The Revenge of the Squeak Kind

A few years ago I had an issue with mice in the house.  One winter they found their way in and decided to set-up shop.  I found out about the perimeter breach when I was cleaning downstairs.  I moved a blanket in the cat bed and something fell to the floor.  At first I thought it was an ear plug… the lighting in the basement aka Pit of Despair is not the best.  It wasn’t until I reached down to pick it up and saw it move that I realized…. not an earplug…. NOT AN EARPLUG!  

Panic took over.   What the frig was it?  Where was its mother? And more importantly how was I going to solve the problem of getting my “surprise” out of the house.  It took some deep calming breaths to stabilize my heart rate and reengage the thinking part of my brain.   My goal… to get the baby picked up off the floor, but not to touch it with my hands.  Inspired by some paint stir sticks laying on a shelf nearby I used one stir sticks as a shovel and the other to prod the little pink creature onto my make-shift shovel.   There was a small celebration moment when I succeeded, but it was short lived, as I needed to muster all my courage to execute the next part of the plan….

MURDER! 

In no uncertain terms could the pinkie stay in the house.  That said, there was only one other logical conclusion to its story… death!  Oh how I would have preferred delegating this particular part of the plan to someone else, but that is the pitfall of living alone… you get all the jobs… fun right through to natsy!

Sure, I could have left it to the cats to finish it off,  but I didn’t have a lot of trust in their abilities to handle the situation, given the thing was found in their bed.  Besides knowing them, the pinkie’s death journey would  have been prolonged and most likely painful.   Bashing it would have been quick, but messy, and more than I could stomach.  Therefore I went with the only other plausible option, I quickly dropped the pinkie  into the garbage bag at my feet and secured the top to ensure there was no way it would get out.   I said prays and wished it a quick and painless death as I carried the bag up the stairs and out into the cold winter morning.  I then spent the rest of the day oscillating between guilt, remorse and fear of what was really lurking in my basement.  

Ever since that day I have been battling the squeaks.  They find a way in.  I find the new entrance  and counter with steel wool and caulking.  Then the squeaks regroup and try again.  I swear the one side of my house has more caulking and steel wool than it has siding and stone foundation.  I have even gone so far as to toy with installing a moat of Gardner snakes or getting a pet owl to hang out in the basement.  The first was quickly parked as that would mean living adjacent to snakes… the second because I would need to get a Falconer’s license.  

Although I appear to have been “winning” the war the last few years I can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding every time I grace the entrance to the pit of despair.  Each time I carefully tread down the stairs, hyper alert to anything that suggests a squeak is down there. 

Flash forward to a few weekends back.  I’m doing laundry and for once I decided to take the time to fold and carry up everything that has been washed thus far. I start loading pants, sweats, shirts, hoodies into the cradle of my arm.  My arm is piled high with clothing when I see the folded duvet that the laundry was laying on start to move.  Surely to God it was a trick of the eye.  I reach for some socks and it moves again but more violently.  Panic starts to rise.

There is something in the folds…..

Ohhh God…. NOOOOOOOOO!

I’m frozen in place.  The movement in the folds is getting larger and more frantic.  Whatever is in there is getting closer and is just about to poke its head out of the fold.  

I SCREAM!!!!!

I hear the dogs scrabbling over the hardwood upstairs running to get to me.  Adrenaline takes over and I turn ready to drop the laundry and run… run until I can’t run any more.  

WHY ME!!!

As I turn, primed to commence my 200 yard dash to the freedom of the upstairs, I catch a glimpse of something that stops me in my tracks.  There is a piece of thread that is running from the laundry in my arm to the duvet.  

What that what????

It turns out it was the movement of my arm that was causing the duvet to move, not some rodent awakened from its warm and cloud like slumber in the pillowy softness of the duvet. 

Yes dear reader… I unwittingly managed to prank the crap out of myself.  

Even though I know it was a string, I can’t help but be leery as I approach the laundry area these days. It’s going to take me a while to recover.  Then again maybe this is the Squeaks upping their game.  Tricking me into a false sense of security, only to launch the Mother of all grand coups.   If you don’t hear from me in a while, I suggest looking in the basement first… the squeaks might have managed to finally do me in!!!  

PS-  If you come looking for me, bring weapons.  If they got me there is nothing saying they won’t try to get you too!!!

May the Odds Be Forever in Our Favor- Game Day

Nervous jitters had me up early on Saturday and if I was up, there was no way the herd was going to sleep in.  We had a short walk to air them out and then I carefully packed up the bags in preparation for heading to the event.  Not trusting Siri, I had mapped out and memorized my route to get to the venue and after a quick stop at Tim’s, for breakfast, we were on our way. 

All day rain was in the forecast, but it had not started by the time we arrived at the event.  The other competitors were accommodating and reconfigured crates to allow me to fit all three in the back holding area.  Once the dogs were settled in  I started analyzing the course maps.  Ferg was up first in Excellence and he started in fine Ferg fashion.  At least he waited until he was a few signs in before he decided to run over to the Judge to say hello.  Luckily he kept his jumping to a minimum and didn’t knock into her with his enthusiastic greeting.  He truly knows how to keep things interesting. 

Sadly for  him and for Hazel my nerves resulted in misreading two signs which cost them both 10 points each.  Luckily there were no other high point mess-ups and they both had qualifying rounds- Advanced for Hazel and Excellent/Advanced for Ferg.  By the time Lyndy made it to the ring I was very familiar with the Advanced course.  She brought her A game and we flew through the course for a perfect score and the fastest time…. High in Trial for her and her first leg for her Advanced title. 

Round two in Excellence had Ferg totally blanking on how to spin to the right.  I tried and tried but he just looked at me like I was speaking another language.  His inability to complete the sign flustered me and I figured with all my multiple commands that we had non-qualified, so I pulled him.  

BIG MISTAKE!  

Apparently had we finished he would have only had a 10 point deduction and we would have earned a qualifying score.  We had a pep talk for his Advance run and he scored a perfect 100 and earned a 4th place finish. 

I did Hazel a solid and read the signs right on her second run and she earned her second Advance leg.  Lyndy proved she is a Toby Keith type of dog (“I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.”).  No repeat of the perfect score on round two but she did earn her second leg toward her Advanced title.

The day had been rainy and dreary outside but the camaraderie and encouragement from all the Teams that were entered, made sure everyone felt a little proverbial sunshine on the course and between runs.

Lessons learned on Day 1:

•  Even if you mess up keep going, you never know how it will turn out.
•  Make like Taylor Swift and “Shake It Off” both in and between runs.  The outcome at the next sign/run can be entirely different than the last.   
•  Take your time and read the signs… there is no sense in making things harder for yourself!
•  Celebrate small successes and productive fails.

The one thing that I love post show is the moment when you return to the hotel room and the dogs just pass out, as they have left it all at the show.  I still had a little energy but was happy to lounge on the cloud bed and catch up on what had happened during the day while we were showing and report our progress to Grandma!

You can just see Ferg’s nose in the crate.

Day 2 brought a much needed reprieve from the rain.  There was even some sunshine peaking through the clouds throughout the day.  Haze was full of piss and vinegar, so much so, I lunged her like a horse prior to the start of the event and again in the afternoon.  I didn’t know what to expect from her on the course, as when we walked she was consistently forging ahead forgetting that I existed. 

Ferg started the day qualifying for another Excellent/Advance leg for his Rally Excellent/Advanced (RAE) title.  His second Excellent run ended up being a sacrificial run for the Ladies. It provided a valuable lesson that there is a thing as over fixing something.  I tried to salvage a sign that he messed up and that impulse cost him a qualifying score.  Ugggh!

On her last run for Advance level Lyndy was sending signs that she wasn’t feeling in the mood to perform from the moment she walked into the ring.  She kept looking over her shoulder at the exit, was rushing ahead, required convincing to take the jump, the first time and made a B-Line to the exit gate after jumping a second time.  She sat at the gate looking down the course at me.   I could read her thought bubble-  “Hurry the frig up, I want out!”  The only problem was we still had two more signs to finish.  Luckily I was able to convince her to come back and she scored 96 which was enough to earn her Advanced title.  

Her entry into the Excellent level was tres rough!  I was convinced that she non-qualified, as she struggled with a number of signs, I thought I saw her sit on a pivot and she was anticipating finishes galore.  I was shocked when I found out she managed to squeak through with a 76, which means only two more legs to go before she has her Excellent title. 

Haze was on fire for her two runs. She had a hard time figuring out what she should be paying attention to…  me, the floor of the ring, the signs.  She would start with me, dart to the side, come back and execute a sign, dart forward, then to the side, change her mind and come back.  I was in a full sweat by the end of her Advanced run trying to keep her engaged and on track.  The judge commented that she was dizzy from watching Hazel.  Ohhh Haze!  She finished her Advanced title with a score of 97.  Her inaugural Excellent run was also high energy, but she showed a little more control.  The judge’s comment was “very exuberant” which pretty much sums up Haze’s larger than life personality!

Whew!  Runs done for the day! Now time for a quick pack-up and airing of dogs, so that we could start the journey home. As I drove I had time to reflect on the lessons I learned on the course and throughout the weekend:

• Sometimes it is better to leave things a little messy than to over correct and make it worse.
• When you are in the thick of it, it all feels and looks like a sugar show, but others see it differently, as they can remain objective with no skin in the game.  It really amazed me how each and every single competitor tended to leave the ring convinced it was a horrible run and/or focused on what didn’t go to plan, only to be shocked by their scores. 
• Sometimes you just have to shake your head and laugh… it is what it is and it will be what it will be!
• When feeling overwhelmed, just focus on the next task and once that is done, the one after that, before you know it, it will all be over.

All in all I was pretty proud of what we had accomplished over the weekend and we now have some notes on what we need to work on for the next show.   

We made good time on the return trip and only had one wild life sighting, a moose standing in the ditch by Sudbury.  It was rainy, dusk and I was passing a Semi when I spotted it.  I told it to stay where it was, as I didn’t need a close encounter of a moose kind to finish off our journey.  The moose listened 👏.  We entered town limits around 12:15 a.m. and were at the house unloading the essentials by 12:30 a.m.    Needless to say Monday was a long day at work. 

A huge shout out to the Muskoka Kennel Club for hosting a great event and to Judges L. Purnell and S. Bell for creating challenging, fun courses for us to try and for the life lessons!  Another shout out to Jane, Andrea and Ann for your encouragement, words of wisdom and providing some fine examples of what runs should look like!  You will be happy to know that my qualifying ribbons are stapled to my score sheets and I have started a folder to keep everything organized!  You speak… I listen 😁

Ferg (working on his RAE); Lyndy (Advanced Title); Hazel (Advanced Title)

Tally-Ho, On The Road to Rally-O!

Yes my peeps it has been a while.  I have been working on a few posts that aren’t quite ready, but the main reason for the lull in posts has been because I have been working on getting three of the furry herd ready for the show season.  It’s that time of year, when I get all jittery with excitement and my nerves start to get the best of me. I try to convince myself that I am just out there to have fun, but the fiscally responsible part of my brain can’t help but think of all the money that I just shelled out and the desire to recoup costs starts to outweigh the fun factor.  It isn’t long before my inner competi-monster comes out to play and I push for perfection with the ultimate hope that they give me at least 75% on the day of the trial.  

The one disadvantage to living where we do is there are not a lot of dog shows offered, which means we have to travel a fair distance to attend.  As a result, the start of our show season is delayed until the risk of encountering adverse weather is very low.  April in Muskoka seemed to fit all my requirements- low risk of snow, 4 trials to make it worth the 6 hr drive and the chance to see some amazing Rally teams work together to crush courses.   Entry submitted,  I upped the training schedule as much as I could. 

The last training session before the show was an absolute sugar show.  It was like Ferg forgot all the signs, Hazel was more focused on chasing leaves than listening and Lyndy tried to anticipate what was coming, but guessed wrong more times than she was right.   My angst and frustration mounted with each moment and the only thing that kept the F-Bombs contained was I was training in the parking lot of a Church and there were people milling around.  I’m sure the Big JC was pleasantly surprised by the restraint that I demonstrated. 

My self-regulation challenges weren’t just related to training frustrations, my work schedule lately has been monumental, requiring me to work long days and on the weekends just to keep remotely close to be caught up on visits and documentation.  I slog away at work into early evening, rush home and try to get some training in before lessons, teaching and/or sleep time… repeat ad nausem. 

At least they have a consistent down stay!

When I registered I felt I had tons of time to get everyone ready, but we somehow fell into a time warp and before I knew it, it was the evening before the show and I still hadn’t packed, let alone bought all the essentials I needed for travel.   

Eeeeeek!!!!

Okay, no need to panic, you got this!  I started cobbling together a mental To Do list as I drove home.  There is something so comforting about having a plan of action.  I was home maybe 10 minutes before Brie decided to throw a monkey wrench into the plan by watering the couch.  

Yup!  I walked into the living room to see a puddle of pee seeping into the couch cover.  Oh the blistering string of curse words that came out of my mouth would have made a sailor blush, as I frantically stripped the layers off the couch to stop seepage through to the bottom layer.  I wasn’t fast enough which meant packing was replaced by laundry and deep cleaning.  While elbow deep in scrubbing, another one of the furry herd thought it would be an awesome idea to pee and poo in the front hall.  

Crikey!  At least I had the cleaning supplies out.

Due to my unexpected surprises I wasn’t able to finish some of the critical tasks that needed to be done before leaving.  Critical tasks such as shopping for cushiony footwear, securing more crates, poo bags and snacks.   I should have known given the night before, that is was too much to expect the morning to go smoothly.  It took forever to find a pair of shoes.  One pair would fit lefty like a glove, but righty slipped and slid.  The next pair were too tight all around. Pair three was the opposite of pair one.  I tried on pair after pair of both female and male shoes.  As the boxes started to form a fort around me, I thought I would be stuck competing in my “dead” pair of shoes.  Saucony, Keen, Salomon, Merrell had all left me high and dry.  Hope was fading and I was inwardly lamenting about all the wasted time when I saw a pair of Asics off to the side of the shoe display… could they be the ones?  I slid lefty in and he instantly fell in love, but lefty is a push over at the best of times.  The true test was going to be how righty reacted.  Thank the Lord it was toes up for righty as well. After close to an hour of searching, Cinderella had finally found her competition shoes!!!  

Shoes squared away, I darted off to Pet Smart to pick-up two more collapsible crates for the show.  I know, I know, I know!!!!  How many crates does one person need for three dogs.  You would think the answer would be three but in actuality the magic number is 5 at a minimum.   Five crates would allow me to leave two crates at the venue and have three for the hotel.  Luckily crate shopping went faster than shoe shopping, but in my rush I forgot to purchase the much needed poo bags.  It wasn’t until I was almost home that I remembered about this necessity.  No problem I thought, I could pick-up bags on the way out of town.  I sped shopped in the grocery store and headed home to finish packing my clothes, the dogs gear, food and load-up the truck.

The first thing that I noticed when I walked in the door was the floor was wet.  At first I thought the three that were free had been drooling in anticipation of our trip.  It didn’t take long for the tangy smell of pee to correct my assumption.  Someone had peed but in such a way that the urine hit the grout line and directed the pee North, South, East and West to ensure the flooring received maximum coverage. 

SERIOUSLY!!!!  I guess I’m not the only one who needs to pee when I feel nervous. 

The herd received a rant lecture as I cleaned and there may or may not have been threats to return all their sorry hides to the Breeder, as I had had enough.   

How far behind schedule was I?

The original plan was to be on the road by 9:00 am and by the time I managed to get the truck packed and the herd loaded and we were on the road by 1:00 pm… 6 hours behind schedule.   We had to make a quick stop on route to drop Wee and Brie at the Farm.  I’m sure I heard the Ladies breath a sigh of relief as they exited the truck… finally some breathing room.  Four large dogs in the back with crates is a very tight fit.  Ferg being the biggest, lucked out and had shot-gun privileges. Not that he appreciated it, he would have preferred to be in the back with the Ladies for company and kept shooting longing looks at them over the seat while I drove.

It was about 40 minutes into the journey that I realized with all my rushing, I had forgotten to pick-up poo bags.  I started to panic as I was dangerously low and didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t purchase any up before arriving at the hotel.  Siri came to the rescue and located a Pet Valu in Parry Sound, that we could easily make it to before closing.  Added bonus, I took advantage of the unplanned stop to switch out Ferg for Hazel, as they both were stressed by where they were sitting in the truck.

Siri did so well with helping me find the pet store I asked her to map out a route to Gravenhurst from Parry Sound.  I don’t know what I did to piss her off, but Siri decided to give me the silent treatment that resulted in my missing the turn off for Gravenhurst.  I doubled back and tried again.  I asked Siri to remap the route, which she did.  She started giving instructions at regular intervals and I was feeling confident.  It turns out that she was lulling me into a false sense of security before she played her master arsehole card.

Shortly after Port Carling, Siri directed me to  turn off the main road onto a side road.   This  seemed suspect… so much so that I pulled over and reasked for directions.  She re-affirmed that her original route was indeed where I should be heading.  I put my faith in Siri and continued on.  Before I knew it I was in back woods Muskoka with large homes, windy hilly narrow roads with only flocks of wild turkeys and deer for company.  

My stress levels were sky rocketing as I had no idea where I was , nor how to get to where I was going and the daylight was staring to fade.  Hazel seemed to pick-up on my stress and kept pacing and jamming herself into my side.  It was pro-social stressing at its best, each of us feeding off of each other’s energy.  All I wanted was for her to lay down and rest but I couldn’t convince her to do so for longer than a few minutes.  Before long she was back to crowding me and I felt my anxiety and frustration grow with each breath.  It was around this time that she provided me with something else to focus on, she somehow managed to figure out how to undo my seat belt.  The first time she did it, I laughed as what are the odds that a dog could undo a seat belt.  By the 30th time I was convinced she was trying to kill me!!!!    Did I mention the windy, hilly roads, turkeys and deer?  Possible death loomed around each corner.

I tried to get Siri to re-map a route but she ignored me.  I even tried my patented super cheery “Haaaayyy Sirriii!” and she wouldn’t respond.  

Picture it-  Back woods Muskoka… Hazel trying to kill me, Siri on the fritz and me lost.   I was close to tears and would have pulled over, if there had been a shoulder on the road.  But there wasn’t.  I decided to try Siri one more time and thankfully she was over her snit and provided me with accurate instructions to Gravenhurst.  As I entered town limits she decided to be difficult again and had me driving around in a circle in a parking lot looking for the hotel which wasn’t there.  I decided to take my chances and drove back to the main road, once I turned onto it I clocked the hotel in my periphery… F-U Siri!

The Herd scoping out the joint

My luck changed when I made it to the HoJo.  The night clerk felt bad about my “Wilds of Muskoka” experience and given I had three dogs with me, he upgraded my room at no extra cost.  The new room was on the ground floor with direct access to the parking lot and it was large and swanky.  I could have fit 8 crates easily in the room, there was a kitchenette, the bedding was luxurious and the mattress was like sleeping on a cloud.  As soon as I settled in all my stress and tension melted away and I finally felt like I was on vacation.

In true vacation form we decided to make the most of what little day light was left and took a leisurely stroll down the main drive to stretch our legs and to check out the sights. We didn’t get more than 1 km from the hotel when we picked up a stalker… of the canine variety.  A small dog became enamoured of the herd and would not turn back.  It followed us for a few blocks until we crossed the tracks.   Satisfied that we were out of its’ turf it turned around and headed home.   

By this time, night had settled in and the bed was calling me so we turned around and headed back to the hotel.  We all needed to rest up for Saturday’s game day!

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!

And the Heat is On…

Remember how I said in Chapter 1- Shhh Library Voices Please that one of the reasons I was hesitant about fostering a female dog was because I didn’t know if I could handle everything that came with the lady bits.  Well flash forward 3 years and it seems I have gained a reputation as a dog vulva expert.  

I didn’t seek out this expertise it just kinda found me and I guess with all the monitoring practice I have had, it figures that I can distinguish between a regular everyday joe vulva and a full blown heat vulva and all the stages in between.  Now you are probably wondering why have I spent so much time inspecting the back end of dogs.  It is not something that was high on my bucket list, but when you live with Breeding B’s you need to be on top of the status of said vulva so that a breeding cycle is not missed or worse you end up with an accidental breeding.  

I remember the first time J asked me about the status of Whisper’s vulva.  I coaxed Whisper into a down position and rolled her over to get a better look and quickly realized that I didn’t know what I should be looking for.  Enter stage left… Google image search.  Picture it, me standing over a dog with an enlarged picture of dog vulva on my phone in one hand, a dog spread eagle on the bed in front of me while the other hand is trying to part hair so that I would have an easier time comparing the picture to the real life model.  

Yep!  

That has been my life twice a year for the last three years, although I now don’t need the comparator pictures to distinguish what’s up.  I guess practice does make perfect.

One of the most surreal moments in my life involved a dog vulva.  A co-worker was wondering what was going on their dog and wanted my opinion.  Before I knew it, I was looking at a picture of  their dog’s business end. Yes, dog owners are know to have interesting photo’s on their phone.   My first thought was… she looks like she is going into heat, as it looked exactly like Whisper’s gets, swollen red and the dog was doing a lot of licking.  In this case, the dog had been spayed, but we wondered if she was maybe having a faux heat cycle. The Vet wondered this as well.

The Lady Bit Brigade

Reflecting on the current census in my house, I must have gotten over my squeamishness about being up close and personal with dog vulvas as I have saddle myself with three more, guaranteeing that I will be looking and comparing who ha dillies for at least the next four years.  Now don’t be getting all jealous that I am living the life😁. 

Lyndy’s first heat arrived  right after her abdominal surgery (more about that in a future post).  It was during back to back snow dumps and when I wasn’t shovelling, I was cleaning her back end, as she couldn’t do it herself sporting a cone of shame.  Not my most favourite vacation. 

Late Bloomer Hazel

Haze was a late bloomer and waited a year and a half to get into the menstruation game.  Having to wait was also taxing, as I didn’t know when she was going to go and if I could enter her into dog shows.  She missed the Sudbury show last year, as I thought for sure she would be in heat and I didn’t want to risk kissing my entry money goodbye. It turns out she could have competed, as her cycle ended up landing between shows.  

I predicted Lyndy would go into heat in June, based on a typical six month heat cycle.  Because of this prediction, I didn’t enter her into the local CKC show and wouldn’t you know it, she could have competed.  When she still wasn’t in heat for the local CARO show, I did a same day entry so that she didn’t miss another opportunity.  She finally went into heat in Aug… oh Mother Nature!

Trying to find a way to narrow down the guesstimated window has been something that I’ve been looking into.  Anything to help make sure we don’t needlessly miss competitions.   Well I think I found an App to help with that.  Yes, there is an app for that, go figure.  

Who Needs an App? Do the Math to figure it out!

It predicted Haze’s next heat cycle would be in Jan/Feb and it was right.  I had wondered if Aunt Flo was close to visiting, as in the three weeks preceding its arrival she became very clingy.  If I was on the couch she was velcroed to my side.  When that was not close enough she would climb into my lap and before I knew it she was trying to sit on my shoulder.  At night she would wrap her body around my head, so that it looked like I was wearing a Hazel toque.  I swear if she could have worn me as a jacket she would have.  She could get close enough to me. 

Within the next few weeks her vulva started its metamorphosis.   Her timing couldn’t have been better as  J needed to borrow Haze to help kick start the cycle of one of the Mom’s whose uterus was lolly gagging.  This involved Haze spending quality time with the other dog, playing and sleeping in side by side kennels.  The first attempt at jump starting N’S heat was a bust. Haze returned two days later as it was too early in her cycle to make an impact. Well last weekend I woke up to blood droplets on the floor.  I texted the J and the other Foster Dog Mom and Haze headed back to the farm for another sleep over.  

While there, Haze slept on a piece of carpet that went home with N to give her an extra shot of pungent heat hormones.  I’m pleased to say that it worked and the other dog is now in heat.  If everything else goes as planned there will be summer puppies (fingers crossed).  

BONUS, I’m safe to enter Haze in all the competitions that I planned to attend.  Now the only question that remains is will Lyndy sync up and start her cycle soon or will she wait until March/April??? Anyone want to start a pool as to when it will be Lyndy’s turn??? 

April Showers Bring May Flowers But Golden Showers Bring F-Bombs

Buy Stock Now! 

Anyone visiting my house lately would do a double take.  The setting says you are most definitely in a house, but the smell would lead you to believe you  have entered a Salt N’Vinegar chip factory.  The pungent aroma is courtesy of Brie who surpasses Niagara Falls with output of liquid.  I swear she starts peeing it out, as she is gulping it down, something else we have in common.

I have tried various strategies to reduce the amount and frequency of her output… limiting her to a small bowl, supervised drinking and using a a bowl that has a float that limits her ability chug, chug, chug… but none of these options have resulted in an improvement in damming Brie Falls.   Increasing the frequency of potty breaks hasn’t had any better results.  The inside pee puddle situation continues to be a hurdle we are having difficulty getting over. 

The puddles that I appreciate are the ones that I can visually clock and avoid.  The ones that I detest are the ones that I find with my foot.  I’m walking through the house going from one room to the next and BAM… super soaker!  It doesn’t help that a few of my lights on the main floor have burned out bulbs and I keep forgetting to buy more bulbs.  You would think the 10th, 11th and 16th time stepping in liquid gold would have provided an incentive for my brain to remember and prioritize the purchasing bulbs, but it hasn’t.  I step, my sock squishes, I swear,  then say “Buy light bulbs dummy!!!!”, and the cycle repeats.  

Monday night Brie woke me up at 2:00 am totally soaked from wetting in her crate.  I took her out just to make sure she didn’t need to tap the other kidney and then gave her a quick sponge bath before cleaning and disinfecting her kennel.  It was hard to fall back asleep after my 45 minutes of whirlwind toileting and cleaning, but I managed to get a few more hours of shut-eye before I had to be up for the day.  

Tuesday evening was an entirely different story.   There was a new pee puddle every time I turned around.  We would go outside and have a celebration when she peed.  That pee was supposed to buy me at least a few hours of dryness, but if I turned my back for one second, a puddle would magically appear where Brie had just been.  By bedtime I figured that she had peed it all out,  given the sheer volume of liquid that I mopped up and deodorized with vinegar.  Seriously, there had been so much cleaning that my nostrils stung from inhaling the lingering vinegar vapours in the air.  

I was wrong… very, very wrong!

There is nothing like a screaming 4:30 am wake-up call to get the adrenaline coursing through the veins.   I hurried downstairs and rushed her outside, only to have her dick around for 15 minutes… no pee… no poo.

Irritation!

I tromped back into the house and that is when I found out the reason she was so nonchalant outside.  She had flooded the crate before I let her out of it.  My indignation reached critical mass and we had a “conversation” as I scrubbed and disinfected the crate.  Okay it was more of a swear filled monologue vs a conversation, but I think I made my point clear, wake me up to pee!  Don’t pee then wake me up!!!!

I’m not a big fan of the middle of the night wake-up call, but I tolerate it when it results in action when we go outside.  Wake me up to go play outside only to find out that I have more work to do  when I get back in the house and you run the risk of unleashing Beast Max who swears a blue streak and has fits.

Who needs a weighted blanket!

Ferg sensing my GRRRRRR ARRRGHH took it upon himself to pull weighted blanket duty when I got back into bed.   It normally works to calm me down, but I was so hot from exertion and irritation that being trapped under all his fluffiness made it worse, which meant I was too hot to fall back asleep.

As it turns out I was not clear in my earlier communication about how close she was to being left in the yard with a sign saying “Free Puppy”.   Brie decided a second wake up call was in order and timed that call to happen just as I finally started to fall back asleep.  Again this transgression would have been forgiven if round two of potty break had been productive, but it wasn’t and she took it as an opportunity to play and frolic!!!

VEXATION!!!!

Murderous thoughts started popping up in my head and I worked hard to deescalate my ire.   Luckily there were no inside messes to clean, so I popped her back in the crate and headed upstairs to meditate and work toward accepting that it was going to be an incredibly long, long day.  

When I came downstairs at 6:30  I made sure she was in the crate if I couldn’t have eyes on her.  Even with this extra effort  she still managed to pee in her “dining crate” in the 5 minutes between when she finished eating and the rest of the herd finished their breakfast… there is always a little bit of delay in her post breakfast potty break, as I’m Ferg’s food bouncer so Lyndy doesn’t pilfer it.  

We went outside so she could run around in the back yard for 20 minutes and then spent another 5 minutes on leash in the pee/poo fields of the yard, but nothing.  Yet it took less than 5 seconds to produce a large inside puddle when I turned to grab contraband out of Lyndy’s mouth.  That “gift” was found with my foot.  That was the straw.  I’m not proud to admit it, but I had a tantrum that would have made Rumplestiltskin blush and cower.    

The furry herd scattered like leaves in a gale.  They know better than to stick around when Beast Max unfurls and the F-Bombs start being bandied about.  A minute latter when composure returned, I herded Brie to her crate until we needed to leave for work….my grip on calm was tenuous at best and there was no sense in risking stirring the beast again.   

We were headed out the door when my bladder reminded me that I had been so busy cleaning up Brie pee that I had forgot to pee myself.  Since she was already leashed I brought her up with me figuring she couldn’t get into too much trouble.  Wrong!  She took that as an opportunity to work on our tandem peeing skills.    

Crickey!!!!!!  (Insert Serenity Prayer here) 

Now one would think that is a truly horrible, rotten,  no good way to start a day… it was… but it wasn’t over quite yet.  I headed to Timmie’s for a “It’s okay, you are going to survive” breakfast, only to find out that my bank card wasn’t in my wallet.  

What in H E double hockey sticks!!!! I went through my pockets three times, emptied and sorted through  my wallet four times, felt between the seats, but no card.  I went home and searched the house, other jacket pockets and sill no card.  There was no choice I had to phone the bank and cancel the card.  Thank goodness I had a bit of cash in my wallet to tide me over.  

After such an eventful day I couldn’t wait to go to bed that night.  I made sure Brie had no access to water after 6:00 and took her out to tap a kidney twice before her bed time.  I’m pleased to say that Brie had a quiet and dry night, in part because Lyndy decided to mess with my head.  

I was out cold when Lyndy barked, jumped off the bed and flew down the stairs to bark again at the door.  I feared someone was breaking into the vehicle and head to the window to look. 

NOTHING!

Well I was up and I could hear Brie stirring so I decided the smart move was to go and take her out.  Success in the form of a quick pee.  

PARTY, PARTY, PARTY!!!!!

While we were out, I checked the truck and the side door of the house just to make sure and confirmed that everything was locked.  But why had Lyndy barked???? Maybe she needed out?  It was an easy fix.  I sent her out and she quickly peed, but as she finished her body became rigid and she hard stared into the darkness of the backyard/park and barked again.  

What was back there????

My paranoia level was high.  I called her back into the house, locked the door and started going from window to window to see what had her on edge. I couldn’t see anything.  Either they or it was good at hiding or Lyndy played me and got me back for the Beast mode moment earlier in the day.  

The next day was a pee coaster with extreme highs and parties and monster let downs.   The biggest let down was the partial accident on the couch which necessitated stripping off and washing all the protective coverings… this isn’ t my first trip to Puppy Town.  Thank goodness a water proof single mattress cover fits my couch cushion perfectly.  The only drawback is it takes forever to dry so the couch has been out of commission for the last two evenings.  

I had high hopes that today would be a dryer day and for a few hours it was, but then Brie managed to flood both crates multiple times to the point where she needed spot washing so that she didn’t track pee all over the house.  Well if anything, she has provided me with an opportunity to problem solve and perfect the pee cleaning process.  Now the vinegar reserves are running dangerously low and I am feeling defeated…..

Get a puppy they said….

It will be FUN they said…..

One last note before I head out to buy more cleaning supplies… oh yah and light bulbs.

I went upstairs to use the facilities and as I walked out of the bathroom I saw a lake of liquid in my small room.  When I say Lake, I am not exaggerating!  I could have boated across it… okay maybe not boated but it was large. 

FUDGE NUGGETS!!!

Lake Wee Wee

When did that happen?  Brie had been in the crate for pretty much 95% of the day.  

Seriously, HOW???? How did she manage it?

The more I thought about it, the more I doubted it was Brie. But if it wasn’t her who could have done it?  

Lyndy? 

Hazel?? 

Whisper???

Notice at no point did I think it was Mr. Bladder of Steel as he is the bestest of best boys.  There was no way it was Ferg. 

Well when I went to let the dogs out at the end of the day I found out who it was.  The evidence was irrefutable… it was Whisper.  The underside of her onesie was soaking and a dead give away that she was the guilty party.   Wee Wee strikes again!

I love that Whisper is a supportive Mom, but I could do without future attempts to help Brie flood the rest of us out of the house… hmmm now that I think about it maybe I should add hip waiters to the shopping list.  

She is dang lucky she is cute!

Airing out her Who Ha in Puppy Jail!

May your Saturday be filled with adventure and your socks remain dry!