Thursday, September 21, 2017

The Dog-n-Dash and The Shit-n-Sit

Where have I been, you ask? Why, I've been doing my new workout routine. Thanks for asking.

What is this new workout, you ask? Why, it's dog chasing, sprint division. It's free. No gym membership required.

How have you not ever heard of this, you ponder? I've got a little white Bichon Poo for you to borrow. THEN you will understand this new Olympic event.

(I want to refer to Rosita as a "Boodle, not a Bichon Poo." Boodle sounds so much more fun.)

Rosita has learned the fine art of "escape and dash." Once gone, she's a blur on the move. There is no stopping her. Dang, she is FAST. Even our neighbor has mentioned her speed.....

I'm sure the neighbors are quite entertained as I'm running across their lawns--in flip flops and boxer shorts--yelling "GOD DAMMIT, ROSITA!" (at 5 AM, no less). It's a lengthy process, despite it being a sprint.

Hmmm. Maybe it's more of a cross-country event. Whatever it is, it's fast and furious.

How did she get away this morning, you chastise? Well, let me tell you. We were at the front door, seeing as everyone had done their duty (four legged duties, not my duty). The door is open, I bend over to take her leash and collar off, as I always do, she steps as if she's walking into the house and.....

BAM! She streaks around my legs and is G.O.N.E.

Have you ever tried to catch a dog that doesn't know its name? It's not fun. I'm not sure why I bother yelling Rosita's name because she is clueless in that department.

If she had had her collar on, I wouldn't have been so angered. But, seeing as I was holding her leash and collar, it was time to dog-n-dash.

Rosita, that naughty tidbit, is NOT running around in a blur because I am chasing her. She's not even aware I'm chasing her. Rosita is on the hunt to catch the rabbits of which she thinks have run by.

Poor Bandido. She got dragged along for today's dog-n-dash. Thankfully, she is fast, too.

Trust me when I say I move mighty fast for someone wearing flip flops, holding a flashlight and dragging a chorkie around. 

(Side note: Bandido, we've decided, is a chorkie--a chihuahua/Yorkshire Terrier mix. We googled photos and saw a few dogs that looked like her twin, so we're feeling pretty confident...although, a few other mixes are definitely involved.)

Thank goodness I carry a flashlight and that the dog is white. At least I can keep track of her while I'm running, yelling and swearing.

When I finally did catch her--which took a lot of swearing and a lot of running through grass, brush and mulch--I picked her up and took her home. No sense in yelling at her.

Trust me when I say I took her all the way inside this time. I can't do two dog-n-dashes in the same morning.

The wife wants to know why Rosita was looking a little less tidy this morning--she is dirty and scruffy. (The wife was in the shower when this Olympic event took place.) I made sure to emphasize that we were at the front door when ol' Flash decided to make her move. I wasn't taking the fall for this one. I tell her that it's tough to stay clean when you've been in the brush.

I'm not looking too spiffy, either. I would not be surprised if I end up finding a tick on my being or if I end up with poison ivy. I'm telling you, I was knee deep in grass at times and burrowing through brush at others. There were prickers in my hair.

We do have another Olympic canine event, if you are interested. It's called the shit-and-sit. Ask the wife. The dogs shat all over her birthday earlier in the week. Literally. A kitchen blessed with diarrhea from two dogs is delightful and the perfect homemade birthday present.

I'm not sure which workout I like better. My guess is that the neighbors wish I'd stick to the shit-and-sit. It's quieter--for them, anyway. The wife isn't entertained by either.

Although we are champions at these canine sports, it is safe to say none of us in this house will be getting Olympic medals from the wife....

....or, the neighbors. No medals from the neighbors, either. Perhaps a video posted but no memos.

I'd tell you more but I have to go wash my feet. They are itching like crazy. I may have to be put on the dog-n-dash injured reserve for the time being. I can stay on the field for the shit-n-sit, though.

Put me in coach. I'm ready to play.

Saturday, September 09, 2017

Number One, No Number Two

Three weeks into rescue dog life. We've had a case of diarrhea, the first frappuccino (those two things are not related), a trip to the vet (to get an official diagnosis of: diarrhea), 21 hours without peeing (Rosita, not me--I can't go without peeing), an escapee from the harness (of which I didn't even think possible) and undisclosed injuries (mine).

It appears that when Bandido gets the shit scared out of her, she can escape anything.

I am unfortunately "the Bandido-shit-scarer." I tripped over her and fell when starting out on our walk, only one house down the block. (The wife was out of town. These things only happen when she is not here.) When I slammed onto the pavement, it scared Bandido so badly that she ran away. (From the sidewalk view, I can tell you she was MOVING, dragging her extension leash behind.) I got up quickly so I could catch her but she was long gone. Suffice it to say, the poor thing was so freaked out that she ran onto the deck at the back of our house (yay!) , hid in the outdoor crate (yay again--not lost) with her harness and leash left behind, leash caught in the wood of the deck (oh no!). The poor thing was blurry with shaking. I can imagine it had to hurt when that harness ripped off her body (or whatever she did to get out of it--it was a Houdini move, complete with harness remaining locked/closed during the escape). It took quite a bit of reassurance (and a whole lot of treats) to convince her I am not a psycho mass murderer.

I don't think I fell on her but since I did get tangled up with her, there is potential for injury--besides psychological. She definitely has been scarred by the incident.

I know I have injuries. I can't wait until tomorrow morning when I get out of bed. I'm not sure what part of me hurts the most. Thankfully, my glasses stayed firmly on my face and Rosita stayed by my side. Had she run away and I didn't have my glasses, this would have been a totally different adventure. Everyone involved would have been blurry with fright.

I'm glad I didn't harm my hands, as I am in the midst of a major project at work which requires hours upon hours of typing. Hand injuries of any kind are not welcome.

As for Rosita not peeing, it is the weirdest thing. Earlier in the week, she went 21 hours without peeing. It freaked me out so badly that I (1) messaged my dog whisperer friend and (2) called the vet. No one seemed too concerned about the non-peeing thing. She isn't in pain that I can tell and she's not squatting like she "can't" potty, so it's probably not a UTI kind of situation.

It's just that she doesn't potty. 

I've tried every command in the book, from "Go potty!" to "do your business." I've considered trying Spanish commands about going potty but I'm pretty sure that's not the problem. She just doesn't need to pee.

I was late to work last week. Why? Because I was outside for an hour with Rosita begging her to go potty. Thankfully, my boss appreciates dog woes. I am sure the neighbors were entertained by my 60 minute "go potty go potty go potty" command-begging session. Sigh. I just couldn't believe she didn't need to pee.

Perhaps she was abused and punished for peeing. Perhaps she still doesn't understand that peeing on grass is a good thing. Perhaps she has a bladder of steel and she only needs to pee twice a day, tops.

As long as she's not in pain and she's not peeing in the house, I'll go with it. I don't like it. I don't understand it. But, I'll go with it. No one else seems freaked out about it....

Bandido, on the other hand, pees every chance she gets. She marks her territory every five feet, I swear. She pees on sign posts, mail box posts, fire hydrants, plants, trees. And yes, she pees like a boy dog--she lifts her legs and pees on things. I've never seen a girl dog do this but I'm here to tell you, that's what she does.

I'm surprised she didn't pee on me while I was on the ground.

The whole dog diarrhea thing remains a mystery. Various parties believe it to be stress. Since dogs can't tell us what's up, that sounds good enough to me. I laughed when the vet asked if Rosita had had any changes during the past few weeks. I mean, where do I begin? The dog was in a shelter and then a shelter and then a foster home. She was transported 2.5 days in a trailer with 55 other dogs less than 2.5 weeks ago. She's on new dog food (I'm not cooking for them), she's sleeping in the kitchen (not in a "human bed"), she's going for walks on a leash (of which we have to pick her up to get her moving) and she's learning to tolerate cold, wet grass.

Yes, stress seems a reasonable cause of gastrointestinal distress and lack of peeing. Rosita's had so many changes in the past three weeks... it is no wonder she's been shooting the shit.

I forget they've only been here for three weeks. No sense rushing. It's still very early in the game.

I was supposed to go to the Cheddarlands today to celebrate the wife's birthday with her family. Well, a shooting-shit dog put a damper on that and thus I stayed home. We had set up for friends to come let them out but it seemed like a bad idea to have "strangers" get involved with the stresses already in play.

....You know, had I gone with the wife, I wouldn't have tripped over Bandido and I wouldn't have gotten injured and she wouldn't be so terrified. Maybe letting them stay home and be scared shitless of "new friends" would have been better than me "tripping-and-freaking" our little Mexican Street Dog.

....of course, had I gone, Bandido wouldn't have had the opportunity to have her first Frappuccino and Rosita wouldn't have had someone repeating over and over and over to go potty. Those would be pretty big losses.

Now, if I could only figure out where to put the ice on my body. Knee? Hip? Other knee? Left arm? Neck? Hell, I'll just go take some ibuprofen, eat some ice cream and call it a day. The three of us won't move off the couch. We'll just wait for the wife to come home to save us all from certain doom.

Maybe while I'm sitting here I'll start a GoFundMe page for Bandido's therapy fund.... she's gonna need all the therapy she can get. Or, maybe I'll just get her a Starbucks gift card.... a pup cup can change a sad day into a happy day....

Frappucinos are therapeutic, aren't they? 
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Saturday, September 02, 2017

I'm sure the blog entries will sooner than not turn from the topic of the dogs but that isn't going to happen today. Paws up, beloved reader!

They say it takes two weeks to see the true personality of the rescue dog.

Two weeks has definitely arrived and they were right: we've got ourselves some feisty, funny, energetic, inquisitive, delightfully naughty-table-surfing part pups with lots of personality.

They have gained weight. Perhaps a bit too much weight. Hard to say. No more homemade food. I think we're going to have to walk them more lest we end up with two sausages on eight legs.

Bandido is DEFINITELY some kind of terrier as she is all about hunting unsuspecting bunnies in our back yard. We're talking CRAZED about the bunnies. I'm sure she has whiplash from me trying to keep her from chasing every bunny across the globe, with her never to be seen again. I've even seen her stand at attention and point while preparing to stalk/catch/kill the lagomorphs.

She won't be going outside without a leash, that's for sure. Even I agree with that.

Personally, I'm all good with it--I am sick of the stupid bunnies eating all our hostas and perennials. If Irish Spring didn't work, maybe a hunting dog will.

Here's hoping she likes to hunt chipmunks, too.

And, then there is Rosita.... the dog who is 100% going to poop or pee on the only carpeted area in the house if we let her anywhere near it. I can't blame her--I am sure it smells like our old dogs and rest assured that Freckles blessed that rug more than once. It appears she is marking her territory... but, maybe she sees the rug as one big lawn. I let them down there this morning as they were zipping around, gleefully chasing each other. I figured it would be easier to run on the carpet that sliding around the wood floors. Well, I was right--they did enjoy the zipping.

....but, then Rosita came to a screeching halt....

....and pooped. I've never seen a dog get into the pooping position so quickly.

It wasn't very helpful but I yelled out, "SHE'S POOPING!" It's not like I could pick her up and throw her outside. She was pooping, for Pete's sake.

The wife was not entertained... by me or the pooping dog. 

I do not for one minute believe it was the running around. It's the carpet. The few times they've been down there, they've excreted bodily "stuff" in the same place. I know Bandido is marking her territory but I think Rosita just sees as it as indoor grass. She hates the cold, wet grass. Carpeting is dry and nice and warm.

I have to admit: I'd prefer warm, dry carpeting to cold, wet grass, too. Maybe she's genius.

The wife is talking about ripping up the carpeting and having "wood-floor-looking-tiles" installed. I suppose that is a good idea--it would get rid of the "previous dog resident smell." The floor is a cement slab so tiles would be easy to have installed and make a lot of sense.

Of course, replacing the flooring is no guarantee the ol' pooping pup wouldn't poop down there but if she did, we'd know she thinks of it as a Poop-a-torium--it wasn't the rug. I hate to tell her, but tile will NOT be as warm, so it is to her benefit to stop excreting bodily stuff out of her parts lest she be chilly when we finally start sitting down there to watch TV.

I think the most surprising thing of this whole adventure is how much we'd forgotten what it's like to have young, playful, don't-have-to-pee-in-the-middle-of the night dogs. All of us sleep through the night. They don't have to go out as often to do their duty. They love to walk and they move quickly when doing so. (No more 35 minutes-for-half a mile walks for us.) They play and run around and wrestle and jump. They notice bunnies. They notice everything. We didn't realize how much our old dogs had stopped doing in their "old age."

Today, we are taking them on a road to see members of their "human" family. They've never been to my parents house, so we'll see how it goes. I'm hoping poop-in-the-house is NOT part of the adventure. If so, I'm glad to report they have non-carpeted floors.

I also hope they stay off the tables. Table surfing is strictly forbidden when visiting others. Definitely not the behavior of good guests.

I promise to stay off the tables, too. Maybe they'll mirror my good behavior. 

If they were smart, they'd mirror what the wife does.

Hmmm. Come to think of it.... if I were smart, I'd mirror what the wife does.

At least I don't poop on the carpeting. Yet.