Animal Lover

04/08/2021

03/08/2021

French Bulldog DM

03/08/2021

Hold my drink, I’ve gotta pet this dog..

01/08/2021

Do You love Bulldog? YES or NO.
Comment Section Bellow.
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29/07/2021

“The average dog is nicer than the average person.”—Andy Rooney

29/07/2021

Good Morning, Good🦮 Break Fast🐕🐕🐶.
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Turn On Notification 🔔 For Daily Cuteness

27/07/2021

26/07/2021

Also There’s Lovly Failings

22/07/2021

22/07/2021

21/07/2021

Why French🐈 Bulldog🐕 Men's Best Favorite❤️ Pet?
Comment Section Bellow.........

Via.. 👉 .........

06/07/2021

Should You Give A French Bulldog a Haircut?
People always have a lot of questions when it comes to grooming their Frenchies. They wonder why their dog’s hair is thicker in some places and thinner in others and why it grows so fast. French Bulldog can and should be shaved to reduce the hair all over their bodies.
Description of how to groom their dog: Wash dog with a shampoo that is formulated in dogs. Massage shampoo into coat thoroughly. Rinse the shampoo from the coat in the shower, paying close attention to the head, ears, and face, as these areas tend to collect oil from the skin. If your dog is uncooperative, you can try using a garden hose to rinse them off.
It is important to note that you should never shave your dog in an effort to keep him or her warm in the summer or cold in the winter. This does not work. It is also not recommended to shave a French Bulldog unless under advisement by your veterinarian.



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11/08/2020

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09/06/2020

Flamingo Love Story

09/06/2020

Flamingo Love Story

It is a black eye, to be honest. It was basically an error. We are not fond of this story.
—Scott Newland, Sedgwick County Zoo

Jay points the boat in the direction of a couple of large pink dots. And as we approach closer, the dots start developing long necks and legs.
—The birder Neil Hayward

Every once in a while they’d walk 10–15 feet apart, but then they’d just come back together and move as one.
—The birder Nate McGowan

On June 27, 2005, a ten-year-old flamingo escaped the confines of its Wichita zoo with another pale-pink inmate. Zookeepers hadn’t properly clipped either flamingo’s wings—a regrettable error, they later confessed—and the birds simply took flight when no one was watching. The fugitives, members of an “old world” species called the greater flamingo, had recently arrived in Kansas from a colony in Tanzania. They hadn’t even been named yet and were only identified by the numbered tags on their right legs; their s*x was also undetermined. Despite this lack of human knowledge, the flamingo known only as 492 would soon join a long list of headline-making runaway animal celebrities, thanks to its bold escape.

Famous animal fugitives are legion; this past year alone has featured the viral jailbreaks of Inky the Octopus (who squished across an aquarium floor to slip out a drainpipe); Ollie Bobcat, reported missing from her enclosure in the National Zoo last Monday (but found near the bird exhibit Wednesday); and Sunny, a red panda that ghosted from the Virginia Zoo (and is still at large). We humans thrill over the creatures that outsmart us—those that go on the lam and rewild themselves into the free world. Perhaps we see in them a covetable wiliness, or maybe the escapees just make our planet—so much of it now cultivated, mapped, and conquered—feel vast again. And as long as these runaways have no taste for humans, we tend to support their newfound freedom.

Later in 2005, bird-watchers spotted 492 in a Wisconsin waterway, all alone and dangerously out of place. Its companion was nowhere to be found and was thus presumed dead. But 492 thrived: still twitchy, still searching. Then, at some point over that winter, 492 flew south, about the time that another, much younger flamingo absconded from its own home in Mexico and headed north.

The shores of Texas and Louisiana are a bird-watching Mecca, stocked with a carousel of species that visit that water in a yearly rotation. Dozens of breeds of gull, willet, coot, heron, and crane all take their turns in the Gulf, and when occasional rogue birds—called vagrants—arrive in the water, they send birders scrambling for their cameras. Such was the case a decade ago when Internet groups began buzzing about the two spots of pink light that a few birders had seen in the surf. When the birders found boats to take them closer to the pink spots, those spots became bodies: an anomalous and bonded interspecies pair of flamingos, neither of which should be anywhere near Louisiana’s salty shores.

Though the news of 492’s rediscovery was funny enough to make the national papers —fugitive found!—bird-watchers had little use for the large, pale flamingo. Its new companion, however, was a real prize. That deep-pink “American flamingo”—a smaller breed, native only to Mesoamerica and South America—was still considered wild, its species the only member of the Phoenicopteridae family that was on the American Birding Association’s checklist. Stateside birders couldn’t see something like it without a plane ticket and a passport.

Born on a Yucatán nature reserve some twenty thousand flamingos strong, the vibrant bird had had little contact with humans, save the one who banded it with a leg tag reading HDNT. It is unclear what prompted HDNT to leave its tight community, though some people now suspect the winds of Hurricane Rita blew the juvenile up to the States. No matter how it happened, when the bird arrived in late 2006, it was listed as the first wild American flamingo to set webbed foot on Louisiana soil.

Eight years later, this pair of “resident-vagrants” had become a staple in the Gulf, their annual returns to Port Aransas, Port Lavaca, or the Calctsieu Ship Channel noted on the birding blogs without fail. All species of this genus are highly social animals, many of which pair up for life, and these two rare birds were always, and I mean always, together.

Austin-based birdman Nate McGowan remembers “hearing people talk about those two forever. I was waiting for the right time and the right friends to head down,” he told me. Finally, one Saturday in November 2014, McGowan and three other birders drove to Cox Bay near Port Lavaca, where the flamingo duo had reportedly shacked up for the season. The group sped, in a tiny fishing boat, to an inlet behind the Alcoa plant. When the famous pink dots came into view, McGowan raised his binoculars to his eyes.

“Dude, that’s our bird!” his friend shouted. It took five more minutes to motor to the closest spot they could reach without spooking the happy fugitives—about fifty yards away, huge oil refineries rising behind their figures in the distance.

“It was so funny,” McGowan says. “They did everything in unison: standing in unison, stepping in unison. They even flew in unison.” His photos from the day include a gorgeous shot of what looks like a hot-pink bird (HDNT) with a pale-pink shadow (492). Their matching forms rise up from the water in a baffling synchronicity. As they launch, their legs retract into their bodies, bending at the knees in twin acute angles.

“We floated there for like thirty, forty minutes and just looked at them,” McGowan remembers. He calls the time spent in their presence “a Zen, catharsis thing,” likening it to “being on opiates—just watching them dip their bills down and shuffle out krill, watching them walk or fly a little.” A half hour spent this way showcases the real pull of bird-watching, according to McGowan. “Just to be out there, watching something beautiful instead of, you know, Law and Order.”

Sadly, McGowan’s sighting of the pair together was one of the last. In 2015, a page for birders announced a 492 sighting in Refugio County, but HDNT was nowhere to be found. Subsequent spottings were of 492 only, and now birders have little hope for the fate of its rare compatriot. Given the monogamous tendencies of flamingos, the bond between the two was one from which neither would voluntarily escape.

It’s easy (for this human, at least) to imagine 492 and HDNT as some cinematic outlaw couple, the leads in a Peckinpah film, maybe: a shifty Midwestern drifter finding solace in a fugitive from south of the border. Like Warren Oates and Isela Vega, the pair took off together in search of adventure (or maybe just solace). I can also see these two in a different kind of dusty romance, as best-friends-against-the-world Thelma and Louise. Or, considering their age difference, maybe they’re more like Ryan and Tatum O’Neal in Paper Moon: two vulnerable and—despite the fact that they look so much alike—guarded scamps.

Whether they were lovers, buddies, or partners in crime, 492 and HDNT flew side by side for nearly a decade. When they bent their heads together and touched beaks, their necks made the shape of a heart. And that looks like love, no matter if its between best friends, family, or lovebirds. Real love boils down to keeping close in the time you’ve got.

“Birds die,” McGowan told me. “Assholes shoot whooping cranes and eagles fly into wind turbines. Bad s**t happens in the world.” It makes sense to me, then, that a pair of gorgeous outlaws like this could only be together if they understood the stakes McGowan described. If they moved as one against the ticking clock, being beautiful together, even in a world that thinks their love makes absolutely no sense.

09/06/2020

It is a black eye, to be honest. It was basically an error. We are not fond of this story.
—Scott Newland, Sedgwick County Zoo

Jay points the boat in the direction of a couple of large pink dots. And as we approach closer, the dots start developing long necks and legs.
—The birder Neil Hayward

Every once in a while they’d walk 10–15 feet apart, but then they’d just come back together and move as one. On June 27, 2005, a ten-year-old flamingo escaped the confines of its Wichita zoo with another pale-pink inmate. Zookeepers hadn’t properly clipped either flamingo’s wings—a regrettable error, they later confessed—and the birds simply took flight when no one was watching. The fugitives, members of an “old world” species called the greater flamingo, had recently arrived in Kansas from a colony in Tanzania. They hadn’t even been named yet and were only identified by the numbered tags on their right legs; their s*x was also undetermined. Despite this lack of human knowledge, the flamingo known only as 492 would soon join a long list of headline-making runaway animal celebrities, thanks to its bold escape.

Famous animal fugitives are legion; this past year alone has featured the viral jailbreaks of Inky the Octopus (who squished across an aquarium floor to slip out a drainpipe); Ollie Bobcat, reported missing from her enclosure in the National Zoo last Monday (but found near the bird exhibit Wednesday); and Sunny, a red panda that ghosted from the Virginia Zoo (and is still at large). We humans thrill over the creatures that outsmart us—those that go on the lam and rewild themselves into the free world. Perhaps we see in them a covetable wiliness, or maybe the escapees just make our planet—so much of it now cultivated, mapped, and conquered—feel vast again. And as long as these runaways have no taste for humans, we tend to support their newfound freedom.

Later in 2005, bird-watchers spotted 492 in a Wisconsin waterway, all alone and dangerously out of place. Its companion was nowhere to be found and was thus presumed dead. But 492 thrived: still twitchy, still searching. Then, at some point over that winter, 492 flew south, about the time that another, much younger flamingo absconded from its own home in Mexico and headed north. The shores of Texas and Louisiana are a bird-watching Mecca, stocked with a carousel of species that visit that water in a yearly rotation. Dozens of breeds of gull, willet, coot, heron, and crane all take their turns in the Gulf, and when occasional rogue birds—called vagrants—arrive in the water, they send birders scrambling for their cameras. Such was the case a decade ago when Internet groups began buzzing about the two spots of pink light that a few birders had seen in the surf. When the birders found boats to take them closer to the pink spots, those spots became bodies: an anomalous and bonded interspecies pair of flamingos, neither of which should be anywhere near Louisiana’s salty shores.

Though the news of 492’s rediscovery was funny enough to make the national papers —fugitive found!—bird-watchers had little use for the large, pale flamingo. Its new companion, however, was a real prize. That deep-pink “American flamingo”—a smaller breed, native only to Mesoamerica and South America—was still considered wild, its species the only member of the Phoenicopteridae family that was on the American Birding Association’s checklist. Stateside birders couldn’t see something like it without a plane ticket and a passport.

Born on a Yucatán nature reserve some twenty thousand flamingos strong, the vibrant bird had had little contact with humans, save the one who banded it with a leg tag reading HDNT. It is unclear what prompted HDNT to leave its tight community, though some people now suspect the winds of Hurricane Rita blew the juvenile up to the States. No matter how it happened, when the bird arrived in late 2006, it was listed as the first wild American flamingo to set webbed foot on Louisiana soil.

Eight years later, this pair of “resident-vagrants” had become a staple in the Gulf, their annual returns to Port Aransas, Port Lavaca, or the Calctsieu Ship Channel noted on the birding blogs without fail. All species of this genus are highly social animals, many of which pair up for life, and these two rare birds were always, and I mean always, together.

Austin-based birdman Nate McGowan remembers “hearing people talk about those two forever. I was waiting for the right time and the right friends to head down,” he told me. Finally, one Saturday in November 2014, McGowan and three other birders drove to Cox Bay near Port Lavaca, where the flamingo duo had reportedly shacked up for the season. The group sped, in a tiny fishing boat, to an inlet behind the Alcoa plant. When the famous pink dots came into view, McGowan raised his binoculars to his eyes.

“Dude, that’s our bird!” his friend shouted. It took five more minutes to motor to the closest spot they could reach without spooking the happy fugitives—about fifty yards away, huge oil refineries rising behind their figures in the distance.

“It was so funny,” McGowan says. “They did everything in unison: standing in unison, stepping in unison. They even flew in unison.” His photos from the day include a gorgeous shot of what looks like a hot-pink bird (HDNT) with a pale-pink shadow (492). Their matching forms rise up from the water in a baffling synchronicity. As they launch, their legs retract into their bodies, bending at the knees in twin acute angles.

“We floated there for like thirty, forty minutes and just looked at them,” McGowan remembers. He calls the time spent in their presence “a Zen, catharsis thing,” likening it to “being on opiates—just watching them dip their bills down and shuffle out krill, watching them walk or fly a little.” A half hour spent this way showcases the real pull of bird-watching, according to McGowan. “Just to be out there, watching something beautiful instead of, you know, Law and Order.”

Sadly, McGowan’s sighting of the pair together was one of the last. In 2015, a page for birders announced a 492 sighting in Refugio County, but HDNT was nowhere to be found. Subsequent spottings were of 492 only, and now birders have little hope for the fate of its rare compatriot. Given the monogamous tendencies of flamingos, the bond between the two was one from which neither would voluntarily escape. By Elena Passarello February 7, 2017OUR CORRESPONDENTS
Elena Passarello’s column is about famous animals from history. This week: two flamingos escape to the Gulf.

DESIGN BY KRISTEN RADTKE.



It is a black eye, to be honest. It was basically an error. We are not fond of this story.
—Scott Newland, Sedgwick County Zoo

Jay points the boat in the direction of a couple of large pink dots. And as we approach closer, the dots start developing long necks and legs.
—The birder Neil Hayward

Every once in a while they’d walk 10–15 feet apart, but then they’d just come back together and move as one.
—The birder Nate McGowan

Names: 492 and HDNT

Species: Phoenicopterus roseus and Phoenicopterus ruber, respectively

Years Active: 2005–present

Distinguishing Features: yellow ID tags, monogamous tendencies

Skills: escape artistry, international travel, standing on one leg

Habitat: The Gulf Coast (by way of Tanzania, Kansas, Wisconsin, and the Yucatán)

Additional Notes: On June 27, 2005, a ten-year-old flamingo escaped the confines of its Wichita zoo with another pale-pink inmate. Zookeepers hadn’t properly clipped either flamingo’s wings—a regrettable error, they later confessed—and the birds simply took flight when no one was watching. The fugitives, members of an “old world” species called the greater flamingo, had recently arrived in Kansas from a colony in Tanzania. They hadn’t even been named yet and were only identified by the numbered tags on their right legs; their s*x was also undetermined. Despite this lack of human knowledge, the flamingo known only as 492 would soon join a long list of headline-making runaway animal celebrities, thanks to its bold escape.

Famous animal fugitives are legion; this past year alone has featured the viral jailbreaks of Inky the Octopus (who squished across an aquarium floor to slip out a drainpipe); Ollie Bobcat, reported missing from her enclosure in the National Zoo last Monday (but found near the bird exhibit Wednesday); and Sunny, a red panda that ghosted from the Virginia Zoo (and is still at large). We humans thrill over the creatures that outsmart us—those that go on the lam and rewild themselves into the free world. Perhaps we see in them a covetable wiliness, or maybe the escapees just make our planet—so much of it now cultivated, mapped, and conquered—feel vast again. And as long as these runaways have no taste for humans, we tend to support their newfound freedom.

Later in 2005, bird-watchers spotted 492 in a Wisconsin waterway, all alone and dangerously out of place. Its companion was nowhere to be found and was thus presumed dead. But 492 thrived: still twitchy, still searching. Then, at some point over that winter, 492 flew south, about the time that another, much younger flamingo absconded from its own home in Mexico and headed north.

PHOTOS BY NATE MCGOWAN.

The shores of Texas and Louisiana are a bird-watching Mecca, stocked with a carousel of species that visit that water in a yearly rotation. Dozens of breeds of gull, willet, coot, heron, and crane all take their turns in the Gulf, and when occasional rogue birds—called vagrants—arrive in the water, they send birders scrambling for their cameras. Such was the case a decade ago when Internet groups began buzzing about the two spots of pink light that a few birders had seen in the surf. When the birders found boats to take them closer to the pink spots, those spots became bodies: an anomalous and bonded interspecies pair of flamingos, neither of which should be anywhere near Louisiana’s salty shores.

Though the news of 492’s rediscovery was funny enough to make the national papers —fugitive found!—bird-watchers had little use for the large, pale flamingo. Its new companion, however, was a real prize. That deep-pink “American flamingo”—a smaller breed, native only to Mesoamerica and South America—was still considered wild, its species the only member of the Phoenicopteridae family that was on the American Birding Association’s checklist. Stateside birders couldn’t see something like it without a plane ticket and a passport.

Born on a Yucatán nature reserve some twenty thousand flamingos strong, the vibrant bird had had little contact with humans, save the one who banded it with a leg tag reading HDNT. It is unclear what prompted HDNT to leave its tight community, though some people now suspect the winds of Hurricane Rita blew the juvenile up to the States. No matter how it happened, when the bird arrived in late 2006, it was listed as the first wild American flamingo to set webbed foot on Louisiana soil.

Eight years later, this pair of “resident-vagrants” had become a staple in the Gulf, their annual returns to Port Aransas, Port Lavaca, or the Calctsieu Ship Channel noted on the birding blogs without fail. All species of this genus are highly social animals, many of which pair up for life, and these two rare birds were always, and I mean always, together.

Austin-based birdman Nate McGowan remembers “hearing people talk about those two forever. I was waiting for the right time and the right friends to head down,” he told me. Finally, one Saturday in November 2014, McGowan and three other birders drove to Cox Bay near Port Lavaca, where the flamingo duo had reportedly shacked up for the season. The group sped, in a tiny fishing boat, to an inlet behind the Alcoa plant. When the famous pink dots came into view, McGowan raised his binoculars to his eyes.

“Dude, that’s our bird!” his friend shouted. It took five more minutes to motor to the closest spot they could reach without spooking the happy fugitives—about fifty yards away, huge oil refineries rising behind their figures in the distance.

“It was so funny,” McGowan says. “They did everything in unison: standing in unison, stepping in unison. They even flew in unison.” His photos from the day include a gorgeous shot of what looks like a hot-pink bird (HDNT) with a pale-pink shadow (492). Their matching forms rise up from the water in a baffling synchronicity. As they launch, their legs retract into their bodies, bending at the knees in twin acute angles.

“We floated there for like thirty, forty minutes and just looked at them,” McGowan remembers. He calls the time spent in their presence “a Zen, catharsis thing,” likening it to “being on opiates—just watching them dip their bills down and shuffle out krill, watching them walk or fly a little.” A half hour spent this way showcases the real pull of bird-watching, according to McGowan. “Just to be out there, watching something beautiful instead of, you know, Law and Order.”

Sadly, McGowan’s sighting of the pair together was one of the last. In 2015, a page for birders announced a 492 sighting in Refugio County, but HDNT was nowhere to be found. Subsequent spottings were of 492 only, and now birders have little hope for the fate of its rare compatriot. Given the monogamous tendencies of flamingos, the bond between the two was one from which neither would voluntarily escape.

It’s easy (for this human, at least) to imagine 492 and HDNT as some cinematic outlaw couple, the leads in a Peckinpah film, maybe: a shifty Midwestern drifter finding solace in a fugitive from south of the border. Like Warren Oates and Isela Vega, the pair took off together in search of adventure (or maybe just solace). I can also see these two in a different kind of dusty romance, as best-friends-against-the-world Thelma and Louise. Or, considering their age difference, maybe they’re more like Ryan and Tatum O’Neal in Paper Moon: two vulnerable and—despite the fact that they look so much alike—guarded scamps.

Whether they were lovers, buddies, or partners in crime, 492 and HDNT flew side by side for nearly a decade. When they bent their heads together and touched beaks, their necks made the shape of a heart. And that looks like love, no matter if its between best friends, family, or lovebirds. Real love boils down to keeping close in the time you’ve got.

“Birds die,” McGowan told me. “Assholes shoot whooping cranes and eagles fly into wind turbines. Bad s**t happens in the world.” It makes sense to me, then, that a pair of gorgeous outlaws like this could only be together if they understood the stakes McGowan described. If they moved as one against the ticking clock, being beautiful together, even in a world that thinks their love makes absolutely no sense.

07/06/2020

With all the challenges that today’s pandemic-reality world presents us, what a blessing our animals give us by their comforting, loving presence. It’s wonderful to be able to spend so much time bonding with them, isn’t it? I know many of you also have chosen this time at home to foster or adopt a special animal in need. I’ve created a special meditation to support this new relationship and the “new home” adjustment. CLICK HERE to watch. Please let me know what you think in the video comments!

07/06/2020

With all the challenges that today’s pandemic-reality world presents us, what a blessing our animals give us by their comforting, loving presence. It’s wonderful to be able to spend so much time bonding with them, isn’t it? I know many of you also have chosen this time at home to foster or adopt a special animal in need. I’ve created a special meditation to support this new relationship and the “new home” adjustment. CLICK HERE to watch. Please let me know what you think in the video comments!

In honor of the blessings adopted animals bring to our lives, today I want to share with you about a dog in my life whom I’m so incredibly grateful for! This dog gave me the spark that changed the course of my life forever! This is a picture of me back in 2004 with my best friend, soul companion and life teacher, Dakota. Dakota was an Australian Shepherd mix I adopted from Sacramento County Animal Control when he was just a puppy, and he was my life companion for 16 and 1/2 years. When Dakota was young, I first learned to practice Reiki, and I believed it was a self-care practice to help calm my anxiety and had no intentions to share it with Dakota or other animals. Fortunately, he had other ideas!

Right after my first Reiki class, I started practicing my self-care Reiki every day and Dakota had the strangest response. He was always at my side, but always at a respectful distance of 3-5 feet. He was not particularly a lap dog… until Reiki. As soon as I would start my Reiki meditation, Dakota would get up and walk over to me, placing his body very purposefully (and awkwardly, LOL) on top of my feet.

At first I just smiled and humored this unusual behavior, keeping my focus on my practice. As I would finish, Dakota would get up, move a few feet away and lie down again. After a few days of this, suddenly I realized that somehow Dakota was sensing the peacefulness my self-care Reiki practice was creating and that he wanted “in.”

I sat down on the floor with him and said, “Dakota, do you like Reiki?” He looked at me, sighed and rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes as if to say, “Finally, Mom: Yes, I want to practice this with you! It makes me feel relaxed too!”

In this moment I had two very big “lightbulb” realizations. First, I realized that Dakota sensed and was comforted by the peaceful space my Reiki practice was creating within me, even without me having a purposeful intention to share it. How could that be? Which led me to my 2nd realization: Clearly Dakota understood what I was doing much better than I did; I may have been an energy newbie, but he was an expert already!

This heartwarming, peaceful, bonding experience with Dakota, all these years ago, set my heart on a mission to 1) learn to listen to animals when I practiced and 2) discover what parts of my meditation practice that animals were drawn to and 3) figure out how best to create that deep relaxation for every animal, especially those that were traumatized or didn’t trust humans.

Over the years, this mission has inspired me to share meditation with shelter animals such as dogs, cats, rabbits and more, rescued farm animals such as horses, pigs, cows, goats, chicken and sheep. I’ve even had the amazing experiences of sharing meditation with rescued wild animals such as elephants, tigers, leopards, alligators, snakes, parrots, monkeys and more. Through the spark that Dakota created in me, and the path it set me on, I eventually discovered that there is a key to creating deep relaxation, peace, calm and comfort for animals, even when they may be facing pain or suffering. This key is the open-minded, open-hearted, compassionate space that meditation creates.

Learning how to meditate with animals in a way that made them comfortable, secure and empowered wasn’t easy. It took me many years of practice, trial and error. So amazing to think that it all started with the unusual behavior of my sweet, rescued pup, Dakota all those years ago.

I bet there’s an animal who has blessed your life and probably more than one who has inspired you to change your life in some profound way, opened a door to a new interest or inspired a new path towards healing. Perhaps you’ve invited a new animal into your family during these stay-at-home times. I’m sure they have many gifts and lessons in store for you!

If you’d like to share your story, I’d love to hear about it.

Stay safe, be well and may the animals light your way!