Saturday, August 26, 2017

Week One, Eight Paws

Week One is in the books for the rescue pups. And, what a week it was.

If you don't like dogs or don't want to read about dogs, well then you are going to have to suffer along or go watch some vlogger (who is so right now and is making lots of money). 

Dogs really do subscribe to "love the one you're with." Bandido and Rosita settled in quickly, nary missing a beat. The first 72 hours were a bit rough, with Rosita refusing to pee more than twice in 24 hours, but besides that it has been smooth sailing. They never missed a meal since getting here, they listen quite well (um, let's forget the "The end table fiasco of 2017"), they go to bed without issue and they definitely are very loving. I'm pleased to report they are not skittish at all when hanging around us. Love the one your with, I'm telling you.

Don't tell the foster mom--they love canned food.

During the first week, they made it through their first vet appointment and their first grooming adventure. They were finally able to go for a walk around the block, adapted to wearing leashes/harnesses and even figured out that the neighbor dogs are a lot of fun, not something of which to fear. Rosita now pees three times a day without issue (it was all about the way we were going about it). And, we confirmed that Rosita really is a poodle--the grooming result brought forth the poodle face and body shape--and, her "barking" (of which she only does when playing) has been very poodle-esque: it's more of a honk or a yip than a bark.

Oh, how they love canned food. Thank goodness because there was no way I was going to keep making them gourmet, organic food. I gotta say--that was probably the easiest transition of the whole adventure. The peeing and the collars were a whole lot tougher than the food change.

Go back and take a closer look at Bandido's photo at the beginning of this post. If you zoom in, you'll notice a framed chalk drawing on the wall. And, if you zoom in closer, you'll notice who is in that piece of art.

It's Freckles.

I daresay Freckles is looking down upon Bandido and keeping an eye on this new mutt. It was a very happy accident in the photography department.

These dogs are very different than Freckles and Lucy, which we truly appreciate, for many reasons. But, in some ways they are very much the same as our previous party pups. Bandido is definitely in charge, just like the ol' FWP...and, she knows how to crawl! That was my favorite trick Freckles could do. What a delightful surprise to see Bandido crawl in true Freckles' fashion. The wife and I have accidentally calling Rosita "Lucy" several times. We have no idea why. Perhaps she is the reincarnation of Lucy; after all, they both acted like they were going to die when we first put collars on them. Neither of them wanted to wear a leash. And, both Rosita and Lucy love to sit on the back of the couch.

Perhaps it's just a work in progress, a new name to be learned.

I wish they were more like Freckles and Lucy in the "go outside and not care about the weather" department. I thought the Tex-Mex pups were going to drop dead when they went outside to pee yesterday morning. The grass was very dew-covered and the temperature was 47 degrees. Bandido put one paw on the law and kept the other three on the driveway, using this stance to pee. No way was she going on the cold grass. Rosita looked miserable and did the funky I-Hate-this grass prance.


Pups, I hate to tell you but it's gonna get a LOT colder as time goes on. Wet grass and 47 degrees is nothing.

This week we are going to introduce them to new people, convince them the car is for going good places (not just to the vet or groomer) and work on learning new tricks. Bandido is way ahead of Rosita in this department, but I have faith. I'll get Rosita Louisa to "sit" on command by the end of the week. We'll have another round of hanging out with the neighbor dogs. We'll go on a walk every evening. We'll also see what they think of rain, as it is on its way. From what we've heard, there hasn't been a lot of rain in south Texas. I have a feeling they are not going to be entertained by precipitation of any kind. Ah well, they are Yankees now so they are going to have to deal with the elements.

Did I mention they loved canned food? 
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Sunday, August 20, 2017

Gotcha, Tex-Mex Style

The two Tex-Mex party pups have arrived, without nary a hitch.

First I'd like to confirm that once home, they ate like champs, went outside (as opposed to inside) to excrete urine from urethrae, and slept in their kitchen-located beds as directed, with only two whining episodes (from the ever-vocal Rosita... Bandido has yet to make a peep). We learned that they do not understand the concept of leashes or collars or going for a walk. They obviously have been fed from the table--Rosita is a begging machine. We figured out quickly that Bandido does not understand the concept of toys. We got the idea quickly that they do not know how to navigate stairs (or what stairs might even be). And, we learned that Bandido likes to pee on top of Rosita's poop--the ultimate marking of the territory, I assume.

The poor wife got about three minutes of sleep last night. Too much caffeine, too much excitement, too much listening for peeps, too much worrying. I slept just fine, althought I got up twice to remind Rosita that midnight and 3 AM were for sleeping, not for peeping. I think everyone will be taking a nap this afternoon.

As I type, both dogs are sleeping. But, I know the minute I stand up or open a wrapper on some food product, I'll have two sets of eyes starting at me. They know the sound of food and definitely don't want to miss any fun.

(Note to Grandma: you won't have any trouble finding friends when you toast those waffles.)

Yesterday was "Gotcha Day." I could go on for days about this, but suffice it to say it is very exciting, overwhelming, busy, entertaining and downright exhausting for all involved, including the dogs. (It's an experience--you'd have to be there or watch the live feed to get an idea of what transpires.) The head of the pack (Scott, the man in charge of this delightful endeavor and Tracy's top dog, so to speak) tells everyone not to look the dogs in the eyes as they are handed you--no kissing or squeezing, either. He made some very good points about the reasons these things should not be done.

Guess what? I sure saw a lot of hugging and kissing and eye-gazing. It's hard not to give a squeeze and a kiss when meeting the dog for whom you've been waiting.

For the record, the dogs were the ones not making eye contact. Looking at the photos from the event confirm this--most dogs are turned away from their newbie adopters. I can't blame them. That's a whole lot of hugging, kissing and squeezing after a 2.5 day road trip. And, there's the crowd of people. I'm sure all the dogs want to do is get out of that crowd.

Prior to the arrival of the truck and unveiling of the dogs, the adopters had opportunity to visit with each other, made all the more fun as we "knew" each other's dogs from the organization's videos and photos. It was like a family event--only weird, seeing that we were a bunch of strangers who weren't really strangers. I found that to be one of the exciting parts of the day. I also found myself taking photos of said adopters. After all, it's good to know who got which dog.

The most surprising part? How much littler most of the dogs were in person. I guess the camera really does add weight. I remember thinking this about many of the dogs. Our dogs were the size I envisioned, but others were tiny in comparison to their photos. (I still can't get over how small Princess and Charles were. Not that you know who they are.)

The ride home was rather uneventful... well, besides Rosita wanting to look out the window (she obviously has had car-riding experience in a previous life) and subsequently falling off the car seat. Bandido didn't look very impressed by any of it and surrendered to the car ride without issue.

Today, we will hang around the house and try to ignore them so they get the picture. A friend or two will stop by to help test socialization. We'll go in and out the door to get them used to that, too. I'll put them in the car for a short ride so they think rides are fun (not just for going to the vet, of which they have to do tomorrow). I'll try to teach them a few basic commands, as they don't seem to know anything in particular.

And, we'll take a lot of pictures.

A final note: I'm glad these Tex-Mex senoritas are really nothing like our beloved Freckles and Lucy. They don't look the same, they don't eat the same, they don't walk the same, they don't poop the same. I would never want Freckles or Lucy to think we were replacing them, as that is completely impossible. Instead, we are complimenting them. After all, if they hadn't been so fabulous, I would never have had a chance at getting any other dogs.

So, thanks FWP and LBP for paving the way. Or, should I say, "Gracias, cachorros. Gracias por allanar el camino."

Let the dog training begin.
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Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Wanted: Chef for Soon-to-Arrive Pups

Uh oh!

I am officially freaked out. I received photos and directions about how to make dinner for our soon-to-arrive rescue pups.

I am going to need a chef.

The photos were amazingly helpful--each ingredient displayed in full color, the process of putting together the meal laid out, step by step.

Can I just say these dogs have been eating better than me? Organic, Trader-Joe's foods. Freshly sliced sweet potatoes. Lean turkey breast. On occasion, kale is added to the creation. Once prepared, the meal is adorned with apples.

If you think I'm kidding or exaggerating, I have the photos to prove what I report.

I don't know what an insta-pot is, but it's what she uses to make this creation. Amazon, do I dare search thee for this product of which I know nothing?

I am extremely jealous about this creation. It looks delicious! (Organic, Trader Joe's products. Lucky dawgs, indeed!) If I leave out the turkey, I could easily eat this for dinner. In fact, I think I HAVE eaten this kind of concoction for dinner.

We will be weaning the pups off this concoction sooner or later, but not right away--after all, they have a lot of adjustment to do before I start messing with their food. So, I hope the wife likes black beans + peas + sweet potatoes + potatoes + spinach + peas + turkey + apples, because that's what the three of them will be eating. I'll be eating the stew before turkey is added.

I wonder if my niece--who is a chef--is available for hire?

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Sugar-coated Ramblings

T-minus one week until the new four-legged furry friends arrive. Foster mom has sent a few photos and some updated information. From the description, it sounds like the fluffy white pup (now to be known as Rosita) is getting herself into all sorts of mischief, while the scrawny little brown Texas street dog (now known as Bandido) is helping herself to the furniture but otherwise laying low. It appears Rosita likes to swim in her water dish. Can't wait for the wife to see that. Foster mom continues to cook dinner every night for these four-footed friend. Since we don't even cook dinner every night for ourselves, this shall be a new adventure. We can't change their food upon their arrival--they'll already be traumatized enough. So, home-made chicken and veggies it will be. We await the recipe. You know, the wife might want to join them in the home-made chicken and green peas concoction. It's people food, after all.

(Please, baby Jesus, tell me that foster mom has stopped letting them sleep in the bed. Puh-leeeeeease!)

The dogs will serve handsomely as a major distraction from the nightly news. I try to avoid the news but posts show up in my news feed and the wife is forever alerting me that another awful event has occurred. I try not to waste my breath or brain cells on 45. But, in this case I must comment: "Both sides, my ass. You are a bigoted buffoon who embraces--oozes--white, hate-fueled privilege and who is going to get us blown off the map one of these days. I spit on your golf shoes."

Oh, how I pine for the kinder, gentler days.

On the home front, the wife is on the mend, thanks to meds, physical therapy, myofacial work, rest and positive thinking. I'm glad to see improvement as the school year is just about to start and you don't want your professor to be in pain. Personally, I prefer she not be in pain by the time the dogs arrive as that blessed event will most likely not be conducive to her healing--it will be stress inducing, to say the least.

As for me, I suffered an injury while taking a nap yesterday. (I'm not sure which is more mortifying--admitting to taking a nap on such a beautiful day or injuring myself while taking said nap.) I must've been laying on my arm in some weird, contorted manner. Today, my arm is quite achy and useless and I have a giant knot in my shoulder/back/chicken wing. It won't stop me from eating ice cream or an ear of corn today at the county fair, though. I may be achy but I won't be deterred--one must have priorities, take one for the team. Besides, you only need one arm to eat food.

I love going to the county fair, although there aren't many options for a gluten-free vegetarian. That's why I stick to ice cream and corn on the cob. I'd love to smother myself in powder sugar as snarfing down a funnel cake, but that's a gluten nightmare and thus I step away. Cream puffs and homemade donuts are definitely off the menu. At least I'm not sugar-free or dairy-free... one must keep some vices.

Speaking of sugar, yesterday the wife and I had a health screening done--you know, the simple blood pressure, cholesterol and blood sugar kind of screening. I am pleased to announce that my blood sugar was better than hers, not that we were competing. (Okay, so maybe I was feeling a bit competitive.) I'm always entertained that my blood sugar is perfect, even though I am completely addicted to sugar and always assume it will be off the charts. I was born to eat sugar. My cholesterol ratio was beautiful and my blood pressure was just fine (it's been running high these days--well, at least according to the blood pressure cuff at work).

I believe that my love of ice cream and Dove Dark Chocolate have served me well. 

A new employee tried to convince me this week that there are plenty of dairy-free "ice cream" options in the world. I think she thought I was a vegan and thus was passing on this information. Well, I am NOT a vegan. I refuse to worry about hidden butter in home-cooked meals or when going out to a restaurant or when eating ice cream or when being treated to a delicious meal at a dinner party.

Life is WAY too short to be a gluten-free, dairy-free vegetarian. Bring me real ice cream and screw that fake stuff. I embrace my sugar-coated way of being; I thank the gods of Butter for their glory; I pay homage to the cheese on my gluten-free-crusted pizza. Put some M&Ms on that pizza and in my ice cream. Vegan, my ass.

I've loaded the freezer with some milk-and-sugar-blessed Dove Dark Chocolate so I can keep my sugar level on course upon arrival of our rescues. I'll secure the wife a stash of carbs so she can drown her sorrows in potato chips, potatoes in general and bread. I'll get us several gallons of water and a case of canned food in case of nuclear meltdown.

Stay tuned for photos of the Gotcha Day. It's next Saturday. Until then, stay away from the news. Stay away from vegans. Stay away from dairy-free ice cream. Make sure to get some fair food before the fair season is over. Pray the dogs no longer sleep in the bed. Pray we learn how to make meals suitable for our rescued party pups.

T-minus one week. What a glorious day it will be.


Saturday, August 05, 2017

Farewell by the Mary-Go-Round

The first official sentence of this blog might give you pause. No worries--this will not be maudlin in any capacity. Keep reading and start laughing.

Yesterday, yet another of our clients passed away. A "cardiac event," per the coroner. I'm inclined to agree. I suppose when it's your time to go, this is the way to go--peacefully in your sleep. 

CeeJay was quite the woman, always gave staff a run for the money. She was a pistol! Personally, I found her antics to be quite humorous. Others probably did not, most likely because they are not fans of those who are pistols. I like when clients are fiesty. I don't want them to "roll over" and just do what they're told. I want them to have quality of life. I want them to stand up for themselves. I want clients to challenge the staff. After all, it's their life. So, I really appreciated CeeJay's naughtiness. She was a lively one. 

While thinking about CeeJay yesterday, I recalled a most memorable trip to Great America in 2006, which featured CeeJays's group and a ride gone wrong. I blogged about it back then and it still makes me laugh when I think about it. I've updated it to include more about CeeJay's role during the outing. In honor of her passing, I speak of the Mary-Go-Round. 

(Disclaimer: as always, I like to point out that I mean no disrespect to those I serve, those with severe mental illlness. So, don't get your undies in a bundle, please.)

Great America, 2006. A trip to Great America with a busload of adults who just happen to have mental illness. I assigned myself to a group of those who didn't want to go on any of the major attractions. Fine by me. I preferred to be on the ground than be hurled through the air.

Six clients. Only six adults. You're probably thinking that doesn't sound too stressful. You're probably thinking what a cake job I have, how awesome it is to go to an amusement park 75 miles away during work hours. You're probably thinking that it is super fun. 

You. Are. Wrong. I'd rather poke my eyes out than go to Great America, even if is only with six adults--all persons I know very well. Six adults of whom I see every day. Six adults.

It's hot. Really hot. Blinding sun summer hot. Humid. We are all dripping with sweat. It's disgusting out, with not a lot of shade to be had. I try to keep our group inside or in the shade--which is mighty impossible at this particular park. We spend lots of time watching variety shows and attending movie-type attractions. We are hot and sticky and red and miserable. 

As a nervous nelly, I'm always counting my group. It's a habit, I suppose. Other staff don't give a poo and send their assigned clients off on their own. I'm a counter. So, I'm counting my little group before we move to the next attraction (probably a food vendor) and all five are present—we're good to go, good to go shopping or eating. . 

Wait a minute—all FIVE are present? I had SIX when we came into the park. Mary, CeeJay's friend, is missing. With a heavy sigh, I tell everyone we are going to the merry-go-round, as I am sure that this is where Mary has gone. CeeJay is none too pleased with this development but she gives a big huff and drags herself along with our little band of amusement-park-impaired folks. CeeJay is all full of disdain for Mary at this point.

Our group of five stand staring at the ride, watching the horses go up and down, lights spinning in a circle, round and round and round…but, I don’t see Mary. It’s kind of hard to see as we are basically looking into the sun, so I figure we might have missed her. I instruct CeeJay to go stand by the exit to watch for Mary, as she’ll have to get off when the ride is over and we can meet her there. Another huff from CeeJay but she complies, lumbering toward the ride's exit.

The ride stops, the people get off….no Mary. The ride starts, we stare at the horses, the ride stops, no Mary. I look and see that CeeJay in still in place, so I know we didn't have a merry-go-round escapee. After the fourth ride completes and everyone exits, I decide to ask the attendants if they have seen Mary, describing her in the nicest, most politically-correct-manner possible. The two young men laugh and point to the second level of the ride. “She’s up there,” they say, as they allow me on the ride. “We can’t help patrons—we can’t touch them.” I stopped to stare at them—what on earth are they talking about? “She’s stuck, says she can’t get off the horse,” the younger guy adds. “We can’t touch her—policy rules.” I’m incredulous. How does someone get stuck on a merry-go-ground horse?

I tell everyone to stay with CeeJay. This brings a smile to her face. She is all about being in charge. I don't really have time to contemplate all the ways this might go wrong. I go with it and hop onto the ride.

Sure enough, I walk around the circle and there's Mary, on a white horse in the inner ring of the ride. No wonder we couldn’t see her from the ground. 


“I’m STUCK!” she screams. 

Mary is crying and sweating and her nose running all over her face. “I can’t get off the horse,” she adds, as if I can’t tell what she’s doing. She stands up on the horse, death grip on the gold pole. She sits immediately back down and begins screaming again. Parents are directing their children from the area. I go over to her and ask her to calm down and listen to me. 

“I CAN'T GET OFF I CAN'T GET OFF I CAN'T GET OFF!" 

I tell her if she can get on the horse, she can get off the horse. (I'm so pragmatic. And, a moron.) I ask how she managed to get up there, anyway, but she has no answer. Mary is only focused on getting off the ride. I scratch my head, as she is indeed rather stuck. I am not strong enough to lift her off the horse by myself and the attendants can’t help me. I tell her to stand up and I step toward the horse. She's now hanging onto me at the neck, obviously terrified. I feel the room spin, then realize it’s just that the ride has started again. Now Mary is going up and down and has truly worked herself into a froth. I ask her to sit down and just wait for the ride to end. I just asked her to stand up and now I'm telling her to sit down. What the hell is she supposed to do? 

CeeJay is now on the ride. So much for staying with the other four. She wants to help. She offers to pick up Mary from one side as I pick her up by the other. So, now the three of us are going in circles, literally and figuratively.

What seems like three years later, the ride ends (dang, that ride is long) and I begin to work frantically. CeeJay is trying to help but now I've got two people to worry about, not one. Sigh. I tell Mary to stand up; she does, then she sits right back down. I tell her to stand up and stay standing. I put my arms around her waist. I tell her to lift her leg; she says she can’t. We do this for THREE MORE RIDES. 

Finally, by the grace of god or some other being, her leg makes it over the saddle and her weight falls on to me. Thankfully, she doesn't kick me or CeeJay in the face--although, by this point, I would welcome a foot to the nose. I groan and my knees buckle but she hangs on to my neck and squeezes tightly and we work our way off the horse, off the ride. We meet her waiting peers--thankfully, all five people are in a group. I turn to thank CeeJay...

...but, CeeJay is not standing next to me. 

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME! I still don't have six people.

I am in no mood to talk to anyone and instead just point toward the parking lot. I point the five-still-not-six group toward the bus. I don't care if it's too early or too hot or too whatever. I'm getting on that bus and I'm not getting off.

Thankfully, CeeJay was sitting on the other side of the merry-go-wrong, right by the fountain. I decide she's no fool. She found the one place that made sense after sweltering all day. I don't say anything to her, either. I point to the bus. 

It's a VERY quite walk to our ride home. No one is dumb enough to start bickering, whining, yelling, crying or complaining until the bus ride gets underway. 

Great America. Poke.My. Eyes. Out. You. Can. Kiss. My. Sweaty. Ass. All I can think is: Never again. They can't make me do this again. Can they? Please tell me they can't make me. I slide down in my hot, stick, plastic school-bus seat and pray for the best. I'm hot and grimy and crabby. 

But, then I see the smiles on the sweaty faces and realize that it is selfish of me to think this way. Trips like these mean the world to these people. Who am I to be selfish? I have to smile. I laugh and shake my head. I am destined to come back to that miserable place and I will go without too much grumbling. Oh, I'll grumble but it'll be worth the smiles.

Now it's Summer, 2017. Here we are, the day CeeJay passed away. I hope she is at peace. I hope she no longer suffers from the symptoms of mental illness that plagued her entire life. I hope to go she gets to be in charge, to be feisty, to be whatever she wants to be. I choose to believe she is free, happy and relieved. 

Thank you, CeeJay for the laughs, the naughtiness and the lessons. Thank you for being a fighter. Thank you for the gift you were to me. 

A gift, fondly recognized on days like these. Loss is balanced with the gifts received. 

I really do have a kick-ass job. Kick some ass, CeeJay!
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