Monday, January 15, 2007, 18:07

Ice Storm

One of the subscribers to my Rural Route 2 Newsletter, Deanna, reports that the ice storm in her neck of the woods in Missouri is beyond belief. The devastation is tremendous. Deanna lives alone with her mother, and she reports that they have lost every tree on their property. The trees have either split in half, have fallen over completely or they have lost all of their branches.

Deanna also reports the Ozark Mountains do not look any better, and that she believes it will be 30 or 40 years before the landscape recovers.

I saw pictures of the ice storm on the news this morning. It is unimaginable. We have had ice storms here in Wisconsin on occasion, but *nothing* like that. Sometimes we will get heavy snow, especially in March, and trees will lose their branches, but that's nothing compared to damage to virtually 100 percent of the trees.

Last night, we got 4 inches of fluffy snow out of the same storm system. If it had been colder, Wisconsin might have been in the same shape as Missouri when we got those 3 inches of rain before Christmas. We lucked out.

Let us all keep all of the good folks in the parts of the country hit by the ice storm in our thoughts and prayers.

LeAnn R. Ralph

Sunday, January 14, 2007, 22:03

Dog-gone. . .

"Here," I said to Randy, giving him Charlie's collar, "you'd better put this back on Charlie."

It was Saturday evening. Saturday morning, I had taken Charlie's collar off so I could put his license tag on it for 2007. Every year, I have to send in the fee to the town clerk and then she sends the license certificates back along with the license tags for both Charlie and Pixie. I had put Pixie's tag on her collar, and a few minutes earlier I had put her collar back on, too.

When the dogs are just out running around the yard, it's not too important for them to have their collars on. But, because we were going for a walk along the road, Pixie needed to be on the leash, and Charlie needed his collar in case Randy had to hang onto him if a car came along. Pixie, bless her little heart, is too much of a herding dog for us to even think about letting her trot along while we go out for a walk. If she were to see a car coming a quarter mile away, she would take off to meet it so she could chase it away.

That's what Pixie thinks she is doing, you know. When a car comes, I tell her to sit and stay, which she does very well, but as the car goes by, she feels compelled to bark at it. Then after the car is past she jumps to her feet and is VERY pleased with herself. She looks at me, all panting and happy, as if to say, "See? I chased another one away!"

While Randy went outside to put the collar on Charlie, I picked up Pixie's leash, and then Pixie and I left the house. We walked around to the east side yard, with Pixie jumping around and woofing with delight at the prospect of going for a walk. I usually don't put the leash on her until we reach the lower driveway.

We were halfway down the east side yard when I noticed that Charlie wasn't with us. When we go down the east sideyard, Charlie is always running ahead, chasing around and playing with Pixie because they are both so delighted that we are going for a walk.

"Where's Charlie?" I said. I turned around and went back.

Charlie was sitting by the bird feeder post, stiff, ramrod straight, and prim and proper -- like a dog carved out of stone.

"Come on Charlie," I said.

Charlie remained sitting. He never moved a muscle.

"He'll come when he realizes we are going for a walk," Randy said.

I turned around and headed back down the east side yard.

"Come on Charlie," I said.

When we reached the lower driveway, Charlie still was not with us.

"That's weird," I said. "Charlie knows we are going for a walk."

Randy heaved a sigh and turned around.

"He thinks something is up, I suppose, because I just put his collar back on."

I walked up the side yard, too. Charlie was still sitting by the bird feeder post, ramrod straight, prim and proper, like a dog carved out of stone. I watched as Randy grabbed Charlie's collar.

"Come on Charlie," he said.

As if by magic, the ramrod straight, frozen-in-stone dog came alive, and Charlie leaped forward and galloped toward Pixie and I at full speed. As he rushed past me, he leaped up and grabbed my hand (he has done this since he was puppy when he's excited about going for a walk) -- and then he and Pixie chased each other in circles all the way down to the lower driveway.

When Randy and I got to the driveway, Charlie was still leaping up and down and running and circles, panting happily, tongue hanging out, eyes shining.

"What in the world?" I said.

And then it me.

"I know what was wrong with Charlie," I said.

"What?" Randy asked.

"He thought he was tied up. When you put the collar on him, he thought you put the leash on him and tied him up to the bird feeder post."

I leaned down to put the leash on Pixie, and Charlie went into a renewed frenzy of happy delight.

"Charlie," I said. "You really did think you were tied up, didn't you."

Charlie looked back at me over his shoulder as he galloped down the driveway. He was panting happily.

"Oh, boy," Randy said. "You know what? After I put the collar on Charlie, I patted him on the head -- just like always do after I tie him up."

Charlie does not spend very much time tied up, that's for sure. He spent the most time tied up in his entire life after he had surgery this summer when we didn't want him to tear out his sutures.

Animal experts say that dogs know what we are going to do before we do it because they are such keen observers of human behavior. And the animal experts say that a dog's job is to watch his or her people and to anticipate what they are going to do next.

Apparently, as far as Charlie is concerned, a certain type of pat on the head means that he is tied up -- even without a leash.

Of course, Pixie does that kind of thing, too. One time when Randy was reading the newspaper, he came across something surprising. "Hey!" he said.

At which point, before I could ask "what" -- Pixie came tearing out of the bedroom, slipping and sliding on the linoleum in her haste, a frenzy of barking accompanying every step.

"Pixie!" Randy said. "Be quiet!"

Pixie kept on barking for a half a minute before she started to calm down. It took her a while to calm down completely.

"What was that all about?" Randy asked.

"You said, 'Hey!'" I said.

"So?" Randy said.

"That's what you say, in exactly that same way and same tone, when someone comes to the door that you know," I said.

It does not occur very often when Randy says "hey!" when someone comes to the door that he knows. Maybe a couple of times a year.

"I say that?" Randy said.

"You do," I said.

"Really?" he said.

"Really," I said.

"Oh, come on. I don't do that. Do I?"

"Yup. You do," I said.

"Really?" he said.

"Yes. Really. You do."

I guess it's no wonder animal experts say dogs know what people are going to do before they do it -- especially when people sometimes don't even realize themselves what it is that they do. . .

LeAnn R. Ralph