Category: Pet Friends

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I Can't Get Back Home Soon Enough

I should be going home tomorrow. Feeling much better tonight, but scheduled for one more test first thing in the morning to they can make sure that all bases are covered and/or run my accumulating hospital bill up even further.

Sammy has been so forlorn the past couple days that Ben brought him by the hospital this evening and they stood outside my window (room's on the first floor) so the little guy could at least see that I'm still okay.

I'm not  crying. You're crying.

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Saying Goodbye to Our Little Pirate

Bobo (2006-2021)

Bobo came to live with us in 2014 while we were still in Denver. He belonged to Ben's mom, who—for reasons that have been well documented on this blog—reached the point where she was unable to care for him any longer.

The little guy was a bit stand-offish at first. I remember vividly the day I picked him up and drove him home. It was like, "Hi friend. I know who you are, but where are we going?" He and Sammy had played together before when we babysat, so it wasn't like he was a complete stranger to the house, but once he was with us permanently, I think Sammy tolerated him more than anything else—kind of like the reaction of an only child to a new baby appearing on the scene. And for the longest time I didn't think Bobo liked me much, but over the past couple years, he became my best buddy. Moreso than even Sammy, who has been at my feet a lot over the past couple months, I would look down and Bobo would always be there. Ben and I often joked that one or the other of us was going to trip over the little guy and kill both of us. He couldn't stand having me out of his sight, and whenever we'd leave the house, he would bark incessantly. (I swear he only discovered his voice about three years ago, because we'd spot him on camera staring intently into the hallway at the old house and barking at absolutely nothing. Or ghosts. It might have been ghosts.)

Back in December, when we were still living in the hotel after the fire, Bobo started waking up in the middle of the night with something that sounded like a horrible kennel cough.  We took him to the ER and he was diagnosed with advanced congestive heart failure. This was not a complete surprise because we'd been told at his last regular checkup he had a heart murmur, but it was still a body blow; we thought Bobo was going to outlive us all. He was put on medication, but the vet warned at best this was a stopgap measure. "It could be weeks, or months or a year or more."

We were all hoping for the latter, but we did get an extra six months with the munchkin. A little more than a week ago he became extremely lethargic, had trouble standing, began obvious sundowning, and started randomly coughing up water. A few days ago he started refusing all food (even his favorites), and we knew the time had come to say goodbye.

A dear friend who had recently gone through this with one of her pups told us of Angel Veterinary, who will come to your home and help your fuzzy companion on his journey surrounded by loving family and not in some clinical, stainless steel fluorescent room. My biggest fear after learning of Bobo's condition last year and the continuing lockdown that was going on everywhere was that when the time came we would not be able to be with him as he shuffled off his mortal coil (his usual vet was not allowing pet parents into the exam rooms at all).

Yesterday afternoon Angel arrived, and it was as my friend had described. Peaceful. Painless. It was a loving send-off.

That doesn't mean that Ben and I haven't cried our eyes out. I broke down a second time as we went to bed last night, and made arrangements to take today off as I knew I'd be useless working. I'm still fighting back tears.

While Angel said Sammy could be here with us, we decided to send him off to Camp Bow Wow for the day because he wouldn't have handled strangers in the house well. When we brought him home, he seemed oblivious to Bobo's absence until right before bed, then he seemed very confused. I think that over the past seven years he went from tolerating the little guy to actually caring for him, and not having him around is weighing heavily on him as well.

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My Kingdom for a Good Night's Sleep

With the defeat of Donald Trump, we were sleeping better. But then the fire happened and our life was upended. And subsequently to that the older of our two dogs has developed a very annoying habit.

He wakes up anywhere from 2 to 4 am every night and demands to be let out to pee and fed thereafter. He's always been an early riser (typicallly 5 am), but since his trip to the vet in December to address his congestive heart failure and the issuing of medications to combat it, he's gotten earlier and earlier. The vet tech tells us the meds are to blame.

Ben and I trade off taking care of his needs, and for the most part we can get back to sleep rather quickly thereafter, but we've really come to look forward to the weekends when we can sleep in significantly past our usual 6:30 am wake up time after taking care of this daily routine.

We've tried everything: benadryl, melatonin, making sure he empties his bladder before bed, even feeding him before bed, and it makes no difference. Like clockwork the low level growls start just as we're entering the deepest part of our night's sleep.

Bobo is not going to be with us that much longer, a sad fact we've come to accept, and we will miss him mightily. But now we're worried that his early-morning feedings have also imprinted themselves on our younger dog so that even after Bobo has moved on to greener pastures, Sammy will have adopted his bad habits. Fortunately Sammy is still at the point where he can be told NO and it sticks.

It's ugly.
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Downsizing

Except for one year—1993—I've owned a freshwater aquarium in one form or another since I was a child. About three weeks ago I made a decision that I had been questioning up until last night. No, I didn't get rid of my tank altogether; I downsized from a 29-gallon to a 17.

This 17-gallon, all-glass tank which had a built-in filtration system in the back had captured my eye on my last trip to The Ocean Floor.  Faced with an upcoming semi-annual "big clean" teardown of my existing tank, I decided it was time to pull the plug and downsize.

The moment I got it home, I had buyer's remorse. I hadn't realized exactly how much smaller it was. Still, I was determined to make it work. My old all glass 29-gallon tank was just getting too damn heavy to haul outside every six months to clean. (I could've gone with a new acrylic tank of the same size and a fraction of the weight—which I've owned in the past with great success—but the front of the acrylics always end up bowing out after a few years and they scratch so damn easily.)

After getting the 17 set up and the few remaining fish I had transferred into it, I knew I'd made a grave mistake. The 4-year-old red tail shark that I had raised from a tiny 2-inch juvenile to a 5-inch behemoth was definitely unhappy in the new surroundings.

After stewing over this for a week, I decided that if I wanted to keep the tank (and frankly there was no returning it at this point) I needed to let go of the shark. I transferred him into a big plastic bag and took him back to the Ocean Floor (where I'd purchased him initially), knowing that even if they didn't give me any money for the beast, at least he would end up going to a good home.

Turns out that once they saw him, I did get a store credit, which allowed me to buy a few smaller fish that are quite happy in these surroundings. The only problem remaining was that the water had gotten kind of cloudy and the tank was growing brown algae like crazy. A few days ago I decided what  I needed to do was tear the tank down, install the under-gravel filter from my old tank, and start fresh. (It had been my experience over the years that either an under-gravel or an external filter didn't work well enough on their own, but in combination guaranteed crystal clear water.)

I was not looking forward to this, despite the tank's much smaller size.

While I was out a few days ago getting anti-algae solution, I picked up a box of carbon filter media and when I got home threw one of the packs in the rear filter, hoping this would at least help somewhat with the water issue. To be honest I wasn't expecting much.

But then something happened. I don't know if it was the added filter pack or if the tank's nitrogen cycle finally kicked in, but since yesterday morning the water (even without an under-gravel filter) has been crystal clear. I'm taking a wait and see approach at this point, hoping that no further intervention will be required beyond normal maintenance until I do the "big" clean six months from now.

 

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I Never Thought Of Myself as a Dog Person

I was raised with dogs, but for nearly all my adult life I never really thought of myself as a dog person. My first non-aquatic pet was a cat I'd kidnapped from my tweeked out ex (who was planning on jetting off for Christmas and just leaving her outside for a week because he couldn't find her before heading to the airport). Sasha ended up becoming my charge because there was no way I was going to give her back to him since he obviously didn't give a shit about her.

I became deathly allergic to the little furball about three months after she moved in, but that didn't dissuade me from continuing to love and care for her for several more years. That's why they make inhalers, right?

She ended up living with me until she went to live with my mom when I—for a man—moved into an apartment that forbade pets. One of the dumbest things I'd ever done.

Sasha was my last mammalian pet until we rescued Sammy in 2014. I have to admit it was love at first sight. When we took in Ben's mom's one-eyed Shitzu about a year later, I confess I was completely smitten with both of them and in the intervening years definitely became a dog person—to the point that now when I see people with their dogs out an about I give out an involuntary, "Awww! So cute!"

I shudder to think of how many photos Ben has of me, passed out in my chair, snoring loudly, with one or both of them in my lap…

Funny how life takes you in directions you'd never expect.