Edgy Mama

Biscy, the amazing Dorkie Poo mutt, has stopped barking. No yapping, no middle of the night yelps, no ferocious spazzing whenever a neighbor walks by. For this, I thank the magic citronella bark collar.

Per my vet’s recommendation, I strapped the collar on the Bisc yesterday. I leave it on him only for a few hours–at the times he’s most likely to be barky (evening, mostly). The results are fricking incredible. When he barks, the collar sprays a tiny bit of citronella toward his snout. He stops barking immediately. Just now a guy walked by the house with his dog. Biscy watched him from the front screen door, growled a bit, then meandered over to me from some positive reinforcement (i.e., biscuits).

At first I was concerned that he was a bit depressed by not barking, particularly because the neighbors’ dogs, three of whom are within about 20 feet of us, are still making a regular ruckus. But damn, it’s nice not to jump three feet when our small dog suddenly erupts into full-throated hound dog mode in the house.

Worth every penny!

For those of you who aren’t Ashevillians, this is Bele Chere weekend here. Bele Chere touts itself as the biggest annual street festival in the Southeast. This year they predict around 375,000 people will visit. There are five or six stages with both local and national musical acts performing half of Friday and all day Saturday and Sunday. Last night one of the acts was the Gin Blossoms.
There are arts and crafts booths galore, beer tents, food offerings, marketing competitions (courtesy of the radio stations, of course), an Urban Challenge modeled on the Survivor television series, a kids’ area, Air Dog performances, and this year, the Budweiser Clydesdale Horses will strut through town. It’s all good drunken fun. Except when it’s not.

I wandered through town for about an hour yesterday afternoon and got a teensy taste of Bele Chere.

Love this guy’s bike setup and the decor!

This couple just stood there, dressed funny, and people put $ into their basket.

Air dog! Damn Ingles with their huge trucks all over the place (background).

The local microbrew tent. I’ll be nearby tonight.

I’ve written before about dogs and dog love and my son’s all-consuming desire for a dog. I’ve written about our failed rescue experiment with the beautiful but wild Australian cattle dog, Scout, who is now happily chasing goats on a farm (really!), instead of chasing my poor kittys and jumping our fence to chase cars on Merrimon Avenue (above–the only time the dog was happy in his crate). I did save his life, I did! Of course, in my WCS (worst case scenario) moments, I worry that I gave the poor dog to Satan worshippers who slowly tortured him to death in unspeakable ways. Fie my vivid imagination.

Anyway, the boy still talks, constantly, about dogs. He notices every dog that crosses his path and describes them to us in detail: “Did you see that dog? He was black and white and had a brown nose and a fluffy tail. He was sooooo cute!”

E-spouse, however, is severely pet-impaired. He never had a great childhood dog. He doesn’t get pets. He likes our cats now, but that’s only because in comparison to Scout (the failed experiment) they are incredibly low maintenance. And quiet.

So whenever the “next” dog discussion comes up, E changes the subject quickly. As quickly as you would neuter a dog who was humping all the neighbor’s bitches.

Yesterday, I was driving the boy home from school yesterday and he suddenly asked: “Mom, can we get a dog when Daddy dies?”

How do you answer that question? Well, we’re going to buy a fish tomorrow.