The Ivan Rules

Ivan lopes down the stairs, leaps onto the rug in the hall and runs straight ahead, making a lap through the living room and piano room on his way to the kitchen.  There is a special Ivan rule that prohibits going directly from the stairs to the kitchen. When we stand at the back door and call him to go out, he responds with great enthusiasm, but this still requires a lap through the house. There would surely be cosmic repercussions if he proceeded directly to the door, omitting the circuit.

Ivan has quite a few rules. The reasoning is not intuitively obvious to us, but Ivan follows his rules with unquestioning certainty. He must sit on Eric’s left on the couch. The right is not acceptable. I’m not sure why, but this is an ironclad, not to be disputed rule.

He also prefers to sleep on the left side of the bed next to Eric most of the time. Occasionally, he will sleep on the right next to me or even between us, but Dasa sleeps with her head on my pillow, so Ivan frequently sniffs and turns away when I invite him to sleep closer to me. One of  Ivan’s rules is that he should Always get the most attention.

There are certain critical rules essential for his comfort. His little stack of little donut beds under the kitchen desk should be arranged Just So. I am not certain what Just So consists of and as I never seems to get it right, this requires much busy digging and rearranging on his part before acceptable comfort levels have been achieved. Sometimes this means he ends up in one of the beds pushed out into the middle of the kitchen floor. He settles happily, so at that point Just So means right there. This is not a constant state. Rearrangement is often required.

The same rule of Just So applies to donut beds or nests of blankets on the people bed, the futon in my office or the couch.  Only Ivan knows the secret of Just So, and he’s often exasperated that we cannot decode his system. After he tussles with his beds, working diligently to achieve the desired state, he settles in with a sigh, finally satisfied and tired from his efforts.  He looks at us and I can tell he’s thinking if you want something done right. . . .   Eric and I are mere apprentices of the Just So method, and we have a long way to go before our efforts are deemed satisfactory.

My Fabulous Foster!

 I am still fostering Mr. Roscoe.  He is such a wonderful little guy!  I have vacillated back and forth about keeping him, but 4 dogs is just too much and it isn't fair to him as he deserves to be smothered with love and hugs and kisses. 

So... If you are in or near Vermont and want an active, curious, intelligent, little basenji boy, he may be the dog for you!  Click on the link to read all about him: http://basenjirescue.org/DOGS/VT/VT-Rosco.asp 

I am Roscoe!  I love to run and chase squirrels and be active!

I also look to my human for guidance about right and wrong.  My foster mom says I am quite obedient... for a basenji!  Sheesh!

I may be small, but I am strong.  Just look at my muscles!

Have You Ever Met a Modest Basenji?

Me neither.

Dog Food Shopping Surprise

It sure made my day yesterday when I saw a basenji on the front of a dog food bag - adult AND puppy.  I'm not sure about the quality rating on this food since it's new, but none the less - how exciting!  :-)

And of course I need to share a picture of my boys, both BRATs, Kobe (red, mixed Basenji and Jack Russell) and Sid (black) who currently eat Blue Buffalo Wilderness and Orijen.

~Kim Wiegand

Marking Year Two

September 4 marked the two year anniversary of my official adoption of Audrey and Shaka after fostering them for four months. I've not been regular about doing my monthly blogs on the, mainly because life has been busy and there is nothing dramatic in their lives to report which is good news.

As reported in the past, Audrey's coat has had its challenges throughout the past two years with hot spots and gaps but after a heavy shedding month in August, it is at about 98% perfect.  I'm not sure if it is them being basenjis or the odd weather patterns of northern California that lead to rather unusual shedding patterns.  We typically have a cool and foggy July and August followed by a heat blast and lots of sun in September that can continued into November.  That is all good news for basenjis, and it means plenty of relaxed sunning naps as they follow the sun patterns throughout the house.

Hunting Games

 Our backyard in Florida had lots of trees and therefore lots of squirrels.  Ivan made the most of this fertile hunting ground. When we moved to Illinois, the few trees at our new house were not large enough to tempt squirrels. I love trees, so within a month after unpacking dog beds and treats, we had 14 trees and 2 bushes planted in our back yard. Among those was a lovely oak. All of our trees have flourished in the intervening nine years, but the oak tree has grown prolifically.  It is now large enough to produce acorns, and the squirrels have found us.  A couple of days ago, as I watched a squirrel pop over our back fence and bound across the yard, I was reminded of the first time Ivan caught a squirrel in our Florida backyard.

2003: Ivan was galloping big circles around the yard and I was sitting on the patio, mentally listing all the yard work I needed to do when I heard an abrupt noise and noticed Ivan suddenly still among the trees. I hurried over and discovered a squirrel feebly kicking as Ivan prepared to pick it up again. I think he was examining his prey when his nosey mom interrupted him. He saw me, grabbed the squirrel and raced off.  I trotted after him, like an idiot,  "Ivan, sweetie, drop the squirrel. Look what I have."  I waved liver biscotti, peanut butter bits, and anything else I could find in my pockets. I would have even tried bribing him with money had there been any on hand (Ivan, look, here's a twenty if you drop the squirrel.)

I cajoled, pleaded, waved liver bits, but nothing I had could even begin to equal the fascination of the squirrel that hung limply from his mouth.  I  crept forward, treat-laden hands extended, but he looked at me with patient disdain as if he couldn't quite believe I was foolish enough to think he'd give up a fresh squirrel in exchange for my paltry offerings. The entire time I was following Ivan around trying to reason with him (?!) I was absolutely terrified that he was going to eat this squirrel and catch some horrid disease or choke or, or something else really bad. I was too panicked to think of all the disasters that could befall him, but I was sure there were a lot.  Finally, and I hate to even say this, I turned the hose on him. Shocked that his loving mommy had turned on him, the poor baby jumped straight into the air and dropped the squirrel. I leaped between Ivan and the squirrel, using the hose to keep him from his prize.  He kept running from side to side, trying to get to the squirrel, and I kept spraying the poor little guy with the hose. I aimed the hose at poor Ivan with one hand while I lugged the top of our concrete birdbath across the lawn and upended it over the squirrel, apologizing to the squirrel the entire time, although the squirrel's earthly concerns, if they still existed, were fast slipping away. 

After I turned off the hose and herded my wayward baby into the house, I toweled Ivan dry and apologized for being such an evil mom. My sweet boy didn't appear to hold a grudge over this gross mistreatment. I took Ivan for a long walk, then gave him a treat and went outside to bury the squirrel. I covered the burial site with two layers of bricks, scrubbed the bird bath with a diluted bleach solution, and hosed soapy water into the spot on the grass so Ivan wouldn't dig around in essence of squirrel.

Due to Ivan’s hunting prowess, the entire northeast corner of our Florida backyard was a brick-covered cemetery for his victims.  It’s only a matter of time before the hunting games begin here. I’d better bring home a few bricks and get my shovel ready.