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Posts Tagged ‘animal stories’

We just returned from the scenic mountain city of Taxco. Alexis wanted some unique jewelry made and I was able to convince her we would be able to find a silversmith in that town, renowned for silversmiths. So off to Taxco, a little over a hundred miles from here. For some reason, Uber was down that morning, so we took a taxi, plenty to choose from passing our Airbnb. The taxi took us to Terminal Centrale de Autobuses, about $2.50 for a twenty-minute ride. My Spanish was good enough to purchase two tickets, sitting together, on a first-class bus to Taxco. We only had to wait about a half-hour, they run about every hour. The bus was very clean, had restrooms, TV showing a movie, and the seats had significantly more leg room and were larger and more comfortable than we had on the airplane to get here. The ride was about two and a half hours, and the cost was about $5 a ticket. Next another taxi ride through the narrow, winding, cobble-stone streets of Taxco and up a steep, mountain road, at least a mile-long, paved with black cobble stones. Our driver said the road was built, and the cobble stones placed, by manual labor using hand tools. Another $2.50 taxi ride to the Montetaxco hotel with a stunning view of Taxco below us.

 

 

Nice pool but we came for only one night with small backpacks, no swim suits.

 

After I asked several people for recommendations for a silversmith, we walked, no more than a hundred yards from the hotel, down a different steep cobble stone road, to the plateria (silver factory) of Antonio Arce. He was not only well-known, he was very friendly and helpful. Alexis showed him exactly what she wanted, two pendants, one in gold-plated silver, the other in solid silver. She also had a design for two bracelets, again gold-plated and solid silver. How fast, I asked? Antonio said he would have everything ready for us less than twenty-four hours later. The total cost was four thousand pesos, about two hundred dollars. Alexis estimates those items would have cost at least two thousand dollars in the U.S., if she could find someone to make them to her exact specs. They would certainly not get done overnight. Senor Arce had them waiting for us the next day and they were exactly as she wanted.

While wandering Mexico City a few days ago we stopped at a bookstore where I made a small purchase, and we had coffee in their coffee shop. We have seen these short coat-racks in several restaurants. They put them next to your table to hang a coat (mine would drag the floor), or your purse or backpack (mine is the backpack hanging). The sign says; “Don’t forget to watch your belongings”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The hotel ran a cable car down the mountain into town for $5 a person, round-trip. Here’s a view from the cable car:

While strolling through the town we spotted this dog standing guard over the street from the roof of his house:


 

 

There are a lot of dogs running loose in Taxco, but also many on leashes and behind fences. We have yet to encounter a vicious attitude amongst them, even the pit bull-mixes that are common. Perhaps a manifestation of the friendly, calm, nature of the people? Another note, despite the large numbers of dogs everywhere we’ve been, we have only seen one pile of dog feces on the sidewalks, much different than in another city I love, Amsterdam.

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It was at least six months since I could encircle her waist with my hands but the rest of Rosalie’s body was still reed thin. Saturday afternoon and we were sitting on the couch. I was holding her very close. A dust storm raged outside rocking the eight by forty-foot house trailer. We each wore wet handkerchiefs tied over our nose and mouth their purpose to filter as much dust as possible. The handkerchiefs smelled like the first drops of rain falling on a dusty dirt road. The trailer shuddered, slipping on the concrete blocks supporting the far end, where we were huddled. The swirling dust inside was so thick I could barely make out the passageway from the kitchen area to the walk-through bedroom only ten steps away from where we huddled.

“It feels like it will tip over,” she moaned.

“No, we’re solid,” I lied. “It will be OK. It would be more dangerous to go outside than to stay put.”

Mister lay panting at our feet, occasionally sneezing to clear his nose. It was August in Paradise Valley, north of Phoenix, and hot, very hot in the closed tight mobile home. The dust turned to mud in skin creases on our necks and on the inside of our elbows where sweat had collected. I wasn’t certain if the threat was greatest from dust inhalation, heat prostration or the house trailer being blown over. Finally, the wind started to abate. I wiped the dust from the face of my wrist watch and peered at it.

“Only forty-five minutes but it sounds like it may be over. It seemed to last a lot longer than usual.”

A last burst of wind slammed the trailer adding to the thick cloud of brown dust. Then it was quiet. Mister sat up and licked Rosalie’s hand to reassure her.

“I am hot, unbelievably hot. I can’t stand this anymore.” Rosalie stood and alternately coughed and sneezed.

“OK,” I said. “I think it’s over. I’ll get up on the roof and take apart the cooler and clean it up so we can turn it on. When I get it apart I’ll yell down and you can turn on the fan.  It won’t do much to cool the trailer down but if you open the windows maybe it will blow out some of the dust.”

After stepping carefully on the slippery hot metal of the trailer’s roof I worked my way over to the evaporative cooler. Imagine a car that has been sitting in the Phoenix sun with all the windows rolled up, that was our home. I took off the first of the four side panels and the heat from inside the trailer pushed past my face. Each of the excelsior filled panels was full of mud. I unplugged the circulating pump.

“Honey, turn on the fan and then come around and hand me up the hose, OK?”

I climbed halfway down the ladder to reach the hose Rosalie handed up.

“OK, when I holler turn on the water. I’ll clean out the cooler pan and the excelsior pads.”

Using my thumb over the end of the hose to create a jet I rinsed out the cooler pan then each of the side panels and the pads.

“Watch out, I’m throwing the hose down.”

Mister pounced on the hose snaking on the ground and proudly carried the water spouting end to Rosalie in the process soaking her from the belly down.

“Mister, drop it,” she snapped. “Actually that feels pretty good.” She patted the dog’s head as she turned off the water faucet.

I put the cooler back together and Rosalie turned it on as I came down.

“That should help. I’ll help you clean up the mess inside.”

The people building what was to be the Paradise Animal Hospital were off for the weekend. I was starting my own practice. We had acquired the trailer for a hundred dollars in cash plus taking over the previous owner’s payments. We then moved it to the back of the lot that was the construction site for our hospital. I was spending most of my time going around and leaving business cards with everyone I could find letting people know I would take calls to treat horses or other farm type animals and could do simple things like vaccinations for their pets as house calls. The hospital building was due to be finished soon, or so the contractor kept telling me.

My Dad was an accountant. Two of his clients were retired veterinarians, Drs. Bramley and Shapiro. They would identify likely areas for a veterinary practice, purchase the land and build a clinic. They then leased the buildings to young veterinarians giving an option to purchase the practice after three years. It was a good financial arrangement and investment for them and a good deal, my Dad assured me, for someone like me without the financial resources to build a hospital and practice on my own.

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Writer’s Digest Judge’s Commentary*:

So much personality shown in Charlize–we get real emotion and expression in the way the author has painted every scene with the dog. We also get deep emotion (and tears) in the early conversation with his wife, where she says that he can get a dog now that her demise is near. What a selfless statement, a deep realization, and a wish for her husband to be okay after she is gone. This is truly moving, and we long for the author to find the perfect dog to connect with.

“Hope is the mantra of anyone sitting on a boat” on page 75 is a true gem of this book. Author peppers the story with these resonant thoughts. Well done. They stay with the reader.
The ending just drops off when he’s home again and happy to have arrived safely. We could use a description of his home that has been colored by his travels along the coast, the same excellent skill in capturing scenery and feeling. That would round out the story beautifully. A very good read.

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Dogs have been in close contact with humans for thousands of years. Estimates range from 9,000 to 30,000. Due to this long association dogs are thought to have the ability to not only understand but to communicate with humans. Many researchers in this field attribute these communication skills to the manifestation of unique traits that enables dogs to be acutely sensitive to cues supplied by their humans.

 

Recent research in canine cognition has shown considerable variability, depending upon the design of the experiment(s) and probably the agenda of the person(s) doing the research but it seems clear that at least some dogs can and do follow pointing and gaze cues, can fast map novel words and according to some studies have emotions. Since they cannot communicate with us with spoken language researchers have mostly had to closely observe behavior in a wide variety of experimental designs and infer how the canine brain functions by speculation.

 

Now we can use functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) to study brain function. Gregory S. Berns, MD, PhD is a neuroscientist and director of the Center for Neuropolicy at Emory University. He recently published a book entitled: HOW DOGS LOVE US: A neuroscientist and his adopted dog decode the canine brain. He describes in this book and in articles published in scientific journals how his group trained dogs to lie still in the MRI machine while fully awake and found that the reward-prediction error hypothesis of the dopamine system provided a concrete prediction of activity in the ventral caudate of the dogs studied, i.e. the dogs were able to respond to specific hand signals associated with either giving a food reward or withholding it. During the experiment the dogs were not given the reward, just the hand signals they had been conditioned to. The results demonstrated the specific areas of the brain that anticipated the pleasurable reward. These same brain locations have been associated with dopamine release in many studies conducted in awake humans and primates. There was significantly less dopamine sensitive response when the withholding reward signal was given. The interpretation of these results indicates the dogs brains responded THINKING they were going to receive the treat.

 

Dr. Berns and his research group believe they can extend these studies to characterizing many questions about our ability to communicate with dogs including their ability to respond to human facial expressions and how dogs process our spoken words. Perhaps we are on the verge of understanding how dogs respond to our emotional state and perhaps if and how they grieve for a lost loved one. Maybe we can even find out if they really do love us or just manipulate us so we will feed them.

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Official Apex Reviews Rating:

Animals Don’t Blush takes the reader on an enjoyable, eye-opening journey through the ups and downs of a first-year veterinarian in Montana. In accessible, often hilarious language, author David Gross shares a variety of different anecdotes highlighting his rather entertaining experiences as the primary caregiver for a wide cross section of four-legged patients. Throughout the pages of Animals Don’t Blush, Gross’ considerable expertise shines through, as well as the deep-rooted compassion he has for both animals and their owners. Informative without being pedantic, and amusing without being pandering, this page-turning tome is sure to please more than just the animal lovers amongst us.

A highly satisfying literary treat from a truly gifted storyteller.

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Charlize and I just returned from the Pacific Northwest Book Sellers Association annual meeting in Portland, OR. While there Charlize made a host of new human friends and I had the opportunity to meet and greet owners and employees of independent bookstores. It was great fund to talk about my books and to autograph and give books to them. I hope they will read the books and like them. If so they are likely to recommend them to their customers. Giving those books away makes sense to me.

When one of my books is purchased used at least three things happen:

1) Sellers of the new book, especially independent bookstores, lose out. I hate that and so do they.

2) The author and the publisher receive nothing and it competes with the a sale of the book new.

3) It actually costs the publisher and/or author out of pocket. They must pay a “set up fee” plus a monthly fee to warehouse new copies of the book with a distributor.

I’ve had people tell me that they really enjoyed one of my books. When I inquired I found they had purchased it used online or from a used bookstore. I was happy they liked my work but I had no idea one of my books had been sold in this manner and most certainly received no remuneration for the sale.

I hope that when folks are done reading one of my books they will give them as gifts. That will build an audience for my work. Every used book sold competes against a new copy for which I might be paid.

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At three-thirty in the afternoon we started looking for an RV park. We passed several that were not worth turning around to go back to before stopping at a grocery store in Gualala, CA. I purchased some fresh vegetables for dinner and the checkout lady told me how to find the California State Salt Point campground. At the gate was a friendly park ranger who was talking to a young couple. I stopped and he told me to just pick a spot and then return and fill out an envelope from one of those in a box at the gate. Put five bucks in the envelope and I would be registered. I drove through the entire campground where all the spaces were empty. Too many choices.

I returned to the gate and stopped without getting out of Old Blue. The ranger turned from the young couple he was still talking to.

“You decided not to stay?”

“Nope,” I answered “couldn’t find an empty spot.”

He looked at me incredulously until I smiled, and then he laughed politely at my lame joke. I climbed out of Old Blue, retrieved an envelope and made the loop again. I consulted with Charlize and we picked a spot, filled out the envelope, put my five bucks in and walked back to the gate to deposit the envelope. The ranger and the young couple were gone.

Charlize found something to interest her.

DSCN0381

 

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