Freak Accident

Have you ever gotten the feeling that you aren't completely embarrassed yet, but you glimpse tomorrow's embarrassment?
Tom Cruise

Earlier this evening, I was taking one of those preciously few breaks that harried mothers have, and escaped to the shower to linger under the flow of warm water and soap suds.

Suddenly, my reverie is broken by the sounds of my two dogs howling in pain and my kids screaming for help. I raced down the stairs to find that, somehow, Baxter had not only gotten his lower jaw hooked around Daisy's collar, but also completely wrapped around it! He is shaking his head and yelping which only served to tighten the collar around Daisy.

I frantically tried to unbuckle her collar, but it was too tight and the hook was too near Baxter's jaw to allow me to get it loose. So I had one of the kids bring me a heavy duty pair of shears, and after trying to calm the two dogs long enough to slip the scissors under Daisy's now very tight collar, I managed to cut it off her. Just as well, I could hear her breaths getting pretty rattled.

Everyone, luckily, is no worse for the wear. Everyone, that is except for me. Much to my chagrin, I had performed the collar extrication in the living room. In front of two windows with the shades rolled up. You see, in my haste, I had come barreling out of the bathroom (and more precisely, the shower) and down the stairs at the first cries, both human and canine. So, the entire time, I was dripping wet, stark naked, and totally oblivious to everything but the plight of my poor pups!

Maybe no one noticed?

Daisy Dog

Animals are such agreeable friends - they ask no questions; they pass no criticisms.
George Eliot

It has been quite awhile since I posted, but Life has kept me busy. Here is my newest addition, rescued from a high kill rural shelter in Georgia.



Here she is hanging out with our other rescue dog, Baxter. We have had him since he was a puppy.

The Dog Jabberer

People teach their dogs to sit; it's a trick. I've been sitting my whole life, and a dog has never looked at me as though he thought I was tricky.
Mitch Hedberg

I am addicted to watching the Dog Whisperer. It stars a man named Cesar Millan who runs the Dog Psychology Center in Los Angeles. He is often called "the Dr. Phil for dogs" due to his ability to rehabilitate wayward or precocious pups. "But therapy doesn't stop with the pets. Cesar often has to re-train the dogs' owners to be more effective leaders for their furry friends." Unfortunately, watching does not translate into having the perfectly trained pooch. I am NOT a great pack leader according to Cesar Millan. I definitely need some retraining.

His formula for a contented and balanced dog seems impossibly simple: exercise, discipline, and affection, in that order. Hold on! I have kids, and I KNOW that those things are far from simple! The affection part is easy. Except when the dog has gotten a hold of your favorite black flats and chewed on them. And the leather flip flops. And the pair of come-f**k-me heels. Exercise? I have a hard enough time with that one myself. Besides, I thought dogs came by that naturally. Not so, according to Cesar. And then there is the discipline. "A dog that doesn't trust its human to be a good pack leader becomes unbalanced and often exhibits unwanted or anti-social behaviors," admonishes Mr. Millan. It's true, but as far as I am concerned, I think that I am the unbalanced one.

I have watched religiously and tried to practice what I have seen on my own dog-boy aka Baxter. Bax is a year old black lab/border collie mix that we got through a rescue group. He has all of the best traits of his two breeds... he is friendly, smart, and loyal...and all of the worst too. He can be fetch-obsessed at times, usually right around the dinner-bedtime routine. He's a herder; he likes to nip at our heels to get us moving. And he demands more attention than my five year old! I am hoping that much of this is due to his "youthful"exuberance, after all dogs don't fully mature until around 2 years of age. However, in the back of my mind, I think I am creating a monster. A monster who loves to counter-surf and lick my toes (eewww). A monster who chortles and rowrr-ruff-rowrrs (pay attention to ME!) during important phone calls. A monster who refuses to go for walks because, even though we have taken off the radio collar, he still thinks he is going to get zapped. (I told you he was smart!) A monster who looks at you with his big brown puppy eyes and wags his tail the minute you walk through the door. (I missed you. You only went t o the mailbox and back...but I missed you!) A monster who has wormed his way into our hearts...and costs a small fortune in heartworm meds!

So, here's hoping that a few more episodes will turn this dog jabberer into a dog whisperer. Cesar, when are you coming to Boston? I need you!

Here Kitty, Kitty!

My house is run, essentially, by an adopted, fully clawed cat.
Anthony Bourdain

I have discovered that one of my beloved cats is diabetic. He has always been a little bit on the chubby side, but in the last few months he had been losing weight at a rather dramatic pace. Now, mind you, he has always been a large cat, even before the chubbiness set in. But in the last 3 months he went from 20 lbs. to 15 lbs.

And so it began. After one visit to the vet, one urinalysis, one blood test, and $210, I discover he is diabetic. $45 later, he has a brand new, improved, specialized diet (that will last maybe a month...month and a half if I am lucky). Then it is off to the pharmacy for insulin and needles. What do you mean my insurance won't cover him? Ka-ching! Another $115.

Now he is residing comfortably for the next two days at le Spa de Veterinary so that they can monitor his reaction to the insulin. After another $350-$400, I can pick him up and bring him home! After that there will be the daily blood tests and insulin injections. And yes, more uninsured trips to the pharmacy.

Yes, it seems to be an awful lot of money to spend on an animal, but he is so much more than that. He is the small kitten, who along with his brother, appeared outside our cabin in the snow on cold Thanksgiving. He is the cat who endured being dressed up, dragged around, and wheeled in a stroller by two little girls. He is the cat who bears the name of a fish with pride because my daughters had a fascination for all things "The Little Mermaid." He is the cat who slept at my feet when my bed was empty, and seemed to always know when to come around with a cuddle and a purr when I was down. He is the cat who still managed (or at least tried) to fit on my lap during my final pregnancy, and endured having his tail pulled and his hair yanked with dignity by the strange little creature that arrived soon after. He is more than a mere pet. He is a member of the family. And like any member of the family, I would do anything for him.