That Which Does Not Kill Us, Only Makes Us Stronger

So you are contemplating entering the world of Puppydom  OR  you are thinking about adding another dog to your furry herd.  If this is the case, this post is for you…

One detail that dog owners tend to gloss over is the fact that most dogs actively try to accidentally kill themselves on a daily basis.  It starts out innocently enough… “What’s that over there???”… “Maybe I should check it out!”…  but this curiosity quickly spirals into a WTFudego moment.  Quite frankly sharing your life with a dog will leave you exhausted and exasperated, but all it takes is one glance at those loving eyes and all is forgotten, until the next round of Fudgeo roulette begins… which could be seconds, days or weeks later.   

For a mega Type A planner who is not a fan of surprises, this death wish tendency can really start wearing on one’s nerves… I know as I speak from experience.  My Mother is the ultimate doomsdayer and raised us accordingly.  In any situation I have Plan’s A-F ready to launch and have most likely started planning for contingency G- K.  If this compulsive need to have back-up plans to back plans was not enough, I am also a learning junkie.  Oh the spine chilling tingles I get when researching a topic and learning new things.  I’ll chase the learning high any time I can.  

With this combination in mind, you can imagine what a bundle of “joy” I was to be around, as I devised my first ever Puppy Plan.  Thinking back, I feel for those who had to endure my puppy enthusiasm.  The waves of dread that would have washed over them, as I uttered these three simple words… “Did you know…”.    

TRAPPED IN PUPPY TALK YET AGAIN!!!!

I offer my sincerest apology to those who had to endure my puppy planning passion.  If you ever reflect on this period in your lives I’m sure  you have offered up more than one silent prayer of thanks that this period happened at a time when the internet was newish.  This meant my access to information was kept to a minimum.  Just imagine what it would have been like,  had I had access to things like blogs, video’s, memes, etc.  

TORTURE to the millionth power.   

Notice the dog eared corners, courtesy of Gim

I recall standing in Coles thumbing through all the dog training books thinking “What would give me the biggest bang for my buck?”  Trust me I had to be penny-wise, as another thing that I was sorely underprepared for was how expensive it was to add a fluff ball to my life and budget.  Between books, supplies, vet bills and training… $$$$$$$$$.  I settled on a few classics… “Puppies for Dummies”, “Golden Retrievers for Dummies” and “Great Dogs, Good Owners” and set about trying to read every page before my little Golden bundle arrived.  

I distinctly recall one sentence in a book that I read that went something like this… “Of all the dog breeds to buy pet insurance for, the Golden Retriever is the breed, as they have a tendency to eat everything.”.  I hoped that that the author was taking some creative liberty in describing the breed.  I soon learned that the writer was indeed correct!  Golden’s are particularly skilled at gobbling… the Dysons of the Dog World.

Baby Gim

The first week that Gimli was home he slept and slept, often wedged between the wall and the leg of the couch.  What I didn’t know was he was resting up so that he could unleash Puppygedon during Week Two.  Nothing was safe… furniture, my hands, feet, arms and legs, the Christmas tree.  It was all fair game and Gim launched his assault frequently and with gusto.  

Planning ahead I had decorated only the top half of the tree thinking the ornaments would be safe.  I was wrong. Gim was obsessed and the minute my back was turned he managed to get something off the tree and then quickly tried to consume it.  It didn’t take long for me to decide that the tree had to go.  Gimli, disappointed to loose his indoor stick factory and access to shiny trinkets took his disappointment out on my appendages.  

All the books said to not react to puppy biting… to let your muscles go limp and ignore it.  Well good luck!  I tried.  I really tried, but my body reacted every time.  How could it not.  A puppy bite, especially a full fledged puppy bite feels like  a million tiny acupuncture needles slicing into your skin and the muscle beneath.  As much as I tried to hold it in, a whimper would escape my lips, my muscles would twitch and Gim would grip on harder.  

The advice in another book said to fill an aluminum can filled with pennies and shake it as the puppy launched its attack.  The premise was the sound would distract the puppy and you could then redirect it to what you wanted it to chew on.  Well it had the opposite affect on Gim.  The sound of rattling coins became a dinner bell of sorts and only spurred him to chomp harder and more frequently.  It didn’t help that my “redirection” toys and items all seemed to be out of reach, under furniture or in other rooms.  That was one of the first lessons Gim taught me… you can never have enough chew toys for puppies.  Stock-up people, you will thank me!

One would think being a walking talking steak for your dog would be the worst thing about getting a puppy, but it wasn’t.  Gimli was only 4 months when we had our first emergency trip to the vet.  I had just gotten out of the shower and came down the stairs when I heard crunching and chomping sounds coming from the living room.  I pounced on Gim,  prying open his mouth and reached in to snake out the contraband.   I immediately started freaking out when it registered what I had pulled out… the mangled head of my Shick Quattro, which must have fallen to the floor when I was showering. 

WHAT THE……

A quick count of the blades spiked my angst levels, there were only three blade, the little bugger had actual ate one!!!!  I rushed him to the Vet, my anxiety mounting by the minute.  I showed the vet the blades and his response was underwhelming.  “Don’t worry” he said “That will go right through him!  The only thing that we have to worry about is if it gets caught in his anal sphincter.  Just monitor his poo and call me if he starts straining but nothing is coming out.”  

I spent three whole days squishing and inspecting poo.  I was convinced that my neighbours were questioning my grip on reality.   Picture it, me standing out in the yard scooping up poo,  wasting no time before I started squishing and kneading it, momentarily getting excited by what I felt, only to hang my head in disappointment when my close inspection of the contents verified a stone or a pine cone… not a blade.  Three days of this before I added a celebratory dance party to this twice a day ritual.  Yup!  Nothing like giving the hood something to talk about.

I was telling my hairdresser about the incident and in an effort to make me feel better, she related a story about one of her other customers.   This unidentified woman also owned a  Golden and her dog decided it would be a great idea to eat her hair brush.  Unfortunately it did not pass through on its own, and the dog required surgery to remove it.  I found out later that this Golden lived one street over and was Gimli’s Aunt.  That settled it.  I bought pet insurance the next day and maintained it for his entire life. 

I would love to say that, that was the only scarfing incident we had, but alas it was not.  On our first backpacking trip Gim found and decided to eat a fungus which did a number on his liver and heart. I woke up to a lethargic dog who had blue gums and tongue.  I didn’t think he would make it out of the bush, but luckily he perked up long enough to walk the 4km out.  That is how I learned about Milk Thistle and how it can be used to help cleanse livers and toxins out of systems.  It took many months of recuperation before my little Truffle Pig was back to full health.  Unfortunately he never linked  consumption of fungus with his near death experience, so I spent the next 13 years having to be on high alert during our walks in the woods, ready to wrestle mushrooms, toadstools and fungus out of his mouth at a moments notice.   

Fungus wasn’t the only fetish he was drawn to.  Socks and hosiery were also high on the list.  I lost track of how many socks he ate over the years.  It didn’t matter that I was meticulous about making sure socks were up or in baskets, he would find them, often courtesy of the cats who would offer him socks in an attempt to knock him off.  I would find out about the sock consumption after the fact, often on an evening stroll when a sock would magically pop out of either end of him.  Nothing like having to pick-up and carry around a vomit or poo sock for 2- 3kms.   

Other favoured consumables for Gimli were bars of soap and blocks of butter.  He was introduced to these delicacies at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.  I was constantly reminding my Mom to leave the soap on the back edge of the tub or push the butter toward the wall, but it never failed she would leave it sitting within reach and then be shocked that he ate it.  Let me tell you she wasn’t so thrilled when he barfed up a sudsy, slippery mess on her living room carpet.  Poor Gimli earned himself banishment for that one. 

Other memorable foodie moments included the time that he decided to help himself to the bucket of wheat that was being graded to use as center pieces for my Sister’s wedding.  My Mom had wheat growing in some pretty interesting places in her yard the next year.  There was also the time my mother decided to leave a full steak meal and baked potato sitting on the front edge of the counter, only to have it disappear without a trace… including the tin foil the potato was wrapped in.  This dinner not only resulted in Gim’s first X-ray but a less than pleasurable 18 hour diarrhea filled car ride.  Thanks Mom!

This all happened with close monitoring.  Can you imagine what would have happened if I just left it all up to chance.  Nope neither can I.   

But hands down the most memorable are you kidding me moment was the time that my Mom left a paper bag full of magnets on the floor of my front entrance.  I went to put them up and she asked me what I was doing, I told her I was putting them up so that the dog wouldn’t get into them.  She mockingly commented “What would he do with those…you can leave them there!”.  Against better judgement I did.  I got home from work that night  to an empty paper bag.  The Yahoo ate all but one of the fridge magnets.  

Another emergency visit to the vet and his second set of X-rays within a two month period.  The X-ray revelled an enlarged and glowing stomach, with occasional sparkly bits occurring every now and then in his intestines.  The verdict was wait and see.  That night he vomited up a substantial amount of the magnets and the repeat X-ray the next day showed that what remained in his system was making its way out… his intestines looked like a disco ball.   My parent, being the hilarious people they are,  bought him a duck fridge magnet to commemorate cheating death or surgery, yet again.

 It maybe superstition talking but I strongly believe the only thing that kept Gim healthy and alive was the insurance, without it I am sure I would have owed and arm, leg and kidney to the Vet. 

Clash of the Goldens!

Compared to Gimli, Ferg has been pretty tame.  First off he directed his puppy acupuncture toward Gimli vs me (insert 30 second dance party).  Add to that, he is finicky about what he puts in his mouth and eats (a topic for another blog).  It is not uncommon for Ferg to beg for food only to get a look of horror on his face the minute he closes his mouth around the offered item.  He is mighty quick to spit out what goes in.  

The only are you kidding me moment I have had with Ferg is his short lived obsession with rotting banana peel.  The blacker the peel the better. There is nothing grossier than the feeling of pulling slippery, slimey peel out of a mouth.  YUCK!!!

Oaks however was a voracious destroyer of all that he could get a hold of.  Nothing was safe from him especially shoes.  He methodically made his way through one pair after another.  Closed toe shoes became peep toes, running shoes became clogs.  It got to a point where I had one pair of regular shoes left, without them my only shoes would be high heels.  I made very attempt to keep my shoes picked up, but his spidey sense would alert him when I had taken them off for just a second to quickly run upstairs and he would launch his assault.  If that wasn’t enough he also attempted to redecorate my house whenever he couldn’t get his muzzle on shoes.  His style of choice was shabby chic and let me tell you he did a number on a bench at the front door and at one time he even attempted to start eating the hardwood floors.  Needless to say Oaks spent plenty of quality time in crates when he could not be closely monitored.  I should also mention that he came to me close to 1 year of age.  So be warned you might not escape oral fixations by getting an older dog.  

My favourite work shoes… No more!

My favourite backpacking shoes

Even measuring cups weren’t safe

An Oakley Braille Trail on my floors

Hazel’s claim to fame so far has been swallowing a cigarette butt.  She was outside for her last potty break of the evening and I noticed her quickly dip her head down and immediately started running away from me.  What could she have found… a leaf? Pine cone?? Stick???  Well I had my answer seconds later when I reached her and opened her mouth.  Her breath reeked like she had just smoked 20 packs of cigarettes.  Yes some jabroni discarded a butt in my yard and she found it.  One quick Google search latter and I was in full panic.  Apparently cigarettes and especially cigarette butts are toxic to dogs.  Given she was only a few months old I was frantic that the she would be more susceptible to the nicotine.  A call to the Emergency Vet and I had a course of action… a dose of good old Hydrogen Peroxide to induce vomiting.  Within 15 minutes she had thrown up the offending butt, thus saving me from Emergency after hours fees. 

Hazel’s contribution to Home Repair

I was starting to feel confident that I had a handle on this dog thing.  Gimli and Oaks tried to break me but did not succeed.  The other three have been relatively easy to raise.  Then along came Lyndy, who is going to be the death of me or at least my bank account. Lyndy is a naturally curious dog who prides herself in making her own fun.  Her favourite thing is to find and carry around contraband.  Even if the item is fully hidden in her mouth I know she has something in there that she shouldn’t, as she has a distinctive way of holding her head and a different prancy walk that screams… “I have something I shouldn’t have… what ya gonna do about it?????”  Her epitaph will read “Sugar Disturber”!

Shortly after Lyndy arrived I decided to take Ferg and the Ladies on a cross country road trip to my parents for a visit.  Me, a senior dog and two puppies (5 months and 3 months).  My Mom commented on how it must be free and liberating for me to just let the dogs out her back door into the yard, where they could run and play vs having to leash and be with them like at my house.  That liberation lasted less than a two seconds… for that is how long it took the Ladies to discover her garden and all the plants they could forage on.  My mother’s backyard is basically a death trap for dogs.  Most of her plants are poisonous or toxic to dogs.  There is nothing like standing on a back step Googling plant after plant only to find out the next one is equally as dangerous to dogs as the last one.  This resulted in my Mother having to get creative with fencing… did you know that you can use snow blowers, tires and rims, scrap metal and tomato cages as fencing???  At one point there was even a ladder and cedar shake being used as barriers.  The barriers helped but the Ladies still benefited from close supervision outside just to be on the safe side. 

Sadly they found a way around this fence to get the strawberries

More fencing… as you can see if you can’t get under it… sit on it!

It took my Mom a week to build this fence.  I am happy to report the plants survived.

Given how she seeks out trouble Lyndy has always had close supervision when she is not in her crate, but even with this close supervision she still has managed to find and eat things that she wasn’t supposed to.  I have given up getting the Ladies stuffed toys and beds, as they have decided that the stuffing in the toys and beds is way more fun than the actual comfort of the item itself.  Why have one thing when you can make it explode and have tons of things to toss up in the air and make a giant mess with!!!    Lyndy is also my counter cruiser and has a sixth sense when I don’t place the pot scrubber or SOS pad at the very back of the counter.  All too often as I am settling onto the couch,  I hear the familiar, clicky clack of Lyndy’s contraband prance and have to get up and retrieve what she has swiped from the counter.  Luckily she likes to show off how clever she is, so I haven’t had to worry about her trying to woof it down before I can get it.  At least that was what I thought.

When Lyndy was 9 months old I made the mistake of letting the Ladies stay out or crates when I made a quick run to Tims.  What type of trouble could they get into in 10 minutes.  Well I came home to find out that Lyndy decided to challenge herself and she managed to eat 1/2 of a silicone mat that I had the water bowls sitting on.  She ripped the mat into 1” strips and gobbled it on down like a fruit roll up.  How did I know, well she barfed up a 1/4 of what she ate a day later.  That meant a 1/4 was still percolating in her stomach waiting to be processed and come out the other end.   

Who would have predicted that pooping out contraband would have been the best case scenario.  The first full week of Dec her smorgasbording caught up with her.  She was up every hour on the hour straining to poo but nothing was coming out.  I got her into the vet early that day.  I told them that my guess was bowel obstruction given what she had eaten a few weeks earlier.  The Vet wanted to play it cautious and started with blood work.  The blood work came back within normal limits, which meant Lyndy had her first X-ray confirming my theory… a blockage in her stomach.  We waited to see if the blockage would pass, but over the course of the day it didn’t move.  That meant surgery… yup… CHA-CHING!  

When they opened her up they found way more than the silicone mat.   There was parts of Brillo pad, towels, blankets, steel wool, stuffing,  innards of toys, sticks, shoe laces, stones, dog hair… the list went on and on.  The staff commented that they all took turns trying to identify what came out of her stomach.  

Now there is a party game for you!  

Lyndy came home sporting a Frankenbelly full of staples and a kick-ass cone of shame, that she quickly put to use trapping items under and using it to hold balls while she slept.  It was a very expensive Christmas that year, but the bonus was she survived to tell her tale.  

It is mine… all MINE!

I’ll never loose my ball again!

Frankenbelly!

Within a week of Lyndys return home Hazel decided to chew and eat a hunk of lace off my boots.  Within minutes of discovering what she had done I had her registered for pet insurance.  It eventually came out the other end, but I wasn’t taking any chances.  Lyndy had wiped out my Scotland fund, I couldn’t afford any more expensive vet visits.  

You would think that with all my experience and 4 dogs already in the house, that it would be dog proofed to the point where there are no risks for a new puppy.  I shared your opinion, but Brie has found ways to make sure that I don’t get too big for my britches.  The other day she was walking around fiddling with something in her mouth.  What could she have??? Well it turns out it was a tack… it took a while for me to figure out where she got it from.  She had pulled an upholstery tack out of a chair.  Her other go to right now is fungus (another Truffle Hound).  There is a patch of lawn that grows mushrooms in the fall.  I have been careful not to walk her by it, but the local squirrels have taken to grabbing pieces of it and scattering it around the yard.  Brie is loving their efforts and is quick to find and try and devour what they have left behind.  I can confirm that slimy wintered mushroom is equally as gross to pull out of a dog’s mouth, as rotten banana peel.  In fact it was Brie’s fungus fascination that inspired the title for this post as I have found myself asking her “Don’t try to kill yourself today…OK?”

My experience has taught me has  no matter how carefully you monitor and how “dog proofed” the house, yard, vehicle is… dogs still manage to find and ingest things that you would never in a million years have thought they would eat.   They can take you from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows in a wag of a tail.    If you are thinking about getting OR are new to living with a dog, be prepared for weird s**t to happen.  If you are lucky like me, it will pass through OR you will catch it in time for the vet to remove it.  It will cost you a ton of money and once the sticker shock has worn off, you might even find a way to laugh about it.  Sadly this is not always the case and for every “Can you believe this happened?” story there is another that ended with “I can’t believe this happened… how? How?? HOW???”  For those that have not had luck on their side, my heart breaks for you.  May your and your dog’s tale help increase the awareness of the hidden dangers of living with four legged Hoovers. 

A poster from a Vet’s office in Saskatchewan… or as I referred to it… Lyndy’s Bingo card.

Authors Note: This post is dedicated to those four legged fiends who were the bestest of boys and girlies, who lived life to the fullest and to whom the world was a cornucopia.  You are gone from this world too soon, but in the short time you were here, you brought happiness to those who made your acquaintance and left an indelible mark on the hearts of the ones who were yours.

BONUS MUSING’S

Ohh Crap!!!

Okay new puppy/dog owners I am going to talk about a taboo subject that hopefully you will never encounter but I want to prepare you for.   Remember how I said that dogs are prone to eating weird s**t… well sometimes they eat literal s**t.  

YES!

The groddiest of groddy is pulling poo out of a dog’s mouth!  Most puppies go through a phase where they think poo is delectable and they gobble it down like it was a 5-star Michelin meal.  The simple solution is to bag the poo as soon as it happens and that tends to work, but occasionally you miss one or someone else doesn’t stoop and scoop and when that happens it is game on.   

Winter increase the complexity of the game, as the snow can bury the turd and you have no idea it is there lurking… waiting to be found.  Picture it, it is freezing cold, the wind is whipping through your jacket and pants, you’ re longing for the comfort and warmth of the couch.  Puppy is sniffing and frolicking in the snow, oblivious to your discomfort.  Puppy gets interested in a certain section of snow and starts pouncing on it and digging only to emerge with a poosicle, which they gleefully toss into the air so that they can try to catch it and/or pounce on it again.  Your frozen limbs balk as you try to move into hyper drive and get to the poo before the pup.  You are both lunging for it.  Sometimes you win and sometimes it’s the pup. 

Now if you have played the poosicle game before you are most likely prepared with a poo bag already hanging on your hand.  But for those who are new to the game, you will be frantically trying to open a poo bag with fingers that are too cold to move and plastic that appears to be welded together at both ends.  All I can say is “May the odds be forever in your favour!”. 

I’m happy to report that most dogs grow out of eating poo but I have found that Mom dogs tend retain their affinity for poo, maybe it’s related to all the happy memories cleaning up their little ones.  Right before Whisper’s last litter she was out for her bedtime airing and she dove for something in the grass.  It was in the area where the fungus grows, so I quickly reached my hand in her mouth to grab the fungus.  The only problem was it wasn’t fungus it was “S**T!  Ohhh the swears that came out of me as I pulled out my hand and realized what I was holding.  The words continued to pour out of me as I had to go in for round two and three until her mouth was fully free of the turd remnants.  Definitely not making the top 100 reasons why I love dogs!!!  

To sum up dogs= love, laughs and 💩!

How to Age 1000 Years

It has been a week.  A trip up North and taking a fateful sneeze to the face resulted in a full blown illness by  the next morning.  The next two days brought sleep, sleep and more sleep.  In the moments that I was conscious I spent my time trying to figure out how to divorce myself, as a sick Max is a friggin’ pill that no one, even myself should have to endure!  

The wee hours of Monday morning ushered in an hour long coughing fit that was so strong it left me gagging and thinking my meagre dinner would be repeating itself.  As I lay in bed gasping for oxygen, I questioned if I had it in me to attend a  full day planning meeting.  In that moment my vote as a strong NO! But when the alarm woke me up, I decided it didn’t hurt to try… some input was better than none.  

I will admit I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t pass out during the meeting.  The level of alertness I was able to maintain throughout the day, is a testament to the makers of Sinutab and Vicks.  Needless to say by 4:00 pm I was jonesing for my bed, a fluffy pillow cradling my head, the sweet caress of PJ’s and the warmth of being ensconced in layers of blankies.  The only thing standing between me and this dream were 20 paws that demanded exercise.  

In fairness, the Dudes had been patient all weekend with their main exercise being trailing behind me from the couch to the bed, bed to washroom, washroom to couch, etc.  If I was in their shoes, I would be full of piss and vinegar too.  I decided the most economical use of my remaining energy was to give each of them some “yard” time in the semi fenced in area.  They could run and I could stand in one place and concentrate on not falling over.  Each dog had 10-15 minutes of freedom and then we all promptly found a spot on the couch to plop down for the evening.  

I managed to make it to 8:00 pm before I admitted defeat and started the process of night time toileting.  First out was Brie, who got a little extra yard time, as she tends to dawdle when toileting on the leash.  Unfortunately, I made a mistake and left the front door open allowing the others to survey the comings and goings of the street, from behind the safety of the screen door.  Lyndy was the first to sound the alarm… a dog was approaching from down the street.  The other ladies decided that they needed to add their voices to the chorus to make sure Brie and I knew to be on high alert.  I trudged back to the front of the house with Brie in tow to stop the Barkfest.  It was then and there that I decided that all the ladies would be sleeping in crates that night… I couldn’t handle anymore jack assery, as my patience level was critically low. I let Brie in the house, hooked Whisper to the tie out rope and went to the vehicle to retrieve a portable crate to use for the night. 

There was a steady stream of muttering as I entered the house and started setting up the crate.  All I wanted was simple and bed.  But what I was getting was extra steps and effort which was vexing my soul.  I swapped Ferg for Whisper and promptly delivered Whisper to crate 1. A handful of treats being tossed into crate 2 made fast work of housing Brie.  Next on the list was Hazel.  

As I was zipping up the roof of the portable crate, Hazel jumped in.  Awesome!  My joy at the fast crating was quickly replaced with  mild  irritation, as Hazel kept trying to leave while I zipped up the door.  A string of swears convinced her it was in her best interest to remain where she was.  All that was left was to let Lyndy out, crate her and I was free to head to bed.  

I called Lyndy and nothing.  

I called her again… nothing. 

 I shook the treat jar while calling her… still nothing.  

What is HE double hockey sticks!!!!  She was picking the wrong night to decide she didn’t need to come when called.  I hobbled up the stairs (yes in addition to a cold I also have a leg injury… SURPRISE).  I get upstairs, but there is no Lyndy anywhere.

WHAT!!!

Where the eff could she be?

I head downstairs calling her and shaking the treat can and still nothing.  I look all over the main floor and down in the basement and there is no sign of her.   That is when it started dawning on me that maybe she pulled a Houdini and snuck out of the house when I was letting Brie in or when I went to get the crate.  She typically has awesome door manners but just the other day she made a break for it when I wasn’t looking.   It was only because I caught a flash of her motoring to the backyard that I found out that she had escaped. 

I don my shoes and a jacket and head outside ready to shame the crap out of her.   The only problem was there was no Lyndy.  She wasn’t in the yard or in the truck.  She had vanished.   

Crap, crap, crappity, crap!

I shuttle Ferg inside, grab a leash and start my parade of shame around the sniffy block.  Picture it 9:00 pm on a week night, me limp “speed walking” in my jammies, shouting Lyndy’s name very 5 steps, my head on swivel scanning the streets and yards for a glimpse of her lithe form, all the while straining to catch a sound of her bark.  I was getting frantic.  The first person I ran into hadn’t seen her.  The second person reported the same.  She wasn’t responding and I couldn’t see her.  My brain was going through possible scenarios’ each going from bad to worse

SCENARIO A

She was still in season and as I was walking she was being impregnated by a neighbourhood dog… CHRIST!

SCENARIO B

She ran and found another dog and was now getting into a scrap… was that reactive barking that I heard in the distance?????  No, no, no!

SCENARIO C

Someone has picked her up and she is now gone for good.

SCENARIO D

She was hit be a vehicle.  Emergency vehicle sirens sounding at the same time as this thought did not help ease my angst.  

 I hobbled around the sniffy block as fast as my injured leg would allow.  By the time my house was in sight I was resigned to the fact that I would need to call the Breeder to fess up to my failure and hope that she didn’t decide that I was no longer a suitable foster home.  I was a broken person as I entered the door… physically, emotionally and spiritually… DEFEATED!

I had one job… to keep the dogs safe and I messed up big time.  I entered the house  calling her name.  It came out sounding like a plea… a prayer.  

SILENCE!

I fought tears and my rising panic as I went from floor to floor, again, searching for a clue as to where she went, dreading the call that I knew that I needed to make. Still no sign of her upstairs.  As I searched the main floor, again, a voice in the back of my head said… check the crates! 

Only Whisper in Crate A.  Brie stood alone in Crate B.  I stood over Crate C with a mixture of hope and dread and started to unzip the roof.  Imagine my surprise when not one but two heads popped out of the opening.

Dramatic Reenactment of that moment

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!

She must have snuck in right before Hazel when I was zipping up the roof.  I stood there shaking my head.  The dog that barks up a storm at a mere hint of something hinky in the house or in the hood remained silent while I called her and used treats to tempt her reveal her location.  

I was overwhelmed with an odd combination of elation, irritation and relief.  She was alive, well and I could breathe again.  Breathing ended up being my undoing.  My congested lungs took exception to my “speedy” jaunt around the block and decided that now Lyndy was safe they could voice their displeasure.  I started coughing and couldn’t quit.  The coughing fit came on so quick and so fierce that it overwhelmed my bladder and I ended up peeing my pants.

Yup. There I stood hugging and kissing the dog, hacking up a lung and wetting myself.  Such a magical moment!  Needless to say all those big feels and the leg cramping from sustained walking were not overly conducive to sleep. It took some major confessing and mediation to get my trepidation down to the mellow adjacent level needed for slumber. 

And now you know how I aged 1000 years in a mere 20 minutes and Lyndy won the Best Hide and Seeker Award for all of the 2000’s!