This one — between dog and elk — looks to be a joyful one, at least if we humans are reading it right.
Elk have attacked dogs and dogs have attacked elk.
But these two certainly seem to be playing. Check out the dog’s wagging tail, and the seemingly playful gait of the elk.
Joe Fleck says his dog Clara played with the elk for a good 10 minutes last month in his back yard in North Bend, Washington.
“We’ve never seen it before,” Fleck told KING5. “We’ve heard her barking before but this is the first time we looked to see what she was barking at.”
“They kept running back and forth with each other. It struck me that it was like two dogs playing with each other,” he said.
Posted by jwoestendiek December 9th, 2013 under Muttsblog, videos.
Tags: animals, behavior, dog, dogs, elk, encounter, inter-species, pets, play, playing, species, video, washington, wildlife, yard
An Arizona woman is crediting her adopted pit bull with saving her life after she and the dog were attacked by a pack of javelina.
Heidi Diedrich said the two-year-old dog, who she adopted from a county shelter eight months ago, chased off as many as five of the wild animals after they charged her and knocked her to the ground in Scottsdale on Thanksgiving day.
JoJo, the pit bull, received more than 100 sutures for his wounds but is recovering.
Diedrich said she and the dog were walking before sunrise in a park near her Scottsdale Ranch condo when she heard hooves behind her and was knocked to the ground.
“I couldn’t see anything,” she told the Arizona Republic. “I just know I kicked something.”
JoJo wriggled out of his collar and both he and the javelina disappeared in the darkness. Diedrich didn’t see what happened next, but she heard fighting and yelping in the distance.
When JoJo reappeared he was covered with blood. Vets found about 10 cuts and gore wounds from the animals’ tusks.
He is expected to make a full recovery.
Jim Paxon, a spokesman with the Arizona Game and Fish Department, said Diedrich and JoJo were likely attacked because the javelina felt threatened.
“They might have been running from something else and already … felt threatened,” he said. “But when they came in contact with the lady and her dog, they were reacting to a perceived threat and they were acting like wild animals.”
Paxon advised anyone who encounters a javelina to quietly move away. If it’s too late for that, he recommends climbing a tree or fence, or running away in a direction perpendicular from them.
Posted by jwoestendiek December 6th, 2013 under Muttsblog, videos.
Tags: animals, arizona, attack, attacks, dog, dogs, javelina, pack, pets, phoenix, pit bull, pit bulls, pitbull, pitbulls, rescues, saves, scottsdale, wildlife, woman
A four-pound dachshund is being credited with scaring off a 400-pound bear and keeping it from harming a group of friends on a trip through the woods in Michigan.
The dog, named Bradley, was killed in the effort, but he just might have saved the lives of the humans his owner believes he was protecting.
“I believe honestly the outcome would’ve been different if Brad had not been with them,” John Force, Bradley’s owner said. “If the bear had attacked Brad, it certainly would’ve attacked the men who were bigger than Brad.”
On Saturday, a group of friends visiting the Forces ventured into the woods in Oscoda County on a golf cart, taking Bradley along for the ride, according to Upnorthlive.com
When they came across a mother bear and her cubs they stopped. As the bear and men stared at each other, Bradley jumped out and ran at the bear.
“Brad jumped off the golf cart and attacked the big bear, they got into a scuffle,” Force said.
Bradley ran back to the golf cart, but his bite wounds were severe and he died an hour later.
“He was only four to five pounds, but in his mind I think he thought he was 100 pounds,” said Lisa Force, John’s wife.
“…He was a little fighter a little scrapper,” John Force said, “and he didn’t think twice about attacking a bear. I guarantee you, he would have did it again.”
A new generation of Woestenducks entered the world Saturday, when the eggs laid by the duck named after my mother cracked open and at least eight — maybe more — ducklings emerged.
I was visiting Arbor Acres, the duck-crazy retirement community where my mother lives, and by the time I left that evening, eight of the eggs had hatched, and four more were about to, according to Bo Bowers, a resident who monitored the nest all day long from a nearby folding chair.
It was Bo who, when the Arbor Acres flock was dwindling last year, ordered 16 ducklings of various breeds, raised them in cages at his home until they were old enough to survive on their own, then released the newcomers — each named after a resident of the community — into the Arbor Acres pond.
The duck named after my mother was the first one to become pregnant. She built herself a nest of pine needles in which to lay her eggs under an azalea bush just outside the window of my mother’s room.
Bo counted 13 eggs in her nest last week, but when he later found one had been stolen and destroyed, apparently by a crow, he saw a need for increased vigilance.
He put a little fence around the nest, then watched and waited all Saturday — getting up from time to time to chase off the geese and other ducks who approached.
Once all the ducklings emerged, Bo gently gathered them, placed them in a box and took them home, ensuring that, for the next six weeks, they won’t become the victims of predators. Those include coyote, fox, crows, herons and at least one good-sized turtle who lives in the pond and, attacking from below, is believed to have pulled a few baby ducklings, bobbing along behind their mothers, into its depths.
On Saturday, I stepped outside my mother’s room and asked Bo how many eggs he was sitting on, and whether he’d like to borrow my tent for the night. Despite my teasing, he let me get close enough to take a picture.
Mother duck sat firmly on her nest, protecting the unhatched eggs, and making sure none of the ducklings ventured off. I was able to see one who poked its head out (that’s it under the hosta leaf, in the bottom right corner of the picture atop this post).
As news of the births spread, the crowd grew outside the window of my mother’s room. Other residents, staff and even a security official showed up to take a look.
Bo was still sitting sentry when I left. One could argue that he’s interfering with that whole “survival of the fittest” thing. But (being not particularly fit) I’ve never been a big fan of that. Besides, Bo, having brought the ducks to Arbor Acres, feels more than a little responsibility for them, and the second generation they are producing. He sees nothing wrong with giving them a headstart — at least until they’re big enough to avoid the snapping jaws of the turtle that lurks beneath.
I agree. Long live the Woestenducks.
Posted by jwoestendiek May 30th, 2011 under Muttsblog.
Tags: america, animals, arbor acres, assist, birth, bo bowers, dog's country, dogscountry, ducklings, ducks, eggs, guarding, hatched, headstart, helping hand, jo woestendiek, nature, north carolina, predators, road trip, sentry, survival of the fittest, travels with ace, wildlife, winston-salem, woestenducks
I think my paper towels — flowery as they are — say it best.
We’re moved — not settled, but moved – into the apartment in Winston-Salem, N.C., in which my parents lived when I was born.
After 40 different residences in 10 states over 57 years, and nearly a year on the road with Ace, circling the country twice, I’m back where I started.
Life, that is.
Here in the apartment in which I spent my first year — none of which I remember — we’ve still got a few weeks of unpacking/organizing/decorating ahead, but we’re getting comfortable (always dangerous). We’re back on the grid (always expensive). And we’ve got enough tiny bars of Motel 6 soap to last until 2015.
Returning to the ancestral homeplace was purely accidental. It was about the time Ace was diagnosed with a herniated disc. I started looking for a place that, unlike our mansion basement, didn’t require going up a lot of stairs. On an outing with my mother, who lives in Winston-Salem, I — seeking a better connection with my white boy roots — asked her to show me the apartment where she and my father lived when I was born.
When I saw a “for rent” sign in its window, it seemed to be fate – even though moving in, since it was unfurnished, would require reclaiming all the possessions I placed in storage 11 months ago, when Ace and I departed on our journey, and hauling them down south.
Moving day was also a homecoming for this desk (left), which my parents purchased on a trip to the mountains nearly 60 years ago, and which, when my mother moved into a retirement community, I took home to Baltimore.
It’s fragile, in need of repair, and I thought one more move would surely kill it, but it survived and now holds a prominent position in the living room in which it resided long ago.
That’s in College Village, an apartment complex when it was built in the late 1940s – in anticipation of Wake Forest University’s move to town.
It was built in a neighborhood – or what there was of one then – of far ritzier homes. And several longtime residents have told me there were objections to its construction at the time. All that affordable housing would lower property values, it was feared. My mother recalls a friend, back then, telling her, “You’re looking at the slums of tomorrow.”
It’s quiet, very quiet, and pleasant, most pleasant, with lots of grassy expanses. Birds are constantly chirping, and chipmunks are everywhere. There’s also an opossum who’s not shy at all.
The housing units themselves are small and unassuming, but sturdy — made when things were built solidly, with plaster walls. I haven’t heard the slightest peep from neighbors — a pleasant respite from my nights in Motels 6’s, where, more than once, groans and slamming headboards kept me awake.
Still watching the old budget, I’m trying to settle in without spending too much money — buying bookshelves from Wal Mart, my sheets from K-Mart, and hitting Target for my high end needs. It’s amazing how it’s impossible, even at so-called discount stores, to walk out having spent less than $100.
Unpacking, at first, was a little like Christmas, for I’d forgotten about many of my possessions during their time in storage. After a week, it has gotten old, and I’m down to mementoes and junk. and it’s all I can do to get through a box a day.
I wonder if, when I do get everything unpacked and put away in another week, that will be the time the urge to hit the road hits me again. If so, this time, I plan to ignore it — well, mostly.
Ace, who doesn’t like the noise involved with unpacking, likes to sit outside while I rip through boxes, amid the big oak trees, probably about my age, that line the street.
He seems to enjoy watching the squirrels feast on the dropped acorns, which pile up in mounds. He doesn’t chase the squirrels — unless they start to do that running around the tree trunk in circles making squeaky noises thing, in which case he’ll rush over like some overzealous lifeguard to get them to knock it off. He’s content, otherwise, to just watch them sit on their hind legs and nibble away. After a few days watching, he tried an acorn himself. It wasn’t to his liking.
Although there have been one or two more painful yelps since Ace finished up a second round of the medicine for his herniated disc, he seems this time to be getting better.
I’m not sure if he’s up for any more long trips, and I guess, as I try to read his mind, that he’d prefer hanging around and meeting the dogs and humans in the neighborhood. He’s still up for short trips though, eager to get in the back of the Jeep, which he’s no longer permitted to do by jumping. The handicapped ramp is part of his new routine.
Conveniently, there’s a bar and restaurant half block away, where my mother says there used to be a grocery store. Next door to it, there’s a gym I have no intention of joining, and in the basement, according to a sign on the window, ballroom dancing is offered. ( I checked with Ace and he’s not interested.)
The restaurant’s a little pricey, so when I visited I just ordered an appetizer — one whose selection may reflect the fact that, though you can take the boy out of the south, and the boy out of Baltimore, you can’t entirely take the south, or the Baltimore, out of the boy:
I will tell you this much, hon. They was some goo-ood eatin’.
Posted by jwoestendiek May 2nd, 2011 under Muttsblog.
Tags: ace, america, ancestral, animals, birthplace, college village, dog's country, dogs, dogscountry, furniture, herniated disc, home, home sweet home, homeplace, moving, north carolina, packing, pets, relocating, road trip, settling, squirrels, travel, traveling with dogs, travels with ace, unpacking, wildlife, winston-salem