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Dogs, cats and a mouse

Good morning and welcome to what will be the final soggy day of November unless the calendar has become so waterlogged that some sort of temporal malfunction adds an extra day to the month. Soggyday or, maybe, Thankswimming.

Isn’t it astounding that 30 days can move so quickly!

Now, let’s get on to some pet business:

DOG WITH GREAT LOVEABLE MUG NEEDS HELP: A note from Gail Whelan of the Companion Animal Network ( www.ca-n.petfinder.com ) reports about this handsome Rottweiller. “This dog has been kept chained and outside. The owner has agreed to relinquish him and we have commitments to pay for vetting. Now we just need somewhere for this beautiful dog to go.” (E-mail [email protected] to help.)

MUD, MUD, MUD: My lament yesterday regarding the Mud Challenge faced my multi-mutt homes, inspired Chris Cattell to write, “We are all slogging through the mud and scrud here, too. Forget the Acme Mop Company, throw lots of old towels on the floor and hope for the best. One day we hope to have a house fully tiled, drains in the floor, couple of acres in the country. Haven’t decided which country we can afford, though. None at the moment. Gotta keep on buying those lottery tickets.”

A CAT BY ANY OTHER NAME: My friends Ancil and Roy Jennings, formerly of Pembroke Avenue in Oak Cliff, now live in New Boston and their household includes a cat named Garfield. During a recent discussion about getting cats to come when called, Ancil wrote, “Through the years, I’ve called cats by calling their names. I’ve called them by just ‘Kitty! Kitty!’ and someone once taught me another call, a ‘krrrrt’ sound that they sometimes respond to. Haven’t used that with Garfield. He usually comes when he hears his name. I think he associates it with ‘food’!”

A CHANCE TO LEARN: Rebecca Poling of the Metroplex Animal Coalition (www.metroplexanimalcoalition.com) sends a note that might be of interest to people in animal welfare and rescue outfits. It has to do with properly maintaining shelters and kennels. And the information will be presented in “webinars.” You know, seminars except on the web. Webinars. This one, about proper cleaning of a shelter and proper materials for doing the job right, is being presented by Dr. Kate Hurley of the University of California-Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. For info and scheduling visit http://petsmartcharities.webex.com . These sessions are free.

And I’d have typed this last item a lot faster, except Poirot, the black-and-white spacecat, decided this was a good time to walk back and forth on the desk, sometimes stomping on the keyboard. I’d put him down, he’d jump back up. Then, he sat on the mouse. It made, honestly, little squeaking noises.

There’s something surreal about a cat sitting on a mouse.

Here's a notion for the tube

Dear readers, I don’t know if you’ve noticed the “Daily Notions” I post in the upper right portion of your screen, but I’m leaving the latest one up for a couple of days.

I realize an out-of-work newshound who thinks he’d be the perfect Dan Rather replacement shouldn’t get involved in “issues,” but, seriously, how is it that we can have a female Secretary of State, but not a female CBS anchor? Or a female anchor replacing Tom Brokaw at NBC -- weren’t there women in the Greatest Generation and didn’t they pass some strong legacies on to their daughters? Just as the men passed on to their telegenic boys?

During the recent presidential campaign, I saw a political sign that read “W stands for Women.” Is it appropriate to note that there is no W in either CBS or NBC?

Are women anchors trustworthy in the eyes of TV executives only on morning shows when the execs expect them to giggle and set viewers at ease between commercials?

Just on Dallas TV consider these anchor possibilities: Jane McGarry at Channel 5, Karen Borta at Channel 11, Clarice Tinsley at Channel 4; Gloria Campos and Macie Jepson at Channel 8. And what about former Dallas anchor Ashleigh Banfield? Or former Dallas judge and now Court TV anchor Catherine Crier.

I’m sure there are more women who could be network anchors, but, alas, like the names I just mentioned, these women labor against two obstacles: They’re not older than 60 and the execs won’t be having a bonding conversation with them at the sink in the men’s room.

(You can e-mail your nominations or your thoughts to [email protected]  Thanks.)

Insurance, mops and dogs

While running errands today I was listening to some radio station and I heard an ad for a “term life” policy that, the announcer said, “guarantees your money back if you don’t die.”

I’d like to take a shot at qualifying for that.

My afternoon errands included taking some clothes to the cleaners. Believe it or not, that  sentence introduces a dog story.

Among the items going to the cleaners was an old pair of dress pants that, since I’d outgrown them during office stress last year, had been lazily stored in a hamper. One leg of those trousers had been draped haphazardly over the edge of the hamper -- probably for months. And, apparently, Annie the puppy had taken a fancy to the cuff on that leg and had nibbled it and nibbled it until it was pretty ragged and the leg was easily no longer than mid-calf.

I told my seamstressspouse Martha about the nibbling and she asked, “Is it something we can repair just by cutting the legs off and hemming them higher?" “Sure,” I replied, “If you want sew elastic bands to them so I can wear them to Oktoberfest.”

When you haven’t had puppies around for a while, you forget how the little rascals notice everything and try to eat it, too.

Meanwhile, it is dreary and raining and, frankly, I’m wondering if there are other multi-dog households who have hit on a good way to keep dogs from tracking mud back into the house after a “walk.” Is there a surefire way to stop this relocation of soil other than falling to your knees, grabbing the dogs and toweling the paws until the dogs yelp to be set free?

I even bought a new mop to handle November’s rain and, son of a gun, if I don’t think it would be easier to wait until spring and simply hose out the house.

If I ever get enough money to build a house, I’m going to make it all tile on the inside -- walls, floors, ceilings, and I’m going to have hose spigots in every room so that at the end of the day, I’ll simply turn on the hose and blast the place clean.

That may be extreme and it could be tough on the cats’ nerves. But a fellow can dream, can’t he? I’m getting a little weary of keeping the Acme Mop Company in business. Of course, if the sun ever shines again, I’ll be OK. Must be that SAD thing..…Seasonal Affective Disorder? No, SADD (Some Awfully Dirty Dogs….)

Ah, but they’re so sweet….and, mercifully, the older dogs simply spot the rain, then refuse to go outside. They return to their “nap” areas and wait until the storm passes. The younger dogs are learning to have enough sense to come in out of the rain.

If you have tips for keeping floors clean in multi-dog households during extended periods of rainfall, please e-mail me at

[email protected].  We’ll share the tips with other exasperated humans. Or start a "Friends of Moppers" support group.

Monday sympathies...

Oh, my, it’s a Monday morning and my sympathies are with those of you who had to return to work today.

I miss going to work, too, but I’ll just buck up and bravely march forward in this life of glorious unemployment.

On second thought, maybe I don’t miss going to work all that much. I'm still "trained" to vacation this week. This is the day my traditional autumn vacation has begun for more than 20 years.

I believe the record will reflect that I always took the two weeks after Thanksgiving off so I could get ready for Christmas. Now, without meetings to attend or other odd time-consuming, office-based events, I’m quite ready to enjoy a season of holly jolly. Amazing what a little surprise idleness can do for your soul.

The dogs, in case you wondered, are under the impression that I am on vacation not out-of-work. They are sleeping right now. So are the cats. They have adjusted to having a human stumbling around the house during “nap time.”

For a few days, whenever I stood, the dogs would jump up and follow me as if I were about to steal the silverware and flee.

Now, they’ve grown accustomed to my face being in the house. I think I heard a couple of them whispering “Should we get him something for Christmas? He’s here for good, isn’t he?”

We’ll be posting some pet-related items later in the day…I’m doing some checking, some writing and some errands.

The weather is dreary again, so remind your less-enlightened friends, neighbors and relatives to properly tend to their outdoor animals -- in my world, that means make them indoor pets. But I know everybody doesn’t always feel that way. Maybe for Christmas they’ll get wiser.

Looking for a lost cat

This is a “be on the lookout” for a great cat named Bruce who lives in the El Dorado Point area.

The tip come from my Forest Avenue High School Alumni Association “reliable contact” Betty Morgan. Bruce is her “grandcat.” Betty’s daughter, Marilyn Blaquiere, has had Bruce the cat for a couple of years -- she got him as a kitten from the SPCA in McKinney.

But recently Bruce, a devoted homebody, slipped away from the house and now the big black and white longhaired cat is the subject of a desperate family search. If anyone in the El Dorado Point area (west of 75) on the edge of the Collin County line, has seen Bruce, call the Bruce Search Team at 214-544-0460.

By the way, Betty tells me that members of the FAHS Alumni Association are making plans for upcoming events beyond the usual “reunions” including a cruise and a trip to Shreveport’s casinos. This, of course, means the Forest Avenue alumni will be scheduling more than one trip to Shreveport -- they’ll want to go back and have a reunion with the money they leave there on the first trip.

(To help find Bruce, remember to send this link www.readlarrypowell.com to all your friends who may be able to help. And, if you have questions or suggestions, e-mail [email protected] . Thanks. The more eyes we have looking out for animals, the better it is for animals and their friends!)

A murmur of thinking

There is a certain lovely “quiet” to a Sunday morning that is always so enjoyable to people who wake Monday through Friday and listen to traffic reports and spend Saturday morning’s fighting off the brain-piercing drone of neighborhood lawnmowers and leaf blowers.

It’s so quiet on a Sunday morning that you can hear nature. Or, to borrow a phrase from the past, you can hear yourself think.

And, if you are enjoying the quiet morning in your living room, you may hear a whisper from a not-so-identifiable source. Could it be the conscience of your lapsed Baptist soul telling you it’s time to dress for church? You’ll look at your quiet spouse, Martha, and note that she’s sitting on the couch and cradling the giant bejowled noggin of adoring and adorable Hambone Jack, a big dog with a big heart.

The other dogs are silent, some asleep, some watching the humans as if there were about to be a secret hand-signal to launch a morning drive through the neighborhood. The traditional squirrel population-monitoring excursion.

And, yet, just under the surface of the silence is a mumbling. A not quite perceptible stream of human voice. During the night has our planet moved dangerously close to slipping into another dimension and is conversation from that Other World echoing into ours?

A quick glance around the room yields the answer to this mystery: Poirot, the black and white cat, has managed to take a sitting position atop our fancy radio/CD player and his backside has activated the “on” button at a low level.

Now, Poirot, having heard enough, has moved on and it is left to the humans to turn off the radio. He likes a quiet morning, one where you can hear yourself think though, sometimes, I wonder if this strange cat is listening to us think. He seems to be quite the contemplative cat.  If he’d like a little music with his morning, he knows how to get it: Take a seat and listen.

The color of a dog...

Oh, goodness, it’s early for a Saturday at our house.

Before we go any further, let me remind animal people, and people who may be animal people but don't know it yet, that lots of rescue groups will have animals available at area pet stores this weekend.

Keep your eyes open. And if you don't "need" another dog or cat, maybe you can volunteer to help or, in the spirit of the season, drop some cash or supplies on the groups to help them get through the holidays.

Speaking of keeping your eyes open, my insomniaspouse Martha has developed a bit of a sleeping problem in the past few days. And she was up about 4:30 this morning -- that’s up even earlier than the feral cats on the front porch.

When Martha rises early, the dogs rise early and are convinced that it’s breakfast time already. So Martha has fed them. No matter how much we try to explain to Inky and the Chihuahua mixes that they won’t be forgotten, they insist on barking out a reminder that they are due breakfast, too.

The little dogs are sporadic barkers, but Inky, the cocker spaniel, barks in monotonous stretches -- same tone, same timing, same insistence for minutes at a time. Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf. You get the drift. No variation -- just an early morning annoying sameness. It may be his only flaw.

So, after Martha finished the feeding ritual and had issued her famous call at the door, “It’s Potty Time in Puppy Town!”, she returned with her entourage and they all settled down in the living room.

In fact, I am the only mammal awake right now. Before Martha drifted off in the recliner, she tuned the TV to Animal Planet because it’s showing the 2003 Crufts Dog Show from England. Yes, last year's show. We’ve seen it before. But, it’s kind of pleasantly enjoyable to watch the different breeds and their jaunty show bounces across the ring.

Dog shows always tick Inky off something fierce. He’s an ebony English-style cocker spaniel -- a long sporting dog’s noggin, not one of those roundish skulls that you get in the American cocker. So, Inky’s really “old school.” What bugs him is that the show cockers have more of a tail than he has. The lout who docked Inky’s tail nipped it a little too short and he has a simple stub rather than the “back handle” a judge could use to lift him onto the show stand. Inky will even drop into a slight depression if he overhears someone saying, "Get a grip.” He has no "gripper."

Still, he is quite the handsome fellow. Of course, Martha and I may never have seen a dog that wasn’t blessed with spectacularly divine beauty.

For example, as we shopped on Friday, we drove through Oak Lawn in Dallas, and at the intersection of Oak Lawn and Cedar Springs we were brought to a halt by a pesky traffic light. On the corner, waiting to cross, was a young woman and a shorthaired, pointy-eared, multi-hued dog. Unable to resist, we rolled down a window and yelled, “That’s a beautiful dog!”. Bless her heart, the young woman was polite to the nutty strangers yelling at her from two lanes away.

The dog’s name is Sally. And she’s a “medium-sized” dog, a Catahoula mix, with a lively disposition, obviously devoted to the human she had at the other end of the leash. (It was a long light. We had time to talk.)

As we drove away, I said to Martha, “That dog has every shade of…” and I was going to say “brown” but Martha finished the sentence with “Starbucks.” And, indeed, Sally the perky dog, with her multiple patterns and highlights, is “every shade of Starbucks.”

Let the festivities begin

My daringdarlingspouse Martha and I are about to go do some shopping. NOT at a mall.

We’ve got one specific thing to buy and it’s sold in plenty of places. Nobody ever wrestled to the death over the last box of washing detergent.

Martha has just walked past the computer table en route to taking the dogs out one more time before we go off on the day’s adventure and she has now earned the title “hollyjollyspouse.” She is wearing a purplish sweatshirtish top (you can tell I was never a fashion writer). And she is wearing a necklace of miniature Christmas lights.

I feel underdressed in a blue shirt whose only adornment is a place where I once dropped an extra-oily tortellini. If you squint, however, you can almost make out the shape of a dachshund wearing a set of deer antlers and that is festive enough for me today.

If we have spaghetti at lunch, maybe it’ll look like a dachshund in antlers standing under a Christmas tree with lots of garlands.

If we don’t make it back from the Wilds of Yuletide Commerce, please remember these key things: Be kind to animals. Be kind to some humans -- have the rest of them arrested, if possible. I have a list of “People Who Ought To Be Locked Up” if your list isn’t long enough.

Well, goodness gracious

My apologies to the Dallas Cowboys for doubting them on Thanksgiving Day. They win, 21-7.

Either they're better than I thought or the Chicago Bears are worse than I imagined -- and I used to be a sportswriter.

Ah, it was a good game for a nap. And that's the highest of compliments.

Idle thankful thoughts

As I await the beginning of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day broadcast (call me a sap), I’m contemplating things for which I’m thankful. And contemplating a pumpkin pie...well a slice, anyway.

Here goes:

At the risk of sounding like a pro football player who’s just won the big game, first I am thankful for the Man Upstairs. And the fact that I’m on the prettiest planet in the known universe with people I love.

My patientspouse Martha --not just because of (more saccharine stuff) love, but because she’s interesting and funny.

My kids, the dynamic duo, Bret and Bart, and their loved ones and assorted kids.

Andrea for being a solid rock for Bret and for the Great Danes, Frog and Henry, and the big black cat, George W.

Pilar for helping Bart remember that life doesn’t always have to come with a ladle of household stress.

Both boys for letting me play golf with them sometimes and for getting nearly as excited about the Macy’s Parade as I am. (One of these days we’ll take the ideal Thanksgiving vacation, kids…. If the right six numbers fall in Lotto Texas…)

Our parents -- we’ve learned from all of them.

Our dogs and cats. We’ve learned from them, too.

The way Inky the Cocker Spaniel looks at me when I’m talking to him -- if my kids had paid that much attention to what I was saying, they’d have graduated from college years ago.

The way the giant orange cat Griffin looks at me. Each morning as I take the feral cats’ food to the front porch, I hand Grif a few crumbles of the dry food. His great tail twitches and, I swear, he smiles at me. Right now he’s curled up asleep on a cardboard box next to the computer table. He’s so big he drapes over all four sides of the box!

The way Cosmo the Dog smiles. He’s a short, wide, black dog with a lab nose, chow ears, semi-basset legs -- you get the drift. His family tree is a bramble bush. But when he smiles he looks like former presidential candidate Steve Forbes. It’s a warm smile in a household, kind of eerie on the campaign trail.

Aunt Gwen in California who, I think, may be convinced that I should be an evangelist or, at least, a churchgoer. (I’m wary of innocent people being hurt when the church roof caves in.)

I’m thankful for this blog -- set up by my technospouse Martha. It is a place where, I hope, people can be helped. (Example: Yesterday I posted a note about Audrey Merritt’s charity Chrystie’s Kids needing donations of car seats and last night Audrey e-mailed me that she’d already gotten two donations. Go to yesterday’s blog items to see how you can help! More people than Audrey and I will be thankful if you do.)

I’m thankful for the 29 years I had at The Dallas Morning News (not all that thankful for the last day, but we’ll see how things work out.)

I’m thankful that I got to spend from Sept. 1965 to Oct. 27, 2004, in the newspaper business -- it was a wild, interesting ride for 39 years. I met a lot of really great, caring people. A few scoundrels, too.

I’m thankful for the goof-ups I’ve seen on TV and in real life and especially thankful that I was merely a spectator and not to blame.

I’m thankful I live in the United States where I can wise off at will without threat of a long incarceration --and now I can wise off without threat of being fired.

Oh, and let’s not overlook being thankful for the 2004 Dallas Cowboys. They’ll be helping me nap later today.

I’m thankful Buck Showalter, the Texas Rangers skipper, was named American League Manager of the Year. On the other hand, when the playoffs started, the Rangers were already enjoying their traditional extended, extra-long off-season. Just once, I’d like to see the Rangers suiting up for the last game of the Major League Baseball season -- and winning it. (Pitchers and catchers report to spring training in mid-February in Surprise, Ariz. They ought to call it “spring try-outs.”)

I’m thankful our Thanksgiving Day has begun with a sunny crispness. It’s a good day to be thankful. A good day to start building on the rest of your life.

I’m thankful there’s a mute button on our TV. Sometimes the news isn’t all that easy to take.

I’m thankful my friends have always been nicer to me than I deserve.

I’m thankful I got to see concerts with Elvis, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Bobby Bare, Willie Nelson, Glen Campbell, Tony Bennett and Bob Luman.

I’m watching the pre-parade show, and Al Roker is interviewing Tony Shalhoub who portrays the fabulous Monk, the great TV detective. I’m thankful for that bit of entertainment.

I’m thankful I got to meet Bozo the Clown. That means I’ve met the big clown, shook hands with two presidents, interviewed senators, legislators and governors -- all sorts of politicians. Ah, clowns and politicians. Same profession, different attire.

Feel free to e-mail me at [email protected] with your thoughts. It’s a day of sharing.