Category: Pet Friends

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.

Our dogs have always been relatively early risers, but over the last year or so it's gotten ridiculous. It started last summer when the older of the two dogs needed to go out much earlier than he had been needing. I guess that's the burden of a geriatric bladder.

In any case, their internal alarm clocks have slowly inched earlier from around 6 am (which coincided to my usual wake up time) to 5:30. I was thinking it was because it was getting light so much earlier, and hoped that things would return to normal as we headed back into the winter months.

Well, not only did that not happen, but their wake up time now averages 5 am. That's not a bad thing since I'm working again and need to be at work at 7:30. This morning (and a handful of times over the past few weeks) he was making it known that he needed to go out at 4:30. This is unacceptable, but since I didn't want him to pee on the bed (he can't jump down on his own to pee on one of the training mats), I reluctantly cast off the blanket, put on my socks, and let the both of them outside to do their business.

Unlike weekdays when they're up at 5, I did not immediately feed them breakfast when they came back in. Instead we all went back to bed and slept to a much more reasonable 8:30 am.

…and it was too cute not to post.

…and he was not happy about it.

But he came through with flying colors.

4 am this morning. I think there was a toy (not HIS, but the other doggie's) on the table that he had been obsessing over all evening.

Well, it's now two a.m. and despite the fact I was exhausted when I crawled into bed, after tossing and turning since midnight with absolutely no sleep in sight, I decided it was time to get up for a bit. I popped two of those little purple gel caps marketed as "night time sleep aids"—in reality absolutely nothing more than repackaged Benadryl—and hope they will make me sleepy enough to quiet my overactive thoughts. Yeah, I know I'll be useless tomorrow, but at this point it's worth it.

In the meantime, I haven't done a poll on this here blog thingie for a while, so why not?

If your furry little friends sleep with you, where do they sleep? I was raised that the goggies ALWAYS sleep ON the covers and NEVER under.
[polldaddy poll=9951584]

No, not those kind of furry friends. (Although I will readily admit I've had many of those over the course of my life.) I'm talking about the four-legged variety.

So once again I found myself wide awake at 4 am this morning. This time however, it is not from worry about Trump's bombastic pronouncements to Korea; it was from a dog with diarrhea.

Bobo, our little pirate (so called because he has only one eye) came to live with us a couple years ago via Ben's mom (a story any longtime reader of this blog is well aware of).

He has a crack habit.

His crack is the canned, wet version of Natural Balance Duck & Potato dog food.

We initially started purchasing this as a means of delivering a daily medication in a balled-up teaspoon of the stuff to Sammy, our other dog, since I'd read that peanut butter (our prior delivery system of choice) really isn't all that great for dogs. Of course, we can't give something to one without giving it also to the other, so that's how it started.

More recently Bobo's turned into quite the picky eater (it's allowed, he's an old man at 11 years). We discovered that mixing a bit of this wet food in with his kibble in the morning ensures that he eats it all before Sammy swoops in and finishes off what ever Bobo's left. (According to Ben, Bobo has always been a grazer, eating when he wanted to and not being forced to wolf down the entire bowl at a single sitting. Living with Sammy, however, has forced him to "eat it or lose it" when it's put down.

Well, occasionally as a treat we've been giving both dogs just the wet food for dinner. It's literally gone in 30 seconds, even when Bobo's portion goes into one of those special slow-eatin' bowls.

We'd been giving each of the critters about an ounce and a half of the wet food; the same amount of the chopped log variety we normally give them in the evening. Upon reading the can, however, it was recommended for dogs of their size, they be given an entire can plus.

Ah, no. That isn't going to happen. Last night, however I did give them each half a can. BIG mistake. All was well and good until sometime in the middle of the night I was aware of Bobo trying to get back on the bed. The poor lil' guy doesn't have the strength in his back legs that he used to, so most of the time he has to be picked up. I didn't think too much of it; he gets down occasionally to go relieve himself (finally trained to use the puppy mats we have put down), but the fourth time he got down I figured I better get up and see what was going on.

As I headed down the hall in the dark in my bare feet (you know where this is going, right?) I stepped in it. Twice. I turned on the light and saw a string of deposits leading to the den door. It was obvious the way Bobo was dancing around that he needed to relieve himself again, so I turned off the alarm and he rushed outside while I cleaned up the mess (and Ben slept blissfully on).

Now anything that comes out of Bobo has never been particularly aromatic, but this…I almost hurled. When he came back in, we went back to bed and I slept—fitfully—until I heard him jump down again around 6. This is the normal time they get me up so I let them both out. Ten minutes after coming back inside Bobo started doing his "I have to go outside NOW" dance in the den. Let's just say I still didn't get him back outside quickly enough.

After cleaning that mess up it was then that I discovered his initial middle-of-the-night deposit on the new living room rug…because of course where else would he do it?

I have a feeling it's going to be a long day.

Is SO our child.

Wanita, Francesca, and Carlotta, August 1997

(These were my housemate's dogs, the most amazing and entertaining creatures I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.)