know our neighbors in our first German neighborhood, when he fell in love with the next door neighbor’s little boy, Robin.

Flea only visits me in my dreams now, with the occasional “Gotcha!” Flea’s successor, Zane was born exactly one year prior to the day we lost Flea. He’s going to be eleven years old this year. I worry about him all the time, especially as he gets lumpier. There are times when I would swear Flea jumped into his body to visit us down here on Earth. I feel the same way about Arran, who sometimes behaves a bit like MacGregor used to. So far, both of our dogs have had mast cell tumors, but they’re both plucky and fun loving. Zane isn’t quite as spunky as he used to be, but his eyes are bright, his coat is shiny, and he still loves to take walks. And sometimes, when he’s feeling especially jaunty, he’ll sneak up behind me and bark “Gotcha!”, just like ol’ Flea used to, back in the day.

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expressions

Taking the piss…

Ever heard this expression? I think it’s a Britishism. I read it for the first time a few weeks ago, when I was reading Toytown Germany. Some people were writing about being unfairly treated by someone in authority… bosses, landlords, or even friends and family members. Time after time, I’d see British or Irish posters referring to “taking the piss”. It struck me as a funny euphemism, so I looked it up on Urban Dictionary. There were several definitions, but the one that seemed most relevant in the context provided on Toytown Germany was this one…

But this appears to be a more modern definition…
This appears to be the more traditional meaning.

It’s interesting how this expression has evolved. It looks like it used to refer to people who were just “messing” with others, trying to be funny rather than hurtful. The way I’ve seen it used in context more recently implied that it’s more about screwing someone over. That’s also how it’s defined on Wikipedia, for whatever that’s worth, although Wikipedia also references the other meanings.

Frankly, when I hear or read that expression, I think the definition about being screwed over by someone is more fitting. Lately, I can relate to feeling that way myself.

Just as I was writing this, my darling husband came up behind me and stroked my shoulder. I turned to look at him, and he had this adoring smile on his face. I asked him what he wanted and he said “Nothing… you just looked so intensely focused.”

In my typically snarky way, I said “So you decided to break my concentration?” But I was smiling, because at least this time, Bill didn’t sneak up behind me. He’s done that a few times, although I don’t think he’s ever done it intentionally. I’ll be reading or writing something, completely unaware of his presence, and he’ll startle me, the same way our old beagle, Flea, used to. I seriously believe Flea enjoyed making me jump out of my skin. He’d come into a room when my back was turned, sit there silently for a minute or two, then bark sharply. Inevitably, that would scare the shit out of me and I’d cuss and glare. Bill says he watched him do that several times. I’m sure it was hilarious to witness. Having spent so many years living with dogs, I know they have a sense of humor.

I hate being startled, though, and I don’t like it when someone breaks my focus. When I was a child, I had problems with concentration. I was very easily distracted. Unfortunately, in third grade, my elementary school had an “open pod” classroom that allowed for two classes to go on in a large room. My teacher wasn’t as loud as the teacher in the other space, so my attention would always drift to the other teacher. Then, when my teacher would catch me not paying attention, she’d call on me. I’d have no idea what was going on, and she would humiliate me in front of my classmates. A lot of the worst of the bullies rode my bus, so they would continue the harassment all the way home. It made for a rather miserable school year.

Now that I’m older, I can more easily concentrate, but when I do manage to focus, I become less aware of other things. Consequently, I’m easily startled, and when I’m startled, I get upset. Also, I tend to get really annoyed by people who “take the piss”, either way it’s defined. I mostly try to do right by other people unless they give me a good reason not to. I have a great sense of humor, but I don’t like upsetting people for the sake of being an asshole. And I also don’t appreciate it when they do that to me, although I will admit that the more skillful comedians are more likely to get away with it than others are.

Anyway, a quick search of Toytown Germany reveals many examples of the expression, “taking the piss”. I don’t run across that expression in other areas of the Web where I hang out, even though I have a number of European friends. I think I might need to incorporate that expression into my daily lexicon, especially since it seems to fit so well with my life lately. Yes… we’ve recently been screwed over and taken advantage of. Someone has definitely “taken the piss” with us. But I suspect we’ll have the last laugh.

For some reason, this sentence makes me laugh…

Yes, tell him that you’ll not be bullied, to stop trying to take the piss and deal with the situation like a respectable human being.

This one, too…

Definitely taking the piss. Do you have bank statements showing the original transfer or a copy of the contract signed by you both ?

Get a solicitor where you are to send a letter and I’m sure that an official response will follow.

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