The Glowing Edge

Tag: Henry, Olive & Rocky

  • Say Hello to Rocky

    Say Hello to Rocky

    When my freelance writing business really started humming this fall, I decided that I was ready to get my purse dog.

    I’m home, happily working on the computer all day, but I wanted company. Olive and Henry are not particularly focused on my needs, so I paid them back in full. (Actually, Olive adores my solution.)

    Meet Rocky.

    He already had his name when I got him, so don’t go all “Ooooh, she named him after a boxer, cause, you know, she’s a boxer too…I get it!”

    And Rocky is terrified of pretty much everything except our family and cats, definitely not the fearless type. He hasn’t yet been able to make it on a walk around our block yet, because there are… noises. Strange people. Children on scooters, horrors!

    But we’re working on that. Periodically I try to get Rocky all pumped up by calling him by more fierce, ass-kicking names. “Rocky Bruce Chuck John Jet Clint!” I’ll say. “Let’s go get ’em!”

    He sits happily near my pillow and wonders if he’s about to get a treat.

    So of course I give him one, ’cause he’s just so damn adorable.

    Rocky is a Mi-Ki, which is a breed that comes out of a Papillon, Maltese, and Japanese Chin. He has the “Phalen,” or flop-down ears, which is what the Papillons originally had, before they were bred for the “up” ears. Both are adorable (types of ears and dogs), and both are acceptable in the breed.

    Just like Papillons, Mi-Kis are bred to be companion dogs. They’re quiet, calm, and attentive, very much like a cat with loyalty. Rocky is utterly content to sit in my lap or by my feet all day long, with periodic breaks to play chase and tumble with Olive. He doesn’t yap (although he does bark once or twice to warn me if he hears a strange noise), and he’s not boingy like some little dog breeds. That’s a picture of me, taking my music lesson, while Rocky poses cutely nearby.

    This breed has feet shaped like rabbit feet, and they have long hair that grows between their toes, like Hobbits. I don’t know, all dogs may have toe fur, but Rocky’s is the best, of course. He also has an adorable pink tummy. (Don’t get excited, I’m still not a “dog person,” it’s just that Rocky is not really a, you know, dog.)

    Mi-Kis, like Papillons, don’t have an undercoat, so they hardly shed, and yes indeedy I did buy him a sweet little coat for the cold weather (it’s grey, very masculine). And I didn’t even flinch when handing over $20 for a piece of quilted fabric about as big as a napkin.

    The picture at the top is Rocky with The Duck Twins. They are his current favorite obsession. Martha Stewart made those for him, and I paid top dollar, I tell you, top dollar for them. It was worth it. They have squeakies.

    You may think I can’t tell The Twins apart but I can, because Rocky chewed the foot off of one of them. I’ve included a close up so you can view the damage. When I asked him where the amputated body part was he went all Cookie Monster on me, shaking his head and going “Om, nom, nom, nom!”

    Did I mention his favorite treat is duck jerky? No lie, this is available for your dog at Target. I have to cut ours down to a reasonable size, but Rocky thinks it is the greatest. food. evar.

    Well, except for cat food, which he tries to sneak when I’m not looking. Olive encourages this.

    Of course, “little” Olive outweighs Rocky by a good bit — she’s 8 pounds and he’s 5 (they’re both full grown), and Olive can whup him in a fight if she’s a mind to. But she pretty much indulges Rocky in anything and everything, and they have a lovely time together.

    In fact, I caught Olive using her brain (who knew she even had one!) recently in a Rocky-n-Olive romp session. You know that old Looney Tunes gag where Bugs Bunny is being chased in a circle by Yosemite Sam, and once they are a solid blur, Bugs steps calmly out and crunches his carrot while watching Sam continue to run crazily by? Who would have thought Olive would be able to do that — successfully! — to Rocky. But I have witnessed this with mine own eyeballs. It’s the first cat-like behavior (other than napping) that Olive has ever exhibited.

    Henry… is the same with Rocky as he is with everyone. He sighs heavily and tries to pretend we don’t exist.

    So that’s our happy little expanded family.

    Now please excuse me while I go change the tab above from “Henry & Olive” to “Henry, Olive, & Rocky.”

  • Olive Channelling Henry

    Olive Channelling Henry

    Most of the time Olive is just as sweet and empty as a grassy lawn with no trees.

    Once in a while she channels Henry, who uses the word “douchebag” and ruthlessly shreds anything people call darling.

    And while I rarely catch Henry being charming, I sometimes see Olive being grouchy, and those are the moments when Henry feels a secret pride, although he can never admit this.

    Of course, this is all my own interpretation; it may be that Olive thought the weights looked like little funny pillows, and when she went over to investigate she started to mentally drift off.

    Come to think of it, I bet I’m right.

    But don’t tell Henry.

  • Olive Guards the Birdfeeder

    Olive Guards the Birdfeeder

    We have a jillion birds that come to our feeder.

    Downy woodpeckers (lots of those), cardinals, jays, chickadees, warblers, mourning doves, sparrows. A jillion. And Olive is damned and determined she should have one as a pet. And by pet, I mean snacktoy.

    The problem is, there’s just so much… sleeping that needs to be done. And stretching, and even grooming now and then. I stood out there on the deck for about 10 minutes and she did everything — everything — except watch for birds. Sometimes she crouches out there and falls asleep with her nose touching the ground. Recently she dug a little hole by the birdfeeder pole, and she happily rolls and swats and tosses pine needles and bits of leaf litter up in the air once in a while.

    I think this is also how men fish.

    Frankly, it relaxes me to watch her, happily birdfishing in the sun. And the birds don’t mind, truly they don’t. They sometimes sneak in while she’s sleeping, but otherwise they wait for her to amble off, or they swoop up to the feeder on the deck.

    It isn’t like Olive isn’t working to support herself, mind you. I’ve had two baby snakes delivered to the doorstep this week alone. Soon it will be lizards and frogs.

    Just no birds.

    Olive thinks she might bring in a bird. She hopes she will.

    Like, if maybe one could hop down and oblige her by standing still long enough for her to wake up and pounce.

  • Henry is a Lackluster Babysitter

    Henry is a Lackluster Babysitter

  • Southern Cat Tactics

    Southern Cat Tactics

  • The Mystery of the Nightime Gagging Sounds

    The Mystery of the Nightime Gagging Sounds

    Okay, we all know Olive has the relative IQ of a deck chair.

    But what creative new anti-genius she has shown me! In the bleak stretches of the post-midnight hours, no less.

    Recently I had been awakened several times in the middle of the night by an echo-y choking sound. Being less than clear-headed during these hours, I managed to stumble up out of the bed and shuffle around trying to figure out which of my children was in need of emergency medical assistance. Each time I failed to discover the source of the mysterious noise.

    Finally one night I realized the wheezing sounds were coming from the master bathroom. I flipped on the light switch and there was Olive, curled up in the middle of the tub. She gazed up at me innocently. Figuring she had been hacking up a hairball in my tub I scowled, mumbled “Die quietly, willya?” and  shuffled back to bed.

    The minute I drifted back to sleep the yacking sounds resumed.

    Muttering dire imprecations into my pillow, I waited for the damn hairball to be evicted so I could get some sleep. No luck.

    “I’m about to throw you to the evil nocturnal suburban crocodiles, Olive,” I growled, getting up for the second time. “You can hack up your hairballs outside, [expletives deleted].”

    Snapping on the bathroom light, I finally saw what was really happening. “I do NOT believe this,” I told her. “You are croc fodder, furball.”

    We — and by “we” I mean the Husband — keep a tupperware container (sometimes several) in our little-used bathtub. When we take a shower it takes a while for the water to come out hot, so he captures the initial gallon or so of cold water, leaves it in a container in the tub, then uses it to fill the toilet tank next time he flushes it. He loves conservation.

    Anyway, there is often a container of water sitting in our tub. Henry (our smart but grouchy orange cat) often comes in the bathroom to drink from these. And what Henry does, Olive wants to do. Except for one small problem. Now and then, one of the containers is only half full.

    And since there are simply no marshmallows in Olive’s Lucky Charms, she was trying to drink from a container with only a little water down in the bottom. Effectively choking herself to death. In the middle of the night. Repeatedly.

    So now the Husband has received a Sound-Sleeping Mandate, delivered in stern tones by Yours Truly, to NEVER Leave Any of the Tupperwares Partly Full.

    Given that Olive’s driveway doesn’t quite reach the road.

    (Enjoy the slug on this post, coder friends.)

  • Olive Visits the Dark Side

    Olive Visits the Dark Side

  • More Henry.

    More Henry.

  • The Further Adventures of Olive and Henry

    The Further Adventures of Olive and Henry

  • Olive (again)

    Olive (again)

    I know I just posted about her, but I got a chuckle out of this picture of Olive in her accustomed seat at the counter.

    The main reason she sits here is not, in fact, because she might secure a tasty tidbit. She has been known to hook things off the counter with her sneaky little paw, but she’s doesn’t necessarily go for something you would consider a kitty treat (a giant hock of ham, etc.). Instead, she likes anything shiny (fork!), and sometimes she swipes things off just because they are within her reach.

    But what she really loves is when someone wipes down the counter. Her ears get all swiveled forward and every hair is on high alert. Her eyes are glued to the slow-moving hand and water-slopping washcloth. Oh, now that is heaven to one little messed-up Olive kitteh.

    So she’ll sit there through an entire session of food prep in hopes of getting to watch the clean-up. What a weirdo, huh?

    PS: That’s the rarely-seen First in the background, glancing up from his texting to take in the scene. His feet are huge, aren’t they?