Tag Archives: rusby

Rusby the Super Dog

Posted on by
2

Rusby is doing great.  The animal hospital didn’t want to release him as he won the hearts of surgeons and technicians alike, and they wanted to keep him there as long as possible to bring good moral to the team.  When we finally went to pick him up, he was in another room as the vet was explaining to us his medications.  There were tears running down my face as I contemplated how much pain he must be in, and how traumatizing the experience must have been.  To be hit by a car, to be lost and confused, to be in so much pain, my poor sweet Rusby would probably never be the same.  I felt guilty and responsible and so sad I couldn’t do anything.

Turns out, I was wrong.  He came in, thrilled to see us, banging his bandaged tail in excitement.  Then he went back and forth between us and the vets to get snuggles.  He was happy.  He was relaxed, he was…himself.

The bandage came off almost immediately from all the tail wagging, and although he was tired and there were medications to be had and stitches in his tail, life went back to normal.  That was two weeks ago.  His tail was not a stump but long enough for it to curl like it used to, and once the hair grows back and it stops looking like a rat tail, I am sure no one would ever tell the difference.

It isn’t like Rusby was a show dog pure bred that we loved for his looks.  I find him adorable, but a few centimeters off the tail or a scratch on his nose isn’t going to ruin him in any way for me.  What makes him unique, and really the most wonderful dog in the world, is his personality.  He is the sweetest, happiest, incredibly loving dog who loves the outdoors.  He enjoys his ball, he loves fresh grass, the snow, swimming, hiking and any adventure.  If his spirit was broken in any way, if he ceased to be the Rusby that we adore, then I would be devastated.

Honestly, in the 24 hours he was gone, I panicked about this nonstop.  But thankfully, Rusby did not let a car hitting him affect him in any way.  If anything, he is more full of life, of love, of affection.  He is ready to take on the world.

We should all be so resilient.

The tail I hate to tell

Posted on by
3

So the past the few weeks have been a blur of trying to get ready to move to England.  This could be anything from going to Ottawa to apply for my visa to live in the UK, to selling as much as we can on craigslist, to preparing Rusby for his first voyage on a plane.  Oh, and I am also trying to enjoy the Montreal summer as much as possible.  BBQs, going on hikes, spending time at the parks, enjoying festivals, reading plenty of books, etc.  And a quick trip to Los Angeles for the New Kids on the Block/Backstreet Boys concert.  No complaining here.

This morning Pedram woke me up at 7am before he went on his morning walk with Rusby.  They like to wake up early and discuss politics together at Olimpico before it gets too busy with the morning crowd.  They get there right when it opens, there is no line, and sit outside in the shade, observing people.  I imagine Pedram then reads his emails while Rusby paints a watercolor.  And then they return home to tell me the stories.  I covet these mornings when I get to sleep in, so when Pedram came in to tell me they were leaving, I waved them off and snoozed.

But I heard Pedram come in 10 minutes later, and he was frantic.

“where is the vet’s card?!” he asked

“I don’t know.  What’s going on?” I yawned.

“Something bad happened.  Rusby got hit by a car.”

Next thing I know, I am flying, half dressed out of the house, where Rusby is sitting outside looking at me, kinda confused.  Like he wants to tell me about the elephant he was drawing but he can’t find the words.  He is walking, is fine with me hugging him, but then I see the damages.  He is bleeding from his tail.  And he has a few cuts and scrapes.  As Pedram calls the emergency clinic, I try to see if I can see anything else, but he looks pretty good.

As I am observing and cleaning him up, he suddenly tries to lick his tail, but the pain is too intense, so he gets up and runs into the house, where he tries to crawl under our bed.  I once heard that animals like to go to dark, quiet areas before dying so I freak out.  I call a cab, Pedram tells the clinic he is on his way, I wrap my baby in a towel and hand him over, and pray this was a bad dream and that he is fine.  I also try to wipe off all the blood I am finding everywhere.

Pedram calls every 5 minutes from the clinic, telling me the tests they are doing, the results, and then the news.  They can’t find any internal bleeding, he seems to be doing okay, but his tail is a mess.  There is exposed bone.  They want to amputate.  I tell Pedram to tell them the following:

1 – He uses his tail to balance while running, like a cheetah

2 – it curls up and is fancy, which is why all the ladies love him

3 – he needs it to navigate while swimming

4 – they can amputate my arm before they amputate his tail

Pedram agrees with me and goes to see if there is a plan B on the tail front.  He then calls me two more times to share that the vet, the surgeon and the technician all recommend amputation.  Each time I repeat no way, absolutely not, not going to happen.  Until Pedram tells me he thinks it is the best option, that the tail may not heal otherwise, that it is best to trust the vet.  And so I reluctantly agree, and my heart aches a bit more for my mutt.

We just heard now that the surgery went well, Rusby is awake and doing fine.  He will stay in the animal hospital overnight and we can pick him up tomorrow morning.  Pedram has reminded me that we can’t treat Rusby too differently once he is back, so he can recover from the accident and move on in the way canines do.  I told Pedram that is fine, except Rusby will now be sleeping in bed with us, and only eating organic t-bone steaks.  Also, I was going to always keep him on a leash, even in the house.  And maybe we can get those baby monitors so I can check on him whenever I wanted.  And I will get a leash and monitor for Pedram too.  If only I could leash everyone I love.

Pedram, who witness the accident, heard Rusby’s crying afterwords, held him in the cab while the dog bled all over him, and made the tough calls I couldn’t (“yes, amputate the tail”), is also doing okay.  Although it is not his fault, he blames himself, and although there is nothing we could do, it is really hard to see a helpless animal in pain.

But, luckily, everything has turned out alright.  I will give a little Rusby report as soon as he finishes his first steak.  For now, here are some pictures of him hanging out with his glorious tail.

 

my muse

Posted on by
4

Tonight Rusby had a big night.  He decided to put on some of my pretty pearls

Doesn’t he look fabulous?  He could be my own personal jewelry stand.

Or if I wanted, I could train him to give me my makeup in the mornings.  There is so much potential!

The Weekends

Posted on by
2

A member of my immediate family usually checks in with me once a day (Pedram – twice a day).  And usually when they do, and I am there to answer the phone, they will catch me on a dog walk.  During the week, I walk Rusby before going to work, and immediately after coming home from work.  And occasionally an additional stroll before going to bed.  It is exhausting, especially in the winter time, when we have to put on a million layers and put some goopy wax on Rusby’s paws (for the salt on the sidewalk).

I don’t mind the walk because it is therapeutic (and probably healthy) to take time to be outdoors.  The problem is that my sweet little dog is waiting for me, holding his pee, until I let him outside.  That our walks are rushed because I have an early meeting, or that I am stuck in a late meeting and he is just waiting for me, by himself for 10 hours of the day.  I feel the burden of his dependence on me, and I feel guilty leaving him by himself so often.

Except on the weekends.  On Saturday and Sundays, Rusby and I go “up the mountain”, the little Mont-Royal hill that is near us.  We take our time, and spend about 2 hours outside, hiking around the mountain, often getting lost, playing in the snow, and many times trying to hike up areas that are abandoned, and slipping and falling.

When they call during these hikes, it is shocking to my family (or anyone I am talking to from the West Coast) that I venture to go hiking when it is so cold outside.  Or when there is snow on the ground.  They all think I should be indoors, by the fire place, drinking hot chocolate.  My mom warns that I will lost a limb, my dad implores me to keep my eyes closed to the cold, and everyone warns that I could fall and break something.  Today, my dad told me that when it gets this cold (ie – minus 30 degrees) that people will actually freeze while walking.

But it isn’t like that.  I am bundled up, but I always get so warm on the hike that I’ll remove my hat, even unzip my coat.  My shoes are waterproof and have little cleats that make climbing in the snow easy.  Rusby and I venture off the regular trails, tracking our own through trees, avoiding other hikers, cross-country skiers, finding ourselves completely alone on the mountainside.

When we are alone, it is really really quiet.  You hear the trees cracking with the weight of the snow, the branches rustling in the wind, and the tranquility from the white snow, the stillness from the cold air, it is pretty beautiful.

Not being one who likes to be alone with my thoughts for too long, I will often take a few meditative breaths, turn on some music, and then try to find a way back home.  And often times, coming down the mountain is much much harder.  I’ll ask Rusby to go first before braving the route myself, sometimes falling on my butt and sliding, sometimes purposely sitting and gliding down to flatter plains.

I only panic when the sun is setting and I still have no idea where we are, or if I am halfway down a steep trail and I have no idea how to continue down, but going back up is not an option.  Or when I am breathing so hard that I fog up my sunglasses (necessary from the sun on the blinding snow) and can’t see and suddenly walk into a branch, or worse, a tree.

When we finally get home, we are both tired and wet.  The heat from the house paints my cheeks rosy, and Rusby will immediately start licking his paws to get the icicles off.  (No joke — he has actual icicles on his fur, small balls of ice and snow that has stuck to his matted skin, and will only come off once melted).  We are both tired, and I am definitely worthy of the hot chocolate I will consume.

The hunter

Posted on by
Reply

I know I can’t stop gushing about my dog, but you have to meet him to believe that he is the BEST dog ever.  And he never ceases to amaze me.  This weekend a little kid asked his mom, “what is the name of that dog?” and when she asked me, I proudly said — “he is called Rusby!”

When she asked me to clarify what type of dog he is, I told him he is just a mix of the a retriever, a herder, and a swimmer type of dog.  But he is so much more.  A few weeks ago, we learned that when Rusby suddenly becomes like this -

It means something.  He stops and becomes alert, his ears sharpening up and one paw raising ever so slightly.  Our dog is part-Lassie, trying to tell us something.  On a hike a few weeks ago, he was trying to alarm us about this

*pictures taken by my shaky hand and the iPhone

A deer!  Our dog had found a deer!! He then did a little dance, obviously proud that he had fulfilled one of his genetic traits.  Seriously, coolest perro ever.  He even plays the role of a guard dog while I am knitting in a coffee shop.

Fizzybear

Posted on by
Reply

We have a new toy!

His name is Fizzy, and he is a 3 year old shih tzu.  The Montreal heat makes his hair even frizzier and unmanageable (r) than mine, so he gets it shaved over the summer.  It makes the hot temperatures more bearable, and also makes him super soft, like a little furry pillow.

Fizzy has been staying with us for two weeks while his family is traveling, and although he is a stubborn little beast, I am learning to love him.  Fizzy’s appearance at our house has made Rusby quite jealous — but I think it is good for him to get over his single doggy selfishness and learn to share the love.  And Rusby can teach him things, like dogs don’t pee on my basil.

This past weekend, we took the two dogs up to a friend’s cabin a few hours from the city.  It was wonderful, serene and beautiful, and Fizzy tried to escape and return to the wild more than once.  I had to keep reminding him that there are no dog hair trimmers in the woods, so he better come back.

Meanwhile, Rusby watched over us as we swam.

And then, to our surprise and delight, he joined us in the water.  It is cool when you don’t know your dog’s breed, and your not quite sure what they are capable of doing.  We now know that Rusby is a herder, a retriever, a snow lover, and a darn good swimmer.  The water just falls off his coat, and he uses his tail to navigate.

I am loving this dog more and more everyday (and season).

The Heat

Posted on by
Reply

Thank you Montreal, for your many days of 30+ Celsius (90+ Fahrenheit) weather.

It has magically made the blustering winter disappear, giving me sudden amnesia about how many layers I was wearing this time three months ago.  Three months!  In February, it was NEGATIVE 20 here, and my arms and legs were deprived of daylight, covered in seemingly endless layers of long underwear and wool.

But now my limbs are FREE – exposed to everyone!  I am riding my bike everywhere, wearing skirts and sleeveless dresses, and enjoying ice cream on late night walks.  It is really hard to walk by the ice cream place wearing bare minimum of clothing and not indulge.  Especially since you rode your bike and you deserve a treat.

We barbecued outside all weekend long, and even all week long.  We are lugging huge watermelons home from the local store, eating too much and peeing non-stop.  We are also eating asparagus all the time, which makes our pee smell funny.  Enough pee talk.  Summer has started.

Of course, it is worth mentioning that Rusby is pretty thrilled with the hot weather too.  Instead of playing ball inside, he now roams free outside, chasing the ball through the grassy fields.  And when he needs a little break, he cools off by rolling himself down the hill.

I am very tempted to imitate him.

The dog that breaks cultural barriers

Posted on by
Reply

I am not sure why, but our neighbors, which consist 80% of Hasidic Jews, are terrified of dogs.  They cross the street when Rusby and I are walking, often flatten themselves against buildings, running up to the safety of their porches, or yelling “hoondt” or “doggie” (my yiddish is improving) in fear.  Their distress from our little dog makes me take alternative routes, just so that little kids don’t fly into the danger of the middle of the street when we come near.  I have heard a variety of reasons why they are so afraid, but never one that makes sense to me.

If for some reason any of my neighbors are reading this — please stop teaching your children to run when they see a dog — this only makes dogs interested in chasing.  The best thing to do is to ignore them.

As spring has arrived, and the children in my neighborhood have come out of their homes to play on the sidewalks, it has become more and more difficult for Rusby and I to walk down the street.  Some packs of kids will try to taunt him, yelling at him and the bravest will occasionally poke at him with a stick.  One day, I turned to one of the kids and asked if they wanted to pet the dog, which caused them to stare at me in shock, and then run away screaming.  I repeated this for a week, everytime getting more and more frustrated, coming home and telling Pedram that we need to move.

Finally, one day, one courageous girl came up to me and asked me the name of the dog.  “Rusby,” I eagerly replied.  She then asked me what his family name was, which based on the excitement that I was having a conversation with someone and the nature of the question, took me about 5 minutes to respond.  I asked her if she wanted to pet him — to which replied yes, but only if Rusby was facing me.  I had him sit, and she gently touched his fur, and then squealed to all of her friends.  We repeated this the following day, with her becoming closer to Rusby more and more.

A month later, and now we have gotten to this point, where everytime Rusby goes for his afternoon walk, the kids swarm around us.  And the poor dog has to sit patiently while they pet, poke and prod him, mumbling their discoveries to themselves in Yiddish, and occasionally asking me bizarre questions, like “why does he have a tail?”

He is still not allowed to face them.  When he occasionally turns his head, they shriek and run.  So this is a test of his patience, being the guinea pig of cultural understanding, hopefully helping this generation of kids understand that dogs are not evil.  Every once in while, parents of these children pass by in amazement that these kids could be so close to a dog.  And then they will notice it is their own child, and they will call for them to stay away.

Every once in a while, the kids become  a little too excited, and pull on his tail, or try to pick him up, and Rusby never retaliates.  He remains calm while they poke at his ears to see him flinch, he ignores them as they try to make him eat grass.  He should win some sort of prize for his patience.  Hopefully in a few months, he’ll be able to at least turn his head.

The Fall — Ouch

Posted on by
4

Alone for nine days, my doggie and I

We decide to leave the house, since the weather was dry

We went to the park, where the snow was abundant

And threw around the ball, a chore that is redundant

Then the ball disappeared around the linked fence

In order to get to it, we had to climb a snow hill that was immense

Rusby climbed it with ease, using his four paws

Scaled the mountain so fast, I gave him a round of applause

He looked at me as if saying “what are you waiting for”?

And so I scrambled up the hill, more and more

On top of the hill, I sighed a breath of relief

Thinking that there was no ice to give me any grief

How simple I was not realizing the mistake I made

one side of the hill had remained in the shade

the other side, was slippery and frightful

and with only two legs, one bad step would spiteful

Oh!  How I fell!

My legs slipped out from under me, up in the air

My arms were not fast enough to save me from despair

I fell on my ass, “bum” in the local tongue

So hard I fell, my head spun and spun

Alone on the ice, such a disgrace

was the moment my dog thought he should start licking my face

I knew I wasn’t paralyzed, cause I could push him away

And he returned, dropping the prized ball on my chest — wanting to play

After a moment of catching my breath I tried to move again

But fell, this time face down, once more in pain

Third time, I crawled my way away from the hill

Back into the park, I stood up, using all my will

They say falling in the snow is a true Montreal experience

I have felt the glory of surviving, and have been ready to leave since.

Some pictures from my phone – part 1

Posted on by
1

Last weekend, I was in Florida, with the crazy cousins, and my sister took this picture with my phone

In case you were wondering, this is me happy, dancing like a fool because I am not wearing 20 layers.  I am not just happy, I am exuberant, ebullient, vivacious, alive!  Today, a week later, it has snowed a foot in Montreal, and I occasionally look at this picture on my phone and smile, remembering the warmth on my shoulders, the sand in between my toes, the peaceful sound of the ocean around me.  Then I look outside at the snow, and cry and cry and cry.

Want to see another happy picture of me?  Take a look at this one, again, exactly one week ago.

I spent something like six hours in a spa, where I just felt all the stress just melt off of me.  I had no treatments done, just spent time relaxing and eventually taking the deepest, most profound nap of my life.  I am pretty sure my snoring ruined the serene experience for everyone else.

You know what else made me happy?  Hanging out with these crazies

We were all melting at this point.  We walked in there tense and full of anxiety, and left unknotted, relaxed and limpid.  Everyone was escaping from something.  Some from work, some from responsibility, some from husbands, some from this little screaming terror waiting for her at home.

How could you call this little cutie a terror?  Look at those eyes!  Look at that smile!  She melts my heart.  She is nothing compared to the little terror waiting for me at home

No dog, I will not throw that ball again for you, no matter how pathetically cute you look.  We are alone at home this week, and he is always looking for an opportunity to cuddle up with me.  Which would be great, if he didn’t smell so dog-like.  And didn’t snore.

I guess I have him to thank for exposing me to the beautiful scenery tonight.  Otherwise, I had no intention of leaving the house.  I was planning to pump up the heat and put back on my sundresses and pretend I was back in the sauna.  But instead, I put on my woolly layers and took Rusby to the dog park, and quit my grumbling about the weather long enough to enjoy the sunset.