Goodbye to Rosie

Rosie died yesterday afternoon, leaving a big hole in our lives. She was a sweetie with a hidden wild side and we'll miss her.

Never Again

"Never again, dammit. Never again!" we vow to each other as we tramp up the pasture a hundred yards behind our stupid, wily, racing-away-pretending-to-be-deaf huskies, while Boomer wears himself out running back and forth between us and the bad doggies.

But Ameranth and I are optimists. (What's that definition of an optimist? Performing the same actions and expecting a different result? Wait, I think that may be the definition of mental illness. Never mind.) The dogs love running in the pasture and the woods sooo much that we hate to deny them that release. We take them on leashes down the road to the gate and let them loose, and they soar over the grass, stretching out low to the ground, Boomer's little legs moving twice as much, but he keeps up with them through sheer determination.

Or they race over the packed-down track of the snowmobile trail and we try to catch up and turn them around before they continue into the distant cow pasture. This is so much better than just walking up and down our roadside! After being denied freedom for a few days or weeks, depending on just how bad the last outing was, we think "this time will be better- they will know if they behave we can do it again."  And they do come back and we are happy and satisfied. 

So we try it again. And then we see the dreaded circle of gathering occurring. Anna starts running around our group, faster and wider, swooping the other dogs into her orbital pull and then straightening out, leading them out to the road and leaving us in her dust.

While Anna likes to explore forbidden places, such as other people's garbage cans and dog yards,  Rosie usually slips into the woods and sneaks past the house. Anna will head for the cat shed and we can get her inside from there, while Boomer comes when called (what a concept!)  Then I am left standing on our steps, calling to Rosie is who is slinking past the barn across the street, about 100 feet from me-well within earshot. She pauses, looks at me and visibly makes up her mind to ignore me, lowering her head in her wolf mode and continues on. If we can get her cornered well enough she gives up and waits for us to walk over and get her. Note  she doesn't come to us- we still have to walk over and grab her collar, then she's all sunshine and light, expecting a reward when we get home.

Other than the running away, Rosie is a pretty mellow dog. She's big and gawky and looks silly when she tries to jump and play with the others, and she never did think fetch made any sense. Except for a soft little red ball that was a nose on a stuffed toy, I think. It's a little smaller than a ping pong ball, and she loves to pull it in her mouth, then roll it out on her tongue like a magician's trick. She flicks it at me and waits for the toss back. Silly, silly dog. She doesn't stand when she can sit, and doesn't sit when she can lie down. She has taken over our couch, though she doesn't mind sharing, as long as she gets her end.

She was a goofy puppy and grew up to be a gentle sweet dog who can be sly and ninja-silent while rearing up to the counter and stealing food left within reach. 

Who knows where to sit for the treats, and if we don't notice or get there soon enough, lifts her butt off the floor and sit again with a noisy thump.

She's a big dog with a shiny coat and soft brown eyes and adrenal glands that don't work anymore. When we discovered this last fall, we spent money we couldn't afford on her diagnosis and treatment. Her hair fell out and she wasn't herself anymore and we decided the best course was not to continue the medication. She regrew her winter coat and recovered her appetite and we hoped she would be alright for awhile. And she was, until two weeks ago. She stopped asking for and eating treats. She stopped eating her food. We tried a change and she gobbled it down for four or five days, then that was no good either. Canned pumpkin or eggs, raw or cooked, bread, even table scraps-all previous favorites- were ignored. We knew this would happen, her system will slow down, her blood pressure will drop and heart rate will slow and stop. She's not in pain, though we are. This is Rosie's favorite place to lie in the summer, so that's where we'll put her.

 

The last thing she ate was part of a hotdog, 3 days ago. Just before we took the dogs to the pasture and let them loose. She could still run a little, and sniff around for mice, and drink the pond water, while circling 25 feet out of her way to avoid getting her feet wet. We didn't have any trouble catching her and releashing her for the slow walk home. I think she had a good time. I hope so, because it was the last time.

Never again. 

Dammit.

Winter Fun

One of the bloggers I follow, Kelly from In Real Life, is training for a marathon and showed lovely pictures of her outdoor run. In the winter. In Canada. I salute her energy and determination, and I look forward to following her progress.

My own interactions with winter have had their highs and lows this year. The 'highs' I showed last week as I conquered Mt. Porchroof and cleared the slopes.

We left the ladder in place, partly in case we needed to rake the roof again, but mostly because we didn't feel like wrestling it out of the snow bank. The snow bank that I had made much bigger and that the dogs have decided is their preferred route on and off the porch.

 

They also like to pose up there, pretending to be Yukon King watching for Sgt. Preston, I presume. While I had to help that snow off, (thanks to us messing up the pitch while building the darn roof) a nearby shed roof took care of itself, unnoticed until ...dun dun dun..the Great Escape!  Sitting at my computer facing the porch window, I saw a flash of black from the corner of my eye. I looked up to see Boomer running towards the corner of the yard- the corner of the yard where the shed roof meets the fence! 

It was still too high for Boomer, but the other two were already out of sight. Anna and Rosie were on their way to the local sushi bar, right across the street. Jack Traps sells bait fish during the winter and I don't know if he dumped his dead fish, or customers left them, but there were frozen fish all around his giant ice trap flagpole, from minnow size to 5 or 6 inches long. Anna rolled, Rosie gulped. 

I grabbed a shovel and went to move a mountain of snow while Ameranth headed out to get them. Then she walked over the fence to tackle the other side. (That's a six foot fence, by the way) The 2 inch crust of ice that let the dogs stay on top was not enough to keep us from plunging thigh deep in snow as we shoveled. I trenched further along the fence as well, since I was there and I knew the successful escape would have Rosie trying again.

Sure enough, when we took them out back the first thing they did was run to the corner, then Rosie prowled the perimeter, raising her nose to assess the height. We thought she couldn't make it out and we were sorely mistaken. A few minutes later the other two let us know Rosie had flown the coop. Rosie now has her bathroom breaks on a 20-foot leash and I am hoping we have a thaw soon.

Ameranth and I had a hard time not taking this personally, seeing that we had all just come back from an off-leash walk in the woods. An off-leash walk that ended with the two huskies running into a low part of the field, out of sight, then popping up to cross the road into a neighbor's yard. Thank goodness the house is empty, since they were right up on the steps making themselves at home. 

Once more, we swore that they could never be allowed off leash again. At least not together- Anna is good at listening to Ameranth when she's alone.  Rosie gets her 'wolf look' and starts slinking away, pretending she doesn't hear a thing. Later she rests her head on my leg and promises she will never stray again. She needs a 12 step program. Actually, that's what she's on right now- she can take just about 12 steps on that 20-foot lead!

News Flash- a Baby can be very tiring!

Duh, right?  I know, I know, I had 4 of the little buggers around me for years! This is just a confirmation of one of my child-rearing theories: whatever age your kids are at any certain time, that is the age of other people's kids that you can tolerate.

When we had toddlers, anything OP's babies did was fine. Pre-teens? those active little guys and gals were just great, but man those little tots cried kind of loudly, didn't they?  Teenagers? Well, we had problems with ours but I could totally understand the group mentality and really, they weren't like the elementary years- you could have conversations with them and they liked to sleep late. And of course, when our offspring turned into adults (at various ages) I just could not understand those parents who started over again with a baby after they made it through the teenagers! What were they thinking?

Now we are grandparents and babies are adorable again- well, they always were adorable, but 15 minutes with one was just fine. So, I don't expect many readers to be interested in this post, but most of this stuff is written for me anyway. (By the way, Shoeshine, X and Ladyslipper are out visiting friends, so I am not ignoring them to be online!)

I know this might be hard to believe, but Ladyslipper is the brightest little girl I have seen for years. And the cutest. How amazing that she just happens to be related to us, right?

I think what has made J the happiest is finding another person who enjoys this cookie jar as much as he does.

When the head is lifted, Mr T's voice snarls "Get your hand out of my cookie jar!" and the lion roars. At first she opened it by lifting at the nose, but after seeing me use the ear, Ladyslipper wanted to do it that way as well.

We put her tiny snacks inside and she reaches in to sweep her barely-long-enough arm around to grab one. She doesn't want any help with this either.

Before she got here, she was taking 3 or 4 steps by herself, but she's stretching that now- mostly because she tries to get to the various remotes and controllers before someone can stop her. Her feet get a workout on the keyboard as well.  Except for the electronics the house was pretty well baby-proofed and things have gone fairly smoothly. Except that one night when she was inconsolable between 2 and 4 am, and the runny nose and drooling from a new tooth she's working on. And the constant battle to keep dog hair off her. Which apparently I am fighting alone- no one else seems worried by it.

And, speaking of dogs, how have they taken this invasion, you ask? Well, Anna is fine- she's the only one who has been exposed to children before, and she doesn't think they're special at all. Not aggressive at all, just passively ignores them.

Boomer was the one I worried about, but he has been fine; interested but not bouncy, friendly but not hyper. It's Rosie that's the problem child. She was terrified by the tiny being, scurrying around the edges of the room and startled into growling whenever 'it' moved. I held her collar anytime they were in the same room (which wasn't often) just in case she got scared and bowled the baby over. Rosie is feeling pretty sorry for herself because people are sitting on 'her' couch and a playpen is in front of her dogbed. Anna hopped into an open chair yesterday and Rosie decided she would join her, even though there wasn't room.

Anna did not welcome her and refused to scootch over. To fully realize how much Rosie suffered, check the view from the other side.

                                    Pitiful.

         But everybody else is having a grand old time!

It's the meds

Okay, I get that prednisone increases your appetite Rosie, but really? Raw squash? The first from the garden this year?

 

It was lucky we had more as backup, because that was beyond saving. Not that I would think of using a dog-chewed squash. Ha, that would be nasty.

Hey, it's good to be back home again

Rosie is home again and feeling much better, thanks to 29 hours of IVs. I had to pick her up last night when the vet closed and take her to the emergency clinic for overnight fluids. That was hard, since she was so happy to see me. J went this morning to pick her up and take her back to our vet for more fluids, and as it turned out, another test which showed she has Addison's disease, and has virtually no adrenal gland function.

This means a steroid shot is needed every 25 days or so, and that will be quite a hit to our budget. J and I have always been pretty pragmatic about pets and money but this hit us unexpectedly hard. Maybe because it came out of the blue and Rosie is so young. And maybe because she is more 'our' dog, not the kids'. We certainly spend more time with her and Boomer than we have with other pets. This whole episode was expensive, but we felt that we needed to find out what was wrong and give her a chance.

It was nice to see her walk in and be checked out by the others, go outside to make sure everything was still there and then settle down outside the bathroom door to watch over dinner preparations.

Coincidentally, Monday I started reading Merle's Door by Ted Kerasote, which is an excellent book about his life with an extraordinary dog. I highly recommend it.

I love my Rosie

I had to leave Rosie at the vet's for IV treatment today. Poor baby.

She's been under the weather since we got home from RI, not eating (which is a major indicator that she is sick), vomiting and being very lethargic.  I noticed her ears and paws were cold, and decided that if she didn't eat dinner today, I would call the vet. I thought maybe she had a bone stuck somewhere, but it turns out everything looked normal, so we did blood tests. By we, I mean I held her and the technician drew blood. She barely noticed.

We walked around the lawn waiting for the results, which turned out to be kidney failure. Either acute, which means the hydration and antibiotics should get the very high numbers going down by tomorrow, or chronic, which means nothing can be done but hospice-type care. She's just 3, and chronic renal failure is more of an old age related thing, so we are hoping for good news.

I'll pick her up at 6, then take her to the emergency clinic to continue the IV overnight.  I hope that does the trick. We would hate to lose her.

Strange Bedfellows

 

Each looks a little PO'd about sharing, and having to be at the edge instead of the middle.  (I love my new camera- this was taken in the dark, because I didn't want to startle the subjects)

Obviously, that is Rosie's bed, but Sophie has taken to sleeping there during the day when the dogs are out, and I guess she decided not to move last night. They have a strange relationship.  If the dogs find Sophie in the kitchen or living room, they chase her. She runs to 'her' room (above) and sits down. Game over.  

Rosie has killed kittens in the past- not intentionally, but if it runs, she chases and when she catches them she tosses them in the air. These were kittens that slept with her inside. Her prey drive is very strong and we haven't been able to overcome that.  However, Sophie is about 10 years old, so was in place when Rosie came. She allows the chasing, but not any catching. Boomer has yet to grasp the finer points of the game, and tries to grab her, which Sophie strongly discourages. 

Sophie is getting on in years and her standards are dropping. J fed her last week and when he went by a little later, Sophie was sleeping and a mouse was finishing off her dry food. When we had barn cats, we rarely saw a whole mouse, just various body parts.  Sophie is our only (and last) cat now and doesn't make it upstairs anymore- not like that would make a difference apparently!- and when I went up to get a sleeping bag, I found signs (ugh) of mice all over. 

J hastened up with his poison bait and I went off on my trip. Sunday, I started to smell a musty odor at my computer- nowhere else. Directly in back of me are four deep built-in drawers, filled with sheets and tablecloths. The odor was unfortunately familiar, since several years ago we found a dead and decomposing mouse in there. I gingerly started checking all of the sheets for bodies, startling myself when I found a metal handle that for a second looked like a flattened rodent. Nothing found in the drawers, so I removed the bottom one and voila! A fat little body was removed to the garbage can and air freshener liberally applied. I hope all of the others have the decency to crawl outside to die. 

We went out for fresh air today and I was able to catch Rosie after she was off leash, so it was a good walk.

 

  

The best part of waking up- wait, there's a good part?

Shoeshine is in RI, and Ameranth went back to MA last night, so today should be back to normal.  Besides the company, this week has been wacky, because J had to work last Sunday, which made this a 6 days-in-a-row week. So I have been a day ahead of reality all week.

But weekend mornings are a pain anyway. Everyone's schedule is off, including the dogs. Work days, they get out to pee if necessary at 4 when J gets up, then they wake me about 7 and get put outside until I get up @ 9.  (when Rosie urgently wants to come in for her morning nap on the couch)

But Rosie wakes me up early because J can't hear her rattling our doorknob, which she does instead of barking or whining. Hit the knob with her nose, rattle, rattle. Wait 30 seconds, rattle rattle. (Boomer sleeps in his crate and just whines a little while he waits for Rosie to secure his release) So, I let them out, and go back to bed. Another hour of sleep and the barking begins. Rosie must have something Boomer wants and he's complaining. We both ignore them, and try to get more sleep.

Except J nudges me every time I snore breath too loudly, until he gets me so I wake myself up to stop me! He does not wake up when I return the favor. After that the only part of me that goes to sleep is my right arm, repeatedly.  I get a little more snooze time after J arises, but then I feel guilty about it because he's waiting to get going on our weekend chores. A little guilty. But, I deal with that.

I certainly love and appreciate J (and the dogs) and would not want to be without them (well, maybe the dogs, sometimes) but I must say weekday mornings are less stress, and all about me!

Eliza or Dr?

All I want are dogs I can walk,
and dogs that listen when I talk.
Two obedient dogs,
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?


Who fetch a ball, then give it back,
Who don't think kittens are their snacks,
Don't barf in my van back.
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?