Disgustification

I am overcome by the heebie-jeebies and it has nothing to do with Halloween.

Last night I was treating an area on the dog that she had scratched into a raw, oozy mess.  She does this every once in a while, and I wind up tormenting her by holding her down to clean the area and then subjecting her to wearing a shirt that covers the swollen mess, preventing her from continuing to scratch at it.

Poor thing.

While cleaning her wound, I noticed a small, brown freckle off to the side of it, near her belly. It wasn't just any freckle. It was a moving freckle--a tiny, mobile freckle with tiny, minuscule legs.

ick.

I tried to remove it, thinking it was a flea, but this freckle wasn't coming off the dog.  It was a tick, and it had already started its meal.  

Freaking out, and suddenly feeling very itchy, I started going over the dog and found several more, barely visible, ticks.  Despite the fact that it was midnight and I had been planning on going to bed, the next hour was spent bathing the dog, throwing out her bed, stripping the bedding off our bed, which she had just been laying on for hours beforehand, and pulling at least 30 ticks in various stages of engorgement off of the dog.

I shudder just retelling it.

I applied Frontline Plus, which prevents flea and tick infestations, all the while kicking myself that I hadn't been better about regularly using it on her.  We've had her for over three years and this is the first problem we've ever had with fleas or ticks.  I let myself be lulled into thinking we didn't need to use it.  Foolish me.

Now, I am completely grossed out and investigating how many pounds of chemicals I need to buy to de-tickify our lawn and home.

And I still constantly feel itchy.

Poor Dog

My poor dog has been throwing up every day for the past week. She seems fine, plays fetch, runs around with the kids; and yet, at inconsistent times, she drinks a bunch of water and then proceeds to lose everything she ate hours before.

Today she visited the vet for her annual check-up where she usually embarrasses me with her hyper antics in the waiting room; the howling at the dogs in the back of the building, the whining and scrambling to get near any dog within 10 feet, the pulling on the leash. sigh. The vet prescribed her some special dog food and some medication to settle her stomach, but seems uncertain about what's wrong with her. I'm hoping it helps because I'm tired of scrubbing the carpet and cleaning up the yard.

DH thinks she's suffering from a poor body image and trying to fit in with the other "cuter" dogs by developing an eating disorder, yet another victim of distorted messages of beauty. My theory is that she's tired of her food and protesting with a hunger strike, waiting for me to hand-feed her bits of bread with peanut butter on it, like I did yesterday when she couldn't keep any "normal" food down.

The PB sandwich never made its way back up.

Weird Things I Notice

A few weeks ago, while the kids and DH were away for a couple of days, I did some painting and
"redecorating". I had decided to get rid of the fancy, shiny, goldish comforter with accompanying shams and dust ruffle. It was too much, difficult to wash, and was getting snagged by the dog's claws.

Instead, I decided to buy a nice, fluffy, cream blanket that would be easy to wash and would be less expensive to replace if the dog happened to ruin it somehow. I kept the gold dust ruffle, brought in a greenish throw for the bottom of the bed, and spent two hours in Target trying to decide which decorative pillows would work with the color scheme I had in mind.

Yes...very important...I know.

I got home put it all together and was pleased with the result. It was casual, coordinated and spa-like--in my mind anyway. It was only after I had bathed the dog, and let her jump up onto the bed, that I realized what I had done.

I had decorated my bed to look like the dog. Snuggled up to the pillows, I realized my whole color scheme matched her color scheme! Golds, browns, even the cream blanket matched the white stripe on her nose and the patch on her chest!




So...do I love the dog so much that I subconsciously wanted the room to match her? Or....did we I pick her out from the other dogs in the shelter because of my natural preference and attraction to earthy, neutral colors?

Hmmmmmmm?

Our Next Door Neighbor

Our next door neighbor doesn't really like us. It isn't an intense hate, with lots of angry words, more like a cool dislike with silent, disdainful looks.

It's silly, really. We are the kind of neighbors that most people would want. No wild parties. No loud fights at 2:00 am. We do a reasonable job in keeping up with mowing our lawn.

But still, they don't like us.

It could be because when we first moved in, almost seven years ago, our son was still a baby. At the time, they had one of their grown children living at home. He would pull up in his car, at midnight, with the stereo blaring, go inside the house--stereo still blaring--and forget about going back out and turning off his car. The houses in our neighborhood are very close together. There might be 10 feet between our two houses. So, a car, which is sitting on the neighbor's front lawn, is really almost inside your house. It's not conducive to sleeping babies.

Several times we went over and asked...quite nicely...if they would mind turning the music down. Apparently, this was an unforgivable offense in their eyes, and they have disliked us ever since. At one point, when we were replacing our fence, I had to get them to sign a release that they were OK with the fence company tearing down the old, falling-apart fence that we shared, so that we could replace it. When I knocked on the door, before I had said anything, the lady opened the door and said, "What's wrong now!" Shocked, because we hadn't asked them to turn the music down for almost a year, I hesitatingly explained about the fence. She signed the papers and I left.

Years passed and one day the dog ran after the boys, because they had forgotten to close the front door when they went to check the mail. Tink eagerly followed them and upon seeing people next door, pranced over and began sniffing them. I heard the boys call that Tink was out and I retrieved her. The whole incident was about 10 seconds long. It might as well have been an hour to our next door neighbor, who quickly began shouting and reacting as if we had turned a vicious pit bull loose on her family. Never mind the fact, that out of the two and a half years we have had our dog, that was the only time she got loose.

Today, as I looked out my kitchen window, I saw someone walking their black lab off-leash. They non-chalantly watched their dog go into my neighbor's yard and poop right in the middle of the lawn. After it had done its business, they continued walking. That's really rude and disgusting, but not the point.

As I stared at the messy pile, I wondered, "Do I go and clean up dog poop, that doesn't belong to our dog, just to keep my wacky neighbor from thinking that our dog did it out of some sort weird vendetta that she thinks we have?"

I left it there. Hopefully, she'll see it before she steps in it.

My Dog Embarrasses Me

Exactly two years ago, my boys--then 3 and 5--and I walked into the local animal shelter looking for a dog. After a few visits we found one that was just the right size and temperament for our home. She was a 32 pound German shepherd mix. She came with the name Tinkerbell, perhaps one of the poorest choices for her and really only suitable for homely chiuauas and the pocket pooches of celebritantes.

She has turned out to be a good dog for us. She's good with the kids, never has accidents or destroys anything in our home. She has a lot of energy, but inside the house is relatively calm. She loves to fetch and can catch a ball in mid-air. She keeps the yard free from squirrels and stray cats, although they love to sit atop of our 6 foot privacy fence, tantalizingly out of her reach.

However, every time I take her to the vet, she embarrasses me. She pulls frantically at the leash, barks incessantly--setting off the dogs in the back of the clinic--and generally is a frenetic, neurotic nuisance. The vet always comments on how hyper and excitable she is. That's a nice way of saying she's a pest.

I try to convince him that she is only like that at the vet's office, but he's not buying what I'm selling. I swear it's true. She really isn't like this at home. He nods his head in doubtful agreement, busily filling out his paperwork willing to let me delude myself about the weirdness of my dog, in his opinion.

Once we get into the car to leave, my normal, cute dog is back. I look at her with barely suppressed irritation and remind myself that I don't care what other people think about me....or my dog.

ho-hum.

My Busted Dog

My dog loves us. She loves to be near us. If we sit on the couch, she lays right in front of it at our feet. If we are at the table, she works herself into the corner closest to it and lays there, waiting for us to be done. If we are outside in the yard, she follows us around curious as to what we might be doing in her domain.

We do let her up on our bed, during the daytime and also at night if we are watching TV in the bedroom. Usually, she'll jump up and place herself at our feet again, or if she is feeling really affectionate, lay her body lengthwise against our legs.

However, even though we defy all those dog training books about letting dogs up onto the bed, we do have some rules:

The only absolutely forbidden area for the dog is the couch and any chairs in our home. We enacted this as a way to protect guests. They can find a safe haven from licking and jumping at any couch or chair in our house. She is so well-trained in this rule that even if her squeaky tennis ball lands on the couch during an indoor game of fetch, she will refuse to jump up and get it, but will instead stare at it with great intesity and eagerness, barking for us to come rescue it from this beige wasteland.

When she is on our bed, we only let her lay on the outside cover and decorative pillows. SHe is not supposed to be in the sheets or on our unprotected pillows.

At night, when we begin getting ready for bed, she gets thrown outside for her last chance to take care of her dog duties! (haha I said duty...y'know like doody.... yes, 5-year-old humor has worn off on me! :-) ) Then, after a few minutes, she is brought in and banished to the kitchen where a luxurious dog bed, that is twice as big as what she actually needs, awaits her. Two cast-off feather pillows are placed "just so" for her comfort. The only thing missing is a mint to adorn them. Trust me, she could really use a mint..

She is not allowed back in the bedroom until morning. She used to lay on her own bed all night long until my son would let her out in the morning. However, lately she has been roaming the house at night and several times we have come out to see her laying at the threshhold of our bedroom, staring longingly at us in the dark.

Sometime last night, she decided to go for broke and creep into the den with the alpha dogs(us). I kept hearing the faint jangling and tinkling of her collar in the wee hours, but was too tired to investigate. When I could take it no more, I got up and nearly tripped over a huge, warm lump at the foot of our bed. I grumpily order her outside, thinking maybe she needed to go out.

By the time she finished and came back in, I was too awake to sleep. I goofed around on the computer, then finally laid down on the couch, trying to spare my husband from losing more sleep. He eventually got up and headed out for a meeting. When I finally roused myself from slumbering, I got up and found this:

She played me! It was all just a ruse to take over my bed and sleep on my pillow!

That dastardly dog.

5 am

5 am.

tinkling dog collar.

tired me.

maybe she needs to learn how to let herself out.

too awake to sleep.

too tired to be coherent.

All Better.....

Well, the wasp sting has slowly faded away and Tink's snout has returned to its pre-trauma size. She was a little lethargic yesterday because of the Benadryl, but it helped the swelling go down within an hour of being used.

Now, she is back to her weird, quirky self.

So, file this fact away for future use:

Benadryl: it's not just for humans anymore. *


*please consult your vet before using in your own dog....

My Poor Dog...

My dog makes no sense.

When encountering any large, black thing that isn't moving--such as garbage cans, storm drains, and holes in the ground-- she crouches as low as possible to the ground and tries to skirt around it, expecting that at any moment it is going to spring to life and devour her. However, in the back yard, she routinely chases and jumps at any flying bug that passes before her curious snout. That's not such a great idea in Florida. I have seen her stand on her two back legs and jump after insects and wasps. Once, she snatched a moth out of the air right next to me and ate it before I could stop her. It took about .000005 seconds. It was only a matter of time before something turned the tables on her.

After calling her inside, she layed herself between the couch and the table and kept rubbing her snout repeatedly against the floor. Knowing that something wasn't quite right, I called to her. Instead of springing to me with her usual enthusiastic bounce, she slowly walked to me with her head down and ears back, reluctantly making her way across the room. Her face was completely swollen except for her right eye. Her nose and muzzle tripled in size and the flesh around her left eye was puffy, red, and left only a small opening to peer out of. She looked miserable.

Remembering a conversation with the vet from about a year ago, I recalled that he said dogs could take Benadryl for allergic reactions. I hurriedly dialed the vet and explained what was happening and they gave the correct dosage for her weight. She needed one tablet of Benadryl.

Of course we didn't have tablets; we had children's syrup. So I frantically searched the medicine cabinets for a plastic syringe used for dosing the kids. I found an old, dusty one. I washed it out, put 2 tsp of liquid in it, and laid Tink down to receive her medicine. Prying her swollen mouth open, I squirted the pink, bubble-gum flavor elixir into the back of her throat and prayed for the best.

It's been an hour and a half and she seems better, but still looks awful.

I guess tomorrow we'll see how much of a learning curve she has. If she is still jumping after and hunting every miscellaneous bug, then we'll know that our dog is a little shy of a full load of brains.

My poor, pitiful dog. Being beaten by a a measly wasp has got to be humiliating for her wolfish nature.

Just For Fun

"Don't anybody mess with my toy......and that means you, Lady!"(see below)

My mom's dog, the giant Rottweiler, loved "playing" with Tink over the Holidays. Really, I think she wanted to eat her...all in fun, of course.

Back To The Dog Park

After several weeks of avoiding the dog park, I finally decided to give it another go. I just hoped that I wouldn't encounter Tall Blonde Woman again. It was a beautiful day and Tink had great fun running her feet ragged while playing fetch. Several other dogs eventually joined us and she ran around happily. No one tried to pin her or attack her so that's always a good thing!

One of the dogs we met there was in the process of training to be a therapy dog. His owner works with autistic children and brings him with her some days when she's teaching. That would be a fun thing to do. Unfortunately, I don't think Tink would be a candidate. She's too aloof. She loves us dearly and wants to be wherever we are, but she is not an overly affectionate dog. She likes a few pets and that's it...definitely not the lap dog type. But we love her quirks and all.