Author Archives: Mark P

Sam’s problem

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On Tuesday afternoon I was working at my desk with both dogs lying behind me when I heard a loud commotion. I thought they were play-fighting, but when I looked back I realized that Sam was having a seizure.

He was on his side with his rear legs drawn up, he was shivering, and his upper body was swaying from side to side. His eyes were so dilated that his pale blue irises were just a thin rim about the black of his pupils.

Sam had a seizure about a year earlier one night while we were in bed. It looked pretty much the same. This time I immediately took him to the vet. He couldn’t walk, so I had to carry him to the truck. He has always had problems with car sickness, so I wasn’t surprised that he vomited. When I got to the vet’s he jumped out of the truck and was able to walk in. They saw him pretty quickly.

He was a little shaky, but seemed to be over the seizure. The vet looked at her records and saw that he had actually had two previous seizures. The first was in 2018. The second was about a year later. This one was about eight months later. She said it was probably a form of epilepsy, and that we should monitor him, and if the seizures came less than a month apart, she would put him on medication.

And then he had another seizure in the vet’s office.

She gave him a valium, which didn’t really calm him much. So she gave him an injection, which calmed him immediately.

Phenobarbital is the most common treatment for epileptic seizures in dogs. The vet said the hope is that it will keep the seizures to no more than once a month. I hate to think of poor Sam going through a seizure like this that often. It’s a hard thing to watch, knowing that you can’t do anything for him. I assume it’s worse for him to actually go through it.

On Wednesday he seemed completely normal. I took him and Zoe out into the front yard for their regular after-lunch play period. He chased around, rolled on the ground, and chewed on Zoe’s cheeks just as he always has. He seems no worse for the experience.

Jingle Bells

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It was raining Thursday so I took the dogs for a walk up the short stub of Lavender Trail across Fouche Gap from us. When I got to the top, I saw this.

It’s hard to see in this image, but there are a lot of red objects on the road. No, it’s not red Christmas tree ornaments. Not lipstick tubes, either.

They are shotgun shells*, 12 gauge, at least 50, probably more. Also scattered around were a fair number of 5.56 mm shell casings.

I found several clay pigeons, both broken and whole, so I suppose the shotgun shooter was doing some target practice, although at a pretty close range.

We had heard what sounded like a small war a few days ago. A 12 gauge shotgun is quite loud, far louder than what you might expect from watching TV or a movie. We also heard some very fast shooting, something that would be hard to accomplish without an automatic weapon. Maybe the shooter had a bump stock, like the Las Vegas shooter used to kill so many people back in 2017. That almost certainly accounts for the 5.56 casings.

The end of the road is not far from our house. We can actually see it from the driveway. It has been used for target shooting on a not-too-freqent basis, just often enough that it’s hardly remarkable any more.

We live in a rural area with large stretches of undeveloped forest land, but it’s all private property, so people might have trouble finding a place for target shooting. There is at least one actual shooting range, but I suppose that’s too much trouble. It’s much easier to find a dead-end road and just start shooting, never mind what the nearby residents might think.

*You might have heard a version of the old Christmas song “Jingle Bells” that goes, “Jingle bells, shotgun shells.” I tried to look it up but found only recent versions. I don’t remember if there were more verses in the song I heard when I was a kid.

Turkeys on the road

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Returning from a doctor’s appointment (orthopedist — arthritic knees) on Monday afternoon, I had to stop for a parade.

I counted at least 19 here.

So why were these turkeys crossing the road? I have no idea. They wander. The real question was why did the last few of them seem to be so reluctant to follow the rest of them. As I pulled up to them, two stayed in my lane and kept looking back in the direction they had come from.

If you look carefully, you will see what they were watching. It’s close to the edge of the photo on the right. At first I thought it was a small turkey. Then I thought it was just a piece of wood or trash. Then I realized.

They were watching a cat. I couldn’t see it very well, but it looked like it might have been a tortoiseshell like Mollie. It turned and walked back into the woods as I passed.

Retreating was probably a good idea, no matter how hungry it might have been or how interested it was in chasing birds. These turkeys were bigger and heavier than the cat. I suspect it would not have fared well if it had attacked, although there seems to be some debate about whether a feral cat could kill a turkey.

This cat was probably dumped by someone and has been living in the woods down at the bottom of the mountain. We have seen cats that we assume are feral living along Huffaker Road, sometimes over periods of months, so they apparently can find enough game to stay alive. For this particular cat on this particular day, it was probably better for the cat not to try to have a turkey dinner.

And then a miracle occurs

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Against all expectations, Zoe came home on Sunday afternoon.

Zoe, finally back, between meals

I had just posted three lost-dog signs around the mountain and was sitting in the living room when I got a call from a neighbor up around the curve towards the top of the mountain. She said she just saw our dog running down the street past her house. I didn’t think it was really her, but by the time I got my shoes on and ran out the back door, she was running up the driveway.

This was a happy dog, and hungry, although she didn’t show any signs of malnourishment. She has always been a chow hound, so it’s hard to tell whether she was hungrier than normal. We went ahead and fed her as if she had not been eating. After all, her last meal at home was five days earlier.

We have no idea what happened to her, or how she ended up coming back when she did. She had left with a long harness-leash attached to a second long leash. When she got back, her harness-leash had been chewed off right about where her mouth would have reached. So, did she get hung up somewhere and finally chew her way free? Probably not. We had a pretty strong storm and lots of rain Saturday night, and she showed no sign of having been outside in it. Her coat was clean and dry.

Did someone take her? The neighbor who called to let us know she was on her way said she saw a car stopped in the road, and then saw Zoe running by her house. She did not see where Zoe actually came from, so we don’t know whether someone let her out of the car, or the driver just stopped because Zoe was running in the middle of the road.

I do have to apologize for suspecting someone of harming her, although that suspicion gave me some peace of mind in an odd way — not having to worry about whether she was trapped outside in the weather or in pain somewhere. I still believe that she would have come home if she had been able to, but whatever her story is, we will almost certainly never know. All I know now is that we are really happy, not to mention extremely surprised, to have her back. And I won’t be letting her off leash any time soon.

An unfortunate hunch

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Our new dog Zoe has still not shown up, and something happened today that makes me think she never will.

I was driving around looking for her when I saw a woman outside her house near her car. As soon as I stopped, she started towards her front door. I spoke up and told her I live up on the mountain and was looking for a lost dog. She said they had not seen any dogs around there, and wanted to leave it at that. I tried to show her a photo on my phone, but she said no, just tell me what the dog looks like. So I did. She said she would keep an eye out and let us know. I wondered, how? She doesn’t have our phone number.

At the time I thought her behavior was odd, but maybe just fear of a stranger. The woman’s behavior and demeanor made me uncomfortable. To me, it was clear that something was going on with her. A few hours later a thought suddenly hit me and left me with a rare feeling of certainty: someone at that house shot Zoe.

I know that’s a big jump; there was nothing in our exchange that could pass for even the weakest of evidence. But that leap to certainty has happened to me probably five times in my entire life, and I have learned to trust it.

It explains a lot. There is no reason Zoe would not come home unless something prevented it. Sam came home, but only a day after they disappeared. He knows his way around, so there was a reason he didn’t come home that night. Seeing someone shoot Zoe would explain it in a number of ways. If someone fired a gun near him, I know he would run away as quickly as he could, which would explain why he wasn’t shot. But he wouldn’t forget or desert Zoe, at least not right away.

Someone on out local Facebook group recently posted about someone shooting a little dog in the head with a .22. I don’t necessarily think the woman (or more likely her husband) shot that dog, too, but it just shows that we have people like that. It’s not rare in the rural South for people to shoot strays. Not common, but certainly not unheard of.

Also, the woman has to have recognized me. I recognized her car because I have seen it many times while walking the dogs, and I always wave at the people who pass me. That means she has seen me and Zoe over the two months we have had her. So she knew the dog I was looking for.

The house is less than a half a mile from our turn-around point, so it was not too far for the dogs to have wandered.

I had planned to write a post about my search for Zoe, and to compare it to trying to solve a 500-piece crossword puzzle when you only have only five pieces. Now, in my mind, the entire puzzle has fallen into place.

I told Leah what I thought. She thought we should do something. However, I don’t have any real evidence to back up what I believe happened. Writing it out makes it clear to me how skimpy and meaningless it all seems on the surface.

A lot the works of the mind are hidden. Thoughts and memories swirl around beneath our consciousness. Sometimes we don’t know why we think what we think. In this case, the things I have mentioned plus everything else in this sad affair simmered in my subconscious. My subconscious has been working on this. It finally reached a conclusion and pushed it up to my conscious mind.

I don’t expect anyone to believe that the woman or her husband shot Zoe. The police would laugh at me if I told them my “evidence”. It probably seems a little crazy for me to have reached my conclusion, because I can’t articulate everything that went into it. Some of it is buried in my subconscious, and it would take a while to dig it out. But I don’t feel the need. Whatever it is that has convinced me, I trust it.

Once I reached that conclusion, I felt entirely differently about Zoe’s disappearance. The desperate urge to look for her simply evaporated. The worry about what happened to her, what’s happening to her right now, what will she do on Saturday night when the strong storms hit, all of that worry turned to sadness.

I had some color lost-dog posters printed today, but the only reason I’m going to put them up around the mountain is for Leah’s sake. I think Zoe is dead, and there is nothing I can do about it.

I hope I am wrong. I hope I open the door into the garage Saturday morning and find her looking up at me.