Cats, Dogs and Change Management

I’ve been thinking about change a lot recently.  Actually, I will say, I’ve been thinking about change for about eight years.  The only difference recently is, now I have been taking what I’ve been telling others to heart.   I’m listening to my own lessons.
 
The most recent change that has left me shattered, is of course, the brief but amazing stay of Millie.  She swept in and out again in only ten days, but the changes she brought with her affected every being in the household.  Puss, the old arthritic codger that he is, ventured into the house only twice when his usual habit of; sunbath in the morning sun, the sleep on Mum’s bed from lunchtime to dinner time, harass Mum for food the second she gets home from work, pop outside for a constitutional, sleep until Mum goes to bed, then sleep curled next to Mum until it’s time for breakfast, was broken by the big black boofa took over the garden and house.  He’s slowly coming around to being back in the house, although he still gives me the evil eye.
 
Oren has been more lastingly affected by, what is now being referred to as, the dogdog incident.  Oren has always been verging on feral, but now she’s full time outside.  I miss her.  She came in this morning and I gave her a hugs, she left shortly afterward leaving behind a thin layer of white hair on my clothes...somethings don’t change.
 
There are also two other additions to the house.  Jack and Danni are two 11 month old cats that I rescued about a week before Millie.  They are beginning to settle, but Puss and Oren are still hissing.  If only I could reason with them, ‘who would you prefer?  Big boofa or two pussy cats, just like you?’
 
So how does this link to change management.
 
Watching the animals I have noticed a few of things. 
 
Cats accept change like a 45 year old with 20 years tenure.  They really don’t like it.  They will resist with all their being and will even go elsewhere if someone will have them (I’m sure Oren now has a secret feeder).  You can’t reason with them, and no matter what you say they have to come to the party at their own pace, you give them all the information they require; in the case of cats, food, cuddles and reassuring voices, humans get training, written and spoken word and reassuring voices.  Yes, It’s amazing how a reassuring voice works, but only if you believe yourself and aren’t condescending.   It took Puss three months to accept Oren into the house three years ago.   Cats don’t trust you, you have to earn their trust and if you break it, it can take months if not years for you to get it back.  One mistake and you’re being judged by that for ever more. 
 
Dog accept change like a graduate in a new job out to impress.  Excitement is over flowing, they are happy you picked them.  They will do almost anything to please you, including checking in with you to make sure you’re still about and haven’t gone anywhere.  Loyal to a fault, a dog will accept any change you throw at them, even if it’s to their detriment.   
 
I don’t see these as lack or abundance of intelligence, I see this a establishment of routine.
 
I can pretty much tell the time of day by where Puss is in the garden or house.  In the morning her slowly moves with the sun, always staying just ahead of the shadows.  Shadows bring cool air.  In the afternoon when the sun is high in the sky, he’ll move inside to the stone floor of the dining room, before moving to my bed.  In the late afternoon he’ll be back outside and waiting by the gate when I pull after a day at work.  The weekdays and exactly the same.  Visitors are considered an inconvenience because they may, and usually do sit where the cat wants to sit at that time of day.  New toys, will sit ignored while the cat susses out its intentions, then, only if deemed to worthy and interesting will it get some action.
 
Dogs will have a routine, but are quite happy to break it for a walk, a ride in the car or visit from a new friend.  New things are fun.  New toys are to be embraced and enjoyed.
 
When you disturb that routine, it upsets the balance.  Puss will wander around looking at spots.  You can almost see the thinking process, ‘is this the right time for this spot?’ if it not, he moves o to the next until he’s found what he looking for.
 
This same goes for an employee that has a routine.  Do you do similar things when you get to the office (in whatever form that is), or even as a housewife/mother.  You do things in a certain order.  You make a cuppa, you boot the PC, you turn of the voicemail, you say ‘good morning to the person sat next you.  Have you ever greeted someone who on annual leave that day?  I have.
 
Ever quit smoking?  While your body craves the nicotine, your hands and mind crave the movements.  That hand to mouth action is just as hard a habit to break at the chemical intake.  It’s essentially a change.
 
Things happen in our lives that involve change, that we don’t think of as ‘change’.  Growing up, illness, family instability, a new person in the office, someone leaving the office.  We often write these off as ‘just the way life is’, but they all require a period of adjustment.  Sometimes we get warning, sometime we don’t.
 
With animals, they never get the warnings.  It just happens to them.  You can tell them for weeks before it happens, ‘I’m going to save a couple of poor kitties from death row, just like you were when we found each other.’  They don’t listen.   Well, actually they do listen, their ears twitch and go back, they tilt their head, but they don’t understand you.  It not until the change is upon them that they suddenly realise, ‘we don’t have a choice, but we’re going to fight it anyway’.
 
Then comes the passive aggressive behaviour;  staying out, mewing in a ridiculous pitiful tone but not taking any notice of your reassurances, hissing at the newcomer.  This is the same in cats as it is in human resistance.
 
I watched it, I’ve seen it.  Through observation I have developed this theory and I’m sticking by it.  The dogs calm down eventually, some quicker than others, but the cats, well you have to work very hard to win them over and it’s never as simple as giving them treats.
 

No, Really, it's not back pain

I went to the doctor today.  This isn’t an unusual occurrence due to my crappy list of heredity conditions, but what is unusual is that I went to one other than my usual doctor.
 
Dr. R is quite used to me walking in and hearing the reply to her question of ‘How can I help you today?’ I’m here for more drugs.  It means I simple need a new prescription.  She knows my background of polycystic kidney, hip reconstructions and blood pressure issues.  She’s also helped me scare the black dog away a few times.  She also comments on how remarkably self aware I am with what’s going on with my health and body.  After years of problems, it helps to be able to explain quickly and succinctly.
 
On Wednesday night I was woken with a pain in my side.  I’d been torturing myself allday about Millie, so I was a tad stressed.  This pain was deep in my left side and I knew straight away the pain was in my kidney.  I couldn’t sit, lay down or stand without extreme discomfort, so I went with the least painful and paced the bedroom and lounge.  After half an hour the pain went away, but my blood pressure was sitting in 149/99.  Not ideal.
 
Yesterday while I was giving a presentation at work, I felt the deep pain again across my entire lower back.  I also noticed something unusual in the bathroom.
 
I called the Doctor.  Dr. R is on leave, back Monday.  I made an appointment with a Dr. A. 
 
Saw Dr. A this morning.  I told him about my symptoms and history.  He tested me for back pain saying it unusual that pain should extend across both kidneys.  He begrudgingly asked for a wee sample.  Was surprised when I came back in less than two minutes.   I tried to explain I always drank a bottle of water before a doctors appointment out of habit.   He didn’t take my BP, he didn’t weight me.  He was surprised that I seemed to have a kidney infection without any symptoms of a bladder infection.  He explained that commonly (he objected when I used the word normally) ‘these things start as bladder infection and travel up to the kidneys’.  He asked me to cast my mind back to if I had had ‘any pain when urinating?’  He dismissed my concern that a cyst may have burst, which is a genuine concern based of family history, as ‘highly unlikely’ as he smirked.
 
At this point I was getting a little miffed.  I asked, ‘We’ve established that I have a kidney infection.  What can we do to clear it up?’
 
‘Well with kidneys such as yours, you must do everything to keep them clean and flushed at all times.  Do you drink plenty of water during the day?’
 
ARGH!  Now I understand why Muv used to say ‘Don’t try and teach me to suck eggs’.
 
He eventually gave me a prescription for antibiotics, but, boy did I have to work for it.  I had to sit through a 10 minute lecture on how to look after my ailing kidneys.  Like I needed reminding!?  I was told seven years ago by my Nephrologist that without the proper care I could be on dialysis by the age of 45 if I didn’t do as he said.  I do as he said.  45 is now only six years away.
 
I go back next week for a  follow up, thank goodness Dr. R will be back from her holidays.
 

It starts, and ends, with education

During a short break at work today I took a look at a leading Australian newspaper and it led me to two stories that piqué my interest.

The first was about the death of a 15 year old while she was playing ‘The Choking Game’. According to the article she and her friends had been texting each other about the natural high that it gives. I have a confession to make. I was due to give a talk to a group n Montreal in September, but due to financial issues (they plague me) I was unable to attend. The subject of the talk was ‘Breath Play’; this is where two consenting adults play with the oxygen supply, or lack of. It’s a sexual kink. Autoerotic asphyxiation (playing solo) is responsible for a remarkably high volume of accidental hanging deaths around the world, but often written down as suicide. More often than not, it’s boys or young men looking for the sexual high caused by the deprivation of oxygen to the brain during, self-pleasuring. No one wants to die at this time, but sometimes the complex rigging systems put in place in the case of ‘passing out’ fail.

It's not just teenagers - David Carradine, who died in a Thailand hotel room in 2007 was a well known player of 'the choking game'

While I’m sure the girl in the story wasn’t doing this for a sexual high, it’s never advisable to play these ‘games’ alone. Kids experiment. It’s a matter of fact. Accept it. We’ve all done things alone, that maybe we shouldn’t have. I know I have, many times, (although not recently). The important thing has to be stopping tragedy befalling others. This is one of those things that needs to be spoken about and not brushed under the carpet. When a parent, friend, sibling, or other unfortunate soul finds a loved one hanging, they should never touch the victim or scene and should immediately call the police. When these ‘games’ are being played, schools need to be aware in order to put a stop to them happening. Her parents, bless them, are, in this time of grieving and mourning choosing to send this message. They are to be commended for doing this at such a difficult time.

My thoughts are with her family at this time.

The other story was a resurrection of an old piece of trash talking from a politician, well there’s a surprise!?. This one is about a Queenslander Fiona Simpson saying you can ‘grow out of being gay’. Now she said this in 2002, but now refuses to confirm or deny her current sentiments on the issue. I’m guessing when I say, she’s still a fan of the Exodus Ministries and she still believes what she said nine years ago. The issue here is that she is now a frontbencher and should her party be elected in the next state elections she will have the Community Services portfolio. Not an ideal fit, I would say. But that’s my opinion. You can have your own. I’m glad I don’t live in Queensland, but to be fair NSW has its own twits in power. Equal rights are a right, not a privilege.

And this is why I don’t generally read the newspapers.

That's all I have to say on the matter

I am a horrible person. It was confirmed today when I took Millie back to the pound. It’s almost certain, unless by chance someone takes a chance on her, that she will be put to sleep next Thursday.

I made the decision this morning after a hell’va night last night. I managed to get Puss inside for the first time since she arrived on the scene. I put Puss in the bedroom and pulled the door to. Millie managed to get in and Puss just hissed at her. Millie barked at him, he ran, she followed, and Puss being slower than he used to be because of his arthritis, she caught him. I caught her as she got him. She let him go and he dashed out the kitchen window which was still open a smidge.

She jumped on the bed three ties in the night. Three times I had to get her down. Each time I lay there listening to her wander the house, wondering what she was chewing now.

This morning, I fed her as usual. Rang a few ‘No kill’ rescues and was told they don’t take surrenders.

I rang the three animal behaviour specialists that I contacted by email on Saturday and that I haven’t heard back from. No answer, and no voice mail.

For the first time since I got her, she lay quietly, just looking up at me.


When I returned from the pound, both Puss and Oren where waiting in the backgarden, but Cara waited for me to let her out the back of the car.


By surrendering Millie the black dog…The Black Dog has wormed his way back into the house. I’m a horrible person.

A Black Dog

For a while now I have been involved with animal rescue. I have a small four legged family, but I have been resisting adding anything larger than a fat cat to the crew until last Monday.

Pound Rounds on Facebook is a group made up of ladies that go to local pounds in Sydney and take pictures of animals for when they reach the PTS list. They do a great job and are sometimes let down by people not going through with offers of fosters. PTS = Put To Sleep. Most dogs will only have a maximum of 20 days before then are euthanized. Millie Dogdog was due for PTS the day after i picked her up.

I drove out to Hawkesbury Council Pound to have a look at PCC805. A black Great Dane X with something of a mystery. Maybe a mastiff, maybe a Staffordshire Terrier, maybe a Pit Bull, maybe a bit of all three. She was listed as be 3-4 years old, but I now know is closer to a year, give or take a couple of months. She’s covered in scars.

I wanted to foster her until the right home came up, but due to many fosters falling through, the only option was adoption. I still want to foster.

The first day home she was very docile. Doopy almost. Slept indoors, pooed in a couple of places.
The second day I took her to vet because she had diraeorra overnight and a cough. She was well behaved once in, but didn’t like the idea of going into the vet. Slept outside.
The third day a little bit bouncy, howled when I left for work. Attempted to sleep outside but she howled and whinged until I let her in. Slept by the bed.
The fourth day. I had to turn around and go home as soon as I got there. She broken into the house through the side window, broken glass everywhere. Wouldn’t sleep outside and tried to get on the bed several times in the night. Started to eat Cara’s toys.

Fifth day. Broke into the house through the kitchen window, luckily it was already open. I took her out for her first walk. She tried to sleep on the bed five times in the night. Swotted Cara, chased a cat. Continued to eat Cara’s toys
Day six, Saturday. She woke me for the fourth time in the night at 0645. I decided to just take her out for a walk. Mental bouncy. The worms quiet clearly gone, and the cough is nearly cleared up. Walks OK on the lead, doesn’t come when called, does not get down when told.
On the seventh day the sun was out to the tune of 35 degrees. She panted the day away but kept wanting cuddles. She would not leave me alone. Covered the lounge floor with stuffing beans for Skunk.
On the eighth day, I only had have a day at the office. I got home to find shoes destroyed. Tried to work from home, managed a couple of hours because she would not leave me alone. She moves around all the time, doesn’t settle. I took her for a mega walk, she could barely stand by the end. 30 minutes later she’d recovered. Bounce was back.

Today, the ninth day. Only jumped on the bed once in the night, but thought she was going to have Cara for breakfast. Both paws swotted her, and she had Cara in her mouth. Had to take little one to work. I wonder what she’s eaten by the time I get home. Knickers, shoes, bra or maybe a cushion or three. Turned out it was three pairs of shoes and the back of one of my steal toe caps

I have to be gentle in tone with her, she has clearly been beaten in the past. She cowered when I grabbed her collar after she ran away in the park a couple of days ago.
She wants to play, Cara isn’t big enough. Neither are the cats or chooks (yes, she’s had a mouth full of feathers).
She needs attention. Lots of it
She steals everyone’s food and toys

I haven’t seen Puss for two days
I haven’t seen Oren for since day three

I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. I can’t lock her out, she breaks in. I can’t lock her in, she chews stuff – in and out with door open, she chews stuff, but doesn’t drive the neighbours to drink.
I’m taking her out for walks every night, but the only way I can exhaust her for half an hour is to run her, that means letting her of the lead, she runs away and doesn’t always come back.

The thing is, I can tell she has a lovely giving nature and will be amazingly loyal to the right person, but I don’t think I’m the right person for her. She really need someone at home during the day, I don’t even come close to that...

I’m worried about her wellbeing and my sanity.

My book, please buy one :-)

Things Muv use...

...and a few things...

By Frances Carleton

Book Preview

Modern Comms

I’ve been thinking, about how Oscar Wilde would have liked the new era of digital communications.  He was a flamboyant man famous for quotes such as:  ‘There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked and bout and that is not being talked about’ and ‘I always carry my diary with me because one should always have something sensational to read’.
 
I have recently given in and created a Twitter account.  I resisted for a long time, but then I realised I was missing little snippets of information from some dear friends, so I signed up.  Personally I can rarely think of anything worth twitting, so I’m not a dozen a day poster, but I do enjoy reading others.

Today, just randomly, ‘What would Oscar Wilde post on twitter?’
 
I know he would have been blogging for years, he’d have his own website (more than likely banned in the more conservative countries of the planet), and I imagine he’d be BBF with Stephen Fry (@stephenfry), but only so he could keep an eye on the competition.  But wouldn’t they be FABULOUS together!?
 
I think Oscar’s tweet (just one of many) today would be something like, ‘So another dictator is dead.  I shall miss seeing his arenose black and white lungi on the BBC.’

What's really going on

Normally when I’m being smothered by the black dog of doom I hide away from everyone and everything, this time has been no different, but I have popped up for a moment to say a few things.

I want to set the record straight about a few things. Put everyone in the picture as to why I’m so low and why asking ‘how’s the job hunting going’ is just rubbing salt in the wounds.

Yesterday I left the house. I had too. I didn’t want too. I don’t want to do anything at the moment. That includes the dishes, and getting out of bed. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon and I sit here with panda eyes because I haven’t yet washed the make-up from my face…and you know what, I don’t care.

I don’t care that Cara has chook on the bed
I don’t care that I have a pile of dishes in the kitchen…I’m only eating what comes straight out of a tin, so what?
I don’t like going out in the car, not because I can’t afford to fill her up (I can’t), but because I’m starting to look at trees, concrete barriers and walls in an unhealthy way.

Yesterday someone called my Muv a fool. In an email. I woke up to am email that called my Muv a fool.

I’m supposed to be on a plane to Rome. Instead I’m having to talk to agents that keep dragging me into the city to ‘talk and find out where you want to go’. I want to go to Rome, Florence, Milan spend time with good friends on a balloon ride over Tuscany. Instead you’re wasting my time because I know you don’t have a job for me, but you have to keep your stats up. Meanwhile I've let TM down monumentally, which breaks my heart because I hate letting people down.

I feel myself on a countdown to homelessness. My rent is paid up until 1st November. After that I have no way of paying rent or any other bill that finds it’s way into the house. Currently there are no real prospects just lots of copies of my CV floating in the job ether.

I keep receiving emails and text messages asking why I’m ignoring them, that they have explained why they pulled out of this or that at the last moment. I’m not ignoring you, I’m ignoring everyone and everything because I have nothing nice or good to say. I’m not capable of saying it’s Ok that you let me down, because it’s not. I needed and wanted you there, to share the experience, that’s why I invited you.

If this leaves me friendless, I’m beyond caring.

I’m desperate and despite talking with friends I know that really no one has even the slightest clue how bad I am this time. It’s not just the complete lack of money, it everything. The chicken coop I order weeks ago arrived today and guess what, you need two people to put it up.

I’m rambling.

Goodbye Vodafone. Forever

My telephone contract with 3 ran out yesterday and after nearly 13 years with them as my mobile provider, I told them to get lost. Really I wasn’t telling 3, I was telling Vodafone to get out of my life.

Vodafone took 3 over earlier in the year and ever since I have been having issues with coverage, billing and everything that can go wrong with a mobile phone. I had many arguments with the ‘customer service’ department about incorrect bills, tariff increases without approval and no service in the Sydney CBD.

Of course I use the term ‘customer service’ loosely because when you call the Care Line you are diverted to a call centre in India manned by men and women calling themselves Betty and Bruce so they can ‘relate’ to you as they call you by your name at the end of every sentence.

Yesterday I was able to tell one of these Bettys I no longer wanted to be a customer. When asked why, I explained the many and varied.

[Please read the Betty with a thick Indian accent in mind]
Betty: ‘As you’ve been with Three for a while and we’d like you too switch to Vodafone, would that be acceptable to you?’
Me: ‘There is no way on this earth that you could entice me to stay.’
Betty: We would like to offer you a discount.’
Me: ‘NO, unless you could offer me a free mobile service for life and 100% coverage.’
Betty: ‘I’m sorry Jodie, we are not able to offer that level of discount.’

That level of discount!?

They are idiots. I am please to say that I am no longer a Vodafone customer, whether by self-infliction or takeover. I have left them behind and anyone that asks of my experiences as one of their customers I shall shout from the rooftops to avoid them at all costs (and it would cost you $$).

Let’s see how Optus do over the next few months shall we?