We live in an old Victorian home in a neighborhood that was stable before the advent of the auto. The "light fixtures" are on side walls - orginally set for gas light. There are four fireplaces in a house just about big enough for the two of us.
The day we moved in, we bought bulbs for the dining room chandelier only to discover it runs on candle power. There's dark, original woodwork; squeaky stairs; sagging and swelling floors that decide when or if doors will actually close; and lackadaisical old hardware which largely refuses to keep them shut.
Calling the house wiring an electrical "system" implies a level of organization and consistency that does not exist. Light switches do not command illumination, they request it, and are frequently told "no." But days later the same light will flicker without further attention and the bulb will blow.
You don't host a seance here, you live one. 24/7.
But that has never been a problem for Lily the Fearless. She isn't simply a year-old Yellow Lab - she is a proud Alpha Bitch.
Her country cousin Duke (a beautiful, bulky, blocky Black Lab who has been committted to sire her first litter next year) has a huge yard where he runs daily. He spends hours outside in the cold, rain and snow and loves it. Lily goes out on a leash to our postage stamp front yard and comes back in immediately - it's cold out there.
Duke has a good 15 pounds of muscle on our dainty little girl, but when they run together , guess who bullies and "herds" her mate?
Larger dogs up and down the block just nod their heads when she atempts to show them who is in charge. She has no fear -- except for the cable box.
It's been acting up and spontaneously resetting several times a day , each time sending Lily directly to Charlie's lap , shaking uncontrollably and trying to get herself into the smallest space possible.
She doesn't raise an eyebrow to the sound of footsteps on the stairs when we're both settled in another room, but cable box rebooting makes her cower and cry.
We've had her since she was eight weeks old, so know she was not abused by cable interference in her formative years. This is simply bizarre.
Does anyone have any theories? Is there a painful high-pitched sound associated with the box? Is cable the new delivery system for non-resident poltergeists? Is she simply that afraid that she'll never see "The Dog Whisperer" again?"
What's up here? Is it possible to use the remote control to change the dog's channel?




Copyright 2007 Judi Griggs