Robbi may be the true exception to us unprepared Californians. At the first sign of weather (anything in Southern California other than bright sunshine and perfect 75 degree temperatures (F) is called "weather"), she initiates a building plan. Going into the back yard, she gathers a variety of materials and creates temporary shelters for the dogs. Her latest achievement in architecture is an impressive lean-to constructed of plastic fence post remnants topped with a very large piece of heavy marine plywood. It stands about 2 feet high and covers about three square feet of ground space. The one element still to be conquered in Robbi’s calculations remains the husky seismic force…how much physical pounding can such a structure take? Although built for the Siberians to take shelter underneath, our dogs have a propensity to take to the high ground. Anything that gets them up higher than ground level is a treat. So, Robbi’s rain shelter comes to be viewed as sun deck or observation platform. The huskies clamor to stand around on top of it!

At 3:30 in the morning a sudden cloud burst awakens me. Knowing that Taz and Nicholai are out in the wet stuff, I trundle down to the backyard to bring them in. Of course, all the indoor dogs take advantage of the moment to follow me and rush outside. Then they find out it’s raining. Then everyone rushes back inside. The already soaked Taz, who revels in adverse weather, takes his time, sauntering in last. However, Nicholai is not among the assembled masses. I call his name and the reply is a sharp cry of panic and anguish. Oh no! Nicholai must be in trouble! Barefoot, I rush out into the rain and find Niko atop of the lean-to. He is frozen to the spot, afraid to move a muscle. I call him and he answers with another deep whimper. Then I see the problem. The marine plywood is slightly buckling under his weight. Every time he moves a muscle the plywood reverberates like a wooden trampoline. Like the uninitiated voyager on a pitching ship in rough seas, the husky is terrified of falling down. Granted, in hindsight, it may be quite funny, yet the moment filled me with compassion.

I rushed over and hugged and comforted the 85 pound, wet husky. Now soaked and covered with fur myself, I gather him up, gently placed him on the ground behind me, shielding him from the back door. Thus, he was able to come romping in proudly in front of the other dogs and not lose face. Apparently Niko’s new burst of confidence proved infectious. By the end of the following day the lean-to had totally collapsed, undoubtedly under the combined weight of several newly self-assured huskies. Such little things; so many important lessons: Robbi’s repeatedly preparing a place before the storm and in spite of the fact she knows it will undoubtedly and gleefully tear it down. Refraining from mirth at another’s expense. Offering a small boost in times of uncertainty. Helping to place troubled and uncertain feet on firm ground. Assisting one to avoid embarrassment. Lending future confidence. Watching at the exuberant huskies ramble joyfully over the rubble of the lean-to, I came to appreciate so many things, especially Robbi’s patient attempt to shelter the dogs. In so many ways, she does the same for me…and so often, too. So many little things can add up so quickly and build such a significant difference. One glance and the boldly assured Nicholai inspires a renewal; a search for any way or means, no matter how seemingly insignificant, that I might take to enhance the life of another. Scott, Robbi, TAZ and the Siberian Cyclone "Seeing much, suffering much, and studying much, are the three pillars of learning." -- Benjamin Disraeli TAZ Adventures © Scott Ringwelski All Rights Reserved – Used by Permission Correspondence: ColonelTAZ@yahoo.com

In the continuing saga of Taz... Robbi and I have developed a highly sophisticated transit system of rotating various dogs and cats about the house and yard. Necessitated by various encounters, combats and vet bills, this coordinated effort maintains an environment where certain elements ofcanine and feline do not combine. In chemistry, this is like taking alarge block of sodium and dropping it into a bucket of water. The resulting explosion would level the block. Thus far, it has worked admirably with only a few minor personal and furniture items being trashed by dogs out of boredom or frustration. The Amazing Chessie, the cat the survived the feline version of therenown magic trick of sawing a female in half (via the help of Taz'teeth), stayed outside last night. Taz was inside the house this morning so that Ninja and Megan could enjoy the back yard in peace without Taz instigating a fight between them for fun. When Robbi left for work, she opened the door and there was Chessie, waiting to come inside. Being an obstinate cat, she deftly tried to avoid the quickly closing screen door and the obstacle course of feet positioned to refrain her access. Suddenly, there was Taz. He was also cleverly navigating around legs and arms to keep him back from the screen door. Then, their eyes met. Two adversaries; mortal enemies. One who tasted bloodlust, the other who had almost tasted mortality. Two feet apart with nothing but an unlatched screen door between them... (and two humans standing right behind them about to wallop them if any real violence ensued) There is that instant, a mutual sizing up of the opponent, remembrance of the previous encounter, the fight or flight emotions and adrenaline surging...and... CHESSIE ATTACKED!!!

The little gray tabby roared to the screen door, leaping furiously upon it, aggressively hissing and flared out with her little legs, claws and teeth bared for an onslaught!! DIE YOU BEAST DIE!! one could see in the fierce expression. Taz was monumentally caught between being momentarily stunned and mildly bemused at this display and did nothing for a moment. Head down, partially crouched in the "I'm a wolf" hunter pose. My hand quickly to his collar, he lunged, but only about two inches. Chessie's manic expression of ferocity removed itself about as quickly as she did, leaping back about two feet. A new expression of "Get a grip Kitty! What on God's green earth did you think YOU where trying to prove!?!?!?" But since cats are not allowed, by law, to communicate emotions or feelings to dogs or humans, she quickly recovered long enough to arch, bristle and flash the fangs once again before departing. Taz, with typical husky narrow focus, was still trying to get to the cat that was on the screen door, long since departed. Devoted to a task already long ended and removed. Robbi and I chuckled and she was off to work. It's always a lesson watching pets. They are totally emotionally driven, often to their detriment. As husky owners, we have to guide and oversee our pets with cool logic and calm determination to insure their continued health and safety. That, and independent thinking and problem solving, is essentially what separates us from the animals. So often though, we don't use that God given capacity to it's best extent. I know my judgment is often clouded by emotion. But many times our pets are wonderful displays for object lessons. Old dogs can learn new tricks. Middle age guys can learn from a husky and a cat's example, too. And now that I've finished this story, I think it's time to go downstairs with my cool logic and determination and pry Taz away from the door where he's still searching for that darn cat... Until next time... Scott, Robbi and (still hot on the trail of the vanished kitty) …Taz Taz Adventures(C) Scott Ski ScottSki.net

Taz Adventures tickled taste buds Taz, the wonder rescue Husky (as in " I wonder what mischief he's into now!?!)or perhaps ( I wonder why I ever rescued this husky?) Our story continues... Chessie, our self important, independent and stubborn tabby cat, was let out along with Hook, a rather large street cat with an unusual curling tail (thus the name) that adopted us. Hook came back into the house while Chessie decided to explore. Her journey brought her quickly into the forbidding territory of the back yard. It was but a moment when, in the kitchen, I heard the familiar pitter patter of Taz feet along with those oh so familiar macho sounds a husky makes when play crosses the line into violent confrontation. I tore to the back porch and slid open the sliding glass door just as Taz made a fox like leap and snatched Chessie up by the shoulder and chest. ( I KNEW I shouldn't have let him stay up and watch Jurassic Park last night! He thinks he's a T-Rex!) Knowing his next move would be to start chomping, I throttled him by the collar and hoisted him about a foot off the ground. Chessie was curled under Taz' jaw and trying desperately to scratch the dog's nose and eyes. The cat seemed virtually crushed. Suddenly, some unexpected help arrived. Hook roared out to the fray and began attacking Taz' hindquarters, scratching and hissing madly. Working my hand into the dog's mouth, at the back of his jaw, I got him to open slightly and the cat dropped in a ball of slimy fur and hit the ground running. She ripped into the house as did the valiant Hook, right behind her. This left me, of course, looking like the worst kind of animal abuser. Standing there, keelhauling a 63 pound dog a foot off the ground, and of course, lacking a cat to tickle the taste buds, Taz resorted to the tried and true husky behavior of SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER! This, naturally, as the long suffering readers of this ongoing account well know led to... ... An immediate attack by Ninja, our chow/husky guard dog who knows nothing of play but takes each situation as a life and death struggle. Ninja, surmising that I was being attacked by Taz, bravely came through my legs and viciously started tearing into Taz' hindquarters. Dropping Taz, who commenced a counter offensive, gave me just enough space to get the heck out of the way, and then step back into the fray. I sat on Ninja (now a common procedure) and peeled the dog's teeth away from various other anatomy upon which they were very intent on shredding. It took ten minutes to finally move the dogs to separate enclosures in insure against reflareup of hostilities. Then it was off to find what was left of Chessie. Another 20 minutes elapsed until I located her in the very back of an upstairs closet. Amazingly, there was no blood. Taz had nearly bit her in half, as the skin and fur were gone and deeply imbedded fang marks were evident as well as slobber. But, she was walking and seemed to have not suffered discernible internal injury. I told her, as I comforted her, that this was pay back for teasing Taz earlier and for trespassing into Taz turf. She remained unrepentant. Most cats do. So was Taz, who, after all, thinks like a cat. Most huskies do. I guess I fail as an air traffic controller. A collision was inevitable. Fortunately, Chessie only had to forfeit about four of her remaining lives.... and they all lived happily ever after (not!) Scott, Robbi and occasionally...Taz And they all lived…