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Delilah marches to her own beat

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Delilah thinks I'm picking on herI own, I’m ashamed to admit, several pairs of those horrid, clunky foam Crocs. Yes, they’re ugly, but they’re also useful for scooping poop (you can hose them off after stepping the inevitable land mine that was hidden in the grass) and great for wearing when washing floors or hanging around near the pool.

A few minutes before I started this entry, Delilah ran past me with her head stuck inside of one of my Crocs. Not with the Croc in her mouth, mind you – with her whole head stuck inside the shoe, wedged in like… well, like my foot inside the same shoe, actually. She then careened into the coffee table, smacked her (thankfully foam encased) head on the side of it, and fell over on her side. Where she fell asleep. And yes, I’m sure she was asleep and not passed out cold, because A) she was snoring and B) I checked.

What’s oddest about all of this isn’t that my dog fell asleep with her head stuck in a shoe, but that I wasn’t particularly surprised that she did.

Delilah is weird. In a house full of strange dogs with “unique” personalities, Delilah gives proof to that old T Shirt slogan “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro”.

Let’s compile a short list of ways in which Delilah is differently abled from the other Frenchies.

  • She won’t come down the stairs
  • She grazes nearly constantly on plants in the yard. This isn’t the occasional bout of grass eating, either – grazing is Delilah’s avocation, and she takes it seriously. We once watched her spend a good twenty minutes studiously snipping plants with her teeth and chewing them like a contented moo cow.
  • She prefers sitting on the upper backs of chairs, like a parrot. We’ve caught this on film, and it also captures her:
  • ..distinctly chimp like sound effects, which sound something like “oooph”. I guess she can’t pronounce her ‘W’s
  • She is disturbed by pop cans, and finds them untrustworthy
  • Her agile tail, which is an effective barometer of her mood, sets her apart from the other dogs, and makes them regard her with disdain and suspicion (“What’s that thing on her butt, and why is it moving?”).
  • She doesn’t really understand dog-dog interaction, likely because she was bottle raised. She gets upset when play turns rough, and hides inside the leather recliner. Yes, I said inside – she slides into the back of it and stays there until things calm down.
  • She has a giant freak tongue. We theorize it takes up most of the space inside her skull that should have held her brains
  • She can move objects with her mind. I’m just kidding – she can’t actually do that last one. She wishes she could, though.

Here’s a video of Delilah barking at a scary, scary pop can. Sorry about the soundtrack, but I shot it through the window, and all you could hear was the TV in the background.

Delilah goes missing, Grandma looks smug… and fighting the good fight against BSL

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OK,  before you look at the silly picture, everyone needs to read these blog posts –

  1. Luisa’s post on “How to create a dog that will bite somebody” is pure genius, and frighteningly accurate. Best part (worst part?) – Her photos of a ‘killer pit bull’, incarcerated in Texas for killing a child. It is to weep, honestly it is.
  2. If you’re not already despairing enough, go and read this post, on the caveat blog, about why the fight against breed specific legislation is everyone’s fight – from spaniel owners to Golden owners to cat owners. Do something about it, today – before it’s too late.Consider this – French Bulldogs? Those cute little dogs that look so silly here on my site, and in your lap? They’re on the banned list in a lot of cities already, and the ‘about to be banned list’ in even more, including the province of Ontario. Still think this isn’t your fight?

OK, here’s the picture. Click for full(er) sized.

French Bulldog Gargoyle en Paree…

Delilah is French for "Devil Dog"

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It’s quite possible that Delilah wins the ‘weirdest French Bulldog ever‘ award, or at least the award for ‘weirdest French Bulldog ever owned or known by me‘ award.

First of all, she still will not come all the way down the stairs. This is not because she’s incapable of it (unlike Dexter, who’s so large in the head that walking downhill causes him to tumble in a slinky-like fashion).

Our stair routine goes something like this –

The stairs from our basement are open at about the half way mark. Delilah, who has no issues going up the stairs, will only come down as far as the opening on the stairs. She lurks there, popping her head over the edge to see what we’re doing. My computer sits right beneath this opening, and I often look up and see her peeking over the side, checking to see if I’ve decided to spontaneously bake her some dog cookies. If she’s in the mood, she will sometimes leap into my arms from this point when I walk over to see her. Usually, though, she waits until I try to approach her, then bolts back to the top of the stairs. It’s like she thinks I have cooties or something. Once she’s sure I’m safely far away from the stairs, she’ll come back down again, for a second look.

Here’s a video of her playing the stair game with me –

If this isn’t enough, there’s the fact that of all the dogs, she’s the only one of our dogs who just will not come when she is called, thus leaving me to play a little game I like to call “Come and get the nice cookie so Mommy can tackle you like a sausage shaped football, you infuriating little beast”. Actually, the term ‘like to call’ is more of a misnomer for ‘am forced to screech every time she gets outside the fence’. Luckily for me, she’s completely food motivated, and would sell her dark little brindle soul for a dried up crumb of milkbone, so I’ll be working on the ‘come!’ command diligently over the next while.

Oh, and I should explain about chairs. Delilah doesn’t sit on them, like normal dogs – she scales the back of them, like some sort of mutant goat. I admit that she’s my ‘go to’ lap dog for chair sitting, but she doesn’t take being left behind very well if I have to get up for any reason. In fact, she barks with a sort of affronted indignation that’s almost as funny as it is alarming. Here’s a short clip of her Majesty expressing her opinion on the topic of my getting up and leaving her.

I’ve threatened to send her to Chicago to live with Hope and Dax, but I like them too much to inflict this kind of punishment on them.

French Bulldog Photo Blogging

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It’s finally warming up a little, so the dogs have been spending more time in the garden. Tessa likes to find a sunny spot, either outside or in ‘her’ chair, in front of the french doors. Delilah prefers bug hunting, or eating dandelions.

Photos here on Flicker, or in the slide show below.

Mae's Pups & a Meditation on Breeding

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Wednesday, when I went to bed at 10 pm, Mae was doing fine. No temperature drop, no funny behavior – just Mae, being Mae and looking happy to see me every time I came into the room to check on her, wiggling her Mae Mae butt and grinning her grin.

At 2 am, I woke up out of a dead sleep, convinced something in the house wasn’t right. I came down to check on Mae, and found her nesting in her bed, panting heavily and discharging signs of lochia in her pee. Despite being two days earlier than our earliest estimated due date, Mae was in labor, and there was no time to wait for our regular clinic to open at 8 am.

The emergency vet was wonderful – she worked fast, she anesthetized lightly, and she had the pups out within 10 minutes of getting Mae under and on the table. Unfortunately, two of them were dead before birth, with obvious signs of first stage decay. It kills me that there was nothing that could be done to try to save them.
The third pup, a little cream boy, is doing well, although he’s rather small. He eats well and vigorously, and Mae is being an attentive mom. The poor little solo puppy looks very small and very alone in that big whelping box, with no company. Mr. Monkey will be joining him for snuggling as soon as I give him a good clean, and we’ll give him lots of snuggling, but it really can’t be a substitute for the company of litter mates.

This has been a hard year for me with pups. I haven’t had a litter in almost seven years, and then two out of my first three have dead pups. I know it’s just all about bad luck and bad timing, but it’s hard not to take it personally. I’ve been lucky when it comes to breeding – until now, I’ve only ever lost three pups at birth, one litter due to veterinary negligence, and one week old pup. That’s pretty good, for almost 18 years of breeding. As I said to Sean, if I’d had this kind of bad luck in my first year of breeding, I doubt I’d still be in Frenchies. This kind of heartache is hard to justify on an ongoing basis.

For now, I’m just going to watch over this little tiny one, and give extra hugs and kisses to Dexter, Izzy, Harley and Delilah. I’m more thankful for them now than ever.

Here are a few pictures I shot yesterday. The rest can be found over on Flickr.