The Dogs of Itchy Dog Farm

An easy post this time -- everyone likes to talk about their dogs.  It is conceivable that not everyone likes to read about other people's dogs.  But if you want to write about your own dog, add a comment to this blog and I'll publish it.

So, here are the dogs of Itchy Dog Farm, in the order in which they acquired us.

Ace (aka Aces, Acer, Acer Eraser, Aceroni, Mr. A.)

Ace was my son's birthday present.  He picked out this puppy from a large litter of identical (to me) pups at the Humane Society, but I insisted we drive to every rescue in Gainesville to make sure he was "sure".  At the end of a long day, we returned to the Humane Society and only little Ace remained from the litter.  It was fate.  It was also fated that when my son moved out, Ace was going to stay with me.  Almost 10 years old now, he is the elder statesdog of Itchy Dog Farm.

Ace is the In-The-Way dog.  Regardless of where you are and where you are going, Ace will be positioned in between.  He likes to be tight up against you, whether standing, on the couch or in the bed.  He is the Concerned dog, with many Responsibilities that weigh heavily upon him.  One of these is to ensure that there is only one squeaky toy in the house at any given time, and that said toy is in his sole possession.  Extraneous toys will be buried along the periphery of the property.  Periodically he makes his rounds, digging up each piece for inspection and replanting it in a different location.

Ace is a beautiful dog.  He looks like a Ridgeback without a ridge, although there are certainly more breeds in his DNA than there are chemicals in Froot Loops.  He remains sleek and slender, and if he has one uninhibited joy, it is loping along side of the car down the driveway, or galloping after squirrels.  I've always wanted get him a box of squirrels for his birthday, but can't find a supplier.

Darwin (aka Darwinkle, Little D., D.)

Of the eight dogs and cats at Itchy Dog Farm, Darwin is the only one I actually selected to be mine.  This warrants a digression.  When I got Sophie, my first Basset Hound, I decided I would never henceforward be Bassetless.  When she died, I applied to Suncoast Basset Rescue for another.  I completed the lengthy application, provided references, passed the telephone interview and the home visit, and was told to wait for them to match me with an adoptable dog.  Weeks of waiting dragged into months.   Every time I contacted my contact I was told I'd be matched soon, but they were short of volunteers, had a big Basset Waddle coming up, yada yada yada.  In the meantime, a rescue group I volunteer with obtained a decent used Basset.  I adopted Darwin about a month before Suncoast got back to me with a tentative match.  People in animal welfare circles often joke it is easier to adopt a child than to adopt a dog from a breed rescue.  This may actually be true.   I've adopted two children but I have yet to adopt from a breed rescue.

Darwin is a busy dog.  There are things he has to do, and he does them.  These include sorting through the recycling bin, rescuing potential edibles from the compost, finding animals in various stages of decomposition and rolling on them, and retrieving anything foolishly left on the breakfast table.  He is used to getting his way and has problems with inanimate objects.  If a ball rolls under the sofa, he will bark at the sofa until it moves.  If Timmy were to fall into a well, he would bark at the well until he and Timmy both starved to death.

Darwin loves riding in the car, and often leaps into the trucks of visiting meter-readers and farriers, hoping they will carry him away.  I let him ride with me on errands when I can, and in the summer, when you can't leave a dog in a hot car, I will take him joy-riding down the county roads for just fun.

Annie (aka Annie-Fanny-Frangipani)

My sister's first husband Mike was a great guy and always part of the family, even as she remarried twice and so did he.  He and his third wife Judi were living in Tennessee with a dog of their own when a raggedy stray started sniffing around.  She'd eat what they left out but wouldn't let them come near her.  After a number of days she dropped a single puppy at their doorstep and disappeared.  They took the puppy in and apparently passed the test, because she returned a day later with three more puppies and herself.  On taking her to the vet, they found she'd been shot in the head.   They named her Annie.

A few years later first Mike and then Judi died, and the family needed to rehome the animals.  I was offered Annie as the "best" dog.  An underground railway of transporters got her from Columbia TN to Chattanooga to Gainesville to me.

Annie is the worst of all possible dogs.  Part heeler and part terrier, she exhibits the most obnoxious qualities of each.  She tries to herd everything and literally nips your heels as you walk, and she yips and yaps and digs holes in the lawn.   Incredibly obese, she looks like an ottoman, but we can't put her on a diet since she'll eat the hens' eggs and the pony's feed and anything else it takes to supply enough calories for a sumo wrestler. She has a thousand vocalizations, from throbbing cries reminiscent of humpback whales to Scooby Doo-like mumblings as if her mouth is full of marbles.  Her only redeeming feature is occasional cuteness, as she jumps on your lap, puts her snoot under your arm, and oinks.

Rufus (aka Roofie, Rufus D. Dufus)

Rufus belonged to someone who kept him as an outside dog.  When he first came into our veterinary care program, he was fearful, emaciated, heartworm positive, and anemic from feeding mosquitoes and fleas.  The vets patched him up and I became a foster and failed foster in quick succession.

Although he may be a few treats short of a box, he was quick enough to learn bad habits from the other dogs, like how to jump up on furniture and how to rob from the trash.  Also, he does not like visitors to IDF and will startle them with scared high-pitched yips most unexpected from such a Rottweiler-looking dog. He is a nudist who cannot keep his collar on, perhaps because his neck is so much wider than his head.  (Ace is also sartorially impaired -- he can't put his ears on straight.)

Mostly, however, Rufus is just a good-natured dolt, sweet and low-maintenance, fond of order and routine.   He actually believes I am the Alpha dog and he won't go through the front door unless I go first.  And he has a happy tail.  The stirring of the household in the morning, the anticipation of dinner, the mere sight of Craig, makes his tail go thumpa-thumpa-thump-thump like the Maxwell House percolator or a jungle drum announcing good things to come.

So these are the dogs of Itchy Dog Farm.  I'd like to hear about your dogs if you'd like to tell me.