Danny and the Garden

A few months ago, I took up a new hobby when I chanced upon starter kits for cherry tomatoes and basil. Now, traditionally, plants die on me from a tiny cactus (under watered) to a monkey cup plant (over watered) to a lost mint plant (yes, lost) to a God-knows-what plant in a terrarium (because plants just hate me). Seriously, how do you kill a plant in terrarium?

I digress. Anyway, the grow kits came with a little sign that said "Guaranteed to Grow". The failed gardener in me sat up. I figured if I can get anything to grow from seeds, I would have redeemed myself for all my past plant sins. So I grabbed one of each, carefully followed the instructions on the box and then jumped for joy when a few days later I saw this:

Success! I was happily showing them off when it occurred to me that they would all probably grow a fair bit bigger and I would need to replant them at some point. Eeep.

I won't bore you with the details, suffice to say that after several repottings and seedling funerals (including those which had been roasted alive under the Singapore sun) later, I wound up with a nice batch of basil...

...as well as a small handful of flowering cherry tomato plants.

So what does this have to do with Danny?

Over the weekend, I did what was hopefully my last repotting of basil. To do this, I headed out to the nursery to get fresh soil and fertilizer. When I got back, the first thing I did was to sprinkle fertilizer on the cherry tomatoes. Nosey, of course, got wind of the action. He came scurrying in and then screeched to a halt when he smelt the fertilizer. He poked his nose into one of the pots and started sniffing about. Then he stuck out his tongue... Yes. Eew.

Thankfully it was organic.

I scolded him and tried to push him off but the allure of dehydrated chicken dung proved too much for him and he held his ground. Finally, I was forced to get up and chase him from the area. I quickly watered the plants so the fertilizer would soak into the soil and left, thinking his new-found fetish was restricted to dried bird poop.

I should be so lucky.

The next day, I began the repotting. To do so, I opened bags of soil and emptied them into various pots. Once again, Poop Breath came along. I had a pot filled with soil in front of me and eyed him as he took a quick sniff. Then he looked up at me and casually sat next to the pot. When I didn't say anything, he lay down next to it with his mouth just hanging over the edge. After studying him for a bit, I went back about my business. He quickly took the opportunity to dip his head into the pot and took a couple of quick licks.

I yelled at him, took the pot and placed it next to me. Danny pretended he didn't care. He got up and nonchalantly strolled around me pausing to sniff the ground here and there, and eventually wound up lying down next to the pot again. When I put a bit of plastic between him and the pot, he surreptitiously tried to push it away... Seriously, dog, now you're just being insulting.

I did the rest of the repotting as quickly as possible and brought the plants up to the attic where they would be safe from the soil eater.

He probably smelt something that seemed like food (though I'm quite sure his dog food doesn't smell that bad), or maybe he thought he needed a more luscious cost of fur. Either way, Danny is now officially banned from the herb garden. Period.

"Did someone say fertilizer?"

The Knotty Naughty Dog

If you've been following this blog, it's been well established that Danny is one naughty dog. Lesser known is that fact that our friend easily gets knots on his underside. The fur there is extra fine so it gets tangled quite easily, especially with all his mad-cap adventures.

Every time the knots build up, we get the scissors out and trim them off. It's a two-man job, or at least it was until Rhoda got the hang on handling him alone and took it on herself to shear the dog.

Now that she's left, it's up to us again. Danny didn't know that, which is why when I approached him with the scissors in hand, he sat up all eager to play. I didn't want to make it a chore for him so I patted him and gave him a bit of a massage before turning him on his back. Even then, he thought I was going to give him a belly rub. Silly dog.

To his credit, he held still even when he saw the scissors coming. However, the first snip sent him wriggling. I tried another spot nearer his flank, hoping it would be less sensitive, but Danny was on to me now. He lept to his feet and did his best to evade all attempts to turn him on his back again. At one point, his back paw made contact with my ribs while his front paw dug into my thigh as he tried to stop the flip. If I wasn't struggling so hard, I would have been quite impressed with his doggie gymnastics.

Eventually, I had to call in reinforcements (aka hubby). He took over the scissors while I held on to Danny. It took about 10 minutes to get most of the knots out - both the little ones and the littles ones that had combined into big ones.

When it was all over, I released him and gave him a treat. He crunched it up right away and then promptly stalked off to sulk.

"Why do you do mean things to me?"

Yeah, that's right. Take my bribe but still refuse to be friends. Brilliant, dog.

The Danny Experiment

My dad-in-law recently adopted a kitten. I've always been somewhat blah when it comes to cats. Just about every cat I've come across tries to sink its claws into me for no good reason. The only exception was this really sweet kitten who followed me home one day, mewing pitifully until I brought her in. I named her June. She would come when called and if she was scared, she would hide and peek out from behind the table legs. Cute as she was, Chassard (my old dog) really didn't take to her...and I mean REALLY. So after about a week we found her another home.

Thus when my parents-in-law announced they had a kitten, I thought maybe she would be something like June. Hmm...not exactly. She's a pretty cat with a nice meow, but I need to be on high alert when I play with her. It normally takes about 10 maybe 15 seconds before the claws come out.

Anyway, after about the 10th or the 20th near miss, I began to wonder how much attention Danny could handle, and what he would do when he's had enough.

Well, I took the advantage of a lazy Sunday morning to try and figure it out. It was raining a bit, so I was stuck at home and Danny was leashed up indoors while we had breakfast. I took a quick glance at the clock (11.05am - yes breakfast at 11, I did say it was a lazy morning) and headed towards him. He sat up right away with an expectant hopeful look. Today, I would not disappoint him, I thought with glee.

I start by rubbing his head, then his back. Then he rolled over so I could scratch his tummy. After a while, I sat him up and started all over again.

This went on for about half and hour until it finally hit me that I need to get on with life.

So I stood up much to Danny's dismay...

"What? That's it?"

...That same astounded look followed me down the stairs.

"You're really leaving???"

The experiment may have failed but I have come to the conclusion that Danny has Attention Deficit Disorder - he's always in deficit of attention regardless of how much he gets.

It's a hypothesis that warrants further testing should I have another boring day, but until then, ADD Type D (for Danny) it is!