I Fought the Cat and the Cat Won

I Fought the Cat and the Cat Won (2)

Bloody Tears

What kind of trouble can a 13-pound dog get into when left to his own devices? In just a few minutes, Red got himself a trip to the vet, and an unexpected bill for us.

I knew on the way home that the dogs were loose and not crated. Their dad came home from work to feed them, but needed to return to work for an evening event. This meant the boys would be out alone for a few minutes until I could get home, which is no big deal.

When I came through the door, I saw the usual assortment of cats, and Moose was on the loveseat. Red was not in his usual spot on the couch. In fact, he was nowhere to be found.

I soon saw that the baby gate leading to the kitchen was moved, enough for an elderly Italian greyhound to fit through. My guess is that Red moved it so that he could jump onto our bed and burrow beneath the blankets. At his age, sleeping is his preferred past time.

Red was in our bedroom as I expected, but he was standing on the floor at the foot of the bed. Looking back, I remember that Tiger was laying on the bed by the pillows. I coaxed Red back into the family room.

I went about my business, but Red seemed out of sorts. He didn’t want to settle on the couch like normal. He was wandering around when I noticed blood on his face. I couldn’t be sure if it was coming from his face or eye. He wouldn’t let me wipe away the blood, let alone allow a closer inspection. Red was squinting the affected eye, so I decided a vet visit was in order.

We were seen fast, and Red was taken away for a quick test. The results revealed two scratches to his eye consistent with cat claws. We had four suspects at home. Red was prescribed two eyedrops, which he was terrible about taking. He turned into a tiny monster.

I’m happy to report that Red’s injury healed on its own with little intervention. He had a follow-up visit combined with his normal mani/pedi appointment. We’re not sure how much Red could see with that eye anyway, but at least he wasn’t in any pain.

What do I think happened to Red, and who was the culprit? I think he pulled the baby gate away from the doorway and went through the kitchen in search of our bedroom. Once in there, he likely wanted to burrow under the covers, which is where he sleeps at night. I believe he jumped on the bed, not realizing that feline brother Tiger was in close proximity. The cat may have been surprised, or simply protecting his sleeping space and lashed out, causing the eye injury. (It should be noted that Tiger regards our bed as his during the day. He probably wasn’t willing to give up his spot so soon in the evening). I’ll bet Red jumped off the bed as fast as he could. That would explain why I found him dazed in our room. Poor little pup.

I Fought the Cat and the Cat Won (1)

All Cleaned Up

The Moo, The Myth, The Legend

The Moo The Myth The Legend (2)

Happy 17th Birthday Moose!

If you said I would have a dog live to 14, I would be hopeful. If you said he would live to 15, I would be skeptical. Over 15? That’s crazy, yet here we are. Tomorrow Moose turns 17 years old, an advanced age for a canine.

He was our first puppy, and we made mistakes with him. For starters, we botched crate training. We didn’t know we were supposed to limit the space in his crate. We gave him a big crate, and we spent many late nights cleaning a dirty puppy as a result. We finally got the gist of it, and Moose became well housetrained, which is a major challenge with Italian greyhounds. That is one of the biggest reasons this breed is surrendered.

I remember being scolded on our first trip to the pet store. He was the tiniest, cutest puppy on the planet (if I do say so myself). As such, I was excited to show him off. I didn’t realize how dangerous that was, as he was a bit too young and hadn’t had all of his shots. He could have picked up something from other canine shoppers just by being on the floor. Fortunately he didn’t, and we only returned when he was fully vaccinated. He was always social and looked forward to adventures outside of the house and yard.

His first official bath (aside from the spot cleaning due to crate messes) was by a groomer. This person picked him up by his front legs at their initial meeting, and I should have canceled the appointment right then and there. Instead I spent the entire time he was getting bathed a nervous wreck. He emerged clean and in great shape, but after that experience, it was puppy shampoo and the bathtub at home from that day forward. Italian greyhounds don’t require much grooming when it comes to their coats. A bath a handful of times a year is sufficient, and Moose would agree, as they were never his favorite activity.

The first time I heard a reverse sneeze I was hysterical. It’s sort of a weird wheeze, basically their way of clearing out their nose. I thought for sure my little guy was fatally ill. It turns out that they’re normal and common in small breed dogs. Whew.

Moose’s first birthday was memorable. I bought him some sort of all-natural doggie cake online. What a disaster; he was so sick after eating it that I thought for sure his first birthday would be his last. I would be more careful about special treats in later years. Of course, his special day wouldn’t be complete without a trip to the store for a toy. We let him pick out his own special gift, and squeaky toys were his favorites.

Not a day goes by that I don’t appreciate the time we have had together. I never expected him to live this long; that’s an old age even for a small-breed dog. His health may be declining, but I treasure every moment with my senior pup.

Happy 17th Birthday Moose!!! I Love You!!!

The Moo The Myth The Legend (1)

Flashback to Moose’s 5th Birthday Party

Tangled Up in Two Cords (Part Two)

Tangled Up in Two Cords (Part Two) (1)

So Cute, So Destructive

In my last post, Red had an unfortunate accident with a laptop power cord. I wish that was his last run-in with an electrical cord, but he continued to be his usual clumsy self. However, this other incident caused him injury.

I don’t use candles in my house because I always say I have too many tails around for me to burn them safely. To enjoy my favorite scents, I use candle warmers, which melt the wax via electricity rather than flame. These shouldn’t present a problem, unless you have a crazy dog like Red.

Again, Red was much younger than he is now. I had a large 22-ounce candle melting in a warmer on the family room end table. I’m not sure how he got there, but Red was between the end table and the hearth bricks. This is not at all a large area. Red got himself tangled in the candle warmer’s cord, knocking it over.

This candle was melting for hours and was completely liquefied.  I quickly righted the candle, observing the destruction. Blue candle wax slid down the off-white wallpaper, covering the mauve carpet and fresh air return cover. The outlet was now covered in a waxy blue glaze. What else was covered in candle wax?

My crazy Red dog was now red with blue patches. He dumped the candle over on himself, all over his back. He seemed stunned, but silent. I was relieved that he wasn’t in any pain. But how do you remove candle wax from a dog? I can’t remember if I did an internet search (I believe this is a very old incident that may have predated the internet), but into the tub Red went. I guess I was trying to remove the waxy mess as fast as I could, before it could solidify. I don’t remember using anything other than his usual doggie shampoo. Whatever I did worked to remove the aftermath of the candle incident, and he never smelled better, thanks to his new candle cologne. His fur was super soft, and there was no difference in his appearance.

Overall Red fared just fine, the house not so much. To this day blue wax remains on both the wall and the carpet. We tried to remove it to the best of our ability, but since the spots are largely concealed by furniture, it’s not much of an eyesore. Out of sight, out of mind. However, the outlet has never recovered from the effects of the candle spill. It’s still functional, but prongs tend to come loose from the outlet, cords falling to the floor like dead snakes. Replacing this outlet is on the list of repairs for the electrician.

The candle warmer has since been relocated to the mantle, far out of reach of the dogs. The cats are another story. There was a time when one kitty would investigate the mantle, but that is no longer an issue. The candle has melted incident-free since Red knocked it over.

Red doesn’t look for trouble, but trouble finds him. So far Red has found himself tangled up in two cords. I just hope he doesn’t provide me a reason to write a third post about cords. Stay tuned.

Tangled Up in Two Cords (Part Two) (2)

Lingering Blue Wax

Tangled Up in Two Cords (Part One)

 

Tangled Up In Two (Part One) (2)

Whatever is in the Big Round Hole is Needed to Charge the Computer

Red was a klutz long before he had neurological problems. When he was young and boisterous, his misadventures cost his dad and I both time and money. And for Red, it would eventually cost him a tiny bit more than just his dignity.

One day I was sitting on the couch using my laptop, with the dogs playing on the floor. I had the computer plugged in and charging, working diligently until Red went roaring by in a red fawn blur. The PC hummed along without missing a step, but I noticed that the screen got darker. It was no longer running on its AC adapter, because Red stumbled through the cord as he was charging through, pulling the cord out. The laptop switched itself over to battery power. I checked Red, who was temporarily tangled in the cord. He was more scared than anything, no worse for the wear, but the same couldn’t be said for my faithful computer. I tried to plug the power cord back in, but there was just one problem. There was no longer a port on the side of the laptop to plug it into.

It would have been much better (read cheaper) had Red pulled the cord out from the wall. I could have plugged it in and continued working with no problem. Red managed to do the opposite, pulling the cord out of the computer, leaving the plug in the outlet. Not only did he do that, but he pulled the plug out along with the cord, so there was no place to plug in the adapter. If the computer ran out of battery juice, it would shut down. There wasn’t any way I could charge it with a broken port.

It could have been worse; Red could have been hurt. He was fine, wagging his tail at my distress. The sidelined laptop was my writing computer, and not the household computer. That computer is safe in its confines of the home office. Both have weekly backups, so nothing was really in danger of being lost. Whatever I was working on at the time was safely backed up to the cloud, just in case. The situation was more aggravating than anything else.

The following day I brought my battle-scarred laptop in for repairs. I bristled at the repair person’s assessment that it was in fair condition. Sure, it had seen some mileage, but it wasn’t that bad, was it? I sheepishly explained that my dog got tangled in the power cord, pulling it and the port out of the side of the computer. It was fixable, but that would come at a price.

I was without my laptop for a little while, but it was returned to me with the ability to run off the AC adapter restored. They declared it in fair condition, yet now it had glue remnants from said “fair” sticker slapped on its lid. Insult to injury.

The laptop cord was the first cord that Red managed to destroy. He was left unscathed, but the next cord caused damage to both property and dog. More on that in my next post.

Tangled Up In Two (Part One) (1)

An Angel (When He’s Asleep)

Sir Lumpsalot

Sir Lumpsalot (1)

Oh Look Another Lump

Of the two dogs, Red is far lumpier than Moose. Moose has had fewer lumps needing removal, while Red seems to be a magnet for them. None of the masses have ever proved to be dangerous, but Red has had so many that we started to call him Sir Lumpsalot.

The latest bump was found by accident. We keep baby wipes by the door to clean the dogs after they come in from outside. We wipe down their front legs (the boys have always had bad aim), and their undercarriage before putting their man pants back on them. One day I felt something unusual, and on further inspection saw a growth on the outside of Red’s boy bit. It had a decent size to it, like a pencil eraser, and was pink in color. (Trust me on this, I’m withholding the photo for Red’s modesty). I wasted no time making a vet appointment to have the growth checked.

I figured that whatever it was would need to be removed, but the vet first took a sample of the offending growth in the office. She was looking to see if it was a mast cell tumor. My heart sank. I knew from various dog social media groups that they were bad news. The couple minutes that it took waiting for the results felt like an eternity. My mind raced to all sorts of worst-case scenarios while the vet was out of the room.

She came in and told us that no mast cells were found. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. While that was great news, it still required removal while Red was under anesthesia. That came as no surprise.

We made an appointment for the procedure. Red is a senior, but he doesn’t have the underlying health conditions that Moose has. It would be a quick process, and he wouldn’t be under long. Anxiety is my middle name, so the day of the removal I was a mess. Red on the other hand was just fine.

We sat in the waiting room for Red to be called back. I held him the entire time, and when I had to turn him over to the vet tech, I put on a brave face, saving my tears for the ride home. He had gone through similar procedures several times in the past, so it’s routine to all of us by now. I trust our vet implicitly.

Everything went well. My day dragged on as they always do when you can’t wait to pick up your fur kid in the evening after work. When I saw him, he was rid of the annoying mass, now replaced by three dissolvable purple stitches. All my usual worrying was for naught when we received the call that the growth was indeed benign! The only problem with this latest repair is that he was unable to wear man pants for a couple weeks. Our carpets took a beating for a little while, but Sir Lumpsalot lives to accumulate more lumps!

Sir Lumpsalot (2)

Scar from Previous Lump Removal

Dog Food Drama

Dog Food Drama (2)

Food Boycott in Progress

Why is it that dogs sometimes just stop eating their food, with no apparent medical issue the cause? I’m sure if I ate the same thing every day, I would grow tired of it, too. I don’t mind switching up their food, but why do they boycott it just after I’ve bought more cases of it?

Red is our household food critic. For a dog that once gifted his grandmother a bird he found in the yard, he has discerning taste. One day he stopped eating his usual canned food. Moose eats prescription food, so I can’t pawn off Red’s food on him, lest I upset Moose’s sensitive tummy. Make no mistake, Moose will eat ANYTHING. This is only the second occasion in Red’s life that I can remember him staging a food boycott.

At first I thought maybe he had a reason behind leaving his bowl near full, as he’s a senior guy. Sometimes he won’t eat much in the morning, but will empty his dish in the evening. I thought that was what was happening until I noticed the bowls weren’t being emptied.

It turned out that he was hungry and wanted food, just not that food. He was far more interested in what everyone else had to eat. He even found cat food appealing. That’s when I knew we were in food boycott mode.

The first boycott came while he was eating the chicken and rice recipe from a well-known brand. He and Moose ate it with gusto, until Red decided he didn’t want it anymore. I bought more varieties of the same brand until I found one that he loved. I have found that for Red, food love is fleeting.

Red ate every other flavor that I bought, so I chose a canned formulation of turkey, duck, and chicken as his main meal. He devoured it. When our usual pet food store ran out of the cans, I scoured other retailers in search of this magic blend. He seemed appreciative of my efforts, gobbling up the concoction. Then came the day he just stopped eating it.

We are currently in the process of changing his food. I have again purchased different flavors in the same brand, hoping that one will get his seal of approval. The kicker is, he will eat any flavor that is different from his current food. I think he enjoys variety, so perhaps that’s what we’ll do to prevent any boycotts due to boredom. Variety is the spice of life, right?

For the record, Red is more finicky than any cat I have had when it comes to food. What do I do with the rejected cans of dog food? When it comes to people, I hate to get rid of something someone else can use. The majority of my stuff gets donated somewhere. The same is true with cast off dog food. I’m sure there are dogs who would be happy to take Red’s food off his paws and enjoy it as he once did, so it gets donated to a shelter or rescue group. Bon appétit from Mr. Red!

Dog Food Drama (1)

Food Boycott Over

Nite Nite Bedtime

NIte NIte Bedtime (1)

Zzzzz

When my brother was little, he would grab his pj’s and tell our mom he was ready for bed. He was one kid who looked forward to bedtime, while I tried to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Now I have a doggie equivalent of my brother, a pup who can’t wait to go to bed.

Red’s bed is our bed. Known as “velcro dogs,” Italian greyhounds love to cuddle close, and most of the time they sleep under the covers with their owners. If you think that’s weird or gross, this might not be the breed for you. We have baby gates keeping the boys in the family room, where we are most of the time in the evening. The gates prevent access to the rest of the house, including the bedroom, located on the first floor of our Cape Cod.

When Red would like to go to bed, the pacing and staring start. If that fails to get any notice, he ups his game by grabbing a toy if one is laying around, and walking to the baby gate and staring at the bedroom door. He continues to pace back and forth to the baby gate with a toy in his mouth, before dropping it and barking at us as a last resort.

Even though we know what he wants, all we have to do is ask the magic question, “Nite, nite bedtime?” This gets Red even more riled up. By this time we have to relent, but not before he goes outdoors one last time. As soon as he returns from doing his final business of the night, he runs into the bedroom, the baby gate already removed. When he was younger, he could jump onto the bed and start burrowing by himself. Now he will bark to let someone know he is ready and needs help. We turn down all the covers before picking him up and placing him onto the mattress. He wastes no time burrowing under, although sometimes he plants himself too close to the edge for my liking, so I scoot him closer to the center of the bed. We cover him up, turn on the fan (weather permitting), leave the light on low, and he is content to stay there the rest of the night. He is even generous to move over when the humans come to bed.

You may be reading this and think, “What about Moose?” Moose doesn’t do any of this. When Red goes into bed, Moose is content to hang out with us on the couch. Once in a while he will join his brother, but he often won’t stay settled until we come in with them. Red on the other hand knows we will come in eventually, and that is good enough for him.

I never thought I would have a dog I would have to tuck into bed. This is something that makes Red unique, and I just love it about him. I wouldn’t change this little guy for anything.

NIte NIte Bedtime (2)

Serious Sleeper