One afternoon I was in the kitchen working on dinner when I realized that Riley Roo, who was 4 months old at the time, was no where in sight. This was unusual as Riley always follows the smell of food. My house was quite large and had a lot of nooks and crannies that a playful puppy could wedge himself into. I corraled the kids and a friend who was visiting and assigned each one a different part of the house to check for the dog. 

While I was checking the greenhouse I heard my daughter scream. As I went running toward the sound of the scream she came barreling down the stairs carrying the dog. Riley’s eyes seemed to be wide, he had a stunned look on his puppy face and there was some kind of brown goo on his face. Clearly he was  struggling to breath. My son, who was 8 at the time was jumping up and down, my daughter was verging on hysteria and my friend was trying to calm the kids while I worked on assessing the dog’s situation. With all the chaos, the first thing that came to mind was mouth to mouth. While I am certified in first aid and CPR on humans, I had no clue what I was doing and I was not thinking clearly enough. Obviously the dog was concious, so my first thought should have been some kind of obstruction in the airway. With my game face on I told the children to calm down and that I would help Riley breathe. I must admit that the thought of putting my mouth near the dog’s, which was oozing some unknown, unnatractive looking substance was scary but I was going to go for it. I’m Mom. I am supposed to fix things and cure all ills.

As I bent to the dog’s face, the unmistakable smell of chocolate hit me.  I bravely put my mouth over his, covered his nose and tried to breathe air into him. The dog just looked more freaked out than before. Clearly this wasn’t right. Finally it occurred to me to check his mouth. I pried his mouth open and found the culprit. Plastic wrap. The dog had found a chocolate Easter bunny my daughter was saving in her room, ate through the box and starting in on the rabbit by trying to go through the wrapper. Thankfully, I was able to pull the cellophane out and Riley was able to breathe once again.

I called the vet as I know chocolate can be toxic to canines. Calculating how much chocolate he ingested, they told me what signs to watch for, but thought that he would be ok. He was fine and back to getting into trouble within a half hour of his emergency.

My children, my friend and I however were a little worse for wear.

When I think about how it must have looked, the kids hysterical and me trying to give the puppy mouth to mouth, it must have been qute a sight.

Click here for instructions on a choking pet.

Happy New Year

The holidays are over. All the presents were unwrapped, some exchanged, some put to good use, and let’s be honest, some put away for regifting next year. Many of us managed to finish every last left over and are now regretting eating them all. It is 9 days into everyone’s New Year’s resolutions. 

I struggled for a while to come up with a resolution for myself, reviewing all the standards that I, and most of the population, have made in years past, lose a few pounds, go back to the gym for regular workouts, get on a budget. I was really giving it some thought, should I resolve any of those things or all of them at once?  The answer was yes to all of the above, and then I looked across the room to my cat. She was sleeping peacefully, stretched along the back of the couch. She must have sensed me looking at her because she opened her eyes and yawned. After looking at me for a moment, she closed her eyes and went back to enjoying her snooze in the sunny spot.

As I watched her a funny thought occured to me. If Miss Kitty were to make a New Year’s resolution, what would it be? Would she vow to sleep less than 16 hours a day? Would she worry about dropping the winter weight she seems to gain every year? Probably not. As soon as the weather gets warm and she can chase moles around the yard, she slims right back down. Would she promise not to claw at the back of my leather chair anymore since she knows it annoys me? I don’t think so.

From here my thoughts turmed to the dog. What resolution would Riley Roo make? Would he promise not to shake all his fur around the bathroom after getting a bath?  Would he swear off the buscuits he enjoys after every long walk? Would he stop sleeping on the couch? Would he vow to let me brush him more often so he shed less hair all over the house? Pretty unlikely.

I realized that my pets just enjoy life for what it is. Of course they don’t have to pay the bills or worry about raising a family, but still, I think that there is something to be learned from them.

Can you imagine a day when you don’t feel the need to dream up all the ways you should improve yourself? How liberating it would be to simply stop fretting over so many things and just enjoy every day. 

My New Year’s resolution. Learn the lessons my pets have taught me.

I resolve to worry a little less. I resolve to enjoy my days a little more. I resolve to appreciate the warmth of the sun on my face.

I mentioned in a previous post that my sister had a fairly recent conversion from “Terrified of Anything Canine” to “Dog Lover”. The other night I realized just how complete her transformation is.

While speaking with her on the phone, I mentioned that Phoenix had looked somewhat “fuller” than she normally does when I saw her the day before.

At this point my sister, the executive, who was cuddled on the couch with Phoenix while talking to me changed the octave in her voice and launched into the following:

Sis to the dog: “Pheeny, Auntie says you’re getting fat.”

Me: “I did not say she was getting fat, just that she seemed more round”

Sis:“Pheeny is adorable.”

Me: “Yes, she is adorable and cuddly. I was just saying she looked like she was getting a little larger. “

Sis: “She did get more round after she was fixed.”

Me: “She got fixed over 8 months ago. I see her every week, some weeks every day. I don’t think her recent size is related to that.”

Sis to the dog: “Pheeny, are you feeling fat?”

Sis: “Phoenix says she has been feeling a little bloaty the past few days but she’s tired and doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Sis to the dog: “Maybe you should stop looking so cute so everyone stops wanting to give you treats.”

Sis” “She says she can’t help it that people just keep offering her treats. ”

Me: “She begs. She’s not obnoxious about it, but she follows the scent of food, knows who keeps treats in their desk and makes a point to visit them frequently when she goes to the office.”

Sis: “Actually she does seem a little slimmer on Monday mornings but by Friday she seems to bloat up.”

Sis to the dog: “Pheeny maybe Auntie is right and you should cut back on the dog treats.”

Me: “Well it’s good that you put up the sign requesting that no one gives Phoenix people food: but I think that it’s just as bad when she gets 22 dog biscuits throughout the day.”

Sis to the dog: “Phoenix, should keep your girlish figure. You need to cut back on the treats.”

Sis: “She says that she doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by refusing.”

Me: “Well I know she is still a healthy weight, tell her we want to keep it that way and that everyone will understand if she passes up a snack now and then.”

Sis: “Pheeny, Auntie is right. Not so many treats. Besides looking better, you won’t feel bloated.”

Sis: “She says she really can’t help it that she is so cute people want to feed her, but that she will not accept so many treats. She thanks you for worrying about her, says she loves you and that she is going to sleep now.”

When my sister and I hung up the phone, it occurred to me that we had just had a 3-way conversation with a dog, all the while my sister sounded like she did when talking to her children when they were under the age of 5 and that she was completely, utterly and totally a “Dog Lover For Life.”

Dog Breed Gifts at Whales & Friends

My sister has always been terrified of dogs. I am not exactly sure why. We did not have them as pets growing up. I was bitten by a neighbor’s dog as a child, which my sister did witness, however it was not really that traumatic, at least not for me. No broken skin, no dreaded rabies shots needed. As soon as I moved out on my own I got my first dog. For as long as I can remember my sister would get a stricken look on her face whenever she saw a dog other than mine. The only dogs I ever saw my sister not flinch around were the dogs I had as an adult. I guess because they were mine, she was okay with them. She knew they were always good around my children, even when they were babies so maybe this eased her fears.

Three of my sister’s children, ages 16, 14, & 10, wanted a dog. Her adopted, now-adult daughter, KK never really said much on the subject of dogs throughout the years but my sister’s husband grew up with them. My sister would not budge on the subject. She would allow my dog to come and visit, but that was about it

Enter Stage Left- Phoenix.

She is the adorable fawn-colored boxer pictured in this post. Phoenix had a shaky start in life. Her mom suffered from a complication during delivery and despite emergency treatment, passed away within 48 hours of giving birth to her litter of puppies. There were 10 in total, however she was only able to deliver 4 of the puppies. One died shortly after birth. Phoenix and her brindle sister and brother, Dayton and Memphis, survived but had to be bottle fed. With a lot of love, prayers and fierce determination, my niece, K.K., was able to save all 3 of the puppies.  (How K.K. came to care for these puppies is a story for another day.) The 3 very tiny puppies born in June became a regular part of all family functions. I remember a Fourth of July party quite clearly. When the puppies were not resting in their blanket-lined carrier, they were passed around to be held and kept warm, or to be bottle fed. My sister did not really see them as dogs, but more as babies that lost their mother. That was the beginning of her conversion.

The puppies grew, and grew, and grew. Soon it became apparent to my niece that having 3 dogs in an apartment was not ideal. Many people inquired about taking the puppies but K.K. could not bear the thought of giving them up, they had become her children. She needed help. My sister, much to the delight of her younger children, decided to take 1 of the puppies so that K.K. would still get to see her regularly. Although she was still a little leery of having a large, four-legged bundle of frenetic energy in the house, my sister, knowing the three dogs since they were 3-days old was not afraid of them. A family vote decided that it would be Phoenix that came to live with them.

My sister was going to have rules. No dogs on the bed. No dogs on the couch. Phoenix was a DOG. She was going to sleep in a kennel at night. Face-licking was going to be discouraged. When it was time to go to the vets, Phoenix would be allowed to ride in the family mini-van only. All care of the dog was going to be up to the children. Are you dog-lovers laughing yet? I know I was when I heard all this.

Phoenix moved in. She missed her brother and sister. She was used to sleeping curled up with Memphis and Dayton. She was raised with tons of human affection and attention and she planned on keeping it that way.
My sister caved like a house of cards on a windy day. She could not bear to see the puppy with her sad eyes when it was bed time. She could not stand to listen to her lonely whines. She learned that is was really quite comfortable to have the dog curl up on her feet at the end of the couch while watching a movie, keeping her warm. She realized that she liked it when Pheeny wanted to nuzzle with her adorable face. She decided she just couldn’t bear the oh-so-sad look on the dog’s face when everyone was getting ready to leave in the morning. 

Fast forward 6 months.  Phoenix does not sleep in a kennel. Phoenix does sleep in the bed. My sister is often squished between her husband and the dog. Phoenix makes herself comfortable on the couch when the family is hanging out. Phoenix is a face-licker. Phoenix goes to work with my sister on most days. She comes to our parents house for family get-togethers. My sister arranges play dates for the dog. Phoenix has her own pillow in my sister’s car. If my sister is wearing leopard print, Phoenix has on a coordinating leopard print collar.

My sister’s conversion is complete- She has become one of us.

My sister is now a proud  dog lover.

Dog Breed Gifts at Whales & Friends

I have taken my various animals, which have included cats, dogs, ferrets and fish, to several different vets over the years as moving long distance dictated changing veterinary offices. In my experience, there are basically 2 types of these medical professionals.

“The Animal Lover” is a person who has a house full of pets. He or she will sit on the floor to play with your dog until his tail wags with the intensity of jet propulsion and laughs when a nervous pooch accidentally pees on their shoe. They have pockets full of treats that keep your dog’s nose glued to their lab coat. You have the sense that their pockets are always full of treats even when they are not at work. When faced with a terrified cat stuck to the side of a pet carrier with claws bared, this vet will open the door of the carrier, walk to the other side of the room and pretend that the carrier and its hissing contents are not there, allowing the animal to feel a little less threatened. When the  hissing and screeching sounds subside, this type of vet will look into the carrier and speak calmly to the animal.  By the end of the visit, this very put-out pet may or may not be purring, but at least its ears are no longer pinned back in terror and murderous rage, and whatever medical attention was needed has been successfully given.  When taking your vet to “The Animal Lover” you should be prepared to wait a little longer to be seen and understand that you will be there for a while, as this type of vet is frequently running late, not because they are rude or unaware of the importance of time, but because they are conscientious enough to actually spend time talking to you about your pet. They make it a point to answer all your questions without seeming impatient, and do not want you to leave their office until they are sure that you understand your pet’s condition and treatment, and they have answered all your questions.

“Dr. Cranky” aka “Why Did I Become a Vet?” is a person that is having more than just a bad day. They are probably trying to figure out why they spent 7 years in school to care for animals. If they have not questioned this huge life decision then perhaps they should. I have met this type of vet. It was not a pleasant experience for me or my pets, and it clearly was not what the doctor wanted to be doing either. This type has zero patience for a terrified cat or nervous pooch. They run their office in an efficient manner, usually with military precision. They give you and your pet the allotted time scheduled for the appointment and if you still have concerns or questions, well too damn bad, other clients are waiting. When faced with a cat that does not want to come out of a carrier, they turn it upside down and then proceed to reach and tug at the terrified animal until they successfully get it out. That is if you consider it successful when the animal is curled up in the shape of a capitol C with its ears pinned down, its tail puffed up and it’s making noises normally only heard during a Freddy Krueger movie. I shudder to think of the repercussions of an animal peeing on this vet’s shoe. The nervous dog stays nervous the entire time the vet is in the room. Its tail stays between its legs, its head is bowed down and it shakes until your heart breaks watching. The vet appears impatient and put out during the entire visit until the very end. The end of such an appointment can be signaled when the time-share type sales pitch begins as they try to peddle whatever brand of dog food or supplements they are selling. At this point they may actually smile.

If you encounter this type of vet, grab your pet and run, do not walk, out of their office. Tell everyone you know with pets about your experience so that no other pet or owner is subjected to Dr. Cranky.

Ok, I admit it, I don’t think of my dog as a canine. I think of him as a person. To me he is another one of my children. MumblesMom introduced you to my little guy, Riley Roo, earlier this year.

Much to the chagrin of my significant other I let my black lab sleep on the couches or wherever he is inclined to lay his head at any moment. (If you interpreted this as “she lets him sleep on the bed” you are correct.) I allow this even though I spend a fortune every few months having my furniture professionally steamed cleaned. I just don’t think that because he is a dog, and sometimes stinky in a way that only dogs can be, he should be relegated to the floor. I don’t understand why his comfort should be considered less important than mine or anyone else’s. My conscious mind knows that he is a dog, but my heart says something different.

Riley looks at me when I talk to him. Yes, I talk to my dog. He cocks his head to the side as though he is thinking about what I am saying and I swear he answers me. He rarely barks, but he makes a string of noises in response to my words. When I am having a bad day, he senses it and he will rub his head against my hand. His eyes take on a soulful look as if he is offering sympathy.

I find myself trying to interpret his doggy dreams. You dog owners know what I am talking about. Legs moving as if they are running, little whimpers or growls escaping from their throat, eyes twitching. I wonder if he is running with the other dogs in the neighborhood or chasing a squirrel.

I find a ridiculous amount of pleasure watching him play with his bone (He flings it around, then “stalks” it as if it’s prey.) Riley can bring the whole house to fits or laughter to the point of tears when he gets a hold of a simple cardboard box. He gets his head stuck in it, shakes it off and throws it around, then tears it apart.  The night he found bubble wrap was particularly hilarious. He would step on it and then look around trying to understand where the popping sounds were coming from. This provided us all 20 minutes of side-splitting laughter.

Although I don’t carry pictures of him in my wallet, I do occasionally forward emails of his pictures to friends and family. To all of you who have received such emails, I hope you don’t mind.

So I love my dog. I find comfort and humor having him in our home.
I do draw the line at one thing.

I do not kiss my dog on the lips.

Dog-themed Gifts at Whales & Friends