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!

  

Happy National Golden Retriever Day

It would be remiss of me not to post a blog about Golden’s on National Golden Retriever Day, so here it goes:

Hello… remember us???

The life of a multi-dog household centres around.. you guessed it dogs.  Between walks, airing, feeding, training and the constant monitoring to make sure they don’t kill themselves, it is no wonder that my life feels like it is pretty much 24/7 dog, dog, dog. 

Please don’t think I am complaining, because I’m not,  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Last week I had to travel for work, but was afraid that weather would either delay my return and/or leave me stranded up North.  I decided to take a proactive approach and arranged for the furry herd to stay overnight at the farm.  It was rush, rush, rush to get them all packed up and dropped off, which was followed by an ultra quiet abyss.  It felt unnatural to walk down the hall or sit on the couch without having to plan a route around the herd.   I was so unnerved, I decided the best option was to go to bed early. 

This was a turning point for me, as it was hard to miss the herd when I could stretch out and have the whole bed to myself.  BONUS, having them away meant an extra 45 minutes of sleep the next morning and believe me an extra 45 minutes is nothing to scoff at when it changes your wake-up time from 4:15 to 5:00 a.m..  Whoot!  Whoot!!!

Thanks goodness the weather cooperated and I was able to pick them up the next evening.  I delighted in the clickety clack of nails on hardwood, as they zoomed around the house checking out what had changed since they had left.   Life and our daily routines resumed from a momentary pause.  

What does a typical week look like with multiple dogs????

Fun at the Farm- GoldenPride Kennels

Meal times can resemble a shark feeding frenzy, at times, depending on how hungry the herd is.  I have two that spin like a centrifuge, spraying long goobery strands of drool all over my lower cabinetry, as the other two dance around.  The puppy does a combo dance and spin all the way from the food bag to her crate. Once the bowls hit the ground and the release word is given, the frenetic energy level increases by a factor of 10.  It is not uncommon for bowls to spin across the floor spilling kibble every which way.   That is when feeding time turns into a game of Hungry Hippo.  Furry bodies scattering to and fro trying to hoover up as much kibble as they can before their opponents finish their bowl and join in the hoovering fun.  

Please Sir… More Kibble!

Airing the herd aka potty breaks take about 45 minutes each time… depending on how much they want to dawdle,  Walks can be anywhere from 45 minutes to 1.5 hours depending on whether I take all of them together or for individual walks around the sniffy block.  Depending on my degree of tired and the weather I either love or loath airing time.  I would be lying if I said I didn’t have the occasional fantasy about being able to squeeze the pee/poo out of the dogs to speed up the process so that we can make a hasty retreat to the warmth of the house.  But no… I have been blessed/cursed with three dawdlers.  They get distracted by the smells, sights and sounds, quickly forgetting why they are outside.   Thank goodness two have mastered the skill of pooing and peeing on command or I might never sleep again. 

Feelin’ Adventurous with the Fab 4

Formal training lessons can range from 1-2 hours an evening three days a week with short training spurts throughout the rest of the week.  I teach Rally 2 hours a week to offset the cost of lessons and work to keep the dogs in training treats and to pay for dog shows. 

Rally anyone?

Is it worth the time commitment????

The stories and memories are worth their weight in GOLD! 

Here are some of the stories from this week….

Wednesday was a day of regret and lament.  The night before I had tried new training treats with Brie during her lesson.  She really liked them and consumed a ton over the course of the hour.  Well I found out the next day that her tummy isn’t quite ready those treats.  She was up on the bed early Wednesday morning snuggling with me when she abruptly left.  The next sound I heard ended with a squirt.  

Was it a fart or a shart???

It was a shart 💩.  I had just cleaned up pile number one, when she was got busy making pile number 2, then 3.  It was quite astounding how much poo was packed into that tiny little frame.   Needless to say she had her first exposure to a bland diet, which she wanted nothing to do with until the other four tried to take over eating it, then it became ambrosia… the best food EVERRRR!

By Thursday I was wiped out, and did not have any food in the house, so I decided to order pizza.  Now pizza night is a fan favourite in this house.  Four of the furry herd know a delivery car means they will soon be feasting on pizza crust and they start drooling as soon as they see the car pull into the driveway.  I have started meeting the delivery person outside vs at the door, as it can be intimidating approaching a house with four dogs with frothy mouths intently staring you down from the doorway.  

I exited the house as soon as I saw the car slow to a stop.  Brie managed to escape and joined me greeting the delivery person in the yard.  As he was petting Brie he looked up to see the other four all lined up noses pressed against the glass of the storm door, droolicles stretching from the corners of  mouths to the floor.  “You sure like the dogs!!!  5??? Do I count 5????”.   

And that is how a reputation is born!

I was able to use the smell of the pizza to lure Brie back in the house.  It didn’t take long for me to start feasting on slices,  much to the delight of my audience.  After I was finished eating I had to change into dry pants… it is amazing how much drool five dogs can produce in one sitting… enough to fill an Olympic sized pool.

You are getting sleepy…. Now feed us some dang pizza!!!!

Ferg brought the adrenaline rush to Friday.  I had put him out on the tie-out rope and went back inside to finish some last minute things I wanted to get done for work.  As I was working I notice an elderly gentleman from the hood walk by with his dog.  Shortly after he passed Lyndy started whining and running from the window to me and back again.  That’s when I heard voices getting louder and more forceful outside coming from the area Ferg usually chills in.

What could be going on?  Was someone trying to steal Ferg???

I went to the window to look out and what I saw froze me to the spot for a millisecond.  The elderly gentleman and his dog must have stopped to say hi to Ferg and had proceed to move from the safety of the road into what I refer to as the “Strike Zone”.  

Ferg attempting to lure people into the Strike Zone

See Ferg is a jumper/climber, but he is sneaky about it.  He sits in the Strike Zone all calm, quiet and dignified looking.  As people pass he starts smiling and wagging his tail… an invitation to the passerby to come and pet him….which they all tend to do.  What the newbies don’t know is,  as soon as they breach the perimeter of the strike zone, Ferg starts gearing up for his attack of love.  He always makes sure his target is well within the middle of the zone before he makes his move, blocks their retreat and starts climbing or jumping on them.  The calm disappears and a stage 5 clinger is born.   His target is usually startled by his change in demeanor and now has to extricate themselves from Ferg’s clutches and make a hasty retreat.  Not an easy thing to do, as he is persistent.

Ferg’s Friday target knows this about him.  He has known this about him for the last 9 years.  Given the man in question is rake thin… pretty much sinew and bone and in his late 90’s he usually just talks to Ferg from the street.  So you can imagine my surprise when I look out the window and found him ensnared by Ferg and the tie-out rope, in the middle of my yard standing on a patch of ice.   I quickly ran outside and instructed the man to stand still while I unhooked Ferg from the lead, and carefully unwound the rope from between and around the gentleman’s feet. My fear was Ferg accidentally pulling the man down and dragging him all over the yard, like a scene from a Western. 

Untangled, the man swiftly made his way to the safety of the street, probably offering prayers of thanks that he made it out with both hips intact.  Seconds latter his dog pulls the leash free from his hands and boots it back to Ferg.  I guess Ghilles wasn’t done living on the edge.    I retrieved the dog and brought him back to his owner, then rushed Ferg back into the house to remove Ghilles’s temptation to 3-peat running away.  

Is this what is meant by dog pile??

This is how I started my morning…under a pile of dogs.  If you look closely you can see my hair by the side of the purple ball.  I was lounging in bed making my grocery list when the herd spotted dogs frolicking in the park behind the house.  In my house windows are like TV for the dogs.  Shortly after this,  Lyndy went downstairs and brought up a food bowl as a hint that maybe I would be serving them breakfast in bed, given it was Golden Retriever Day!

Breakfast in bed would not be remiss!

Really, some dogs and their dogs!!!!

Well dear reader, this is where I sign off… may your day and the days that come be Golden!

Chapter 1: Shhhh! Library Voices Please!!!!!

One surprising thing about Gim’s passing was how great Ferg took it.  I was a mess, but to him it was another Friday night.  I couldn’t quite understand how he could be so cavalier about it all. A life with Gim was all Ferg ever knew.  Gim was his bestest of buds, his partner in hijinx and his finisher when retrieving from of water.  I thought for sure Ferg would feel his absence as much, if not more than I.  It turned out he was more resilient and chose to focus on the bright spots- more room in the bed, no more having his supper stolen, all of my free time was his and his only;  while I clung to the loss of what was and would never be again. 

Gim knew all the best mud spots

How Gim loved to run

The years that followed focused on  picking up the pieces and slowly getting on with life.   Walks around the block, that brought back memories of day of yore, turned into fitness challenges that had us walking in new neighbourhoods for hours.  Next was a return to back-packing, something that Gim used to enjoy.  It felt strange being on the shores of the lake without Gim there, faking lameness so that I would pack out all his gear. Ferg’s love for the outdoors and adventure was a balm for my sadness.  With each day that passed the bone aching sorrow became less and less.  But now I had a new fear.  

I made it through the loss of Gim with the help of Ferg.  He was my anchor through the whole ordeal, but if something happened to him I would be pooched.  It would be just me and the cat.  Oh Bill would try his best to provide comfort, but let’s face it he would fall short of the mark because he was lacking an essential factor… he was not a dog.  

There was no other option… I needed to get Ferg a playmate, so I contacted GoldenPride and put a deposit on a puppy to secure my place on the waiting list.  All I had to do then was be patient and wait for Mother Nature to take her course.  

The universe had other plans for me, though.  One day I received an email from Jen (owner of GoldenPride) asking if I would consider a different option.   She wondered if I would be interested in a foster to own with one of her current Mom’s.  Whisper  would live with me, but go back to GoldenPride for breeding and whelping.  I was hesitant about accepting the offer, as I didn’t know if I could handle everything that went with living with an intake female…. heat cycles, girlie bits and pre-natal care. 

“Why don’t you take her for the weekend! Try it out!!!”was Jen’s suggestion. 

What would trial hurt?  Besides at the time, I felt having a little more female energy in the house wouldn’t be a bad thing given the males outnumbered me.

Ferg fell in love right away.  Whisper could not escape him.  If she zigged, he zigged if she tried to leave he would follow.  At one point I had to crate her just to give her a break from his incessant admiration.  Bill could not believe his eyes… how could I bring another dog into the house???? Sacrilege!!!  While Ferg was busy stalking Whisper, Bill was following me around listing off a litany of reasons why adding a new dog to the mix was the worst mistake I could make.  It was a long day and night.  

Permagrin…. Ferg’s Vote Yes to keeping her.

There may be bars between us… but I’ll wait for you!

She has pierced me with the bullets of love!!!

WTF Linda!!!!

I woke on Day 2 knowing that Whisper had found her forever home.  Let’s face it, as soon as the cat balked about it, my mind was made up.  It served him right for all the late night wake-up calls.  Of course her calm easy demeanour also worked in her favour.  

Lazy Weekend Mornings

You might be thinking pretty sweet deal. I think about getting a dog and just like that a quiet, trained,  adult just falls in my lap.  I got to jump past of all the potty, leash and obedience training into the fun bit and bonus, everyone got along right from the start.

As I write it out it sounds a little like a fairy tale and it would have been except for one thing….. there is a reason why Whisper’s nickname is Wee Wee.   Wee has had and continues to have occasional bouts of incontinence and she is also prone to having the occasional bowel accident in the house.  Shortly into her stay with us I started finding wet spots on the carpet… typically with my foot… YUCK!  

What was going on?  

Add to the carpet bombing, flooding her bed/bedding when crated.  Ohhh the laundry!!!

I removed the bedding from her crate, upped the frequency I was taking her outside but she still would have an accident every few days.  Scrubbing carpets was my purgatory for not listening to the cat’s initial pleas to reconsider.  Ferg continued to look at her with adoring eyes.  I was starting to shoot her a hairy eyeball every time there was a crate or carpet accident to clean up.  Monitored water intake and frequent trips to the great outdoors helped get the inside peeing under control.  Once that was sorted out, and my cleaning duties were back to a reasonable level, I could start to enjoy her as much as Ferg. Even Bill was coming around.  

Although consistent in her ability to have house accidents, Wee is unpredictable when it comes to her heat cycle. First off was the timing between cycles.  For most females that tends to be 6-7 months. For Wee it was between 8-9-10 months, definitely not something you could set your clock by!  

Once she started a heat cycle it tended to be a split cycle i.e. she would have all the signs of being in heat but it would stop just as suddenly as it started.   All this has meant that  I  have had to  get up close and personally acquainted with her vulva.  Of course not really knowing what an out of season vulva looks like it also meant some time on Google to educate myself on the differences… yes my Google history is very, very assorted… don’t judge my thirst for knowledge. 😁

Around the time she was supposed to be in season I started checking out her Bits:

“Nope no swelling.”

“Still no swelling.”

“Hmmm…. things could be looking a little bigger.”

“THERE’s BLOOD!!!”

At the first sign of blood I rushed her out to Jen’s, only to have her returned two days later,  because she was back to showing no signs again.  In those two days of absence both Bill and Ferg questioned what I had done with her.  They wanted their Whisper back

Ohh the forlorn looks I was subjected to while she was away.  The second time that blood appeared, she stayed in heat and had some vacation time at the kennel, getting her groove back with Nigel.  

Upon her return we resumed our walks and daily routines, counting down the days until it would be revealed if she was pregnant. 

She’s Back… and so is the Permagrin!

Whisper has never been one to have the one day of morning sickness that most dogs have… that early indicator that some buns are a cookin’!. She heartily spins like a tornado while I prepare her meals and hoovers food down like it was going out of style through each pregnancy.

For the first pregnancy on my watch, Wee Wee did just that… she had many, many wee’s around the house.  I started to suspect that something was wrong with her girlie bits and a trip to the vet confirmed both a bladder infection and that there were babies on board.  Whoot Whoot!  I was going to be a Grandma!

Wee with her buns in the oven

The one drawback of fostering a Mom is they are gone for 8 weeks to have their litter.  The awesome part is all the puppy play dates over those same 8 weeks. 

It’s boys and girls!

Ohhh those little faces.  100% cuteness overload.  It was a bitter sweet sadness to see them go.  On one hand Wee was home, but on the other no more watching the antics of the puppies learning and experiencing new things and no more access to puppy breath….ohhh how I had become addicted to puppy breath in those few short weeks. 

You know how I mentioned my Google search history has some pretty interesting search topics… well Whisper’s return brought another one… mastitis.  Whispers teats were hard, mega red and hot.  I thought it might be because of the pressure build up so I started hand milking her to try and relieve some of her pain…yes, I can add milking a dog to my resume under soft skills.  

Periodic milking helped,  but not enough.  Next up epsom salts soaks.  When that didn’t work either I channeled my inner Vivian Westwood and fashion her a cabbage bra using a tensor.   All efforts to solve the issue naturally were a fail, so it was back to the vet for an assessment and intervention.  A pregnancy, book ended by vet visits, and we were only 5 months into our time together. 

While she was away the house was lonely and too quiet without her.  I share my first world problem of empty nest syndrome with Jen on one of my visits to see Whisper.  She offered a solution, I could foster one of the males she had at her house.  I was hoping for George, as I found humour in the fact that I would have a George and Bill living at my house (which happen to be my cousins names).  Sadly, Gorgeous Georgeous (my nickname for him) was already spoken for.  She was looking for a foster for a male Springer Spaniel.  She quickly followed that nugget up with her now infamous phrase, the one that gets me every time.  “How about you take him home for the weekend.  Just try it out!”.  

You know me…. I’m a sucker… I said sure.

And then there was Oaks!

Warp Speed Ahead!

I went to sleep on Monday night and I woke up and it was Thursday!

WHAT!!!! 

Where did Tuesday, Wednesday go?  What did I do??? How could time just disappear like that?

I remember when time seemed to stretch into a vast void.  A time where I would look at the clock and it would read 10:00.  What felt like hours and days would go by and I would  look again it was 10:02.  How I long for those days. 

Did all my years  wishing that time would hurry up,  finally come true?  If that is the case, youth be careful what you wish for.  The speed at which time moves now is both alarming and leaves me feeling dizzy and off centred…. And yes I am sure it isn’t the post concussion symptoms acting up. 

Hazel and Brie perfectly sum up what this month has been like for me.  Hazel (the older dog) is time and I am Brie trying to catch up, almost getting there only to be body slammed when I least expect it. All my plans that I had hoped to accomplish this week have slowly dissolved into nothingness.   On the bright side tomorrow is Friday, which means I have two solid days to buckle down and tick a few tasks of the ole’ to do list.    

Is anyone else feeling like Jan is slipping away like sands through the hour glass… so are the days of our lives 😳 (Sorry I couldn’t help myself it was low hanging fruit and a ode to my younger soap opera watching self). 

Yesterday was the Turkey’s ninth birthday. It seems impossible that he is that old but his progressive sugar face is a sure sign that time is passing.  I consider myself lucky that he made it past the dreaded 8 year mark.  Eight seems to be the magic number for most Golden’s, an age where many succumb to the dreaded “C” word.  I feel blessed that Ferg has made it to the BONUS years!

From this to….

To This… “Pour Some Sugar On Me”

All dog owners hope and pray that they get as much time as possible with their furry side kick, but all too many are not so fortunate.  Just the thought has me tearing up.  I feel for the owners and for the loss of all the Good Boys and Girlies who are no longer here to play a game of fetch,  answer questions with a goofy tilt of the head, swiftly zoom away with contraband and to wolf down items that were never meant to be consumed.   

The silence that happens after the passing of a furry family member is shattering.  You don’t realize how much you miss the sound of nails on the hardwood, or the warmth of a giant head on your lap, a soulful stare that lets you know in the core of your being that you will be okay, even though your brain is telling you nothing will ever will be right again.  Just when you need them the most, they are gone and the pit of despair becomes just a little deeper.   

The saying is “Time heals all wounds!”.  but when it comes to the loss of a dog I don’ t agree.  The wound is always there, just smaller with longer periods of time between the bouts of heartache and the tears.  That is the unconditional love tax that comes due when our furry guardians cross over the Rainbow Bridge.  It is a tax that I am glad to pay many times over, as it means I had the bestest of the best in my life be it for a minute, an hour or years and years.  

This post is dedicated to all the awesome dogs that have passed.  Thanks for making life a little more beautiful, bright and fun.  

The OG Dude. 2005- 2019

Hurkle Durkle or Bust

It was a week last week.  I guess it was to be expected, as I was off work for a month and also had a three week break from my extracurriculars.  Just long enough to develop new daily routines and to start overestimating what I can actually accomplish in a day.  

The other mitigating factor was how much additional time is added to daily routines, when there is a puppy afoot.  All the extra laundry, spot cleaning of the floor, having to bring the A- Game for pick-up and monitoring.  It can be exhausting.

Optimistic me pictured my return to daily life would go something like this:

• Wake-up and complete a quick 10 minute yoga routine. 
• Potty the puppy and return her to the crate.
• Complete a 20- 30 minute work out and 15-20 minutes of meditation.
• Potty the puppy again along with the rest of the furry herd.
• Get dressed, feed us all, grab my lunch prepared the night before, and skip off to work with a little tra la la in my step.

What actually happened was more along the lines of this:

• Wake-up, start yoga, make haste to get down the stairs to toilet the puppy.
• Put puppy back in the crate and listen to her screaming and crying while I completed the yoga routine and a 20 minute workout.
• Skip the mediation… who has the time… not me!
• Potty the puppy and other dogs.
• Look at the clock and swear.
• Try to dress, with the puppy trying to help by running away with my socks, under garments and/or trying to hold onto my pants and/or shirt while I’m trying to insert limbs into the holes.
• Rush downstairs and quickly feed the dogs.  
• Hum and ha for a second wondering if I had enough time to make myself something.
• Head to work muttering under my breath about “jack asses” and “dawdlers”. 
  
  

  

  Cranky Pants Face

I did manage to sneak in a 20-minute mediation before my most problematic meeting.  It isn’t problematic because of the content, or people, it’s problematic as it is the one meeting that consistently brings on my post concussion symptoms.  I had my fingers crossed that I was over the hump, as I only had two days with symptoms when I was off and the symptoms were short lived.  

Well even the power of mediation couldn’t help.  By 20 minutes in I started to feel the vice tightening around my head.  By the 30 minute mark I was riding the Tower of Terror… it feels like the floor drops out and I am falling, only to be caught and shot back up and then free falling again.  Add to that feeling an intense headache and a strong desire to flee.  Let the fun times roll!!!!  

I haven’t been able to figure out what it is about this meeting that causes such a strong reaction.  What my Monday experiment has proved to me, the symptoms are  not related to feeling rushed or stressed.  I was the most Zen I have been in months walking into that meeting. 

My evening routine went pretty much like my morning.  It was rush, rush, rush to get the essentials done so that I could make it to training.   Hazel was just a tad too excited when we got to lessons and she pulled on the leash.  Hard enough for me to slide down to the ground.  It’s a good thing that I have a well padded tush!  We did have a short discussion on how much she SUCKS as we walked to the door. 

Tuesday and Wednesday went about the same.  Too much to do, not enough time.  By Wednesday evening I was all sorts of cranky.  All I wanted was bed and another week off.  The dogs’ Max Cranky meters must all have been broken, as it felt like they were doing everything they could to push me over the edge.  I would love to say that my thirty odd days of mediation helped me calmly and rationally support the dogs in meeting the expectations I had for them… but no… I went full Rumplestiltskin on them.  There was a rant of epic portions, listing their litany of poor choices and banishing all to crates for the night.

By Thursday/Friday I had abandoned my morning workout goals, choosing instead to have an extra 30- 40 minutes of sleep.  So when Friday came and I learned about hurkle durkle I was ready to embrace the concept with gusto.

“Hurkle Durkle” is a 200 year old Scottish word meaning “to lounge in bed long after it is time to get up”.  I was ready to hurkle durkle to the max.  Seize the Durkle day I say!!!

Ferg knows how to Hurkle Durkle… It’s kinda funny as one of his nicknames is Furkle Turkle

Well I forgot about one thing.  It is impossible to Hurkle Durkle when there is a puppy in the house.  I woke-up Saturday morning a the crack of dawn.  I stretched and was basking in the luxury of knowing I didn’t need to, nor was I going to get up right away.  This fuzzy warm blanket moment lasted all of 45 seconds.  Brie must have sensed I was up and she started crying.  In the effort to save myself from having to do more laundry I heaved myself out of bed and headed downstairs.  Sadly the herd followed and my day commenced.

I was determined though,  and on the fly I switched my plans from hurkle durkling to just durkling.  To durkle is to lounge on the couch, instead of bed, and watch  Netflix, TV or read a book.  I am proud to say that with a few minor interruptions I managed to spend a vast majority of the morning in contented durkling, with and without furry companions joining me.  

It wasn’t until last night that I realized, as much as hurkle durkling feels extravagant and luxurious there is a down side… today has been a mad rush to get everything that needs to be done, done so that I can be ready to tackle next week.

SIGH!!!!  

Ohh well it was worth a try.  

Syncing Up!

I don’t know about you but there are people in this world who grate on my nerves.  Just the sheer act of their breathing can elicit the same response in me as nails on a chalk board.  A screeching, jarring sensation that feels like eternity and the end of the world all at once.  When I encounter said people, I go to extreme lengths to avoid… avoid… AVOID!

But every now and then I find a new tribe member.  Someone who just gets me…. Who sees and accepts the good, the bad and the ugly bits of me. I know, you know, what I am talking about! That person who can finish your sentences and can tell what you are thinking even as the thoughts are forming in your head.  The one who leaves you random messages or sends you an out of the blue card to let you know they are thinking of you.  The mystery books, flowers or magazines that show up at just the right time.  When you find these people it is a rare and treasured gift.

I have had the houour and privilege to have met more than a few who fall in this category.  Even though it shouldn’t, it still surprises me when I dream or randomly think about them, only to get a text or call from them the next day.  It’s like we are cosmically connected…. Synchronous.

There are benefits to being in sync with others.  You don’t have to work as hard to explain your thoughts or feelings, they just get it.  In fact when you are in total sync with someone,  you don’t even need to talk at all.  Silences become yet another thing you share in mutual harmony vs those anxiety ridden stress fests when you are with non-tribe members!

I feel lucky that my tribe is not contained to the just the two legged variety.  My tribe has and continues to contain a wide variety of four-legged members, the occasional tree, a handful of rocks and some specific locations that make my heart sing Hallelujah I am home.   

Over the years Fergus and Vivian have probably been the two four-legged tribe members who have been the most apt at reading my mood and actively work/worked to help me rise out of my pits of despair and frustration.   Vivi would waddle on over and curl up in my lap or by my side and would purr the pissy mood right out of me.  It was hard to stay infuriated when she was around.   She was silky soft and had a purr as loud as a diesel engine.  

Ferg is my living breathing weighted blanket.  He smoothers me with love and has knack of trapping me under him, so that I can’t move and must submit to living in the moment.  Many a time he has started to rise only to sense I still had some latent grrr arrgh in me and he lays back down… “Nope… 15 more minutes of smushing for you.  The world doesn’t like a cranky pants!!!!”  

Can you spot me under the pile of fur?

I could not have made it through Covid without the therapeutic ministrations of the Fjords. 

The welcoming nicker of Jez when I exit my truck fills my heart with an abundance of joy.  

Ingrid who was my shadow for over a year and a half.  She may have joined a new tribe, but she will never be forgotten. 

Boss Bitch Torrie who is the living epitome of don’t take SHHugar from anyone one! I love, love, love her side eye!

And Sola….   Well Sola likes to pretend that we are not part of the same tribe…. Walking away when she realizes there is no food and there might be work involved.  But like Pepe le Pew I “ack ack ack pierce her with the bullets of love” and all of a sudden she remembers just how good it feels to be in a tribe with me.  It means all the more when we finally sync our steps,  a mutual victory, as we head off for our sunset walks down country roads.  It’s a time for connection  and to bond over our mutual dislike of mosquitos and flies.

I didn’t think there could be a pitfall to synchronicity until Brie came along.  It seems that Brie and I are so in sync that even our pee schedules are sympatico. Yes Houston we have a problem!  My bladder sends a signal to my brain that the need to pee is gaining in priority, of course it is right around the time that Brie also needs to go out to relieve herself.  Well now I have a choice to make… who goes first??? Her?  Me???? 

Well let’s face it, it is more embarrassing if the two-legged member pees her pants vs the four legged one.  I head upstairs and pray for speed so that I can finish and get Brie outside before puddle making commences.  Sadly we are not doing so well on that account.  More times than not she follows me upstairs and pees in the bathroom with me.  Yup, synchronized peeing… coming to a dog event near you.    Hmmm typing this out I am now wondering why I haven’t just put her in the tub.  An option to try out next time.

Now you may be thinking, “Suck it up Max! Just take her out first!”  Well I have also tried that, but there is something about the cold that shoots my urgency factor from 100- 1,000,000 in 5.2 seconds.  Picture it.. Max is outside with Brie who is dawdling at the end of the leash and is probably thinking,.. “Let’s see how she likes waiting!!!”.  All of a sudden I have reached the critical threshold.  There is no way I am making it back into the house, let alone up stairs before the Hoover Dam of my bladder explodes.  I am faced with a decision, drop my drawers or pee my pants.  

Well I did it. 

I dropped my drawers and peed in the yard and who peed with me…. Brie!!!  There is something to be said about peer modelling when learning a new skill.  Should this happen in the future and you happen to be walking through the park or down the road and you think… “Is she doing what I think she is doing??? Please be kind and avert your eyes.  Me and my aging bladder thank-you in advance!  

Don’t eat the yellow snow! It’s not my pee HONEST!! Ferg was working on his cursive!!!

This post is dedicated to all my peeps who have buoyed me up during the hard times, were there to celebrate until the Moo Moo cows came home when times exceeded our wildest dreams and for all the moments that have been in between.  Your are and forever will be revered!