Stressed Out And Grumpy

So, Nashville is in the throes of a 13-year cicada bloom, and normally these weird little critters wouldn’t bother me except my dogs love to eat them, and apparently they are 100% pure protein, which to a dog is like being on a five-day crack binge so I’m going nuts.

Just imagine: an 8-month-old pitbull on a five day crack binge. There simply are no words. Riley has been in timeout three times today.

I mean, Jesus.

I think I know how the parents of two-year-olds feel. Well, no, actually, I don’t. You can’t lock your toddler in a wire crate and grab a glass of wine while he howls in the other room.

Can you?

Cutest Damn Dog Video Of The Day

Lately I've caught Riley chasing the white tip of his tail and it's just too cute not to share:

We’re All Getting Older

I’ve Earned These Gray Hairs, Dammit

At the beginning of the year I wrote about training for a half marathon. It was supposed to be last weekend in Louisville; I had to give up after pounding too many miles on concrete in the winter ice and cold; my hip gave out. Seriously.

You know you’re old when you say things like, “my hip gave out.”

All of our animals are getting older. Believe it or not, Cleo used to be a glossy deep brown, all over. She’s a Chocolate Lab/Rhodesian Ridgeback mix, meaning she looks like a Chocolate Lab with two swirls and a pronounced ridge down her back. She’s around 12 years old now.

The thing that breaks my heart about watching Cleo get older is, she needs me now more than ever. She needs me to give her a little extra time on our morning walks so she can go a little slower. She needs me to give her extra time to get up the stairs and she needs a few more belly rubs. Unfortunately, with two puppies in the house requiring training and raucous playtime at the dog park, she isn’t getting what she needs.

Also our oldest cat, Sylvie, is nearing her end. I’ve had to turn our spare bathroom into a hospital room. She gets subcutaneous fluids twice a day, is incontinent and hasn’t eaten in a week. I’ll probably have to intervene next week. But she still purrs -- loudly -- and still looks at me like she knows who I am. These decisions aren’t easy to make. And all of this takes time away from Cleo.

I can’t tell you how much I love this dog. Moms aren’t supposed to play favorites with their kids but let’s be real, we all do it. I got Cleo from Metro Animal Control -- the old pound, when it was out by the Bordeaux dump, and rated one of the worst animal control facilities in the nation. I got her when I was interviewing Jennifer Kinley of The Kinleys, whose big cause back then was reforming our pound; every interview she did then was at the pound to call attention to the issue. Big props to her for that. But I knew I couldn’t show up for an interview at the pound and not come home with an animal. Honestly, I figured it would be a cat, since I’m really a cat person. No one was more shocked than me when I came home with a large dog.

Cleo was in a run with about six other dogs, all of them barking and lunging at the fence and trying to get my attention. It just about broke my heart. But Cleo was different. She was calm, very Zen -- maybe even a little sad. I was later told she’d been at the pound for weeks past her expiration date; even the animal control employees knew there was something special about her.

I have lots of stories I could tell about Cleo but I think my favorite one is about the time we went to Florida. It was just two weeks after I adopted her and while I normally wouldn’t take a new dog on a road trip so soon after bringing it home, this vacation had been on the books for weeks. Obviously, I wasn’t going to send her to a kennel after she’d been in the pound all that time. So off we went.

I’ll never forget it: after two days of driving and a night at a hotel in Montgomery, Alabama, we pull up to our rental house right on the beach. I let the dogs out of the Jeep and there’s Cleo: she looks at the waves crashing on the sand, looks back at me, then back at the ocean, then back at me. A huge grin breaks out on her face, and her tail starts wagging so hard she nearly knocks herself over. Everything about this dog was saying, “I can’t believe this is true! That this is really, really happening! That I’m really here!” It was one of the best moments of my life.

Making a dog happy is a ridiculously easy thing to do, but it never stops warming my heart.

Cleo still has a few good years left in her. This isn’t a memorial. I’m just sad to see her get older.

Dog Blogging

I'm going to be super busy the next couple of days so in lieu of blogging, here's a video of Riley trying to take Chaka for a walk. Now if I could only teach him how to run the vacuum ...

Because You Can Never Be Too Prepared For These Things

Who Will Look After Me When You've Gone To Be With Jesus?

Hey folks, with the Rapture just a few weeks away, have you thought about what you’d do if all this Dominionist Christian theology actually turned out to be true?

I’m not talking about your immortal soul and accepting Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and savior. I’m talking about those loved ones left behind -- namely, your pets.

Thankfully, while you’ve been off selfishly at Bible study or proselytizing to your friends and neighbors before the big day, someone has been thinking about these loyal companions. According to some folks’ theology, Fluffy and Fido won’t make it to heaven because they don’t have souls. Hard to believe, I know: you’d think a lifetime of selfless and undying devotion no matter what you look like or what an asshole you are would grant them entry into the Afterlife. Sadly, no.

Fortunately, a wonderful new service has been created: After The Rapture Pet Care. Now this is what I call entrepreneurship!

Here’s how it works: for a one-time fee of $10, Christians can register their pets with After The Rapture Pet Care (the fee is supposed to deter fake accounts). Then when the Rapture happens, the After The Rapture network of non-Christian/atheist pet caretakers is activated. And you can rise up, secure in the knowledge that some heathen, animal-sacrificing Satanist lovely non-believer will care for your pet after you’re gone.

Of course, if they don’t, you’ll have no way of knowing since you’ll be spending the rest of eternity worshipping Jesus. And you’re not allowed to meet your pet caretaker pre-Rapture because of confidentiality concerns. But at least you tried to do the right thing and who knows: that could be the final good deed to push you over into the “saved” column!

And for those non-believers who want to sign up to be volunteer pet caretakers: have at it! You might be able to get a really cool car or big screen TV into the bargain. Why not? It’s not like the newly-Raptured Christians are going to use them.

[/sarcasm]

Seriously, I’m pretty sure this has to be a hoax or a scam, although they claim it’s not .

Life Of Riley 2.0

We had a potential adoptive family for Riley and were all lined up to meet them, at which point the reality of life without Riley set in.

We think we'll keep him. I think he's happy. What do you think?

Gone, Never Forgotten

This week I had to put my 19 year old cat Frasier down after a long battle with kidney disease. I’d brought him back from the edge several times in the past with doses of subcutaneous fluids and a special diet. But last Friday he started to decline and all of my old tricks weren’t working. By Monday he was obviously feeling bad and all the vet could recommend was more subcutaneous fluids, a heating pad, and an appetite stimulant.

By Monday night he had lost control of his bladder and was unable to walk. He spent the night caterwauling, letting me know he was in pain. Tuesday morning the decision was obvious. He was gone almost before the needle left his skin.

Regulars will recognize Frasier from his frequent blog appearances (notably here.) He had a lot of personality and after nearly 20 years together we had developed quite a friendship. We’d been through a lot together.

I got Frasier from a coworker back when I had a “real” job. He found Frasier at Shelby Park, hiding behind the tires of a parked car. When my coworker saw the car’s owner get behind the wheel and start the engine he ran screaming after her: “Wait! There’s a kitten under your car!” He saved Frasier’s life.

My coworker couldn’t keep him, so I bit. I’ll never forget the day Frasier came home. It was one of those unseasonably warm days in December; I watched through the window as my coworker carried him up the walk to my front door, just a tiny little ball of beige fluff. It’s no exaggeration to say I fell in love with Frasier instantly, through the window, before I’d even met him. My first words to him were, “Hi honey, you’re home!” I named him Frasier Fur after my Christmas tree. We were best friends ever since, despite his penchant for letting me know he was unhappy by peeing on things, like my bed.

Frasier and I went through a lot. Bad boyfriends. A move out of state to a lake in Kentucky ... and a move back to Nashville. Marriage. New cats, new dogs.

My favorite Frasier story involves his soul mate, Sylvie. Sylvie was a little fluffball who came into my life in a very long, convoluted way. The short version is that I got her from Metro Animal Control: she was maybe three weeks old and fit in the palm of my hand. She probably weighed under a pound, and that was mostly fleas and fur. I had to feed her kitten formula by hand her first few weeks with us. She was in bad shape: terrified, traumatized, and desperately needing a friend. Frasier was that friend.

One night I was awakened by a ... sucking sound. That’s the only way I can describe it. I turned on the light and saw Sylvie nursing on Frasier’s boy nipples. It cracked me up. Sylvie “nursed” on Frasier’s belly for months, and if it hurt, he never let on. In fact, she nursed on him so much that his boy nipples swelled and the fur fell off of his stomach. One weekend a neighbor saw Frasier’s belly and asked “oh, is she nursing kittens?” To which I replied, “HE’S nursing ONE kitten!”

Frasier and Sylvie were buddies for the rest of his life. You rarely saw one without the other, even right up to the end. Sylvie misses her friend, I can tell, and I suspect like any long-bonded couple she will be meeting him on the rainbow bridge soon.

I don't have too many Frasier pictures in a digital format, but here are a few:

Frasier On The Porch

Frasier & Sylvie

He Thinks He'll Keep Her

Life Of Riley

Domestic Goddess Ina Garten Watches Over You

I haven’t posted on the new pup in a while, mostly because I’ve been too busy trying to keep track of a playful, active five-month-old puppy. Christ but it’s exhausting.

Riley has every bad habit known to dogs. He eats poop, has dug pits in our front yard, chewed the shit out of the shrubbery, and has gnawed the leg of our antique dining room table, a fucking family heirloom!, to the size of a toothpick. He humps the dog beds and pulls like a John Deere tractor on the leash. He’s an escape artist who has figured out how to get out of our fenced yard not once but twice.

This is all part and parcel with being a puppy, which is precisely why I’ve avoided puppydom all these years. I mean cripes, if I’m going to devote my entire day to a young animal I would have had kids.

Le Sigh.

Anyway, he’s also cute as a button. Just when I’m at the end of my rope he does something that makes you laugh or reminds you that yes he will grow up, some day. He and Chaka are major playmates -- they play so hard sometimes, I wonder if they’re really playing. Even Cleo, my elderly, arthritic Ridgeback/Lab mix, got into the action a few times.

And he’s smart as the dickens. Training is going well; he’s learned to “drop it” when he grabs my gardening glove and prances around the front yard showing off for the other dogs. He’s sweet and gentle and gets along well with everyone at doggie daycare.

And I’ve realized that Riley is a lot like my dearly departed Zelda. So much alike, actually, that it’s scary. I had always thought Zelda was some mutt mash-up of Lab, beagle, and who knows what else. But I realize now she probably had a lot of Pibble in her. Zelda and Riley are so alike in so many ways, and Zelda was so devoted to me, that I’m starting to wonder if reincarnation isn’t for real and Zelda hasn’t found her way back to me.

Do you think that’s possible? For an animal to come back from the other side? It’s an interesting thought.

Chase! And Chaka is the rabbit!

It's Play Time! (Honest)

Pittie Party

Some of you have asked for an update on the pibble puppy who found us last week. In a nutshell: It’s puppy madness!

We’ve named him Riley and he is fitting in nicely with the menagerie. The vet checked him out yesterday and said he’s a little bit underweight but generally in good shape, save yeast and bacterial infections in his ears.

He’s about 6 months old and like most puppies his age, he's a little play monster! He and Chaka really go at it ... a little too much, I sometimes think.

Puppies are something I’ve studiously avoided. They are a lot of work and I mean a LOT of work. It’s the kind of thing where I need to clear my schedule for six months before I can even think of taking on a puppy. So I have to say this unexpected arrival has been a bit stressful. However, Riley is a real sweetheart. We’re teaching him to walk on a leash without dislocating my shoulder or dragging me down the street ... it’s slow but he’s learning. And we’re teaching him to exert a little self-control, for example not barging through doors as soon as they open. I must say he’s doing a little bit better in that regard.

Riley’s favorite thing is to lie on his bed right in front of the fire. He’s a little heat-seeking puppy monster, perhaps because he’s a tad underweight. It’s really cute when he snores at night.

While Riley is fitting right in and gets along great with the other dogs and cats, we are still not committed to keeping him. I've reached out to local Pittie rescues in the hopes of finding him a permanent home. With two dogs and 8 cats I have to think we're at our carrying capacity.

Are you my Mommy?

Here We Go Again

A stray dog showed up in front of our house this morning: no tags, collar, etc. We've alerted the neighbors and put up flyers but I think he's settled in. What do you think?

Etta's Newest Trick

So cute ...

Sunday Cat Blogging

Ella is fascinated by the underwater programming on HDNet:

Don’t Be Cruel

Brittney Gilbert, formerly of Nashville, writes of her family’s experience in the Nashville flood. Apparently her dad and stepmother had to be evacuated to a shelter where they were greated with this:

They did make it, but once they arrived at the senior citizen center he was told he couldn't bring his (tiny, tiny) lap dog in the facility. Not sure what they thought he would do with a 3 pound dog in a flood, but since he was told the dog could come, after some bitching, the dog got to stay.

Similarly, a refugee from Antioch staying at the Lipscomb Red Cross shelter had to leave her pet rabbit ... in the trunk of her car.

What the hell? Why do we make people abandon their pets when they’ve abandoned everything else in the world? They’ve left their homes, their worldly possessions, they might have lost everything. Why do we tell them they can’t take the one thing that might offer them some comfort--the family pet?

We saw this play out during Hurricane Katrina, we see this play out in every disaster where people seek shelter. No other country does this.

I don’t get it. It’s cruel -- not just to the animals, it’s cruel to the people.

A Story About Zelda

Better times: Zelda at play

Yesterday Mr. Beale and I had to put Zelda down. She’d been ill for quite a while, and yesterday morning she let us know that she didn’t have the strength to fight any longer.

Zelda was my first dog, abandoned by some puppy dumpers at Land Between The Lakes. She managed to find her way to the Admin building where I saw her on my way in to work one morning. She was covered in sores, ticks, and fleas, looked pretty emaciated, but nevertheless did her best to lay on the doggie charm in the hopes that someone would give her a forever home. I was the sucker who bit. That was 15 years ago and I never looked back.

Zelda was a charmer. She looked like a Lab that got shrunk in the wash; her small stature gave her a bit of a Napoleon complex in that she hated any dog smaller than her. But she loved children, I think because they were her size.

One summer day after work Zelda and I were hiking LBL’s Honker Trail--one of my favorite places to hike because one travels thick woodlands, gentle meadows and gorgeous lakeshore, all in 4 1/2 miles. Wouldn’t you know, halfway into the hike Zelda disappeared after a critter, not to be seen again.

This had never happened before and I grew increasingly alarmed as I called and called for her, but no Zelda. As the light began to fail I grew seriously worried that night would fall with me in the middle of dense forest with no flashlight. I was kicking myself for my stupidity, hiking alone in the late afternoon; when you work in a place like that you tend to ignore all of the safety guidelines you tell the tourists.

Just as I thought I’d be forced to leave Zelda lost in the woods, I heard this great crashing through the forest. What should I see but a huge fallow deer buck with a massive rack of palmated antlers, running through the trees not 200 yards away. I stood in awe at the sight of this magnificent animal--then busted out laughing as I saw my little dog Zelda right on the buck’s heels, a huge grin on her face. She had flushed a fallow deer buck and by God she was in it to win it. Never mind that the buck was 10 times her size. What the hell did she think she'd do with it, even if she managed to catch it? It was hilarious.

She was big in heart and spirit. That’s what I loved about her. Without further ado, a Zelda retrospective:

Time for a swim!

Does this cat bed make my butt look big?

I can haz war on Christmas?

This belly won't rub itself!

Meet The New Dog

Yes, we took the plunge! This is Chaka, adopted from Bonaparte's Retreat, the wonderful animal rescue organization here in town founded by Emmylou Harris. Bonaparte's Retreat takes adoptable animals due to be euthanized at Metro Animal Control and gives them a second chance at finding a family.

Let me say she is adorable, sweet, playful, eager to learn, and in every regard an awesome dog. Of course, she's been with us all of four hours.

Cats are handling the new dog pretty well, mostly curiously cautious, or cautiously curious. Cleo the dog has ignored her most of the day, I think she's in denial. And Zelda the Wonder Dog, well, let's just say she's been giving me the hairy eyeball all afternoon.

Zelda The Wonder Dog!

She walks! She runs! She plays! Two weeks after surgery!

Then & Now

Several folks have asked how Zelda is doing since her mystery accident which left her paralyzed.


Here she is after her surgery. I was able to bring her home last Monday. She was paralyzed for several days, then slowly was able to sit up, move a paw, wag her tail. There have been quite a few accidents in the house, and I have the cleanest floors in the neighborhood because I was mopping them once or twice a day!

Meanwhile, I have some awesome arm and leg muscles from lifting a 40-lb dog and carrying her outside every hour and a half. Silver linings!

Here she is about five days ago, sitting up but not really ambulatory. Then at the end of last week it’s like her leg muscles suddenly remembered what they are supposed to do. She’s taken a few shaky steps outside, I’ve been able to entice her to try to walk with biscuits and other treats. She actually took about three steps today and stood, shakily. So I’m starting to think the doctor was right when he said she’d be recovered in two to three weeks.

I don’t want her to overdo it, and unfortunately we have hardwood floors in the house, which is hard for her. But we’ll try walking some more outside where the grass is soft and she can dig her claws into the soil and see what happens.

I’m frankly amazed. After seeing her completely paralyzed for so many days, I had little hope that she’d be able to walk, or if so, without some kind of cart or other assistance.

She is truly Zelda the Wonder Dog!

Then

Zelda, two weeks ago:



As of yesterday she was still paralyzed. We'll know more today.

Goodbye, Boomer

[UPDATE]:

Thanks everyone for their kind words. I came home from an appointment just now and found him collapsed on the floor. We will be saying goodbye tonight.

And thanks to Murphy Road Animal Hospital for dispatching a doctor to our house to handle this. I just couldn't do it at the doctor's office, he was so frightened there.



Today has been rough, tomorrow will probably be worse. One of our dogs is losing his battle with cancer rather quickly, and will need to be put down. He has a tumor on his liver and he's now unable to hold his urine, eat, or sit still for more than 5 minutes. The vet has given us a tranquilizer to calm him down and he will be put down tomorrow.

Boomer wasn't the brightest dog in the world but he was the sweetest. He's always had a big heart -- figuratively speaking, though an irregular heartbeat was one of his many medical ailments. He's also suffering from dementia, and over the past few weeks has steadily declined. He now gets lost in his own yard.

Farewell to a sweet dog. Farewell, Boomer.

Does This Bed Make My Butt Look Big?

Zelda is temporarily without a bed, but she had no qualms about stealing one from the cats. Unlike Goldilocks, however, this one is far from "just right."