Who Let the Dogs Out!?!

Oh Man, I hate it when they make me play Pibble Credenza! Holding very still now, so dad’s important papers don’t get lost…. maybe a lunch break soon?

Starting the Year Off Right!

There’s a saying, “Begin as you aim to continue.” So, it only made sense that January 1 should be a Dog Day.

We decided to take Porter and Jules to the Doggie Lanes. This was, of course, to show our commitment to The Pups in the coming year, to honor our responsibility to make sure all their needs are met…. and, to ensure that the year started off right for The Boy and I, because Porter will be too tired for the neurotic wake up call for the rest of the week!  :)

The pups are always worn out after an hour at the Doggie Lanes. From wrestling? No. Chasing the ball? Nope. It’s from continuously running from one end of the lane to the other, making sure no other dogs or people are coming. Check it out:

Of course, if another person comes, they will jump and wag frantically as they pass, willing them with every ounce of their Pibble souls to come close enough for petting. And, if another dog comes, they will go barking, snarling bananas, to ensure that the other dog stays far away.

On one particular occasion, a woman on crutches came hobbling by, tethered by an extender-leash to a tiny chihuahua-type dog. Porter & Jules were doing their vicious attack dog routine, and The Boy and I were holding them back by the collars. (For the record, we don’t think either of The Pups would actually hurt another dog – but they do talk a pretty ferocious game.) The woman pulls the quivering pup right up to the fence.

“OK to come in there?” she asks, smiling brightly. I looked at The Boy, struggling to hold Porter back. I felt the fatigue in my own bicep as I dragged Jules away from the fence. My brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t.” Her face sunk into a disappointed pout, and she just stood there, as if she was actually considering it.

And that’s how we knew it was time to go home.

My Little Bruiser

It’s been awhile since we’ve taken any of the pups out of The Doghouse. After the HOA Incident, when we switched to our Morning Ninja walking routine, we pretty much only let them outside in the dark. (Please do not call Animal Control. Of course we still take them to the Dog Park – the pups cannot live their whole lives in a 2 bedroom condo. But those are super-stealth, highly coordinated missions where The Boy drives the car past the condo, and I come flying out the front door at the last minute, leash in hand, and the chosen pup and I jump into the car as he rolls past, no stopping necessary. On occasion, I am known to yell, “Go! … GO!” as The Boy hits the accelerator and we scream out the gates of The Highly Desirable Condo Complex.) So yes, we do leave the condo… but I’m talking about the small, everyday trips that used to be routine. Letting one of the pups ride along as we run errands, tethering them in the driveway as we wash the car… those sorts of things don’t happen anymore.

So, The Boy must have been suffering from a case of leftover holiday spirit when he let me take Jules to Target. We were just running out to pick up a few household items, and she followed us to the door and waited patiently as we prepared to leave her behind. Just as the door was closing, I caught a glimpse of her face through the crack as the door was closing…

“Can we bring her?” I whispered.

“Ok,” he said with a smile.

We just stood there for a second staring at each other. It was broad daylight! This was a gutsy, cavalier (foolish?) decision. And I liked it! I winked at The Boy and swung the door open again. Jules trotted out and pranced beside us on the sidewalk. (I didn’t dare take time to find her leash and give The Boy a moment to change his mind.) Jules apparently knows exactly where our parking space is, because she sashayed right through The Highly Desirable Condo Complex and sat down expectantly behind our SUV.

I opened the back hatch to let her in, but alas, her enthusiasm got the best of her, and she jumped too soon. My poor pibble hit the tailgate full-force with her little red and white face, and bounced off it, looking slightly stunned to once again be on the ground in front of the car.

“Julesy, are you ok?!” I bent down and cupped her face in my hands. But she licked my nose, shook her head loose from my grasp and jumped into the now-open back of the car, tail wagging.

Off we went to Target. It wasn’t until later when I realized she had a big gash under her right eye. When I showed it to The Boy, he insisted we clean it. So, he held her headlock-style while I dabbed Hydrogen Peroxide on the cut with a Q-tip. Pibbles usually don’t show pain, but her eyes got very wide as the peroxide bubbled up, and I felt very guilty. Next, I smeared Neosporin on the cut to protect it – no easy task since she was wise to the Q-tip now, and not willing to let me within 3 feet of her face.

Once we released her, Jules promptly rubbed her face on her front leg, and then decided that was not enough and slid her face along the carpet, the couch and Louie – ensuring that all the ointment was gone, and the cut was thoroughly covered in dirt and dog hair. (sigh.)

Keeps on Ticking

Oh, Desi. Sweet, loopy, slightly ‘off’ Shepherd… how I love that guy. Even if he does run full speed into walls and army-crawl around the house, snapping in the air like some kind of Carpet Gator. He’s the oldest member of The Doghouse, but no one knows exactly how old. When I got him, the vet estimated he was between 5-7 years old, and he had heartworms, so they told me his life expectancy would be lower. I’ve had him 10 years now, and yesterday one of our neighbors asked if he was a puppy. (He was spinning in circles at the end of the leash, happily snapping the air at the time. Then he jumped straight up in the air, and landed in a deep play bow in front of their terrified chihuahua.)

Since he recovered from the heartworms, Desperado has been the healthiest, lowest-maintenance member of The Doghouse. The only time he’s had surgery is when I neutered him, and the only time he goes to the vet is to be vaccinated. But lately, The Boy & I have noticed a few little things that we want to get checked out.

After Pottygate, we really started paying attention to how much water he is drinking. It’s a lot. And since older dogs are prone to diabetes, it may be time for a little blood work. Also, he has a little growth/wart thingy on his lower eyelid. It’s always been there, but lately The Boy swears it’s been getting bigger. (I don’t think it’s changed – but The Boy does spend all day with Desi in his office, so I will trust that he studies the dog’s face more than I do.) The thing I am sure of is that his teeth need some attention. The other day Desi was crawling around under the bed (this happens a lot) and he poked his snout out to snap the air and we noticed his front ‘fang’ tooth was chipped. Upon further inspection, several of his teeth are chipped. The gums aren’t red, and nothing seems to be hurting him, but it’s probably time to have it checked out.

I have always been hesitant to have Desi’s teeth cleaned because at his age, I’m afraid to put him under anesthesia. You hear horror stories of old dogs who are never quite the same after they go under. We’ve had such good luck, I’ve been afraid to take any chances. I don’t think there’s anything majorly wrong with Desi – he’s still his kooky, happy self, but the little things are starting to add up. It’s time for a professional opinion.

We don’t call Dr. Huggy. He won’t be Desperado’s vet. Why? Because he’s Louie’s vet, and Louie & Jules always have a different vet than Nielsen, Porter & Desi. Why? Because I don’t want to have to admit to very many people that #1 –  I have 5 dogs, and #2 – not all of them get along. Because if I do, they will try to convince me that I should get rid of some of my dogs.

[If you think I'm being a wimp, you have clearly never made a decision that everyone else in your life thinks is wrong, but that you know in your heart is right and you must stand by it. If you don't understand why I know in my heart it's the right thing, then you've never had children. Those dogs are my family. They are the longest relationships of my life. They have seen me through many failed relationships, job changes, moves, and life in general for many years. I have cried into their necks, laughed at their antics - and when the going got tough, I could not afford to break down because they were counting on me. They need me. And I need them.]

Anyway, so now we have to find a second vet. I find a few in close proximity to the condo and call around for a brief interview: How much do you charge for an office visit? How much do you charge for vaccines? Do you have boarding? Do you have emergency care? Etc. I find an office that seems acceptable and off we go.

The office is small and not fancy (which explains why the prices are reasonable), but the staff is friendly. The Vet is pretty and my age. She is thorough, gentle with Desi, and spends almost an hour with us. She explains things, answers questions and seems more interested in chatting than rushing us through. In fact, by the time the hour is up, we have exchanged numbers and made tentative plans to have dinner with her and her husband. I like Dr. Girlfriend!

We did some blood work on Desi and it all came back normal. No diabetes. Dr. Girlfriend says he looks great for his age, but that he could use a dental cleaning. We discuss the dangers of putting him under.

“If it were my dog, I would do it,” she says. “Please know that I’m going to take really good care of him while he’s here. I promise.”

She doesn’t pressure us to schedule the procedure. Instead, she sends us home to ‘think it over’ and says she’ll mail an estimate. It will include removing the eyelid thingy (since he’ll already be asleep) and we can decide whether to go through with any or all of it.

“Check your calendar and let us know when you’re free for dinner,” she says as she walks us to the door.

Hands down. The best vet experience I’ve ever had. I’m feeling so comfortable that I consider telling her we have 5 dogs, but The Boy grabs my hand and pulls me to the car before I can get too chummy.

Who Let the Dogs Out!?!

Oh – the humans underestimated me! They did not think I would find the giant stuffed toys they left right here on the bed. 4 of them, all lined up, ready for my ripping, shredding, digging enjoyment. I have made quick work of the first one…

Are You What You Eat?

Trainer To The Stars wants us to switch the pup’s food. We currently feed premium dog food. (In the $60/35-pound bag range. We go through 120 pounds of dog food a month. So, yeah, we’re already making a pretty big committment here.)

But TTTS says if we switch to a super-premium dog food ($80/35-pound bag) the pups will look better, poop less and learn faster. And I have no doubt that that’s true, to an extent. But really, how much difference is there between premium and super-premium? I mean it’s not like we’re feeding Dollar Store kibble here. Is there enough noticeable difference to warrant the budget adjustments it would take to make the change?

I called some vets to ask. (Didn’t call Dr. Huggy - was afraid to admit anymore parenting shortcomings. With my luck he would say ‘You’re not feeding super-premium already? Well, of course you’re having problems!’) But I did call several other respectable vets in [very hip city in Southern California.] All of them told me that it was not necessary to switch because the food we are already feeding is a good one. One of them actually did tell me that I could feed Dollar Store kibble if I wanted, with no problems. Another suggested I try a raw diet. So, I threw those two out and went with the majority. We’re sticking with our food.

However, I might have indicated to TTTS that we *did* switch. There are 2 reasons: #1, I’m a little intimidated by him, and #2, if it’s that much better, shouldn’t he be able to tell if our dogs are eating it by their coats and their poop? Just a little test. (Am I a bad person?)

While we’re on the subject of food… there has been further discussion with Dr. Huggy about Louie’s eating habits. He says that although Louie is getting what he needs nutritionally, he needs to feel more emotionally satisfied by his meals. How do we make that happen? Apparently, by adding a couple of tablespoons of canned pumpkin on top of the kibble. So we’re trying it.

I’m not sure if Louie feels more fulfilled, but The Boy says he will feel a lot better if I make pumpkin pie. 

Freedom!

After my minor, er, meltdown, The Boy & I have made a decision. We can no longer be tied to this house because of the dogs. We both work from home, so we are with the pups for many more hours each day than the typical dog-owner. While it’s wonderful that we are a close-knit family, there are times when I think the togetherness just might kill us.

So, over the weekend, we took a very bold step. We joined a gym. That means for an hour a day, at least 3 days a week, we will actually be leaving the house! I’m excited and nervous all at the same time.

We do still live in fear that our dogs will be loud and disturb the neighbors. When you live in The Doghouse, you try NOT to draw attention to yourself or your plethora of pups, so we’re trying to avoid any more notes under the doormat. We want to be good neighbors. We want to be good dog-owners. And most of all, we want to continue to live here with no known enemies.

However, we have been working with Trainer To The Stars for over a month now, and the pups are being much more condo-friendly, both indoors and out. The Louie ‘crate training issue’ is still alive and well, but we’ve insulated his crate as much as possible, pushed it to the far center of the condo, and leave the radio on to mask any screams. We really are doing the best we can.

Just cross your fingers that The Boy & I can enjoy a little dog-free time, without giving the neighbors a bone to pick.

The problem is…

“The problem with Pet Psychic 2,” says The Boy, “is that dogs can’t actually reason, and now you think they can.”

He says this in a near-whisper, while rubbing my back and stroking my hair, as I lie collapsed in a sobbing pile on the bed. I am upset because Louie ate the Paw Balm. I am upset because the only way to keep Louie from eating things is to lock him in his crate when I’m not in the room, and when Louie is in his crate he screams like a small child throwing a temper-tantrum. Continuously. For HOURS. I’m upset because someone had an ‘accident’ in the guest room. I’m upset because having 5 dogs in a condo is not easy. I’m upset because Desi is still not sleeping through the night, which means neither am I. And I’m upset because while I’m lying here crying, Nielsen is barking loudly and rhythmically in the next room. BARK! (3 seconds of silence) BARK! (silence) BARK! And with every explosive yelp he makes, I feel my sanity slipping further away.

I look up at The Boy, snot running down my face, “So you don’t believe in PP2? You don’t believe she can talk to our dogs?”

“Yes,” he says. “I do. But it’s not conversations like you and I have. It’s feelings. Emotions. They can communicate with us, but they can’t reason, or bargain with us. They don’t understand the conversations we’re trying to have back.”

I HATE it when he’s right.

I have been talking to the dogs non-stop. Explaining that if they cannot be quiet, the neighbors will complain and we will get kicked out of the condo, and we may not all be able to stay together as a family after that. I have been pleading with Louie not to eat anything that will further upset his digestive tract (and my bank account). I have been attempting to strike deals with Nielsen, whereas I get 1 hour of quiet time, and he gets an extra-long walk tonight. I have been spelling things out for them in a manner that makes my desires perfectly clear. And when their behavior doesn’t improve, I feel angry and confused.

But The Boy is right. They are dogs. They understand things like: I’m hungry; I have to go potty; when I bark mom comes in here and it’s nice to see her. The way PP2 talked about them, told us how they were feeling, they just seemed so…. well, human.

“What should we do?” I ask The Boy.

“Let’s take them for another walk,” he says. “There’s only one kind of dog that doesn’t eat things, or pee in the house, or bark non-stop.”

“What kind?” I sniffle. 

“A sleeping one.”

Louie Ate the Paw Balm

I don’t know what else to say. He ate it. All of it. Including the plastic jar.

I know what you’re thinking….
You: But he wasn’t supposed to be left alone!
Me: I know. I left the room for 5 minutes and he was asleep on the loveseat.
You: Didn’t you put the Paw Balm in a safe place?
Me: It was on the bedside table. But it was closed up. And it’s not edible.
You: So you haven’t learned that Louie doesn’t only eat edible things?
Me: Alright! I am the worst mom in the world. But give me a break… I have 4 other dogs to take care of!

I know that’s what you were thinking because that’s the exact conversation I had with Dr. Huggy when I called to tell him. And the same one I had with The Boy when he wanted to know what I was crying about. And very close to the one that I had with the customer service girl at the company that makes the Paw Balm, when I called to find out if it was poisonous. (It’s not – but will apparently cause diarrhea, cramping and gas… so guess who’s not finished paying for this one!)

Dr. Huggy said to continue giving Louie the probiotics he sent home with him… they should make his insides strong enough to pass the fragments of the plastic jar. He did not sound happy with me.

Who Let the Dogs Out!?!

This stinks! All the other dogs are asleep and I’m soooo bored! We could be wrestling, or trying to steal each other’s bones, or ripping open the dog food bag, or barking at dogs & people & trucks out the window, or whining until mom & dad take us for walks… there are so many options, and they want naps?!