Roscoe: A Sad Ending

I told a little fib.  Actually… some folks might call my deception kind of a whopper.  Sorry.  Whether my reasons are ultimately judged as good or bad, there was a reason for keeping it a secret.

A few weeks ago I talked about a Pit Bull puppy getting adopted from the Fulton County Animal Shelter.  That part is true.  But I purposely mislead everyone about where Jerry aka Tiger and more recently aka Gizmo actually lives.  Let me come clean:  Gizmo is ours.  And he is a joy!  A complete cuddle puppy who loves nothing more than naptime wrapped in my arms… and licking peanutbutter off a spoon.  That's pretty awesome stuff, too!  Gizmo should be the poster puppy for why you would consider a shelter adoption!!

The shelter's intake photo for Tycoon/Roscoe
taken appx August 10, 2013.

The same day we brought him home, we brought home another dog… a smallish 2-3 year old Rottweiler the shelter tagged as Tycoon.  Tycoon, or whatever his real name is, had an entire lifetime that was filled with mistreatment from all that we pieced together.  He was starved – you could lay fingers between his ribs – and had small open sores on his face and front paws.  We know he had broken toes at some point because his nails stick up in rather odd directions.  He was in such bad shape that the shelter’s vet wouldn't neuter him, a requirement for adoption, because she didn't feel like he would survive the anesthesia from the surgery so Tycoon came home with us as a foster dog to get healthy first.

For the first 3-4 days, I wanted nothing more than to send him back!  He velcroed himself to my leg and just made me crazy.  I couldn't take a step without tripping over him.  Literally!!  He was like a stone attached tightly to my ankle.  He just stoically sat there unwilling to even blink and completely oblivious to the danger he was putting both of us in if I fell!  He wouldn't take an independent step away from me unless… he saw an opportunity to hump the puppy… or poop on the floor.

Roscoe the evening of September 11, 2013

We were grateful that it seemed like his behavior mellowed as he observed and interacted with the other dogs.  It was almost like he watched them to learn how to be a dog.  He played very (almost uncomfortably) intensely but thinking lack of testosterone would make him a bit more docile, we started calling him Roscoe and made plans to complete the adoption following his surgery on September 12.  He'd put on enough weight, got a real shine to his coat and you could even see the beginnings of muscles rippling over his chest.  All in all - a pretty dramatic turn-around!

Sadly, however, Roscoe isn't going to remain part of family.

He came home from the neutering intent that he, and only he, could be the center of ALL attention and he was ready to violently enforce his new ‘rule.’  Within 24 hours, he'd been in several altercations with Thunder… and initially we thought Thunder was the instigator because of his posturing for dominance in the past... but the bloody gashes on Thunder looked more like defensive wounds and he was the one left crying.  Then he attacked Gizmo, unprovoked, while we watched.  A little bit later, he lunged and bit my arm as I reached past him to give one of the other dogs a treat - a near nightly custom on our way up to bed.  And then while Derek was getting everyone calmed down again…  Derek sat on the next to bottom step of the stairs and was petting Roscoe’s head and speaking to him softly.  Thunder walked up, sniffed at Roscoe from behind and sat down on Derek’s other side to get petted, too.  As soon as Derek reached to pat Thunder’s head with his other hand, Roscoe went crazy.  He was snarling, slobbering, and snapping in a frightful display... Somehow Derek got Thunder behind him and into the hall bathroom while pushing Roscoe back with his foot.  He got bit.  A nasty looking puncture on the bottom/side of his foot that we're still watching for infection.

My left forearm the evening of 9/13... my 'reward' for giving treats and a bit of band-aid
scum (1 of my 2 allergies - I will get a nasty weepy rash if I leave it on longer).
The main gash is fairly deep and bled steady for almost 12 hours.

Once Roscoe was leashed outside and the wounds were all cleaned and bandaged, we sat down to talk and made the very difficult decision to surrender Roscoe back to the shelter.  He presented a greater danger than we are prepared to take on...  It isn't fair for the other dogs to live in fear of when he's going to snap and attack them.  It isn't fair that we worry about coming home to a wounded, or dead, dog every time we leave the house.  It isn't fair to wonder when we are going to have an issue with animal control thinking our dogs are being abused because of his attacks.  It isn't fair to worry about him escaping the yard and hurting a neighbor's pet - or worse, their child.  And it surely isn't fair to live with the pain of being bitten repeatedly and not knowing when his bite would do significant damage to one of our own limbs.

With broken hearts and many tears we took him back to the shelter on Saturday morning.  We told them everything.  We told them about his initial behavior issues, his growing intensity as he got healthier, our hopes that neutering would calm him down, about his violence on returning home...  It just felt like the day couldn't get any worse.  And then a staff member at the shelter gave us a lecture saying that his behavior was all our fault; that we'd cared for him wrong and broke a commitment to give him a forever home no matter what.  Basically, she said we were terrible, horrible, evil people who had no business ever owning a pet.

Wow!  That hurts.

Even knowing it's absolutely not true, it still hurts.  I know what happened in my home.  I know how he was treated, loved and wanted.  But I guess offering the same treatment and a good measure of safety to our other pets and ourselves isn't enough in their eyes.  I'm sure when I get past being stunned, I'll get angry and complain to their director and whatever part of county government oversees the animal shelters in Atlanta.  But right now, I'm just grieving.

Will we try again for a 4th dog?  Oh yes... Derek has already searched out a breeder with a black and tan Doberman puppy, the last of the litter and available for a bargain price to free up their breeding pen.  May the Good Lord help me!!  Another puppy to potty train...

Sweet Tater, Sweet Tater

I gave in to a craving today.

Who knew I would ever be able to eat a sweet potato without pulling a face that speaks volumes about icky?  Let alone spend the last 9 months craving them...

9 months.  Yeah.  Time for some folks to have a baby.  They can create a whole new human being and I'm over here in the corner with a little drool hanging off my lip thinking 'sweeeeeeet pooooootaaaaaaato.'

I guess I should clarify, I've found one, just one, recipe for sweet potatoes that I like.  I will still cringe in utter disgust at that marshmallow encrusted pile of yuckiness I grew up with during the holidays or those sweet potato fries I grabbed by mistake in the grocery store once... but these I like.  I mean I REALLY like them!

Hot from the oven!

Sweet Potato Casserole

Heat oven to 350F.

Mix together and spread into a greased casserole dish:
3 cups cooked and mashed sweet potatoes (canned is ok)
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup melted butter (not margarine)
1/4 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla

Mix in a small bowl until it forms small clusters:
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup flour
1/2 cup chopped pecans
3 Tbl melted butter

Sprinkle clusters over potato mixture in casserole dish.  Bake for 25-30 minutes.  Remove from oven and let sit at least 10 minutes before serving to finish setting up.

[Edit:  the original recipe, which I modified slightly, called for 1 egg in the potatoes.  I forgot to add it!  I think if you did, it would add a little bit of lightness to the texture and perhaps help it hold its shape a little better when serving.  But it worked just fine for what I was craving without the egg.]

A comical side story...

I grew up saying praline like PRAY-leen.  When I moved to Georgia, Derek's family says it like prah-LEEN.  I knew they were a Southern thing so I just assumed I'd been saying it wrong all along but then, when I was buying the brown sugar and pecans for this dish, the grocery clerk said it made her think of pralines and she said it like I do!!  Now I'm all sorts of confused...

How do YOU say praline?  Do you say PRAY-leen or prah-LEEN?

Cast Iron Surprise

Due to different ages, locales and family values in our childhoods Derek and I grew up much differently.  My family was poor, poorer than I realized until I was an adult making my own way really, and worked hard to conserve what we had.  Derek's family was more affluent and indulged in what we now call 'retail therapy' from time to time feeling that if something was ruined it could easily be replaced.  Some of those traits are a cause for conflict between us now and then.  And then something will come out of his mouth that is so "me" it just surprises the stuffing right out me!

Like the need for cast iron cookware.

In the months I stayed with his mom and sister, I never saw a single piece in their house to hint that this was coming.  Mostly they have kind of beat up teflon pans... So when he grabbed it up one shopping trip while I was lovingly caressing a cast iron frying pan with a wishful look in my eye, I was surprised.  Very surprised!  And then when he went on to say that every home should have cast iron frying pans and a dutch oven or two, you could have knocked me over with a feather!!  And when he agreed that not only were they the best for all around cooking but would be very handy to have if there was a time when we had to cook outside or in the fireplace they would be absolutely among the best things we'd ever invested in, I had to pinch myself and see if it was reality or if I was caught up in some freaky dream.

Well, reality it was!

4 lovely cast iron frying pans now are a part of our cookware.  They've been sitting on the counter for a few days waiting for me to get around to 'seasoning' them.  It's easy.  Like even a child could do it kind of easy.  I don't know why I hesitated and let that step in their care intimidate me... but until about 45 minutes ago I did.  Finally, though, they are in the oven getting their first baking.

Photo from goodhousekeeping.com.
(My stubby little sausage fingers aren't that pretty!)

I started by washing them with hot soapy water and letting them dry.  Seems easy so far, huh?

(Ideally, this is the only time in the life of the pan it will ever have soap in it.)

Then I used olive oil and a paper towel to coat each pan and set them in a 350F oven for 90 minutes.  Why olive oil?  It was handy.  I looked up and read more than a few blog posts about seasoning and caring for cast iron and it seems like every single one of them called for a different oil so I'm interpreting that to mean that the fat source (bacon drippings, vegetable oil, olive oil, peanut oil, flaxseed oil, coconut oil, crisco, etc.) doesn't matter so much as getting something fatty on there to absorb into the iron.

These are mine sitting in the oven cooling down for the first time.

Then they sit in place and cool back to room temperature.  And I repeat the process of coating them in oil and baking for 90 minutes another time or two to have fully seasoned and ready to go cast iron pans.

It's time consuming, to be sure, but there's nothing at all difficult about it.

And it seems like the ongoing care isn't all that big of a deal either.  Most of what I've found suggests just rinsing with very hot water and drying well.  The oil in food you cook should keep it pretty well seasoned.  At our house I think that might be a true statement - I know bacon is a planned item.  And fried chicken.  And a buttery cookie/cake dessert item in one of the smaller pans.  For food bits that are stuck on, you first scour with a mixture of oil and coarse salt then rinse with hot water and dry well.

That's pretty similar to how I used to take care of my teflon pans... and they lasted forever once I quit putting dish soap in them!

Next I'm gonna get the dutch oven I've had for years seasoned and try making that heavenly crusty bread in it!

And I'm going to be on the lookout for more in thrift shops and at garage sales!!

And We Have a Runner

The fence...

I told Derek weeks ago that we needed to continue that wire mesh across the open front porch railing so the dogs didn't have an escape route.  But he adamantly insisted our boys were too big to fit through those spaces between the 2X4s.  It was the whole they're 80 pounds and growing and too big and muscular across the chest spiel.

Took about 5 minutes for them to find it last night after we went back in and left them to run and play and explore their new yard more.  And another 40 minutes of searching before one innocently wandered up the driveway like nothing at all could possibly be wrong about him being on the outside of the fence.  The other hung around and came back inside when he was called like a good boy.

I was putting our escapee in through the carport door and Derek was letting the other one outside again from the walkout door in the basement.  They met in the middle and both made a hot trail right back to the escape hole and in through the still open carport door.  I called Derek to come over to the staircase and look at something... called him a couple of times actually (he was entranced by a computer game at the moment) and finally added a semi-frantic sounding 'hurry up!'

He was all flabbergasted and 'what the heck, guys?' when he saw them standing by me happily munching on kibble and slurping great mouthfuls of fresh water.  He came right up and took them out through the gate where we both watched them come through the porch rail again.  They fit just fine... don't even need to slow down or squeeze.

I just smiled sweetly.

Guess where we're headed now?

(Please note:  Home Depot did not pay for or endorse use of their logo.  This is not an advertisement for them... just an illustration for my story.)

Fence Install Day

After weeks of wanting this done so badly I felt like I was counting the minutes:  WE HAVE A FENCED YARD!!

Puppies may run at will with no lead to get tangled up and wrapped around their legs!  And yes, they love it!!  Their sloppy happy gushing wet kisses show me it's so...

First the installers and supplies arrive and they unload the truck.

The parts are laid out near where they'll be used.

Post holes are dug, posts are set and concreted into place.

Three rails are added to the structure.

The wire mesh backing is stapled into place and the gate is built.

The extra board is nailed in place so the wire
mesh is securely tied to each post.

The gate gets its hardware and the top is cut to shape.

Just like that we have a fenced yard!

(I say just like that... but it took two men working from about 8:30 this morning until close to 8:00 this evening to do all the work!)