Fergus and Other F-Words

I am adorable... Why is she complaining?

Maybe the change in weather has made me cranky and a little less tolerant... maybe it is hormones (Fergus's not mine).  But Fergus seems to have turned into a giant pain in the kester lately.  Thoughts like "I want to banish you for all time", "I love you so much it hurts", "Could you be a bigger goof ball?" are constantly swirling around in my head.   Sometimes the cycle between these conflicting ideas and resulting emotions can be days; sometimes nano-seconds.

Take yesterday as an example.  It opened with a Goof-ballesque morning.  Fergus was running full tilt when he caught a whiff of something that was apparently so enticing it caused him to forget the first law of Physics-  objects in motion tend to stay in motion.

He dropped his head to look for what smelled so good.  The only problem- he had not stopped running.  His head was sucked between his front legs.  His hind-end lifted up and flipped over.   Even the Russian judge would have given him a score of 10 for that somersault.
I laughed.

He lay there with his feet up in the air.... stunned.

This is the type of hi-jinx that started our day.  Sadly it all went downhill from there.

This week, marks the week that Fergus discovered counter-tops and the bounty they behold.  He celebrated his discovery with downing a banana.  He was in the midst of eating his second banana when I found him.  Let me tell you he was not giving it up without a fight.  He clamped down on the banana with such tenacity, pit-bulls would have been envious.  I eventually wrestled it out of his mouth and tossed the slimy, slithery mess in the garbage.   Since that moment it has been game on.  Nothing is safe.

Yesterday's grand tally was:

Fergus:

• 1 Ikea wooden spoon... texturized beyond usability
• 2 spoons- slobbered on, hidden, but not destroyed
• 2 pots sniffed, 1 licked
• 1 glass knocked into the sink.... you know.... just helping me out!



Insert words that rhyme with Chuck-it here!

• 1 knife, taken off of the counter via blade in mouth.  I am sure he was planning on hiding it to use as a shiv should I try to take any more banana's away from him.  

Me:  

• "Fergus!" repeated in varying degrees of exasperation and sometimes followed by other F-words
• Religiously doing dishes as they are used.... which could explain some of my crankiness (I detest doing dishes).
• Trying to find strategic placement for food items that are typically housed on the counter.
• Many, many sighs and grrr Arrrgh's..... to numerous to count.

Add to that 3 urine accidents and you get a picture of how my day was going yesterday.

A dramatic re-enactment of the Chuckit demise

Yesterday afternoon while working on a project I heard gnawing.  I glanced over and there was Fergus on the couch with an antler.  I went back to working.  The gnawing sound continued.  

My spidey senses must have been tingling, as  it was not long before I was compelled to go to the living room to really look a what Fergus was doing.  As it turns out the antler was a decoy.  He was really chewing on was the newly purchased Chuckit (a contraption that was invented to allow dog owners to throw balls farther and eliminate the need to handle said goobered balls).    I could feel my ire rising.  I started counting to 100.  As we were walking over to Fergus's crate, to start his time-out, I found his strategically placed booby-trap...

Surprise!  Urine accident #4!

AHHHHHHHH!!!!  

Fergus started his time-out.  I went for a nap.  

Side note about the Chuck-it.  This is the second Chuck-it.  The first Chuck-it was lost at the dog park last week when the Dogs decided to be arsehole-lee-o's before entering into the park.  As I was trying to get them under control, the Chuckit slipped out of my bag.  I did not realize until latter, but it was too late.  The Chuckit was gone.  Chuckit 2 lasted exactly one day before Fergus got his jaws on it..... see Exhibit A.

The Chuckit the day before....

The Chuckit post Ferg-i-fying

I decided to test out the Fergus's version of the Chuckit last night to see if was still usable.   It is... but it no longer picks-up the ball.   I will have remember to bring hand sanitizer the next time I use it.

Some pics from our Chuckit session last night:

"I don't know why we are running.  I am just following  you."

"Oh I get it... you have a ball!  

WHAT!!!!!

I must have the ball!!!!!!!!!"

"Are you dead??????? Blink once if you are still alive."

"Ha ha!  My plan worked.  I have the ball.

You can't have it!"

The day had turned around.  I was content.  The dogs were happy and tired which in turn relaxed me more..... sleeping dogs don't need supervision.

Then it happened.

I headed to bed and found out that the cat had jumped on the puddle-making band wagon.  

Yup!!!!!  

She peed the bed.

You know what I call that.......  synchronicity.  Start the day with pee.... end the day with pee.  

To think yesterday morning I was having a hard time coming up with a concept for my next blog.  Be careful what you put out in the universe.....  as it works in mysterious  and sometimes wet ways.

As for me.... I am focusing on the blessings that came out of yesterday.... dishes done; clean floors, dog love, chuckles and clean sheets!

Do you know what this is?

An F-Bomb in photo format!

Ode to Solitude!

I bring it on myself.... I really do!

Thought I would take advantage of this brief reprieve from the cacophony of growling, yipping and
barking to do a little writing.  As you have probably noticed I have been MIA since January.  January ushered in both the new year and the demise of my immune system.  It started with a flu-  three weeks of ughness.  There were times when I did not care if I made it, times when if I had the energy I would have heaved my carcass into the middle of the road to let a truck finish me off and times where I cried and carried on.  Thank goodness there was no one else around who had to endure my enduring of the flu.

I just started feeling better mid Feb when....  BAM!  I caught a cold.  Not just any cold... a colossal cold.  It started with a sore throat, progressed to a cough,  then enter sinusitis.  I am now on week 3 and just starting to feel 80% normal.

Now after reading this you probably feel sorry for me.  That would be a mistake.  Because I have a bad habit of making lemons into something even less palatable........

See in the midst of all this I picked up a new puppy.

I decided to get the puppy in the Fall 2014.  The puppy was born Jan 17, 2015 which made it ready to pick-up, smack dab in the middle of my cold recovery period.  If you have, are, or ever will get a puppy I highly recommend doing so when you are 100% well.  Nothing slows down recovery like 3 am walks in the freezing cold;  having to high-tail it outside without a jacket to avoid accidents in the house and "patiently" waiting for a dog to do it's business when what you really want to do is lie down and curl into the fetal position.

Originally the puppy pick-up was to be any time after March 10th.  That worked out perfect I would take the Friday before March break off and then being my Pupternity the week of March Break.  I was ecstatic..... I would not even need to cancel client visits because all the kiddos would not be in school anyways.

Excitement was short lived.  The puppy pick-up was bumped up to March 7th.

Crap!

I was just at the peak of cold-dome, still had to work and was adding a puppy to the mix.  Did I happen to mention that this was also time change weekend!!!!!!

The first week was "ruff" (sorry could not resist the pun).  It wasn't that Fergus was a poor sleeper.  The first night he slept 9 pm to 5 am and would probably have slept longer... I woke him up because I thought  maybe he had died from shock.... I was wrong... how I cursed my decision for the rest of that day.  The hard part was trying to find a new balance during a time when I did not have any balance.  All I remember was take care of basic puppy needs, spend time with original dog, work, puppy/dog care, work, puppy/dog care, bed.  For 4 days the family was in bed before 8:00 pm.  On the fifth day, I was off and pretty much slept when the dogs slept.... which when you have a puppy and a senior dog, that pretty much means you are sleeping the day away.

Week 2 was ushered in by rough-housing.  The dogs have found out that they like each other.  This does not stop Gimli (senior dog extraordinaire) from trying to claim all toys- new and old and then using said toys to taunt Fergus (Trouble 2.0).  This leads to retaliation where Fergus either plays tug-o-war with Gimli's feathers or launches into is new attack method slipping under Gimli's belly and sinking his teeth into Gimli's elbow.    The end result howling in pain, yipping and then the glorious "back off you bugger" growl/bark combo.

You would think that once the point is made that Fergus's behaviour is inappropriate that the sounds would end.    You would be wrong.

Once started the sounds grow in intensity and variation.  Gimli starts with-  " Take that you dirty rotten bastige!"  "You can fudge off!"  "Rackin' frackin' frito lay!!!!!!".  This leads to a higher pitched retort from Fergus- "Ohhh yeah!!!!!!" (Fergus is young and not so crafted in his responses yet).  Then a game of bark karaoke is born until a grand crescendo it reached or I can't take it any more and I break out the treats to bribe them into silence.

Last night I actually found myself down in the basement folding laundry. (Editor's note-  I usually avoid all forms of domestic activity)  I was humming.  I was at my Mecca.

WHY?

It was gloriously quiet...... well until Bill "the I need to talk to you" cat came down and harshed my mellow.

I guess I have my work cut out for me..... teaching the dogs what quiet means.  Until then I have to revel in moments like this one......

Editor's note.  For some reason this did not get posted... Ohh yeah.... that's right they started barking and duty called.  Thought I would post it anyway as this is proof that as long as you persevere everything will pass.  As of tomorrow Fergus will be be six months.  I look at the picture above and wonder where the time has gone.  Don't worry I have been taking pictures and gathering intel to continue blogging about the first year of life..... it's just the first few months got in the way.  Well that and the need for close supervision.

Tah Tah for now!

Craptastitic Adventures in Diarrheaville

At a recent staff meeting one of the Mom's on maternity leave was telling the table about the con's of having two kids under the age of two.  It seems that her children have decided to conspire and have opposing sleeping schedules which means she and her husband do not get a lot of sleep.  She turned to me and commented "Having pets, you probably know what I mean.... late night wake-ups, needing to go out, etc."

That is when I made my vital error.

I replied-  "I have senior pets.  They sleep in longer than I do.  Gone are the days of sleepless nights and multiple wake-up calls.  My life right now is simply divine."

The Gods of Divinity did not like my answer.  Divine retribution for my cheeky reply was their new mission.  Within two days the poo hit the fan.... I so regretted my earlier comments, but it was too late to take them back.  I just had to live with the consequences.

Some back ground information-
I am an urban farmer.

An urban what??????

An urban farmer is a someone that longs to live in the country but currently lives in the city.    They compensate by trying create a little country in the city.  If there were no pesky city by-laws, the urban farmer would make the leap and become a full-fledged in-town farmer.  Alas there are by-laws, so the urban farmer has imposed limits to animal options and must show restraint in their urban farming efforts.

In my case, my farm diversification plan includes a furry herd (three cats and a dog) and a plethora of flower gardens.  One of the cats is 18- years old and is

Syd... the cat who dreams of being an only cat!

consistently defying my predictions that it is close to the end of her life.  For three years I have been convinced that she will soon meet her Waterloo.  She chooses not to be defined by my predictions and continues to defy the odds I have outlined for her.

She is starting to look a little like Skeletor.  Her petite frame has shrunk from 11 to 5 pounds over the last three years.  She continues to be agile and eats.... as long as I stand guard and banish the other cats from her dining area by the hot air register.   My only complaint is, she has occasional diarrhea and appears to have lost her ability to predict when it is coming.  This has led to accidental pooing in areas other than the litter box.

Delightful... it is not.

As I mentioned I also have a dog.  Having a dog ensures that I do not hold the neighbourhood title of "Crazy Cat Lady"..... the title gets shortened to just plan "Crazy" or UF (urban farmer) as I like to refer to myself.  For the most part the dog has a bladder and bowels of steel.  However, every now an then

Gimli-  the dog that thinks he is a cat

he is stricken by the dreaded diarrhea.  He tries to help out by eating the feathers of his tail or grass, but that ultimately results his hacking up of a giant hairball.

Ohh yeah!!!!!  Raise a dog with cats and he eventually thinks he is a cat.  He attempts to do all that cats do-  like sleep on the back of couches, jump up on counters and it is not long until the dog demonstrates he can regurgitate hair with the best of them.

So now that you are up to speed here is a recap of the night the Gods of Divinity decided to punish me for bragging about the ease of having a furry herd.

It was Gimli who started the poo-poo parade.  He woke me up at 1:30 am by placing his nose close to mine and letting out a low guttural "Woof" in my face.  I jumped up startled, not really know where I was- let alone why I was up.  The dog's to and fro prancing quickly alerted me to his immediate need to go out.  As soon as my feet hit the floor the dog shot to the door like a bolt of lightning.  I trudge begrudgingly down the stairs after him.  I donned my boots, scarf, jacket and mitts ready to face the frigid outdoors.  He vacated his bowels in three different spots and we returned to the comfort of the house and I to my warm bed.   Soon I was asleep again.

But my slumber did not last too long......

Within an hour I awoke to a foul smell.   It was close and it was over-powering.  I felt something leap over my prone body.  I sat up... I sniffed... the heinous odour was close.... too close.  "No, no, no, no!!!!!"  I flicked on the lights only to witness the graphic art design left behind  on my bedding by the cats' ample diarrhea!  The only saving grace- she shat beside me and not on me.

2:30 am  and what was I doing?   Laundry of course.

An hour later I was crawling back into my freshly made bed.  I delighted in the fact that the worst was over.  I curled up on my side but sleep was a no go.  I flipped onto to my back.... nope still awake.   I went for no fail sideways sleeping position.  Nope!  Back to side lying.....  finally I fell asleep, when....

Duh duh da!!!!!!

The dog woofed at me again.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

I stood up and the room started spinning.  My legs felt weak.  I looked at the dog and knew I did not have the fortitude to don all my winter apparel to take him outside to "pee" out his poo.  I almost cried.  Then I recalled I have puppy pee pads for the cat.... it really saves the hardwood floors.  I grabbed a couple and instructed the dog to use them when he finally broke down and let the diarrhea flood gates open up.  I crawled back-up the stairs and locked all the animals out of my room.  I knew there would be at least one mess to clean in the morning, but I hoped it would not be too big and that it was conveniently on the pads vs the one and only area rug in the house.

As it turned out-  I might as well have taken the dog outside.  This was the same night that Bill (cat #2) decided to serenade me for the remainder of the night!  ** See "Timmy Better Have Fallen  In the Well" post. ** 

Around 5:00 am I needed to extricate myself from the room to use the washroom.  As I was sitting there, I noticed a dark blob on the light flooring.  It was lit by the soft glow of the night-light.  Sans glasses I squinted trying to make out what it was..... a sock?  Did I drop something?

No!!!!!!  It couldn't be!!!!!  It isn't a pile of poo.... Is it?  I became frantic.

Did I step in it??????   Reason set in-  No you didn't.  It would have gushed under your foot and between your toes if you had.  Whew!!!!

The next thought was-  Crap, crap, crap, is it on my pant leg.  I wanted to know the answer but was loathe to feel to find out.  I waited until I was free to turn on the light.  Yup-  it was pooh and no it was not on my pant leg.  A quick clean up and it was back to being serenaded by Bill until I finally gave up on trying to get some sleep.

Animals!  

If you have them- be prepared to deal with proverbial and literal pooh!!!!!!!

Poo Bags-  The Urban Farmer's most prized farm implement