1. My toe
2. A plastic doohickey
3. A rock
4. Another rock
5. A piece of broken cinder block
6. A plastic bag
7. A soda/pop bottle (plastic)
8. A dead bird
9. A log (an actual log...not a euphemism)
10. My nose
11. His collar
12. Ripken's collar
13. A table cloth
14. A bath towel
15. A beach towel
16. A section of the New York Times
17. A section of the Lincoln Journal Star
18. A capo
19. A guitar pick
20. A fleece blanket
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Five or Six Hundred Dollars Later
What a night we have just had, friends and neighbors. Our little superhero puppy had a rough day of it, leading to a rough night of it for all concerned. Perhaps I influenced the unfolding of events by focusing too many blog entries of late on topics of disgustingness, but all the grossness in a dog's life seemed to come together yesterday in a perfect storm of emission!
We started the morning in our usual fashion, eating our kibble and taking a walk. However, on our walk, Parker's stool was, well, it wasn't stool, at all. It was as loose and as high-velocity as you can imagine...if you want to imagine (I understand if you don't). This was a cause for concern, and a quandary, of sorts, since neither Monkey nor I could figure out what might be causing such gastric distress. He hadn't eaten anything that we could think of that would cause him trouble. The compost pile was out of reach. He only ingested his normal amount of stick shrapnel, dirt, bugs, and vegetation. As far as we knew, anyway.
Noontime brought further concern, as Parker turned his nose up at his lunch. I thought maybe he was having some teeth issues, so I wet his kibble. He licked up the kibble juice and took a few desultory bites of the moist morsels, but he ate little after all. Our afternoon walk produced more runniness. He was in seemingly good spirits, and he was drinking adequate amounts of water, so we maintained our favorite mental state: cautious optimism.
Dinnertime brought more of the same; however, when Monkey hand fed our intrepid one, he slowly munched up more than half of his dinner from a prone position. More caution than optimism, now, but the occasional wrestle with Ripken brought us a modicum of reassurance.
During the dinnertime hours, I was working the grill, since we were having company over for dinner. I was smoking some ribs. A long process, but the end result was pretty tasty. My first foray into rib-making, but, with patience, it is not so hard. Anyway, our company arrived at about 7pm, and we sat down to eat somewhere around 7:45. It was pretty nasty out--very warm and really humid--not weather that Monkey (or any one else, really), likes, at all. So, we ate inside. As dinner came to a close, Parker, who had, after settling down from our company's arrival, been zonked out next to my chair, got up and walked around the table to one of our guests. Our guest, thinking that Parker wanted some attention, leaned down and went to pet Parker, at which point your friendly neighborhood SpiderDog promptly threw up on the floor under our guest's chair!
The combination of uncharacteristic digestive issues convinced me that this was no matter for cautious optimism. I called the emergency vet. My intention was to ask a few questions, get a few home remedies, and nurse Li'l P back to health. However, the woman on the phone said that diarrhea and vomiting was a cause for concern (ummm...duh), and that I should bring him in for a check. Not being one to shirk my duties as a dog owner, I scooped up my pup and whisked him away to the emergency vet, conveniently located under the grain silo next to the penitentiary ( I shit you not.).
The emergency vet, for those of you who have never been to one, is not too much different than the ER at a hospital. It is generally full of people and dogs who are drunk and have done something stupid. Except for me and Parker, of course. My mind, throughout the evening, was stuck on one question: is this really an emergency? However, I had only the behavior of my dogs and the opinion of some veterinary technician whom I had talked to over the phone, so, I was never sure.
Once at the vets, the tech came in and did some observations of Parker. She looked at his gums, she felt his belly, she took his temperature (a surprise that Parker did NOT relish), she listened to his heart. After that, she told us that the doctor would be by in a sec. Fifteen minutes later, the vet came in and looked at Parker's gums, felt his belly, and listened to his heart. She then told us that Parvo was a remote possibility (even after P had had his 4th vaccination on the 16th), and that she would come back with a list of treatment options.
The tech came back in a few minutes with a laundry list of things that we could do to diagnose the little guy, from a Parvo test to blood work and Xrays (to check for blockages). I looked at the tech. What was wrong with the dog? They couldn't be sure without further tests. And I have to decide what to do? Yes. I was freaked out, a bit. I felt like I was left to play Russian Roulette with my dog's health (or even his life). I decided not to let my concern get the best of me, and I tried to do some deduction. Dog has a temperature. Might be Parvo. Probably not a blockage. Okay, here's what we'll do. I decided to start with the Parvo test, just in case. If that was negative, they were going to give him an anti-emetic to clear up the problems at one end and some antibiotics to clear up the problems at the other end.
The Parvo test was negative, the medicines were administered, and we were on our way home after about ninety minutes (and $170.) at the emergency vet. Monkey had stayed at the house with our gracious company, who stayed until I returned. I felt bad, leaving in the middle of a visit (bad form), but, as fellow dog owners, I think they understood. They stuck around for about another half an hour, or so, and Parker was pretty quiet. He seemed okay. I gave him his first dose of antibiotic (accompanied by his first taste of peanut butter), and we were off to bed, expecting a short road to recovery.
At 4am, that road was found to be closed. Parker woke us both up as he again vomited in his crate. Immediately, we cleaned up and climbed back in the impromptu canine medical emergency vehicle. Back to the grain silo. Back to the penitentiary. Worry was now beginning to regenerate. Clearly, if the anti-emetic was not working, and the antibiotics had no effect, he must have had a blockage somewhere. This was the worst possible news. They took Parker right away, since the place was empty (4am, that is the time to have a pet emergency, apparently), and they took some Xrays. The vet brought the Xrays in and showed us that Parker still had something (most likely food) in his stomach, and that he had a lot of gas in his intestines. His intestinal walls were clearly irritated. What did it all add up to? Well, the Xrays were inconclusive for a blockage, but a barium test would prove it for sure. If the barium passed through, no blockage. No blockage, no surgery. A stronger anti-emetic, a bland diet, antibiotics, and we were good. A blockage, however, was bad. The barium test would take about three hours. We would leave Parker, and they would call when he was ready. Oh, and all this was costing another $480.
Monkey and I went home and got a few more hours of sleep. At around ten, I called the vet. No blockage! Hooray. No vomiting for about six hours! Still, some really nasty diarrhea. We have been home for about two hours. Parker has slept (he probably didn't sleep at all at the vets), and he has voraciously consumed and kept down 1/4 can of bland dog food and his most recent dose of antibiotic. By my estimation, if we can make it to about five o'clock without getting sick, we'll be okay.
But what puzzles me is why it cost me three trips to the vet and $600. to find out that my puppy has an upset stomach?
We started the morning in our usual fashion, eating our kibble and taking a walk. However, on our walk, Parker's stool was, well, it wasn't stool, at all. It was as loose and as high-velocity as you can imagine...if you want to imagine (I understand if you don't). This was a cause for concern, and a quandary, of sorts, since neither Monkey nor I could figure out what might be causing such gastric distress. He hadn't eaten anything that we could think of that would cause him trouble. The compost pile was out of reach. He only ingested his normal amount of stick shrapnel, dirt, bugs, and vegetation. As far as we knew, anyway.
Noontime brought further concern, as Parker turned his nose up at his lunch. I thought maybe he was having some teeth issues, so I wet his kibble. He licked up the kibble juice and took a few desultory bites of the moist morsels, but he ate little after all. Our afternoon walk produced more runniness. He was in seemingly good spirits, and he was drinking adequate amounts of water, so we maintained our favorite mental state: cautious optimism.
Dinnertime brought more of the same; however, when Monkey hand fed our intrepid one, he slowly munched up more than half of his dinner from a prone position. More caution than optimism, now, but the occasional wrestle with Ripken brought us a modicum of reassurance.
During the dinnertime hours, I was working the grill, since we were having company over for dinner. I was smoking some ribs. A long process, but the end result was pretty tasty. My first foray into rib-making, but, with patience, it is not so hard. Anyway, our company arrived at about 7pm, and we sat down to eat somewhere around 7:45. It was pretty nasty out--very warm and really humid--not weather that Monkey (or any one else, really), likes, at all. So, we ate inside. As dinner came to a close, Parker, who had, after settling down from our company's arrival, been zonked out next to my chair, got up and walked around the table to one of our guests. Our guest, thinking that Parker wanted some attention, leaned down and went to pet Parker, at which point your friendly neighborhood SpiderDog promptly threw up on the floor under our guest's chair!
The combination of uncharacteristic digestive issues convinced me that this was no matter for cautious optimism. I called the emergency vet. My intention was to ask a few questions, get a few home remedies, and nurse Li'l P back to health. However, the woman on the phone said that diarrhea and vomiting was a cause for concern (ummm...duh), and that I should bring him in for a check. Not being one to shirk my duties as a dog owner, I scooped up my pup and whisked him away to the emergency vet, conveniently located under the grain silo next to the penitentiary ( I shit you not.).
The emergency vet, for those of you who have never been to one, is not too much different than the ER at a hospital. It is generally full of people and dogs who are drunk and have done something stupid. Except for me and Parker, of course. My mind, throughout the evening, was stuck on one question: is this really an emergency? However, I had only the behavior of my dogs and the opinion of some veterinary technician whom I had talked to over the phone, so, I was never sure.
Once at the vets, the tech came in and did some observations of Parker. She looked at his gums, she felt his belly, she took his temperature (a surprise that Parker did NOT relish), she listened to his heart. After that, she told us that the doctor would be by in a sec. Fifteen minutes later, the vet came in and looked at Parker's gums, felt his belly, and listened to his heart. She then told us that Parvo was a remote possibility (even after P had had his 4th vaccination on the 16th), and that she would come back with a list of treatment options.
The tech came back in a few minutes with a laundry list of things that we could do to diagnose the little guy, from a Parvo test to blood work and Xrays (to check for blockages). I looked at the tech. What was wrong with the dog? They couldn't be sure without further tests. And I have to decide what to do? Yes. I was freaked out, a bit. I felt like I was left to play Russian Roulette with my dog's health (or even his life). I decided not to let my concern get the best of me, and I tried to do some deduction. Dog has a temperature. Might be Parvo. Probably not a blockage. Okay, here's what we'll do. I decided to start with the Parvo test, just in case. If that was negative, they were going to give him an anti-emetic to clear up the problems at one end and some antibiotics to clear up the problems at the other end.
The Parvo test was negative, the medicines were administered, and we were on our way home after about ninety minutes (and $170.) at the emergency vet. Monkey had stayed at the house with our gracious company, who stayed until I returned. I felt bad, leaving in the middle of a visit (bad form), but, as fellow dog owners, I think they understood. They stuck around for about another half an hour, or so, and Parker was pretty quiet. He seemed okay. I gave him his first dose of antibiotic (accompanied by his first taste of peanut butter), and we were off to bed, expecting a short road to recovery.
At 4am, that road was found to be closed. Parker woke us both up as he again vomited in his crate. Immediately, we cleaned up and climbed back in the impromptu canine medical emergency vehicle. Back to the grain silo. Back to the penitentiary. Worry was now beginning to regenerate. Clearly, if the anti-emetic was not working, and the antibiotics had no effect, he must have had a blockage somewhere. This was the worst possible news. They took Parker right away, since the place was empty (4am, that is the time to have a pet emergency, apparently), and they took some Xrays. The vet brought the Xrays in and showed us that Parker still had something (most likely food) in his stomach, and that he had a lot of gas in his intestines. His intestinal walls were clearly irritated. What did it all add up to? Well, the Xrays were inconclusive for a blockage, but a barium test would prove it for sure. If the barium passed through, no blockage. No blockage, no surgery. A stronger anti-emetic, a bland diet, antibiotics, and we were good. A blockage, however, was bad. The barium test would take about three hours. We would leave Parker, and they would call when he was ready. Oh, and all this was costing another $480.
Monkey and I went home and got a few more hours of sleep. At around ten, I called the vet. No blockage! Hooray. No vomiting for about six hours! Still, some really nasty diarrhea. We have been home for about two hours. Parker has slept (he probably didn't sleep at all at the vets), and he has voraciously consumed and kept down 1/4 can of bland dog food and his most recent dose of antibiotic. By my estimation, if we can make it to about five o'clock without getting sick, we'll be okay.
But what puzzles me is why it cost me three trips to the vet and $600. to find out that my puppy has an upset stomach?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Four AM Musings on Dog Regurgitation
Last week it was dead fish breath. Today, we stick with unpalatable topics concerning dogs.
For the past several weeks, Parker has been spending little time in his crate. I am home full-time for the summer, so I can be here to keep an eye on him. Thus, there is no need for him to be in the crate when I am home. He usually only spends his evening sleep time in the crate. This has been a fine success for the most part.
The recent rainy weather notwithstanding, we have spent a good amount of time outside, chewing sticks, chasing birds and squirrels and rabbits and Ripken, and finding things to stick our snout into. We have had one accident, recently, caused by an over-energetic bout of wrestling with big brother. A lot of chewing and whining seems to lead to a need to pee that can't be contained. Parker has been like clock work, generally, but with company over, I guess he wanted to show off his urinating skills.
Anyway, the outside time can sometimes lead to Parker ingesting strange things like dirt, and bugs, and bark. Once, when Ripken was a puppy, prior to the mail order arrival of his crate, he ate so much dirt that he had one night of gastric distress that had me running to the store at 2 AM for Pepto-Bismol and Karo syrup (we were having pancakes afterward....). In his own short life, Parker has had the need to get rid of his stomach contents, in the middle of the night. Last night, at 4 AM, it happened again. There is no need for alarm, and we are fortunate that he keeps doing it in and around his crate rather than on the carpet in the basement or the rugs in the main living area, but it got me to thinking about the frequency with which dogs seem to vomit.
Ripken, the veteran dog of the household, usually has some sort of stomach evacuation at least every three to four months. It's apparently nothing to worry about, but it just seems awfully frequent. I mean, hell, I usually only do it once every three to five years, and I am perfectly aware of why it is happening. So, every few months (without any hard liquor involved) seems like a lot. But, well, I am not a dog.
Parker, a far less discerning dog, when it comes to the list of "Things He Will Eat," has now had two (that we know of) episodes, which works out to about once every two months. I imagine that, once he grows up enough to lay off the dirt, his frequency will lengthen out to line up more with his mature brethren.
But, any episode of irregularity with our pups is cause for concern, and we watch them a bit more closely, for a while. After all, according to renowned home and family advice website Professor's House, "Because vomiting can be a sign of anything from simple overeating, to a major life-threatening emergency, it is up to you to be aware and well informed of the dangers to your dog."
Amen, Professor.
For the past several weeks, Parker has been spending little time in his crate. I am home full-time for the summer, so I can be here to keep an eye on him. Thus, there is no need for him to be in the crate when I am home. He usually only spends his evening sleep time in the crate. This has been a fine success for the most part.
The recent rainy weather notwithstanding, we have spent a good amount of time outside, chewing sticks, chasing birds and squirrels and rabbits and Ripken, and finding things to stick our snout into. We have had one accident, recently, caused by an over-energetic bout of wrestling with big brother. A lot of chewing and whining seems to lead to a need to pee that can't be contained. Parker has been like clock work, generally, but with company over, I guess he wanted to show off his urinating skills.
Anyway, the outside time can sometimes lead to Parker ingesting strange things like dirt, and bugs, and bark. Once, when Ripken was a puppy, prior to the mail order arrival of his crate, he ate so much dirt that he had one night of gastric distress that had me running to the store at 2 AM for Pepto-Bismol and Karo syrup (we were having pancakes afterward....). In his own short life, Parker has had the need to get rid of his stomach contents, in the middle of the night. Last night, at 4 AM, it happened again. There is no need for alarm, and we are fortunate that he keeps doing it in and around his crate rather than on the carpet in the basement or the rugs in the main living area, but it got me to thinking about the frequency with which dogs seem to vomit.
Ripken, the veteran dog of the household, usually has some sort of stomach evacuation at least every three to four months. It's apparently nothing to worry about, but it just seems awfully frequent. I mean, hell, I usually only do it once every three to five years, and I am perfectly aware of why it is happening. So, every few months (without any hard liquor involved) seems like a lot. But, well, I am not a dog.
Parker, a far less discerning dog, when it comes to the list of "Things He Will Eat," has now had two (that we know of) episodes, which works out to about once every two months. I imagine that, once he grows up enough to lay off the dirt, his frequency will lengthen out to line up more with his mature brethren.
But, any episode of irregularity with our pups is cause for concern, and we watch them a bit more closely, for a while. After all, according to renowned home and family advice website Professor's House, "Because vomiting can be a sign of anything from simple overeating, to a major life-threatening emergency, it is up to you to be aware and well informed of the dangers to your dog."
Amen, Professor.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Dog Breath
What is it that makes a dog's breath so heinous? Surely, the fact that they never brush their teeth is a factor. Certainly, the fact that they are perfectly content to eat disgusting things is a factor. Absolutely, a lack of mouthwash, floss, and other dental hygiene tools affects the expiration of your local hound. But, how long does it take?
Now, Ripken has had terrible dead fish breath for a long time. We have tried everything short of actually brushing his teeth, a practice I expect he could not stand still for. After all, he won't let us trim his nails, and we can barely look in his mouth if we have to (you know, for safety reasons, like: let's see if he really does have that missing twist tie, or if he's just making pretend to chew it while we look on the floor for it). We give him treats that supposedly "brush while he chews!!!!" He has a rope toy that "flosses while he chews!!!!" We give him the occasional Greenie, which is supposed to "freshen his breath while he chews!!!!" Whatever. The dog's breath is awful, still.
Parker, on the other hand, after just a few months of life, still has pleasant puppy breath. However, if you had a pile of the stuff that he most likely has stuck between his teeth, and you left it sit around for two months, I reckon it would begin to get a bit ripe. I will spare you a list of the organic matter that the dog has chewed, licked, or ingested. Suffice it to say, it would be a stinky list...even the normal stuff. Yet, he still hasn't reached a stage where you need a gas mask to look him in the face at close range.
So, I am wondering, when does it happen? When is that day when I get a whiff of Parker and cringe? And, more importantly, why will it have happened? What will be different on that day than the previous day? And what if I gave him a mint?
This is just one of those things. One of those things that you think about when you are sitting around on a Tuesday afternoon with two sleeping dogs at your feet. Life could be worse.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Twenty Days
It has been a while since our last post. Much has been happening here that is beyond the scope of this blog, but it has been enough to distract us from keeping a written record of our canine superhero's development. I am here to remedy that.Since the start of summer break, things have sort of fallen into a routine. Parker needs to be out of his crate by about 5:30 am, it seems. Monkey and I take turns with that. Once the dogs are fed and watered and we've had an adequate walk, it really seems fruitless to go back to bed, so one of us gets a good two or three hour jump on the other. Today is my day, and you are reading how I am spending that early time.
The boys are really playing much more, and are in full high-pitched play whine while they do so. It is cute, but can be ear-splitting. Monkey especially likes when they lay next to each other on the dog bed and snout wrestle. They have even gotten the hang of "sharing" toys. I put the word in quotes because they really are not sharing at all. They are fighting over the toys. But, it's that sort of play fighting in which no one gets hurt (much). Dogs will be dogs.
Parker has become a tiny (but growing) master of the stairs (both up and down), and he has gotten the hang of the down command. Next is stay, I guess...and some leash etiquette. After that, I will be satisfied.
We spend some portion of the day (when it is not raining) playing out back, chewing sticks and fetching tennis balls, exploring and eating all kinds of plants (hostas; English violets; any shrub, vine, or root; peonies; grass (sometimes by the clump (with roots!))), and generally having a pup-eriffic time. Yesterday, we played with the tennis ball, and Ripken and Parker would chase. When Ripken got to the ball first, Parker would just tear around the yard as fast as he could go, running circles (literally) around Ripken. Then Parker would, somehow, go faster than he could actually keep his legs moving, and his momentum would send him crashing headfirst into the grass. It's a wonder he didn't leave any divots in the lawn. But, he seemed to be having a whale of a time.
So, it seems we have made it out of those dark times of early puppyhood. We are now progressing into the late toddler/early childhood period. And, as small as he still is, it is remarkable how big he has gotten in the two months that we have had him. He has tripled in size, as the comparison between the above and below pictures can attest to. I fear, as I may have said before, that this is going to be a big Spiderdog. (For the record, that cute little bone toy he's chewing on in the first picture has been destroyed. He loved it while he had it, but in a few weeks he (with some help from Ripken, "Destroyer of All Soft Chew Toys") had gotten through to the batting and the squeaker. Thanks, Aunt Laura and Uncle Mike!)
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