Every Dog Has His Day

Croc is a big, big, dog. I dread taking him to the veterinarian and am always so excited to learn we are to see the pudgy vet. This kindly man recommends a generous weight of one hundred ten pounds. The skinny vet always scowls while counseling me to get Croc down to ninety pounds, closer to her own weight. Fortunately, for his self image, Croc doesn’t suffer from fat-shaming. On our last visit, we were met by two nubile young technicians. Enchanted, Croc fairly danced as he tugged them to the scale for his weigh in. Back in the exam room, he beamed as they reported his weight of one hundred twenty-five pounds. In a fit of hormone-laced ecstasy, he sped back seating himself on the scale again, hoping for further praise.

It worked.

No Fool Like……

Things didn’t go well from the start on Croc’s last visit to the vet. My half mastiff, half lab doggy boy weighs one hundred twenty-five pounds and pulls like a tractor. Desperate to sniff a steaming pile of poop, he snatched me down the instant I stepped out of the truck. I sprawled elegantly across the pavement, knocking my nose on the curb. I’d foolishly worn a skirt, so passersby were treated the view of my new undies as I struggled to grab the leash and avoid a greater disaster. Fortunately, Croc was fascinated by a steaming pile of dog poop and hadn’t escaped into traffic. He pondered sampling it as I struggled to my feet, felt around to find my glasses in another mess, and staunched the flow of blood from my damaged knees. He showed no sympathy for me as we made our way in, choosing instead to attempt a friendship with a five pound Yorkie. The tiny beast and her dainty mom were traumatized at the slobbering beast dragging me toward them. My muddied, bloodied countenance did little to reassure the duo, despite my assertion he only wanted to play. Happily, the teeny dog was the original mean girl. She tore into Croc, teaching him a lot about little, mean dogs. The staff got us in a room straight away. No waiting!

Four hundred and fifty dollars later found us checking out. By now Croc was happily munching his cookie. Once again, I was sobered at the cost of well-dog care, despite having experienced it only six months before. Incidentally, I had another dog at home scheduled for a pricey visit the very next day. I definitely can’t handle both at once. I’d made that mistake once, a sad story for another day.

Mean Doggy and her mom stood between my behemoth and the exit. Meany snarled maniacally at us, terrifying Croc. I enjoyed that. Momma was crying to the staff, “Can you find a home for her. I’m sick and I can’t take care of her no more.” She sobbed piteously. It was heartbreaking so I hurried out. After I got Croc, also known as Meatball, in the truck, I called Bud.

“Can we adopt a Yorkie? A sick, old lady has to get rid of her.” I went back for the poor dog. Miss Ann, her mama was delighted she’d found a sucker and pulled out her tattered checkbook to pay for Meany’s visit.

On learning her bill was ninety dollars, Mama paled. “Can you hold this check till next Tuesday?”

“I’ll get it. She’s my responsibility now.” Miss Ann took my number. True to her promise, she visits Biscuit, the little Yorkie, pretty often. She’s even taken Biscuit home for a visit a couple of times. Biscuit always seems to enjoy their visits, but doesn’t mourn for her.

More to come.

So Horrible It Has to be Shared!

Have you ever had an experience so horrible it had to be shared? Maybe something smells or tastes so bad you cant leave it alone. ”Taste this! It’s disgusting!” Over your poor friend’s protests, you insist. “No really, you gotta taste this! It’s horrible!”

That’s why I have to inflict this story on you.

A few days ago, I got an early start, vacuumed, mopped, changed my sheets, and tidied up before settling into my comfy chair with my laptop to write. As I gathered my thoughts and awaited inspiration, Bud and Buzzy approached the patio door.

Buzzy, my American Eskimo Dog is sedate and well-mannered, so it startled me to see him burst through the patio door like a bat out of Hell before he launched himself half-way across the room into my lap. As Bud headed to his office, he nonchalantly mentioned Buzzy might be suffering from some abdominal distress. Sure enough, Buzzy rapidly spun three three or four rotations in my lap and on top of my computer. I tried to calm his nerves and was assaulted by the smell of feces and the nauseating sight of an excrement-smeared computer screen and filthy clothes. Wisely, as I struggled to dig out from under the tornado of a poop monster, Bud disappeared into his office feigning deafness.

Heartbroken by his poor welcome, Buzzy fled to a place of consolation, my fresh bed. Like his wolf-ancestors, before lying down he made two or three circles to prepare his bed. Miraculously, Bud had somehow become aware of the festivities, as had our other dog, a huge Mastiff mix, Croc. Not wanting Buzzy to have all the fun, Croc inserted himself into the melee. The curious one-hundred twenty pound dog jealously trying to stay between Buzzy and his pursuers complicated the situation exponentially. Croc had no clue what the concern was since he and Buzzy greeted each other genteelly with a sniff of the nether portions first thing every morning, but had no intention of being denied a good time. 

With a bit of a scuffle, Bud shut Croc out while  we progressed to the bathroom as Croc howled in outrage., “I poop a lot more than he does!  Where’s my party?” Not having had a chance to evaluate the situation, I wrestled Buzzy into the sink, but not before most bathroom surfaces took on a fine patina of poop. Holding Buzzy in place, I ran water and added soap for his bath. Very quickly, I became aware a sink-bath wouldn’t suffice. Taking him to a tub outdoors was out of the question, so he was destined for his first shower. Naturally, he could hardly be expected to shower himself, so I climbed in. Surprisingly, that was the easiest part of the ordeal. He behaved perfectly throughout the process.

Fortunately for the sake of our marriage, Bud didn’t get off too easily. While Buzzy and I showered, he cleaned the walls and floors, all the way back to where Buzzy had made his grand entrance. By the time the shower was over was over and Buzzy dried, the bed was stripped and the washer and hamper were full of disgusting laundry. As a special bonus, the sink was plugged with excreta and long, white dog hair, another diversion for Bud.

In the week before, I had intended to get Buzzy in for grooming. Much to his joy, I’d never made it. Though his coat is beautiful, particularly in hot weather, it benefits from regular brushing. I am especially careful to brush him thoroughly before bathing to remove loose hair and minimize matting. Sadly, Buzzy had not advised me of his plans. He was so matted after bathing, I wasn’t able to finish the job in one brushing. I’d brush a while , let him take a break, and pick up with the job, later. Some mats even required scissoring, something I’ve never had to do before. I think I’ve gotten enough hair out to upholster another whole dog. Sadly, all that brushing makes Croc even more envious. He’s required an inordinate amount of brushing, too.

Many hours later, things settled to normal.  Next time I am ready, I’ll be more specific in my search for inspiration.

Comment from Newin Defol

I was once the shared owner of a Samoyed dog – not dissimilar in appearance to Buzzy, the same snow white colour, but perhaps a little larger (he was a male), and learnt a thing or to (the hard way!) about the upkeep and daily maintenance of these gentle and endearing long hair breeds (We acquired bags and bags and bags of dog-hair!) They make a wonderful addition to a home, but are something of an all-round labour of love…ever more so when deep blue carpets run throughout the house…and boy, do they like to chew…doors, fridges, skirting boards, floor tiles, table legs, chairs, upholstery, clothes, shoes, books, and electrical leads – I’m certain they are related to goats! lol 🙂 At the time of ownership I was between jobs and had the hours to spend walking him miles and miles in a futile attempt to induce a little fatigue, but all to no avail, he would literally run non-stop 24/7 if given the chance. Anyway, we were also the new owners of a smoky-grey Burmese kitten that we had acquired from the London Docklands and named Alfie after the character portrayed by Michael Caine in the film of the same name. He was adorable, and the two inseparable from the start. What we hadn’t bargained for was the kitten spending time grooming the dog, natural though it may be, but as it turned out, certainly an unanticipated oversight on our part. One evening Alfie came wobbling over like a drunkard to where I was sat on the floor and quite literally collapsed in my lap, severely fatigued, excessively dehydrated, and altogether close to death. Up until that moment he’d not displayed any sign of ill health nor given us cause for concern, we had been so careful in taking care of him. Following a brief moment of sheer panic, we cradled Alfie in a shoebox, grabbed the car-keys and headed immediately to the vets, hoping that the rush-hour traffic would not delay us unnecessarily. Upon arrival Alfie was given priority due to his condition and taken at once for examination and treatment. What seemed like a long time passed before the vet reappeared and announced he was still a little uncertain of the root cause behind Alfie’s collapse but advised possible renal failure due to his presenting symptoms. He suggested persistence with exploratory tests if we were prepared to have him stay overnight. Well of course we had no option other than to accept his request, grateful indeed to have the little fella looked after, and equally as grateful for having had the foresight to acquire pet-insurance when Alfie first came to us (The vet’s bill would run to just short of 3.5k sterling). That was the first night of what turned out to be a long 7 days, during which time Alfie was subjected to a variety of tests and treatments in the hope of avoiding surgery due to his tender young age…treatments that included x-rays, two or three blood transfusions and a whole host of tracing agents, diuretic pills and potions, and round-the-clock attendance by wonderfully committed staff. When each of these seemed to fail to provide satisfactory answers, the vet had no option other than open him up and take a look inside. At the end of a long week, the vet telephoned and asked if we would like to come down and collect Alfie. He said Alfie had responded superbly to his surgery, was a little sore in places but ready to go home. He concluded his call by saying he, the vet, had something interesting to show us. We arrived some 50 minutes later, thrilled to be having our little furball back in the fold. Alfie was perky, smiling as cats do, and altogether back to within a spitting distance of his former self. After completing the formalities and necessary paperwork, the vet presented us with a sealed jar, about the size of a regular jam-jar, within which was stuffed a coiled mass of matted hair some 15 inches in length and a good inch or so wide that he’d removed from Alfie’s stomach earlier in the week. Indeed, the coiled mass of dog hair had been unwittingly ingested as a result of Alfie’s loving attention, and had after a period impacted in his intestines and ultimately caused his renal failure. Suffice to say, we upped our grooming game following Alfie’s return home and remained as vigilant as possible in keeping the pair apart when fun and play became licks and washes. Of course this was not always possible, but Alfie learnt quickly and grew even quicker and thankfully, finally gave up the need to be so closely attentive to the dog. He went on to enjoy a very happy life. Oh, and just for the record, we decided to dispose of the jam-jar and matted hair after numerous explanations and presentations to family and friends…it didn’t age so well once out in the air! Ewww! As for the dog-hair knitted sweaters…we had two made for posterities sake, unaffordable to us, both were gifts from family, and although neither were ever worn, I distinctly remember them being wonderfully soft and comfortingly warm just like the dog who grew the fur. Thanks for listening 🙂 Namaste DN – 11/09/2015 Hey Linda, As always, I thoroughly enjoyed the delightful humour to be found here…your son John seems quite a card, where does he get that from I wonder…and that’s a great look for summer lol 🙂 ‘Smorgasbord – Variety is the Spice of Life’ is bang on the money regarding the making of dog-sweaters, as well as the cost of having them made…on which note, may I leave a short story… I was once the shared owner of a Samoyed dog – not dissimilar in appearance to Buzzy, the same snow white colour, but perhaps a little larger (he was a male), and learnt a thing or to (the hard way!) about the upkeep and daily maintenance of these gentle and endearing long hair breeds (We acquired bags and bags and bags of dog-hair!) They make a wonderful addition to a home, but are something of an all-round labour of love…ever more so when deep blue carpets run throughout the house…and boy, do they like to chew…doors, fridges, skirting boards, floor tiles, table legs, chairs, upholstery, clothes, shoes, books, and electrical leads – I’m certain they are related to goats! lol 🙂 At the time of ownership I was between jobs and had the hours to spend walking him miles and miles in a futile attempt to induce a little fatigue, but all to no avail, he would literally run non-stop 24/7 if given the chance. Anyway, we were also the new owners of a smoky-grey Burmese kitten that we had acquired from the London Docklands and named Alfie after the character portrayed by Michael Caine in the film of the same name. He was adorable, and the two inseparable from the start. What we hadn’t bargained for was the kitten spending time grooming the dog, natural though it may be, but as it turned out, certainly an unanticipated oversight on our part. One evening Alfie came wobbling over like a drunkard to where I was sat on the floor and quite literally collapsed in my lap, severely fatigued, excessively dehydrated, and altogether close to death. Up until that moment he’d not displayed any sign of ill health nor given us cause for concern, we had been so careful in taking care of him. Following a brief moment of sheer panic, we cradled Alfie in a shoebox, grabbed the car-keys and headed immediately to the vets, hoping that the rush-hour traffic would not delay us unnecessarily. Upon arrival Alfie was given priority due to his condition and taken at once for examination and treatment. What seemed like a long time passed before the vet reappeared and announced he was still a little uncertain of the root cause behind Alfie’s collapse but advised possible renal failure due to his presenting symptoms. He suggested persistence with exploratory tests if we were prepared to have him stay overnight. Well of course we had no option other than to accept his request, grateful indeed to have the little fella looked after, and equally as grateful for having had the foresight to acquire pet-insurance when Alfie first came to us (The vet’s bill would run to just short of 3.5k sterling). That was the first night of what turned out to be a long 7 days, during which time Alfie was subjected to a variety of tests and treatments in the hope of avoiding surgery due to his tender young age…treatments that included x-rays, two or three blood transfusions and a whole host of tracing agents, diuretic pills and potions, and round-the-clock attendance by wonderfully committed staff. When each of these seemed to fail to provide satisfactory answers, the vet had no option other than open him up and take a look inside. At the end of a long week, the vet telephoned and asked if we would like to come down and collect Alfie. He said Alfie had responded superbly to his surgery, was a little sore in places but ready to go home. He concluded his call by saying he, the vet, had something interesting to show us. We arrived some 50 minutes later, thrilled to be having our little furball back in the fold. Alfie was perky, smiling as cats do, and altogether back to within a spitting distance of his former self. After completing the formalities and necessary paperwork, the vet presented us with a sealed jar, about the size of a regular jam-jar, within which was stuffed a coiled mass of matted hair some 15 inches in length and a good inch or so wide that he’d removed from Alfie’s stomach earlier in the week. Indeed, the coiled mass of dog hair had been unwittingly ingested as a result of Alfie’s loving attention, and had after a period impacted in his intestines and ultimately caused his renal failure. Suffice to say, we upped our grooming game following Alfie’s return home and remained as vigilant as possible in keeping the pair apart when fun and play became licks and washes. Of course this was not always possible, but Alfie learnt quickly and grew even quicker and thankfully, finally gave up the need to be so closely attentive to the dog. He went on to enjoy a very happy life. Oh, and just for the record, we decided to dispose of the jam-jar and matted hair after numerous explanations and presentations to family and friends…it didn’t age so well once out in the air! Ewww! As for the dog-hair knitted sweaters…we had two made for posterities sake, unaffordable to us, both were gifts from family, and although neither were ever worn, I distinctly remember them being wonderfully soft and comfortingly warm just like the dog who grew the fur. Thanks for listening 🙂 Namaste DN – 11/09/2015 dewin.nefol@gmail.com Dewin Nefol http://dewinnefol.wordpress.com Note from Linda at Nutsrok.  I got this incredible comment from dewinnefol.wordpress.com in response to my post https://nutsrok.wordpress.com/2015/09/10/tale-of-the-hair-of-the-dog-sweater/  It is way too good to keep to myself.  I am posting it with his permission.  Enjoy it and check out his blog.

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