Monthly Archives: March 2013

friday (far more than) five – things I can’t wait to do once school is out

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Watch TV until my eyeballs bleed

Sit on the porch with the dogs and read

Talk on the phone

Go yard sailing (I spell this wrong on purpose; we go sailing from yard to yard)

Ride my bike

The DOG PARK!

Write

Resume submitting godlight

Redo the front flower bed and pray I find something that can survive in there

Plant ‘maters

Clean my house!!!

Invite someone over to test my new doorbell

Play video games

Go visiting

Practice my impersonation of a dead log

Walk dogs

Play non-video games

Sleep without feeling guilty about it

thankful thursday

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I am thankful for VSP (that’s our vision plan) and affordable glasses, and for our doc and his office, which is fast and really takes customer/patient service seriously.

I am thankful for my office.

I am thankful Kelly’s butt is better, and that her fur is growing back, and that she has no real issues with bowel incontinence, yuck!

I am thankful for my parents.

I am thankful for our mechanic, aka G6, who fixed Tim’s truck quickly, correctly, and under budget.

I am thankful for sunshine.

toys, a dog story

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I haven’t done this in a while, told a dog story.  This one is about toys.

A little over four years ago, when Cobie was new to us and Kelly was not yet with us, we threw a shindig.  During it, Cobie lost both his chew bones.  When neither bone showed up–ever–I kind of suspected the grandspawn had taken them home to share with their remaining puppies, Cobie’s littermates.  Then, last year, T-Moth found one of the bones in his workshop, mysteriously lying out in plain sight.  I couldn’t let the dogs have it, because it was a puppy-sized bone and, moose that he is, Cobie could easily choke on it now.

A couple of months ago, while searching for something I had lost, T-Moth found the other bone buried deep in the sofa.

I had already replaced the bones, of course.  I had purchased two, one for Kelly and one for Cobie, exactly alike, or so I thought, on the assumption that toys can be too small for Cobie’s safety, but nothing is ever too large for Kelly.

Sidebar or, The Story of Kelly and Cobie’s Balls:  Kelly kept taking all the tennis balls away from Cobie and stashing them under the sofa so he couldn’t get them.  When I found an enormous tennis ball, I bought two of them.  It was hilarious watching Kelly trying to unhinge her jaw enough to get ahold of one of those balls.  It took her about two days before she managed to chew a flap in the fuzzy covering so she could carry one of those balls around.  It looked kind of like she was carrying a bowling bag.

Ok, so two bones, apparently identical, except for some bizarre reason there was one bone they both wanted and from time to time feelings would get hurt over it.  Because of the size difference in the dogs, I took to storing both bones on top of the fridge and taking them down sometimes after dinner so I could supervise.  I do that with most toys anyway, but I always wished I didn’t have to collect toys just to go to the bathroom lest hostilities erupt while I’m indisposed.

Also, Kelly is a hoarder.  She shares food, no problem.  And me, grudgingly.  But all the toys are belong to her.

Anyhow, the two alike-but-strangely-different bones, plus the found bone made three.  And suddenly, Kelly could hoard one and chew one and there was still one left for the Cobester.  Peace reigned.  I could pee while dogs chewed bones.

Ahhhh.

But there are other toys, such as the Kong Ballistic Boomerang.  I bought one.  Teeth were showed and fur bristled.  So I bought another.  One is blue and the other is purple; we have learned that having things match is pointless.  Usually the original one (the purple one) is the preferred toy.

Yesterday it was the blue one.

We had just come back from the vet, where I had hoped Kelly would be cleared for me to remove her donut collar.  That was a disappointment; she has to wear it until Sunday.  To cheer us all up I decided we could all have a nice play session to take our minds off our troubles, Kelly’s trouble being the collar and Cobie’s trouble being that he’s sure whenever we go to the vet without him that Kelly and I are out having happy swell fun times without him.

So I threw the purple boomerang down the hall–because while Kelly will play fetch anywhere, the big gallumphing moose will only fetch indoors–and Cobie brought it back.  I threw the blue one.  Both dogs raced after it.  Somehow, in spite of her donut collar, Kelly got there first.  She snatched up the boomerang and trotted proudly to the chaise part of the sectional, hopped up, and lay down to have a nice gnaw.

Cobie decided the purple toy was suddenly no good.  He had to have the blue one, no matter how much I tried to distract him with the purple one, which I squeaked, juggled, and finally threw.  He would not be derailed from his desire to possess the blue boomerang.  He whined.  He stared.  He chuffed in her face.  He tried to hump her.  He WOOFed in her face.  She grumbled under her breath and kept gnawing.

“Cobie, play with the other one,” I said, and made an empty throwing gesture.  He stared at me.  Slowly he turned and headed down the hall.  He picked up the purple boomerang.  He turned, without enthusiasm.  And then, I swear I could see it, the light came on.

His head came up.  His tail came up.  He pranced down the hall like a Lipizzoner.  When he emerged, he tossed! the purple boomerang joyously into the air.  He caught it.  He squeaked it.  He tossed it again.  He pranced in circles.  He threw it on the floor and pounced on it with both paws…

In short, he pretty much did everything I had done when trying to interest him in the purple boomerang.

He kept it up for a good minute, minute and a half…until Kelly could no longer resist.  She abandoned the blue boomerang.  There ensued a brief scuffle over the purple one.  Not as brief as you’d think.  Cobie snarled and tugged and defended.  And then he let her have it.

He strolled away, giving a couple of backward glances at where she lay on the floor, now happily biting the purple boomerang.  He collected the blue one off the sofa, took it behind the entertainment stand, and lay down it.  We obviously couldn’t play fetch anymore, because the Diva Terrier would notice.  He heaved a big sigh.

Later, when both dogs were tired of being selfish–well, dogs–we played fetch some more.   But only with the purple one.  It’s back to the number one toy slot.  At least until I get the Wubba out, and there is only one of those.

eyeballs

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It’s spring break.  On Tuesday, between rounds of snow, in what has become an every-two-years family outing, we all went to the optometrist.

The good news is, my vision has changed so little Doc P said I didn’t really need new glasses.  Woot!  I am getting them anyway.  I told him that, with my courseload, and so much work to do on the computer, I live with an almost perpetual eyestrain headache.  The computer screen is too far away for the reading portion of my bi-focals, and too close for the distance portion, so I mostly work with no glasses at all.  I especially do this when I am doing work that requires me to go back and forth between the computer and a text book, near to far, near to far.  The eyestrain headache is nothing compared to the headache I get trying to do that with my specs on.

Doc P said that since my problem is going from near to mid-distance, a pair of computer-specific spectacles wouldn’t help, which I already knew.  I told him I didn’t actually think there was probably a solution, other than tri-focals, which I adamantly do not want, which is why I have just been living with the problem.  He suggested that I consider trying no-lines, which he wears.  And since I had been watching, somewhat jealously, as he went back and forth from a paper chart to the computer screen, I took the suggestion seriously.  Last time, two years ago, I rejecteced no-lines because a.) they cost a hundred dollars more, b.) my mother told me she had a much tougher time adjusting to no-lines than to her lined ones, and c.) I thought the absence of lines was merely cosmetic.  It seems they’re not.

He explained that with no-lines bifocals there’s actually a gradient of vision (not his words exactly).  Somewhere in the gradient should be a range where I can see the computer screen clearly.

Yes, it’s a hundred bucks more and it might not work or I might hate them so bad I can never adjust to them.  But I hate having a headache all the time too, so.  And on the up side, I still have my perfectly good pair (and I still love the frames) that I can fall back on, so the worst thing that can happen is being out a hundred (and twenty, which is my frame co-pay) dollars for glasses I can’t use–but I’ll still be able to see.

So I’m going to try that.  I really didn’t find any frames (in my price range) as well as I like my old pair, but I found a pair in the not-too-hideous zone and only a few dollars more than the allowance.  I like to have wire eyes and plastic earpieces because I like the look of wire but my skin doesn’t play well with metal.  It eats the finish right off at the temples.  This pair has that, but I’m not so sure of the shape.  The glasses-picking helper lady kept suggesting these cat-shaped angular shaped glasses and saying how trendy they were.  I finally said, “I’m not really a trendy person.”  What I wanted to say was, “Do you see me in my sweat pants and man-tee?  Do I look trendy to you?”  But she’s a very nice woman so I curbed myself.

We’ll see how that goes.  The specs are supposed to be ready in two weeks.

Now for the bad news.

Mr Moth has glaucoma.  Mind you, they told us this last time, and he never followed through, but maybe the numbers were worse this time, but Doc P has laid down the law and Mr Moth is there right this second on his follow-up appointment.  He is probably going to have to get eyedrops, and hopefully that is all.

On the up side of the bad news, glaucoma runs in Mr Moth’s family and no one is blind from it.  It’s treatable.  His mother and brother have both had surgery, and only one of them (I forget which) still has to take the drops.  They both had my eye surgeon, and he is among the best there is.  So the bad news isn’t terrible news, only another little stress-ding in our lives.

Now I need to get cracking on some school work.  I haven’t accomplished much this spring break except dog-butt-care and sitting around nursing a backache (and not having eyestrain, which has been wonderful), but all good things must come to an end, probably because all things must come to an end, good or otherwise.

When you think about it, I choose the headache.  No one beat me and forced me to go back to school against my will.  But I still reserve the right to whine a little about the time pressure and the headaches…because it makes it easier to put up with them.

Thanks for listening.

on seasons and glasses

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Today we all have appointments with the eye doctor.  I don’t really need new glasses, but it’s that time.  Tim doesn’t think he needs new ones either, but I say it would be good for him to have a second pair.  He could leave one at work and not have to worry about forgetting them anymore.  Zor, well.  She’s suggestible.  Ever since I made the appointments she’s been complaining she can’t see.

We’ll be “trusting” Kelly to stay home and not destroy her own heinie–I hope that’s not a huge mistake.

Also there’s a huge weather situation pending.  Snow, sleet, your basic happy swell almost-spring fun times in Ohio.  8 to 10 inches worth!  It’s not supposed to get truly nasty until this evening though, so here’s hoping.  We have T-Moth to do the driving, which in nasty weather is always a plus.  And Berta has new-ish tires on the front and decent ones on the back.

Lying black wooly-bear caterpillar notwithstanding, this has not been a very ferocious winter.  And every season–we are blessed to have four of them–is welcome when it arrives.  But as we wear toward the end of each season, I am ready for the change.  At the end of spring, I am ready to stop sneezing and to sit outside in the stuffy dark and listen to the nightbugs.  At the end of summer I am ready for cool air and warm colors.  At the end of fall, I am tired again of sneezing, and I am ready to see the world blanketed in purest white. 

At some point the snow melts or turns gray, and we enter our second “deer season”, not a hunting season, but just a period of time where all of outdoors is the color of deer–which is probably why deer are that color.  And when this time comes around, I begin to crave color like it’s air.

I need yellow and pink and green and blue, and white in the sky instead of on the ground.  Bring on the violets and the robins and the cardinals and the jays.  I need gray to be a design choice and not a relentless sky color.

I need spring.

And maybe glasses, although perhaps I should postpone my appointment until July so I don’t come back with some neon green frames with rhinestones or something.

the epic adventures of kelly’s butt (TMI)

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This week has been all about Kelly’s butt.

In case you missed it, she had two abscessed (not impacted) anal glands.  After having them drained, and over a week of oral and topical antibiotics, they were not better because they were so deep, and the vet offered us two choices.  One, we could have her sedated and have the wounds packed, or two we could have the glands removed.

Angst, angst.

After a lengthy discussion with the vet, and some internet research, (which sources backed each other up, mostly) I learned that this is mostly a problem with little dogs, particularly overweight ones, or ones inclined to have loose stools.  Kelly is one pound over her ideal weight, and she poops rocks.  Seriously.  I never worry when she refuses to go out due to weather, because her poo is a matter of a single tissue to clean up.

However, this gives me nowhere to go with alternative treatments.  She doesn’t have that much weight to lose, and she hardly needs more fiber in her diet.  It’s one kind of surgery or the other.  The wound-packing procedure is one half as expensive as the gland removal, and it’s likely that it would have to be done again.  Often, according to the vet, three times a year until infinity.

On the other hand, removing the glands might leave her with nerve damage and bowel incontinence, either temporary (almost definitely) or permanent (not likely but still possible).

Well, see. I have had an abscess packed.  It is the worst pain I have ever experienced.  Literally blinding, literally screaming.  Agony.  And the surgeon’s tray afterward looked like something from the set of MASH.

I voted for the more expensive (in the short term) procedure that will be OVER with.  She will not have to go through having her asswounds packed over and over and over again…especially since there will doubtless come a time when we don’t have the cash for that.  Mr Moth agreed.

Never has it so infuriated me that I have no one to pray to–someday I will no doubt post on this topic, but today isn’t the day.

So I dropped Kelly off on Thursday.  Zor stayed with Cobie.  I spoke briefly with the head vet, who is also the surgeon.  A lot of people have told me that he is arrogant and overpriced, but I find him confident and…well, it’s kind of like how, when you need a lawyer you want the obnoxious shark who graduated top of his class at Harvard.  Except he doesn’t ever strike me as obnoxious.  As long as he really is as good as he thinks he is.

Pretty much any reasonably competent veterinarian can treat a broken toenail (Kelly’s last year’s medical drama), but for surgery near an important rectal nerve, you want someone very good.

One of the things we touched on was how I can de-sensitize her to going there, once she is better.  She is understandably developing a resistance to her harness, the van, and the vet’s office.

Still, walking out of there without her was so damn hard.  Nothing like leaving Cobie to have his ‘nads removed.  I was practically waltzing that day, because he was so horrible, biting and mauling and chomping me…and I was getting a break.

He sure has changed.

I took Zor to school/work…and Cobie rode along, because he is so jealous when I take Kelly places without him.  He doesn’t understand, of course.  But taking him on a long car ride was a roll of the dice, because in his younger days he always got violently carsick on any ride longer than a trip to the vet or the dog park.  On this day, however, he didn’t get sick.  And he was so excited!

Maybe he didn’t get sick because, since Kelly had to be NPO after midnight, so was he.

When we got home he was completely befuddled.  I suspect he thought he was going with me to go get Kelly.  I tried to play with him.  He fetched his ballistic boomerang exactly once, and then put it carefully and gently on the end table where Kelly stands to look out the big front window.

Not a very good shot, but:

Ever since I took down the vertical blinds and put up curtains to cut the glare on the television, there’s never enough good light in that room for photographs.  Anyway…

Late in the afternoon it was time to go pick up Kelly.  I had to leave Cobie at home by himself to do it, and I was worried, but he lay on the sofa like a big lump and barely raised his head to watch me go out.  Mind you, he was always good about staying home alone before we got Kelly, but that was (holy smokes) three years ago.

The vet’s was packed with people.  This one guy kept trying to do that Caesar Millan “touch” on his dog and he was doing it way too hard.  I wanted to touch him myself…in his eye…with my fist.  I couldn’t believe no employee said anything to him.  Maybe they couldn’t see exactly what he was doing because of the counter.  I bet that’s it.  I couldn’t say anything, because I was afraid I’d end up in jail, and who would take care of Kelly if I followed this jackass home, slashed his tires, and stole his dog?

I’d better not see him again.  I may not be able to contain myself.

So Kelly looked a mess.  Her butt was (is) shaved, and there was still some blood.  She was lunging and thrashing in the loop-style leash trying to get, not to me, but away.  Out of here!!  I couldn’t get her harness on.  I ended up carrying her to the van, along with our plastic baggie of medicine and an elizabethan collar the size of half a tire.

She huddled on the back seat while I drove through rush hour traffic, ridiculously thankful that the day’s snow could never work up enough enthusiasm to actually stick.

Ok, so dog is home.  She is not allowed to lick her butt, or drag it.  She won’t stop licking it.  So we have to put the collar on so we can like, yanno…sleep.  Except it won’t stay on.  Mr Moth drank two beers and is crabby about staying up.  I am crabby about the fact that he can’t stay up because he drank two beers.

Beer is never an excuse for anything.  I hate beer.  Beer enrages me.  And when I say enrage, I’m talking genuine rage.  This is not hyperbole, dammit.  I HATE BEER.  Just so you know.

So he went to bed and I propped my eyelids open with toothpicks so I can go, “Kelly, no.  Kelly, leave it.  Kelly stop it.”  Which apparently I have to do (by myself) non-stop for two weeks, which is how long until the sutures come out.

And how the hell am I going to go back to school?  Will I have to hire someone to watch her?

Finally it occurs to me to zipstrip the damn thing to her regular collar, and to cinch that collar up so tight…because I know I’ve mentioned it before, but Kelly’s neck is bigger than her head.  That’s why she has to wear a harness.  In order for a collar to stay on, it has to be in strangle mode.  Ugh.  But I desperately need to sleep.  And I can’t have her ripping her stitches out.

Photo, taken the next day.  Note the zipstrip sticking out:

It is so huge it protrudes beyond the end of her nose.  She can’t get a drink or eat anything with it on.  She spends two hours trying to get out of it.  She backs off furniture.  She got her claws caught in the snap holes.  She whined nonstop.

She kept trying to lie next to Cobie.  He kept getting up and moving.  I wanted to bawl, I felt so bad for her.

Finally she passed out in the corner of the sectional.  And, finally, so did I.

Next day I spent on the sofa, as seen in the above picture, watching nothing on TV, because every time she caught me not looking directly at her, she dragged her butt.  Mr Moth, when called upon to watch her, insisted she had not been dragging her butt because he had not seen her dragging her butt.

RAGE.

It’s probably hard to see an upstairs dog drag her butt when you’re, yanno…downstairs.

I ran my phone battery dead twice researching alternatives to e-collars.  In between trying to drag her butt, she lay around like life had become too much of a burden.  She couldn’t go down the two steps to the garage to go out, so I took the damn cone off, and BOING!  Old Kelly back in an instant.  Bouncy, bounce, whee whee!  Then of course, I had to put it back on so she’d stop trying to chew her heinie.

Finally, when it was time to collect Zor from work (she had been home and gone again; thankfully Friday was Mr Moth’s day off) I (with many misgivings, since he didn’t believe she needed to be watched because he had not seen her drag her butt, even though I had repeatedly told him I had seen her do it repeatedly, and so had Zor) went to collect her and to stop by PetSmart and buy an inflatable donut collar.


It cost–holy smoke–thirty dollars.  (I also bought some Nature’s Miracle pet stain remover and a hamster bottle, because Algernon’s has been leaking like crazy.)  Anyway, Here’s Kelly, modeling the collar:

Does she like it?  No.  Does she like it better than the cone?  Yes.  She can drink.  She can eat.  She can navigate steps.  It attaches to her regular collar without zip strips.  She has a thirteen inch neck, and the medium goes up to thirteen inches.  Amazing that a 16 pound dog can almost wear a large, huh?  Miss bull neck.

What she can’t do is scratch her face or neck or ears, so when she comes up to me, I make sure to give her a full rubbing over.

Oh, the other thing she can do in this collar?  Chase Oliver.  He’d been going up to her and sticking his face down her cone.  I could almost hear him whispering Nyahh nyahh…  Because Oliver’s a bastard that way.

She can also jump on and off the sofa, get in the window and bark, and find cookies I have pitched into the yard.

Things were looking up.  Then, like the colossal dumbass I am, I gave both dogs their heartworm pill.

Let the diarrhea begin.

Which is how Saturday became the worst day so far.  Poor Kelly, leaking from her butt, not allowed to lick it (but she can almost–almost–reach it, which nearly causes her to do cartwheels with trying), not allowed to drag it.

Me, trying to watch like a hawk and clean up runny doggy doo from the house and her backside.

Lesson:  If you ever have a dog’s anal glands removed, give them their heartworm treatement before, even if that makes it a little early, or after, even if that makes it a little late.  If it’s skeeter season, I’d go with before, but it’s snowing here.  I should have waited.

Thankfully the runny poostorm passed by the next morning.  She still has this issue where little poos just kind of fall out at random times, and they are not as rocklike as before, but they are not tremendously difficult to clean up, either.  I can handle this.  The only issue is keeping her butt clean when I’m not allowed to scrub at it.  Might as well let her drag it as scrub on it, right?

I try soaking it, but you can only soak a terrier’s ass for just so long before she loses patience.  As a result, well…it could be cleaner.  Could be worse, too…

Anyhow, that’s where we are.  Picking up arbitrarily dropped poos and soaking the dog’s butt with wet rags.  Other than that, and the unreachable and thus unscratchable ear-itches, and her frustration at being able to keep herself clean by either licking or dragging, Kelly seems more or less her usual self, personality-wise.

And Cobie?  A saint.  Apart from not really wanting to cuddle up to the plastic cone, he has not bullied or blustered or reacted to her in any way different from how he always has done.  Truth be told, I was a little worried about this; when they remove a dog’s anal glands, they remove his or her identity in the doggy world.  When they buttsniff, that’s what they’re sniffing.  But he’s been perfectly ok with it.  Perhaps a little more affectionate than usual, even.

He hasn’t even tried to lick her.

They’re good dogs.

Mostly.