Introducing Odin

Without any further ado, meet our newest family member:

Welcome little Odin!  All the way from Mississippi via Maine, Odin has traveled more in his 14 weeks than I have this whole year.

I've been watching Petfinder for Border Collie/Lab mixes for a few months now, and in early November, I fell in love with a little puppy called Tauras, a dead-ringer for our late, great Cooper.  Even Eric was impressed.  He took one look at his photo, looked at me, and said, "Where is he, and when can we get him?"

I filled out the adoption form, and the long, arduous wait began.  I cried myself to sleep on more than one occasion.  To say that I fell hard for Tauras would be an understatement.  It was like our new puppy was so near, yet so far.

I stared at Tauras' photo that I had by now saved to my desktop, and went to check out his Petfinder profile umpteen times a day.  He was part of a big litter relocated to Maine from Mississippi by a non-profit dog rescue organization called Helping Paws headquartered in South Portland, Maine.  Not only had Tauras piqued my attention, so did two of his litter mates, Teddy and Tristan.

Two weeks later, with no news regarding the status of our application, I dejectedly put Tauras' photo into my recycle bin.  At that exact moment, a new email popped up!  Our application had been approved!  We could have a puppy!  Yippee!

Alas, I was told that Tauras' foster family decided to keep him (who could blame them?) but that little Tristan, Tauras' littermate, remained available.

It took a week for Eric and I to coordinate our schedules so we could both make the trek to Maine together.  As we drove down, I had a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, a sort of dread, wondering what I had gotten us into...

I had been emailing Tristan's foster-mom.  We bantered a few emails across the ether, and I had a good vibe about her and the care she was giving Tristan.  When we walked through the door, Tristan greeted us like long-lost family.  All of our our doubts melted away in an instant.  We knew we had found our dog.

I can't begin to tell you just how well Tristan had been looked after.  His foster-mom cared for him like her very own.  He sits, he's learning how to stay and come, he's great on a leash, and he's crate-trained.  He asks for the door, and he's good in the car.  He's used to dogs, he's used to cats, and he's house-trained.  He sleeps curled up beside me, and let me sleep in until 9:30 this morning, something I've had the luxury of doing exactly twice this year!

Odin, as we obviously baptised Tristan, is the perfect puppy.  We're over-the-moon in love with him, and have spent the last few days getting accustomed to one another.  The cats are on the fence.  While Tessie used to block Cooper on the stair all the time, she's not sure about this newcomer and spends a lot of time upstairs, using her best stealth-cat techniques to move around the house.  BobCat is taking things in stride and lets Odin lick his face.  BobCat has reclaimed his spot on the couch, and has no problem putting the young 'un in his place while tolerating his canine affections.

Capucine for her part, has already re-assumed her regular schedule, and last night, came into the bedroom as is her habit, and said goodnight while Odin watched her from the bed.  She keeps a watchful eye on him.

Lookit those pink puppy paws!  Lookit that spotted baby belly!  At 14 weeks, Tristan is already 23 pounds.  Cooper weighed 14 pounds at 13 weeks.  It looks like we'll have a big boy on our hands.

My little Mississippi Mud Hound, as I affectionately call him.

To say we're beyond lucky is an understatement.  Odin is such a good boy.  I've been wearing him out with long walks up and down the hedgerow, to the back-end of our property.  We've been to the pet store to pick out new toys, and have visitors who play fetch until Odin tires out.  Every day is filled with excitement and newness.

It's wonderful, seeing the world through the eyes of a dog once again.

Welcome 2011

It's hard to believe Fall came and went with nary a post. Let's start the new year with renewed vigour and resolve to post more of the on-goings at Shim Farm, shall we?

So, in no particular coherent order, let's get on with it!

We had a little brunch for friends in early December, since Eric's work schedule had him working right through the Christmas holidays. Eric had just returned from a trip with a bag of chocolate Saint-Nick's, as well as the rotund candle from one of the many Christmas markets that abound in Europe in November and December. With a fine cup of Glühwein or four, Eric turns into a voracious shopper, despite the fact I can't even ask him to wait in the car for me while I nip into the grocery store on this side of the pond. I'm like a kid in a candy store when Eric comes home and plants his bags on the living room floor, jumping up and down, asking, "Whaddya bring, whaddya bring?" Eric rarely disappoints, and the candle unwittingly became a symbol of the holidays for me this season.

In older news...

One of our kittens, Pepper, now known as Minou, came to visit us for what was supposed to be a "week to ten days" and became a six-week stay. (I'm playing catch-up here, because he was with us in July and August). The first 3 days, he ignored Popina, BobCat and Schatzie, and then suddenly, on day 3, just as I was about to tear my hair out in frustration, the light suddenly went on, and Pepper emerged from his shell. He and Pop would tear around the house like in days of yore, having 2 play fits a day, mid-morning and late evening, as they were wont to do when they were still kittens. Pepper, like Poppy and Piglet (now Tuxedo) are all curious about water:

Pepper has this perpetual "deer in the headlights" look about him. He's a sleek cat, a stark contrast to his fuzzier siblings Tux and Popina:

Tux's about 8 months old in the above photo, and he's large like Pepper, but he has the silky, long-haired coat of his mom. He's the light of his new family's life, and rules his new domain with a furry fist.

Poppy, on the other hand, is a little fluff-ball:

Popina has proved to be a true Northern cat. She loves snow more than anything, and can be found burrowing in snow banks for hours on end. The fuzzy hairs between the pads on her paws accumulate tiny snow balls, so when she finally comes in the house, she can be heard, tippy-tappy, tippy-tappy, crossing the floor until she violently shakes the little ice-balls off. Yet last night, she fought me for the hot water bottle I put in the bed for my perpetually frozen feet, and won. She's a true feline diva.

Aren't they all, though?

Schatzie, our old hag, is pushing 25. Yes, you read that correctly, 25, in human years, at that. She's so old, I keep joking that we're going to carbon date her when she finally keels over. She's getting senile, and maintains her strict 23.5 hour per day sleep schedule. The rest of the time, she's begging for food, missing the litter box, and meowling piteously, for what I don't know. I just let her yowl, she's not in any pain, and her total deafness might have something to do with her loudness, because she can't hear herself, obviously. The deafer she gets, the louder she yowls. The things I do for this cat, you have no clue...

The poor old thing deserves a bit of air time, too, don't you think? Not to worry, I have her fur under control again, because she's the picture of neglect (oh yeah, riiiiight!) in the above photo. I kind of inadvertently felted her by letting her sleep on a real sheepskin fur. The fur-on-fur friction was too much, and despite brushing her regularly, her fur kept matting into uncontrollable clumps. We removed the sheepskin rug, and by cutting out the mats one-by-one, the old hag's finally up to snuff again. She's so old, she's almost given up grooming herself. She'd much rather I tend to her, so she can spend all her spare time recharging her batteries.

Poor Cooper's feeling mighty neglected, too. All these cats, and just one dog...

Gratuitous dog photo, coming right up!

That photo was taken in 2005, but I feel so much better now that it's released from my laptop.

He's such a good boy!

Well, here's to a new year...I'll raise a glass to that!

A Dog's Tail

All of us have days that we fondly remember, days that we replay time and time again, and never grow weary of. For me, one of those days is December 5, 2002. That was 6 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

The time was 7:20 am, I was on my way to work, and it was unseasonably cold. The engine turned over slowly, even the car radio took a while to wake up, and once again I cursed as I settled into the hard, frozen seat of my car.  As I turned to take the access road that runs along the highway that morning, something at the side of the road caught my eye. A little heap, covered by a dusting of fresh snow, yet still visible as a black and white lump.

A creature, perhaps a skunk, I thought as I drove past?

“But skunks hibernate, don’t they?” opined the other voice inside my head.  I slowed down. It was snowing, but from the condition of the freshly-fallen snow all around me, I knew no-one had driven by here in quite some time. It was just getting light, and my curiosity had been piqued, so I had to investigate.  I promptly turned around, parked the car, and walked over to the lump in the snow.  A little head popped up, a pink tongue unfurled as it let out a big yawn, and the black and white creature piddled a puddle, shook the snow off its back, and then excitedly walked over to me and licked my chin as I stooped down to pick it up.

Love at first sight is not an adequate expression.  Remember the infamous scene in “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas”, when the Grinch’s heart “grew three sizes that day”?  Well, it was the best way to describe the feeling I had in my chest that fateful morning.

What I found that morning can only be described as one of the greatest gifts a person can get.

The little dog, the vet guessed, must have been 7 or 8 weeks old. He weighed in at 10 pounds, and was a healthy, happy mix of what we could only guess was Labrador and Border Collie.  In my naïve mind, I was sure that someone had lost him and I valiantly checked pet stores, vets, and on-line forums for someone’s desperate plea for their lost dog.  Slowly, the realization that this little dog wasn’t lost, but had been deliberately abandoned, started to dawn on me.  As the days unfolded, I started to read about rescue organizations, dog adoption societies, and the statistics behind dog abandonment.  What I read staggered me.  So many dogs, great dogs, abandoned each year.  Left in boxes in front of the vet’s office. Chained up in front of SPCA’s, or worse, chained in forests and left to die. Thrown out by the side of the road in the country.  Sad?  You bet, and just another indication that our society is headed for demise, if we maintain the current path we’re on.

But I was on my way to work, and I needed a plan. Well, actually, I needed dog food, so I went to my elderly neighbor’s house with my new friend in tow.  He offered to babysit and house the pup in the wood-working studio where he spent his days, and I in return promised to come back after work with a solution.

Although Eric does not believe me, I called everyone I knew from work that day and tried to find a home for this little black and white pup. And everyone greeted me with the same answer: nah, thanks but no thanks, it’s like…weeks... before Christmas, lemme see what I can do…

It was only when I arrived at my neighbor’s that evening to pick up the little dog, who was by now nestled in a crate by the wood-stove, with a chewed pine stick between his paws, that I fell madly, deeply and irreversibly in love. The little dog woke up, promptly wiggled his way towards me, tail circling in that unmistakable floppy-puppy way, and piddled another puddle on the cold concrete floor.  He jumped up as I knelt down and licked my chin once again, and at that moment, I knew I could not part with him.

But my neighbor had other ideas. Mr. Lefebure loved dogs, and his dearly-loved and recently-departed Bijou was the dog by which all other dogs were judged. “That dog is smart,” he said. “A good dog”. Silence fell over me. “I’ll keep him”, he replied, and for an instant, I thought my problem was solved.  I looked around, the flames were glowing inside the wood stove, and the shop lights flickered over-head.  I felt the cold of the concrete floor through the soles of my boots, and looked over to the old flannel shirt that lined the wooden box.  The little black and white dog would have a good home, lots of love and space to run, but my heart would be broken.

“I have to show him to Eric”, I said, straightening myself up. “Eric will be home tomorrow, alright?”, as I cradled the pup in my arms. “Just one night, okay?”, I queried, and with that, I sauntered home, making a mental check-list of doggy supplies I’d be needing.  Trust me, Mr. Lefebure knew that it wouldn't be "just one night".  He knew I was down for the count.   I called dog-owning friends again, and begged for a crate. Blanket, check, collar, check, dog leash, check, dog food, check. I was on a mission.

Our first night was a disaster. He cried, I cried, and we cried together. We had a little philosophical talk. I placed him on the kitchen counter, and he sat down, head cocked quizzically. I was on the stool at the breakfast counter, and we were eye-to-eye. “Look”, I said to him. “I’m not the problem, but the big guy who’s gonna walk through the door tomorrow night will be. You need to be on your best behavior, no peeing or pooing in the house, no chewing on carpets or furniture. Put your charm on, and work your puppy-ness to the max. Got it?” The little dog cocked his head again, and stood still. He looked at me, and so help me, he understood every word I said. To this day I can’t explain it, but someone was looking over us that day.

And so it came to pass, that when Eric, a self-confessed “cat person”, walked through the door the next evening and set his luggage down, did the little dog sit perfectly at attention. Eric looked at me across the living room, looked down at the dog, and said, “I guess we have a dog”. A big grin crossed my face, and I said a silent thanks.

That six years have passed since that cold December morning is hard to believe. Cooper remains our faithful dog, and sometimes, when the lights are out and the dog is happily settled in between us in bed, Eric’s hand resting on Cooper’s chest, and Cooper’s paw in my hand, one of us breaks the dark silence. “We have a good dog, eh?” someone offers. The answer is always the same, “Yeah, the best dog ever.” Cooper lets out a big sigh and squirms into place, his chest slowly rising and falling, and thumps his tail in reply.

Bébé Pepés - Our Little Skunk Babies

So, we're pretty forgiving people when it comes to animals. We don't turn away strays, which is how we came to own Howard, and Schatzie and Baby Grey and BobCat and Cooper. That's our menagerie.

We also had a skunk, which some of you might be grossed out by. But I am going to ask you to put your aversions aside, if only for a moment, and listen to my story.

Skunks have every right to claim where they want to live, in my optimistic "tread lightly" philosophy, which is why we put up with one living under one of our barns. This was all good and fine, until Cooper came along. Cooper is the quintessential Border Collie / Labrador mix, and loves kitties! Unfortunately, Cooper's first encounter with the skunk didn't go over very well, nor did his second since he's not a quick learner. I am now a pro at de-skunking dogs, so if you're interested, listen up: there is but ONE product that works, and it's called Thiotrol made by a company called Vet Solutions. Ask your vet to order some. You'll be glad to have this product on hand late one Sunday night, because we all know dogs get skunked when the pharmacy's closed. Skunks know. (For those of you who can't get this product, buy 1 litre (roughly a quart for you imperialists) of Hydrogen Peroxide 3%, mix with 1/4 cup baking soda, and add 1 tablespoon liquid dishwashing soap. Ivory works well to mask the odor. Mix this only when ready to use, and remember to avoid your pet's eye area.)

I used to keep cat food in the barn, in a Rubbermaid container I used to tie up high over a beam with a bungee cord. Even I had trouble getting the damn thing down, but not Mama Skunky. In her last week, something like 10 pounds of cat food went missing. The old girl was stock-piling it. Then one unfortunate morning, I found Mama Skunk dead by the side of the road. I walked over to her body, noticed her teats and bulging stomach, and wondered if she'd had her babies already.

I sent Eric on a recon mission - check under the shed using the digital camera, to see if her babies were underneath. Now, the clearance under the barn is minimal, to say the least. Just enough room to fit your arm in, or for a cat or skunk to crawl into. Eric shot a few photos, downloaded them, enlarged them, and confidently gave me the all-clear. Ha.

About a week later, I was innocently sitting outside when a strange noise caught my attention. From under the barn appeared not one, not two, but FIVE baby skunks!

Now, you haven't lived until you've seen a baby skunk. If you think kittens are cute, well, I have news for you. Baby skunks take the cake:


I rest my case:


Well, if that's not the cutest thing you've ever seen, there's no hope for you.

So, you're asking, what do you feed them, what do they drink, where do they go, and do you still have them?

First things first: I gave them Friskies salmon tinned cat food, which the cats didn't like. I figured I'd give it a try and they loved it. I supplemented this with regular milk, and tried to give them fruits, but they weren't interested. We never touched them, because we didn't want them to get too used to humans. What's really amazing is they have terrible eyesight, but a wicked sense of smell. Sometimes, I'd hide their food and watch them find it. It was really amazing to see. They would also run to Schatzie, our grey mama cat, when they got nervous. Maybe with their poor eyesight, they thought she was their Mom? It only makes sense to me.

Observing these skunks was a great experience. We'd literally sit around and wait for them to emerge, mind you, it never took long once you put food out for them. Even Cooper got used to skunks, and would watch diligently during feeding times.

What's really neat is they're all different. There was one whose white was more yellow, 2 were bigger, 3 were smaller, and all had different stripes. Some were more intrepid, others more shy. We watched them grow bigger and enlarge their territory. You never knew where they'd turn up, but one thing was for sure: they never sprayed unless provoked. Eric did end up getting skunked once, but that was it. He recovered. And I'm sure it was his fault.

We spent the summer watching the skunks grow up, and one by one, they disappeared from the nest. We were hoping that one would return to the fold, but we remain skunk-less for now. Maybe one day, we'll get lucky and some skunk will choose our barn as its home again. Until then, we remember our baby skunks with lots of fond memories, feeling really privileged for having had the pleasure of observing them.

La vieille dame

Welcome to our Threesome!

Hello and bonjour! My name is Ann, my husband is Eric, and we are owned by a house we like to call "la vieille dame", or the old lady. We like to treat her well which is why this blog was created, among other things. We like to think we're quite innovative and creative with regards to looking after her and renovating her, and we'd like to share our experiences with you.

Our interests are varied: I'm into knitting, cooking, baking, my dog and cats, and pretty much everything and anything in and around the house and garden. Can you tell I don't get out much? Oh, I should probably mention Eric in that sentence too, because he's the reason I'm here, n'est-ce pas? My focus varies with the seasons, and this spring I will be trying my hand at carving a vegetable garden out of the landscape. I'm gonna make the 100 Mile Diet the 50 Yard Diet. Top that! Right now it's still wood-stove season, so I tend to hunker down and knit or read.

Eric is into planes, boats, cars, bikes, pretty much anything transportation-related, and of course, home renovation. Eric will try his hand at pretty much anything - and when he wraps his mind around something, watch out!

We are both curious as hell, love to read and research, and basically like to find the best ways of doing some uncommon things, and become pros at stuff we'll probably never get a chance to do again. Did I mention Eric is very, er, particular, about home renovation, which is why the road we're on is very, very long?

Let me show the way!