Calamity Cove

It’s been two days, and almost half of the original images have been sponsored (and nearly all of those are actually paid up). There are more orders, but they came too late–I have to disappoint some people with e-mails after I finish this update. It makes me feel terrible, so I wish I’d had the time to implement an actual claims system, but bills are bills and they come when they do.

Thank you so much to everyone. I’m absolutely amazed at how many people responded to PlunderZOO, both with purchases and with RTs, blog posts, and other signal boosts.

All of this really makes me appreciate technology more than before. If it wasn’t for the fact that we can open up a dog and put pins and wire into its bones, my puppy would be literally crippled for the rest of his life, walking and acting like an old dog before he even finished growing. It wouldn’t even matter how much money anyone had, or whether or not they would put it toward what he needed. And if it wasn’t for the free information on the Internet, I wouldn’t know how to draw (seriously). And most importantly, if it wasn’t for the way people use the Internet, the way we take cold, hard code and use it to build warm, sharing communities, not nearly as many people would know about my venture or have the means to join it.

Our zoo is going to look so cool when all those animals are captured, folks. (: Thank you for being a part of this.

Our pet landshark when he was a wee little beastie! (Before we had him.)

Broken Pitbull™ is almost Repaired Pitbull™.  Hanzo has one more surgery scheduled, and then he will be a fully functioning cyborg canine! However, even with the Vet Loves My Dog Discount™, it has emptied my bank account. (This is especially bad right now, since I just got accepted to a fantastic writing workshop–which is a bit expensive.) My cats will have to work either selling their favors or picking pockets, and when they come home in the wee hours, I’ll collect their day’s take and slap them around a bit if I think they’ve shorted me.

Which is why you should check out The Plunder Zoo.

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I attended a writing retreat at the end of July called Writers Weekend which is being renamed Cascade Writers. I have some photos for you, and an exhortation to attend if you have the chance.

In 2010, the retreat managed to continue the “family reunion” atmosphere of the two prior years with the presence of strangers–we didn’t all know each other this time, and yet it felt like we did. We split into two groups for the critique part of the workshop, and I was impressed by such unexpected professionalism in the analyses of my work. This people aren’t all pros yet–but they’re going to be. If I have the cash, I will definitely attend in 2011.

And now, on to the photos:

...Starting with Seamus, Hanzo, and me. Apparently in 1948, before they invented color.

It looks like a stock image in a paranormal YA book cover

I like imagining Hanzo as a were-pitbull a la the old Buster Wylde webcomic.

And the next image in the series is entitled, "Randy Shrugged."

Just kidding. There’s no next picture.  Randy Henderson is still there on the beach, holding the moon and shivering. He was yelling, “Come on you guys, someone else do it now–seriously, my arms are getting tired,” but we all laughed and climbed the excessive number of stairs and went to bed. I bet he really has to pee.

He eats everything he can fit in his mouth, plays in mud, and LOVEd these little guys. I think he's a pigbull.

Hanzo saw the piglets from about twenty feet away and perked up, wagging his tail, just like he does for other dogs. We took him up to the fence and he touched their noses with his, then licked their faces like he does with people. He was pretty happy to just sniff and lick, but the piglets of course have a different agenda. They’re only curious until they find out whether there is food involved; Hanzo didn’t feed them, so they became disinterested and wandered away. Hanzo uttered a heartbreaking whine, just the way he does when there’s a dog he likes behind a fence he can’t play with, or a child in a stroller he can’t lick.

It was one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen.

Hanzo has a condition called “luxating patella,” or “kneecap fell out of place and is floating around like a kid with an illicit hall pass.”

(Dark as the inside of my dog's leg...)

Usually, this happens to small breeds like Yorkshire terriers or pomeranians, in which case it’s congenital. Sometimes, it happens to larger dogs, especially active jumpy ones like our spazzy little pitbull. We don’t know how it occurred. It could have been trauma that we didn’t witness (or that we underestimated the impact of), or it could have been uneven development in his hind legs that stretched out the ligament. Apparently sometimes dogs with muscular legs get a slightly bowed bone as they develop, and that creates sideways pressure on the patella.

He’s going in for surgery tomorrow morning. If I understand correctly, the vet is going to deepen the groove in the femur (top white blob) where that little bean-shaped thing (patella) is supposed to go, then stuff it back in, and attach the loose ligament to a pin in the tibial ridge (poky bit on the right of the bottom white blob)  so it doesn’t come loose again. Captain Jumpytron will have to remain quiet and mostly still for six weeks.

Because if he doesn’t, he’ll have to have surgery again, and then be still for twelve weeks. (As you can see below, that is going to be impossible without a boatload of tranquilizers.)

Poor Hanzo.

On Saturday, I went on a hike with Hanzo and my friends Elizabeth and Studphish (don’t ask, it’s a long story). We were looking for this little-known trail with lots of big sandbars sticking out into the Skagit River, but instead we found ourselves at a derelict concrete factory by an abandoned limestone quarry.

IT. WAS. SO. COOL.

It's a fixer-upper.

Stud was the first to venture inside:

(sing with me) Fat man in a little hole! Fat man in a little hole!

The inside smelled of pee and wet stone, exactly like a real goblin lair! We set about looking for goblins, but mostly we found dangerous holes and graffiti that could have used some copy-editing.

This building was built by the Swiss. Or maybe by Frank Lloyd Wr--Okay, I won't. I won't. Just put down the hammer.

He doesn't see the resemblance.

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When I talk about my dog, I don’t usually just say “my puppy.” I say “my pitbull,” or “my pitbull puppy.”

Why?

Because I want you to know, since you have theoretically found me intelligent, erudite, and pleasant, not to mention amazingly attractive, that I own this breed of dog. Many people have incorrect assumptions about American Staffordshire Terriers. Once you’re aware that I own one, you hopefully will feel comfortable enough asking your burning questions about whether or not my dog mauls children. I can give you answers about how it’s a dog, not a shark with legs, and a dog’s temperament is defined by its rearing, training, and owner’s attitude much more than its breed.

For the record, you may remember the Little Rascals had a pitbull to play with. Pitbulls have been long referred to as “nanny dogs” in the U.K. Many other accepted family pet breeds, even well-behaved specimens, make me much more nervous with small children than a well-behaved pitbull. For example? Lassie.