Monday, January 23, 2012

I'll Have the Roast Beast Please...

I know our posts have been few and far between… and by “our” I strictly mean MINE because B was a big fat liar when he said he would contribute.  To date, he’s posted once.  And he’s all like, “When are you going to blog again?  Your posts are funny…”  But I really think he’s just trying to prove to his long-distance friends from college that I’m actually a real person.  I honestly think he would have been better off marrying a closet phone sex operator than an inconsistent hobby blogger and probably so does he.  But here we are and as much as I want to write funny shit like every day, sometimes the days are long, my daily commute is about 9 hours each way, and he’s all in my face like, “What’s for dinner and where are my black shoes?” and at least twice a week I have to superglue the dog back together like a large, fragile, dollar-store vase I just can't bring myself to part with and that really doesn’t leave much time for more than a quick glass of wine and some recreational drugs.  He wonders why I eat Klonopin like Skittles.
But he’s not totally useless.  At times, he provides some decent insight that I hadn't previously considered.  As B so expertly pointed out after our recent Doodle ordeal, once Oscar hurts a part of his body, it will "hurt" forever.  Drama Doodle Exhibit A: his butt is healed, but he still squeals like Babe when I touch his tail.  Exhibit B: Also, his thigh that he sprained like a decade ago, still “hurts” when I touch it.  Disclaimer - before ACO is sent knocking on my door tomorrow - the vet checked him 36 times and it cost me about $90 million and now I’ll NEVER have a new Lamborghini, and HIS LEG IS FINE!  I’m only a little bitter because I’m stuck driving THIS:
Exhibit C: He still remembers one time I cut his nail too short and he bled for like 5 hours because now he doesn't like me to touch his feet.  Fine, broken nails hurt like a bitch.  I’ll give him that one.  But the observation is legit.

In addition to his doggy-psychiatrist-like observations, B also has quite the collection of “conspiracy theories” which typically involve the dogs vs B and the dogs always win.  Just last night, for example, he came bouncing into bed after the football game to announce the Giants’ win… as if I cared.  After all, I generally go to bed because I want to sleep not because I’m anxiously awaiting the play-by-play of his last Madden NFL Xbox live Atari match… or whatever the hell it is.  I was experiencing insomnia and he was seriously screwing with my already lousy attempt to achieve Zen, and thus a peaceful night’s sleep.  He then announced his inability to get comfortable because of Oscar’s inconvenient positioning across the entire bottom half of the bed.  So I foolishly suggested he move the dog, to which he responded with a convoluted diatribe about how he can’t because Oscar will bite him and now his leg is stuck in such a position that the blood supply to that limb will surely diminish its ability to remain intact with his body by morning and he’ll have to have it amputated and after it heals and he learns to walk on just one leg, the dogs will wrap their leashes around the remaining good leg and he’ll have to have that one amputated, too, in addition to surgery and sutures to put his brains back in after he bounces off the ground.  The only logical response I could muster at that point was to remind him of my previously announced stance that we immediately stop using the retractable leashes.  Problem solved, NOW SHUT UP!  

In full disclosure a conversation earlier in the weekend went just like this:
B: You're obsessed with those puppies.  You're going to watch that live feed all night, aren't you?
Me: Shut up, I have to learn their names.
B: Why?
Me: Because we're fostering all 11 of them, I told you that yesterday!
B: [Blank stare]

I suppose it was the least I could do to entertain his word vomit about his irrational limb-lossage fears.  Klonopin would probably serve him well, too.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

I’m Not Amused and I’m STILL Not Making it Up…

You might think, by now, that due to the vast number of abnormal dog issues I’ve encountered over the past couple of years, I probably have quite the imagination and could likely write a fairly decent informational piece about any and all possible reasons you may need to visit an emergency vet.  But just when I think we’ve experienced it all, Oscar surprises us with something new.  And I swear, I STILL cannot make this stuff up…

Saturday began like any other.  I slept in while B (bless his heart), got up to tend to the boys.  Our original plan was to take them for a walk around the lake, but I was feeling a little under the weather and decided to just take them to the park to romp and play fetch instead.  In other words, I wasn’t in the mood to be pulled the entire 4 miles around the lake by Nugget, who has recently decided to completely disregard any and all leash training (or possibly lack thereof), he’s ever received.
At the park, we engaged in our typical park games of fetch and chase with Nugget, while Oscar practiced Jiu Jitsu with a dangerously large branch he found.  I was too frightened of the high probability I’d suffer a busted knee cap or deep thigh bruise to even attempt to take the uprooted sequoia tree out of his mouth.   Also, I don’t actually have the slightest clue what Jiu Jitsu is or whether it involves weaponry, but it sounds cool.  Eventually he tired of whirling the branch in the air and decided it was time to focus on his neat Frisbee-fetching skills.

Allow me to reiterate that Osc’s athletic ability is pretty phenomenal.  This is unfortunate only because he is also very clumsy…  [see almost any previous post for reference].  He loves to jump and pull Frisbees out of the air or hurdle Nugget during sprints through the house or do back flips while trying to snatch a ball during a game of keep-away.  Saturday was no different, really.  B whipped the Frisbee through the air and Osc took off after it.  He jumped into the air and caught it, doing a flip on his way back to the ground.  We were cheering him on until he didn’t quite make it all the way around and missed his feet, landing flat on his back.  He got up right away, so we weren't immediately alarmed.  But then he started crying.  So I picked him up and brushed him off.  I didn’t see any abrasions or puncture woulds.  I assumed he was just scared, until he pulled away from me.  

**[This is where you stop reading if you are easily grossed out!!!]**

He walked a few feet and starting trying to poop.  He was clearly struggling and then I saw blood.  Not just a little; it was a decent amount.  And he was still crying.  Upon closer look, I realized his backside was covered in blood under his tail and he had a bright red, bloody bump on his bum.  Irrational me: “Oh MY GOD!  He broke a bone and it punctured his bowel!  We need to go to the ER vet for emergency surgery, NOW!”  Rational me: doesn’t exist.

B drove us to the emergency vet (which is conveniently located practically in our back yard… It’s like B’s relocation people knew!).  I took Osc inside while B took Nugg home.  Since I am clearly a child, I was trying to explain to the lady at the desk what had happened without being too graphic and disgusting.  She turned my, “He fell and is now pooping blood and has a bump on his bum” into “Blood present when defecating;  abrasions and trauma to anal tissue”.  Thanks.  I couldn’t have said it better myself.  And I didn’t.  Obviously she’s heard it all, so my dog’s anus issue didn’t faze her in the least.  But I didn’t want to be all, “OH MY GAWD!  He’s shitting out his insides.  We need help NOWWWWWWW!!!!!” [CUE DRAMATIC SOBBING] even though I was fairly certain that’s what was happening.  "Trust me!  I'm a vet!"  (That's what I tell dogs when I'm giving them medicine or shots or brushing their teeth).    

Turns out, I wasn’t too far off.  He did have scrapes from mid-thigh to about 2 inches up his tail and a partial rectal prolapse.  (For the love of Jesus, do NOT do a Google image search unless you are trying to be sick…).  Fortunately, it was minor enough that it didn’t warrant surgery.  Ironically, the remedy is sugar and ice.  (That you can Google.  It’s legit).  Basically, we've been putting granulated sugar (the artificial stuff will not, I repeat WILL NOT, suffice), and ice on his butt after every bowel movement since Saturday.  I seriously cannot make this up.  (I had to throw the granulated sugar disclaimer in there in case some genius stumbles across this and tries to use Splenda to cure his own rectal prolapse.  Yes, I said HIS!).

Nugget is so embarrassed for Oscar.  He can't even stand to look!

In hindsight, being pulled 4 miles around the lake would have been less painful than our ER vet bill.  And the extreme lack of sleep we all experienced on Saturday night.  Osc was miserable, thus making the rest of us miserable.  In addition to that, I think I’ve washed my sheets and his blankets about 62 times in the last three days due to the non-stop anal leakage he’s experiencing.  [Think: Warning on Alli bottles.  Anal leakage is for real!]  So we bought some diapers at Petco.  And they were too small.  He was not pleased and, in fact, stood in one spot like a statue for 45 minutes, refusing to move and surely plotting his revenge.  That idea was a bust, but I’m so glad I’m stuck with a package of 18 medium-sized diapers that will fit any accidental human babies I have, should they be born with tails… 
Diapers are NOT a dog's best friend...

And PS – anyone who says having dogs is easier than human babies can EFF OFF!

Oscar, King of the Unfathomable


Thursday, January 5, 2012

'Tis the Season...

Because I am a textbook example of a crazy, late-twenty-something with severe neurosis, I opted into the belief that early and mostly-online holiday shopping was, in fact, the way to go… lest there be bloodshed, mangled cars in the mall parking lot and a probable short-term jail sentence.
Look at me!  ‘Twas December 1st, my shopping was complete AND about half of my packages were wrapped.  I was all gloaty until I realized I forgot to update my shipping address and some of my packages were delivered to my old apartment in North Carolina… and like 3 things were placed on such a severe level of backorder that the companies just cancelled the orders altogether.  UGH Sorry B…  I’m not sure why Santa didn’t leave anything for you… BUT AMAZON AND NHL.COM MIGHT KNOW!
My intentions were good and I was off to a decent start on completing my holiday tasks.  But then I put off making Christmas cards, so I finally just uploaded an adorable reindog/elf-dog pic to Shutterfly and put a card together there.  I also paid Shutterfly to address, stamp and mail my cards.  On Christmas Eve.  Oops.  Maybe I should have changed them to Easter cards
I also intended to send B off with some delectable holiday treats to bestow upon my family and his.  He left a few days early with the boys.  Long drive!  I got to fly and meet up with them on Christmas Eve.  By the time his scheduled departure rolled around, the last thing I wanted to do was bake.  The very thought of it made me want to chuck the hand-mixer through the kitchen wall.  Sorry family, no treats.  No doubt they’ll agree that having me sane and well-rested is significantly more savory!
Nugget was thoroughly empathetic.  Or just hoping for me to pause the holiday craziness long enough to give him a good head scratch!  He’s really good helper…….. if you consider laying or stepping on the wrapping paper a big help.  He enjoyed supervising the wrapping frenzy, and even caught a peek at a few gifts from Santa Paws.  I had
to make him pinky-promise not to tell Osc there is no Santa Paws. Cost me a few biscuits, but what else was I supposed to do?  Too risky...

Speaking of Oscar, his 2nd birthday was also upon us.  That’s right, Oscar, Satanic-Tazmanian-Beast-&-Destroyer-of-the-World shares a birthday with Jesus, Savior of the World.  Now if that’s not ironic…