I Can Still Look, Can't I?

Piney would feel so betrayed if he knew how often I fantasize about our next dog. The perfect, kid-friendly, stranger-loving, unflappable, physically healthy, easy, easy dog that I feel like we’ll have earned after going the course with P. And while I usually tell myself that next time, it won’t matter what breed the dog is, so long as he/she is basically bomb-proof, every once in a while someone sends me a link like this one, and I’m back to being spoiled for anything other than a pit bull.

(And yes, I feel horribly guilty about these next-dog fantasies. Please don’t tell Piney about them, OK?)

P.S. Karen Minturn Brown, I accidentally deleted your comment. Repost it if you get a chance.

When It Rains, It Sucks

I haven’t posted in a while because it’s been nothing but bad news for a while. My dog’s health and behavior are spiraling downward, in tandem, with alarming speed. He’s been sick and pukey for like two weeks now. He has started to generalize any surface that I’m sleeping on as “the bed” and has lunged and barked at Ira from such spaces accordingly. Ira is now scared of the dog when he’s on the bed, so the dog is about to lose his bed (and couch, probably, too) privileges. There is really no other way to go, of course, but it makes me sad, because in bed with us is the only place where Piney seems like he feels 100 percent safe (even if he is endangering the safety of those he’s sharing the bed with). And it’s the only place where P will ever cuddle with me, and I love to cuddle with a dog. I’ve never hidden that from you guys. The thing I have hidden is that for a while I’ve felt convinced—even though I never have spooky feelings like this—that Piney is not going to make it past next summer. At the latest. And so I hate taking away one of the few things that make him feel OK in the world.

Piney Claus

More pictures from day care:

Snow Day/Sick Day

We’re in one of those awful limbos where Piney is really sick and we still have no idea what he has. He’s vomiting and acting tired all the time but he doesn’t have pancreatitis (thank god)—though his pancreas-test numbers, even when they’re under the official pancreatitis minimum, are steadily rising over time. I don’t know what that means yet. We have a couple of tests pending and he’s on antibiotics in case he picked up some random infection (sometimes we forget that not all of Piney’s problems are exotic and incurable). The upside: It’s very cold outside and all my dog wants to do is stay inside and nap on the couch, and occasionally cuddle.

Christmas Torture

What they do to my dog at day care:

And BTW the Vet This Morning Cost $275

Today’s babydrama: My little diva of a dog shivered and shook through getting some of his blood drawn and some subcutaneous fluid injected in the morning; we’ll get the results of his pancreatitis test tomorrow.

Today’s sad and beautiful link: These pictures taken by Charlotte Dumas of dogs in shelters. They were all, I think, picked up as strays.

Bad/Bad/Bad/Good

B: Piney threw up all weekend and didn’t eat breakfast this morning and has been acting sick to his stomach. I’m afraid it’s pancreatitis again. Each time he gets it his pancreas gets more damaged; he can’t take too many more bouts.

B: He is itching so much! I wonder if we’ll have to reformulate his food again.

B: I had to express his anal glands (that verb is hilarious to me) tonight which as you can imagine is my favorite thing to do.

G: Despite his pains he had a pretty kick-ass play session with Jolanta today. He actually wagged his tail a little when he saw her and was frolicking around joyfully the whole time.

Sadtimes

After the trubs of the other day, Ira says he’s now afraid of his own dog in the morning. I hear him sometimes, while getting out of bed, asking Piney, “Do you want to kill me today?”

If Only

What Jolanta said tonight when we took Piney out for a training/playing sesh, and at one point I called him to me and he came running, joyfully, as fast as he could, and ran into my arms and then played tug with me with a look of overwhelming happiness on his face: “Your relationship with him is so nice to see. It shows me what he’d be like, you know, if only.” What you call the feeling this gave me: bittersweet.

I Was ALMOST Tempted to Call This Post "Yogurt for Dinner"*

This morning my husband made a mistake. He approached the bed when P and I were sleeping in it and reached an arm out toward the bed. He was just trying to wake me up so I wouldn’t be late for stupid work, and he thought it would be OK because he was coming for me, not for Piney, but how was Piney supposed to know that? So, predictably, Piney lost his shit and barked at Ira and chased him out of the room. Then I started crying and I yelled at my husband, which I immediately regretted, and everyone was sad, and we’re back to square one with the CAT training. Then today I got this email from the husband:

I’m sorry again about this morning. I should’ve thought through that I couldn’t wake you up that way, that he wouldn’t care if I were going to you rather than to him.

He is nice. I totally married up.

* But even I am not that lame.

Friendship Update

Email from the doggie day care:

So, yesterday Pines raced downstairs and hung out with us before going into the playroom. I snapped some of the cutest photos of him making his rounds...

The Muffin Tin Game

Yesterday was the worst. Snow, freezing rain and chilling gale-force winds blowing all of it in your face. Piney and I agreed: It was not a day for leisurely strolls or extended fetch sessions in the dog run. Instead we played the Muffin Tin Game, which I was introduced to by Jolanta Benal’s podcast, The Dog Trainer.

You take a muffin tin and a lot of balls. Tennis balls probably work best, but all we had on hand was a million Kong balls. You put a tasty treat in each of the cups, then cover them with the balls and let your dog go to town. (Jolanta suggests that the first couple of times you keep a few of the treat-laden cups uncovered, so your dog gets the idea.)

So fun. This vid is too long and boring, but it’s my first try uploading video. Next time I’ll try to figure out how to edit it down.

In her podcast, Jolanta says she heard about the game from a friend, but they haven’t been able to locate the genius who invented it. Was it you? Thank you!

Lots more ideas for bad-weather funtimes here.

I Can't Believe How Much I Talk About Pancreas Nowadays

I just read this post on Nancy Kay’s informative blog, Speaking for Spot. My dog has, among his 5,000 pre-existing conditions, chronic pancreatitis, and so this part jumped out at me:

Long-term treatment for pancreatitis typically involves feeding a low-fat or fat-free diet. This may be a life-long recommendation, especially if your dog has been a “repeat offender.”

When Piney is on a very-low-to-no-fat diet (like now), his back goes bald. But maybe that’s OK? But isn’t fat necessary for mood and hormone regulation and, uh, other really important things, besides luxurious fur? Any nutritionists who can weigh in, please do.