We Are Who We Are

Let’s update the “What Have We Been Chewing?” list

  1. Dustpan
  2. Kitchen compost bin
  3. $20 bill
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Remnants of the $20 bill I found Rufus carrying around.

This all happened on the same night. My book club came over for dinner, and I told them I would happily host with the option of moving to a restaurant in case of inclement weather. The dogs would be outside since Rufus still has an issue with strangers. He remains better with women than men, but nine women he’s never met would not put him at ease in his kitchen, so he spent the evening in the back yard while the weather remained as lovely as it could be for March.

There was no barking from him. Sophie barked a little as they played but they seemed to stick with chasing although I know wrestling was involved. They spent a lot of time looking forlorn and peering into the kitchen from the miserable sixty degree weather they were forced to endure.

So as of now, people can come over and the dogs can be outside. Rufus may or may not act protectively/frightened/asshole-ish if he is let inside. Sophie always wins fans so she is never the issue. She is such a freakishly nice animal. She made many friends today at the dog park just by wiggling her tail and led them all on a little pied piper walk down the path as owners scrambled after them. It is nice to go to the dog park and not have to hear “whose dog is this?” angrily shouted my way as Rufus continuously circles his desired playmate like a great white shark encircling a stoned skinny dipper from Amity Island.

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Play with me! I want to be your best friend!

I’m sure the other dogs’ owners would agree with that image, although it’s not fair. Rufus doesn’t look at other dogs as brunch, lunch, dinner, snacks, or anything food related. He’s just a wrestler. Sophie gives corrections occasionally but she’s usually game for full-on WWE antics in the back yard so it’s not as though she’s ready for finishing school just yet. Actually, that ship has sailed. Sophie will never be the First Lady, and I accepted that.

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The darkest and stormiest of nights…

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There are times while I’m sitting in a movie theater that I just get angry. I have paid a good eleven or twelve dollars, plus money for a soda and popcorn, and I am now hostage to some writer’s laundry list of cliches.

Really? The guy played by the famous character actor is actually up to no good?  The person we thought was dead sat up for one final crazy murderous act? Or the cute duo that can’t stand one another are now the most adorable couple ever? I paid good money for this?

There is the argument that no story is ever really new, that all stories have been told. Whatever. You know what I mean. Cliches suck the life out of a story. They simultaneously reflect everything in what we’ve seen before in fiction and nothing of what we have seen in real life.

My dogs would never be allowed in a story I’d pay to see or read. Sophie is the biggest cliche of all. She is the dog who becomes utterly unglued when either a cat ambles near her or mailman walks his daily route. Not just our mailman. It has become any mailman. She is that dog. The uniform sets her off and it is simply too much for her to handle.

And the cat thing is bonkers. It’s as though her brain goes to the “psycho” setting. And she’s not a psycho dog. She’s usually very reasonable and doesn’t get hyper during play time, opting usually to remain aware of whatever is going on around her. I’d honestly trust her to do my taxes if she knew how to use a calculator. She does not bother me to play fetch with her or demand much attention. She is confident and knows her job in life.  But once a cat strolls by, she moves into crazy barky dog in a flash. She’s quicker than Bruce Banner changing into the Hulk or Dr. Jekyll turning into Mr. Hyde. She cannot stop until the culprit is out of sight. And then she’s very happy with herself as she decompresses. Perhaps it was an adrenaline rush – it is the most exciting part of her day.

Rufus has his seen-before doggy issues as well: he needs to go outside and then come back inside before needing to go back outside…and on and on.

They have no idea, of course, that they are being typical dogs. They act how they act because either their nature tells them to, or in the case of Rufus, he has me well-trained.

Perhaps I am the cliche.

This is entirely possible. I am the child of an addict who as an adult lived with and loved another addict for years. I am the former teacher who loved teaching but grew burnt out by administrative absurdity. I am the writer who struggles to find time to write.

Yet I know that this is not my only narrative in life. Like my dogs – whose lives are blissfully simple- my life can be enriched by an ostensibly small action in a moment and can take an unplanned trajectory by making a single decision.

I am now living a life that is far from cliched. I am not lost in some single lady loneliness, not by a long shot. I don’t even know how that idea got started but at one time I bought into it. Now after being in a closed-in world for so many years, my life has blossomed in the most unexpected ways. I get to make and follow my own path and pursue dreams that I had thought I’d left back in the past. I’m not closing myself off to life with another person at all. I’m just saying the offer had better be an improvement on this good thing I have going on.

Unlike hackneyed movies, there is often much more to the picture than the cliche. Just as Sophie is the mailman-bananas dog, she is also the loving big sister who plays with Rufus despite his truly annoying ways. She has shown that she can share her space with him. And he has shown that he can make progress: his early imprints left him scarred but not doomed. He is making progress. But not with the in and out thing. That one’s on me.

Revolting children

It is entirely possible that I have spoiled my dogs, just a bit.

But allow me to become defensive for a moment. These are dogs, not children. They are not expected to eventually deal with real-world burdens such as maintaining proper tire pressure, paying a mortgage, or landing a scholarship to a tier 2 school, even though they are bright enough for tier 1. And despite being spoiled, I guarantee that they will never have meltdowns in Walmart that land them as unwitting YouTube stars. But they  do often get what they want and there doesn’t seem to be much work behind it.

Allow me also to back up just a bit. Sophie, the older and more spoiled of the two is a doll. She loves people and other dogs when they give her a chance, wiggling and happy-dancing her way into their hearts. But she won’t walk at heal unless there is something in it for her, and that something can only be a non-stop stream of treats. Otherwise you need to hang on and talk to the tail. She started this long before my ex and I saved her from dog shelter life and, despite our admittedly mediocre efforts, she has continued it. Go figure.

She has her good points, of course. She doesn’t run away. She was once literally attacked by two little dogs running out of a house and did not fight back despite getting bitten. She is incredibly attuned to others’ emotions and served as a comfort dog to everyone at an election night party that turned sad around 8pm. She behaves wonderfully in the car. She counter surfs only when you give her no other choice. She loves going to the vet. The vet!  But walking at heal just doesn’t happen for her.

Rufus, on the other hand, is the bizarro-world version of Sophie. He’ll walk at heal, but he is wary of other people so much that he barks at them like a Facebook user arguing with a politically-minded opponent in all caps. He annoys other dogs and cannot read the signs that they may not want to play. He gets car sick a lot. He has chewed some of my belongings but not consistently enough for me to say, “shoes can stay out but hats must go in the closet.”

He is a love-bug, of course and follows me from room to room. His double-paw pounces on his toys happen with an exuberance that only a crusty, hard-hearted grouch would scowl at. And he is whip-smart and learns very quickly.

They definitely enjoy one another’s company – although Sophie does need an occasional break from the year-old-puppy trying to put her whole head in his mouth. Ultimately they recognize that they are a team: they do not resource guard and respect the other’s food boundaries.

This morning I spent a few hours playing doorman to them. They wanted to go outside. Then Rufus wanted inside. Then Sophie wanted inside. Then Rufus wanted outside. Then immediately changed his mind and wanted inside. The weather is not warm enough for me to leave the door open, but I work close enough to the door that I can stand, take one-and-a-half steps and slide it open. It’s very little effort on my part so I’m not really complaining.

At the same time, I realize that they have trained me well.

Now they do have a few habits that need breaking. Sophie is repeatedly scolded for begging when people eat. Rufus has decided that taking tissue out of the Kleenex box is fun. Sophie often refuses to move in the back yard when I call for her  to come in, only to stand at the door two minutes later. Rufus thinks Sophie makes a good pillow to sit on.

They know to sit for their pre-bedtime treats. But yes, they get pre-bedtime treats. They look at me as if to ask permission before they get on the bed to sleep, but yes, they get to sleep on the bed.

I am picking my battles. While some of these behaviors may make my parents’ eyes roll, I’m at ease with most of them. My biggest challenges are easing Rufus’ anxiety with new people and keeping Sophie’s weight down. This means she does not get so many treats while Rufus gets loads when meeting new people. This results in Sophie possibly feeling that life is not fair. Or maybe not. She is a dog, and the love of her life is food.

This is where the comparison to real, human children can occur. Like so many parents I want to provide a safe and healthy existence for my two dependents. I don’t want them to be uncomfortable but like every living thing on the planet must know, discomfort cannot be completely avoided . Boundaries must be enforced, but so must my sanity. If I’m near the door, I can open and close it without even thinking about it too much. If I’m in another room, they’re out of luck. If the weather is below freezing, I’m happy to have dogs on the bed. If we’re downstairs because it’s too stiflingly hot in the bedroom, they’re sleeping on the floor. So far, so good.

Dogs are easier than kids, plain and simple. They may make as much of a mess, eat you out of house and home, and fart like the cowboys from Blazing Saddles. Health scares and vet bills and chewed shoes and carpet stains may increase. But the love is never tested or questioned. Simple human failings are not devastating. Forgiveness is easy – well, easier – and hope is never, even flickeringly, abandoned. 

What shiny teeth you have

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A very good sport was awakened from a nap next to the heating vent to get this picture taken.

Money has sprung up as an issue while I attempt to live off of writing, so a few items must be put on hold. Since my car has become kind of a jerk lately (maybe a new CO2 sensor is in our future?), I am trying not to grit my teeth too much. I have set aside dental insurance for myself for the time being, and the dogs’ professional teeth cleanings will be put off for a year. I know these things are better done than not so I’m not completely at ease with this.

I’m trying to be optimistic, and Sophie has gotten cleanings for the past three years, all with good results. Rufus just got his adult teeth this summer and they are bright and shiny. He doesn’t seem to have any painful chewing issues so I think we’re doing OK. I’m sure I’ll be fine – I had a check up in October and everything looked good. I have to remember that way back in the land of the late 20’s, I went about three years without seeing a dentist due to no dental plan. Once I went in, there was some plaque but nothing to be worried about. And that was pre-Sonicare! I have been lucky – no doubt about it. Hoping the dogs will be good too.

In the meantime, I have resumed brushing the dogs’ teeth every other day. Sophie repeatedly demonstrates that she is the more mature of the two dogs by not fighting me every step of the way. She remains in one spot and doesn’t move her head around the way she used to. A groomer who was hanging out at the local pet supply store told me twenty brushes each side ought to suffice. We can get to roughly fifteen before she begins to move the head around.

Sophie gets the toothbrush. She is no fan of this procedure but she tolerates it like a champ. Rufus gets the plastic cap that goes over my index finger. (I almost wrote “Rufus gets the finger” but I no longer have the mentality of a 10-year-old now that I have hit the latter 40’s). He is firmly on the fence about this. And I don’t want to freak out this already twitchy dog so for right now, he reluctantly walks up to me and begins licking the toothpaste off of the plastic finger cap. Then I move it around his mouth as much as he will let me. Right now he likes to give it a good chomp. These things are durable and there is not as much pain in my finger as you would think.

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Both pups regard the current torture instruments.

I also give each dog a dental biscuit/treat once a week. This week they each got a Nature’s Balance treat. I also have a box of Greenies. I know there have been a few issues with that last brand and I am hoping that they actually have dental cleaning properties. So far there have been zero digestive issues with either of my dogs, and that has been the biggest concern that I have read about.

The bacon-flavored Benebones are always a hit, and they are well-chewed when they show up. The big thing, though are the raw bones they’ve gotten from the Only Natural Pet Supplies and Ciji’s – real bones that sometimes are frozen sometimes room temperature. We’ll get either knuckle bones or femur bones that, I have been told, help scrape off plaque and tartar. They last a long time as well. The only caveat is that repeated use might dull the teeth a little bit – an issue with Sophie’s teeth.

I first learned about the need for canine oral health when my parents’ first Large Munsterlander Minnie had serious periodontal issues. The poor girl had to have many teeth pulled in her life. This was first noticed when Minnie was losing weight because she would not eat because it was too painful. Then once the problem was discovered, the vet noted that it was chronic rather than an isolated infection. My mother was diligent about brushing Minnie’s teeth and scheduling cleanings for both her and the super spoiled lab, Saba (who will someday get her own post).

When I was growing up, all of my family’s dogs appeared fine in the dental health department as far as we knew. We had Gretchen, Duke, Poncho, Gurr, Josey, and Sachem, followed by Nick, Minnie, and Saba once I went to college. I don’t recall ever taking any of them for a cleaning. I remain in the dark as to whether that was even a thing in the 1980’s. Most of them lived good long lives. A few did not due to circumstances that we ought to have controlled better – an open fence, leaky anti-freeze to name two. Overall we considered our dogs to be well-taken care of, despite the often sketchy appearance of Gravy Train in their dinner.  As we learned more, we did more. And this, of course, is really all we can do.

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Minnie, the Large Munsterlander, and Saba the spoiled lab at Christmas many years ago. They cleaned up very well in the present department. My mom and I are in the background, ready to serve the dogs.

One, two, three: Get Loose Now!

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Rufus walking next to me at City Park in an easy manner.

Happy post Valentine’s Day, or as I like to say, Happy 50% Off Candy Day! My valentine is loose leash walking. I ♥ loose-leash walking. We are becoming a thing.

Rufus and I have been taking regular walks in some places where he might get a little distracted. We have to be Sophie-free because she is a puller. She is good in nearly every other respect of doggery but her walking-at-heel skills remain poor. It is she, I believe, who taught Rufus the vice of pulling on leash.  She is spoiled, yes, and I have learned this lesson.

Rufus has been making enormous strides. We have a long ways to go in many other behavior areas, but he seems to enjoy walking next to me. It all comes down to the constant stream of treats. He is making the connection that treats=a job well done=something to keep doing. While Sophie will only do something if there is a guaranteed treat involved, Rufus is figuring out that doing this behavior all the time is the thing to do.

He gets a little excited at the start of his walks. He doesn’t yank the leash or lunge forward, but there is a lot of energy and he will often try to walk ahead of me. It takes a few tugs from me and a sharp “heel” for him to get into place. Then if he does that he gets a treat and a “good boy!” Since he’s about a year it isn’t hard for him to get distracted. Fortunately on our latest walks distraction has not been in the forms of humans or other dogs. It’s tall, dried grass (which he just wants to sniff) and geese which are pretty weird looking, I have to admit.

A nice long soak…not so much

After a weekend out of town (me) and/or in a boarding kennel (Sophie and Rufus), we were pretty tuckered out. I managed to get some writing done yesterday and submitted it while the dogs just slept. Rufus showed some interest in the ball around 2pm but quickly decided he needed a nap. Even the usual pre-dinner goofiness was notably absent. I had to wake the dogs up to eat dinner. I can’t believe I just typed that. I don’t know what dog-topia did with my dogs, like send them out on a pre-iditarod race perhaps, but there are no complaints on my end.

Rufus has been a little scratchy since coming home. I used the Malacetic to clean out his ears yesterday. It got a little bit of gunk – it’s an ongoing issue with him – but there wasn’t too much. And let me say this again about his energy level: usually he runs away from me and into his crate when he smells the ear medicine. But yesterday I put two soaked cotton balls into each of his ears figuring he’d shake them out like he’s supposed to. He just lay back down on the dog bed (not having run away anywhere) with two cotton balls in his ears. A tired dog is a very, very good dog.

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Was this the reason by dogs were so tired?

This morning had the usual amount of energy so we were back to normal. Rufus still scratched his neck area so a bath was in order. He still smelled like the kennel anyway: a combination of dog pee and antiseptic. I had planned to take him to U-Shampooch, the self-service dog bath business nearby that has warm water and strawberry scented shampoo, along with some good tethers to keep the dogs in the bathing area. Sophie thinks it’s a CIA interrogation spot but whatever. If that place isn’t good enough then she gets a backyard hose bath after swimming in a lake at Chatfield or rolling in mud at Elk Meadows.

Rufus tolerated/enjoyed baths as a puppy so I figured since he’s Sophie’s opposite in so many ways, he’d be fine at U-Shampooch. We swung around to the vet first to get him weighed. 71.3 pounds. I thought he’d be more since he looks bigger but I’m fine with his grown slowing down. I don’t need a 90 pound dog with an attitude problem right now.

We managed to choose the one day when U-Shampooch would be getting new hot water heaters installed, so sadly that was a no-go. The bathtub at home would have to suffice. I don’t have a hose attachment but I’d just have a stream of warm water that I could pour on Rufus. But first I had to get him into the bathtub.

Oh man, he hated it. I don’t know why but he was not having it. I only washed the top half of him as well. He jumped out of the bathtub and made a complete mess. Water, dirt/mud, and hair was everywhere. Since he still had soap on him I needed to rinse him off, so back in the bathtub he went. Ever pick up a reluctant and soapy 70 pound dog? It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Got the brat rinsed and let him run around outside while I cleaned up the massive mess we created.

Rufus’ overall enjoyment falls somewhere between these two:

 

 

 

Animal Rights Ethics and Running Around like a goof

Deep thinky stuff today.

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Rufus gets serious about animal rights.

Today I heard a lecture at the University of Denver by Martha Nussbaum, philosopher and professor of Law and Ethics at the University of Chicago, on animal rights. It was held at DU’s School of Social Work which houses the Institute for Human-Animal Connection. Listening to an academic lecture required me to wear my thinking cap completely on my head rather than at its usual jaunty angle.

Essentially Nussbaum argues against the anthropomorphism of animals. Animals don’t deserve rights because they are similar to us; they deserve rights because they are living beings with a capacity to both thrive and to suffer. If we cause them suffering then we infringe upon their rights. Boom. End of point.

This argument stands in conflict with typical activists’ arguments that make analogies between say, a pig and a three-year-old child, or an orangutan and a five-year-old child. That’s what gives these animals their value: they are like us. We praise the intelligence and societal structures of elephants and whales and marvel at their proximity to humanity.

This is precisely what Nussbaum argues against. Intelligence and its value is not an objective, universal moral force floating in the ether. It is a skill that humans measure because we seem to have it in spades compared to other species. If we were to develop a hierarchy based on things like sense of smell or spatial relations or flight, then we’d be much lower on the ladder.

It’s a fairly radical argument, and considering that as we argue, natural habitats for animals all over the world are being destroyed, it may not go very far among those who do not value animals for anything other than the resources that they provide for humans.

Some people stood up during the Q & A time to say that was all well and good but sometimes you have to anthropomorphize for the sake of practicality. A lawyer pointed out that when arguing a case involving animal rights to a jury, you have to talk about what’s going to make them feel something for your side. Don’t lecture a jury about Jeremy Bentham (the philosopher, not the character from Lost) because you’ll lose the case.

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John Locke, who changed his name to Jeremy Bentham for some reason that got tangled up in the show’s convoluted final season. What was up with that?

Nussbaum has said the movement needs both poets and pragmatists. I’m definitely in the latter camp. And I’m sure there are animal rights advocates who say I do a piss-poor job anyway. I’m neither vegan nor vegetarian. I wear leather shoes sometimes. I have friends who hunt, and they remain very good friends.

But I try in my own ways. I buy only cruelty-free make up (Tarte, Urban Decay, Two Faced). Most meat that I buy (and it isn’t a lot) comes from animals raised both locally and humanely. I try very hard to pick up litter and debris on hikes out of respect for the local ecosystem. And I volunteer with animal rescue groups. I also know there are many others whose livelihoods or professions place them in situations where they must make choices that go beyond mine.

Ultimately I am relieved that we have people whose purpose is to find solutions to questions of human-animal relationships, whether it is habitat encroachment or medical research or other.

Speaking of this, one point was brought up by an attorney on the panel: strides have been made in the medical community to have animals like pigs essentially be incubators for human organs. That way, doctors would not have to harvest organs from a recently deceased donor and instead could take one that does not belong to a person. I flashed to one of my favorite books: Never Let Me Go by Kazoo Ishiguro which dealt with this topic among humans. Everyone knew the inhumanity of the situation so it is dealt with far away from deep scrutiny. Yet as a person who has lost three friends in the past few years (two of whom had young children), I understand the necessity of making strides where we can get them. But trading one tragedy for another, one of which is widely recognized while the other takes some convincing in many circles, is not the  answer.

As I write this my two rescue dogs are running in the backyard taking turns chasing one another.  I love that they are in my life. I’m happy that I could be someone who saved them. We all deserve the basic dignity of running around for the sheer joy of it.

 

 

A good week!

Rufus has been tearing it up with walking at heel and playing with the toy on the flirt pole. Good stuff.

First, on Wednesday we had a lesson with Eric. Rufus did well. He still barked, but unknown places with unknown people kind of scare him. He ought to know Eric by now but it’s a ritual he likes to go through – Rufus, that is.  Sort of a “Hey buddy – I don’t know your game but you aren’t going to mess with me!” We played “Lose the Ones You Love” and Eric was kind enough to let us use some chicken from his lunch. He seriously didn’t have to do that.

Since we had a shorter session this week, Rufus was less stressed out but still was up for a game of fetch. He loves playing this with Eric because Eric will use two balls, and the space doesn’t have too many obstacles to come between him and the ball.

And today I began my day with my usual yoga-coffee-news ritual (done all at the same time) that the dogs feel entitled to barge in on. If I don’t do at least some yoga stretches then I’m really not comfortable during the day. I long for the days so many years ago when it took a full weekend of an ultimate frisbee tournament or a day hiking a 14er to make me feel stiff. Now all I have to do is get out of bed.

The yoga mat got a good scrubbing after this. It was more than a little gross.

It’s Sophie’s birthday so she and I went to the dog park – I can’t tell you how awesome and stress-free it is to go there without a certain you-know-who. Rufus just can’t handle it, unfortunately. But Sophie loves it and always does well. If someone tries to mess with her she turns and goes the other way. She just does not lose her cool (unless it’s a mailman or a cat). If someone does want to play, then hell yeah! She’s always up for that.

Afterwards we headed to Ciji’s Natural Pet Supplies in Park Hill for her birthday cookie. They say there’s no sugar in it. Hmm. I’m not convinced because that cookie looks too sprinkly. But it’s her birthday so we’re fine with that today.

Finally I’m feeling good because I have a slow-cooked chicken to look forward to. There isn’t a whole lot that I have to do on the preparation end, other than chop up onions and lemons and garlic, and concoct some sort of spice rub. Then I stick everything in the slow cooker and wait six hours. Somehow I always end up with a sense of great satisfaction without the exhaustion that goes into preparing something like a Thanksgiving dinner.

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Just before putting on the lid and hitting low heat for six hours. Doodle-Bug was my helper for every step of preparation.

Making Progress

Rufus is making progress! He is not El Pero Perfecto yet but we’re slowly making strides and he is responding well.

The first big thing is that my friend Kate made a second visit. Would he remember her? Would he stay calm or be scared? Good news. He didn’t bark AT ALL. Sophie did her typical window barking, only to turn into the mushy love-bug she usually is once Kate walked in. But Rufus was silent and polite, and very happy to see Kate. Once again, he followed her to the bathroom.

After Kate and I marched with 100,000 others,img_0070 we returned and I chilled with the pups for a little bit. My feet were tired. Then Morriah came over and again, Rufus was awesome! No barking. He’s getting the whole “people are ok” thing. This made me as hopeful as the march, in all honesty, and when despondency turns into optimism, there are rainbows and sunshine everywhere.

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The next thing is Rufus walking at heel. Eric has me feeding Rufus constant treats. Morriah has recommended just being firm. Rufus responded to her very well on our recent five-mile walk where we encountered many other dogs, some off-leash. (We also found a block of ice, some half-empty beer bottles, and a pair of pants. Must’ve been quite the party.)

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Rufus has been doing well on his training walks although he does get distracted by other dogs very easily. Getting him to focus on me is the key here.

So now my only issue is that the five-mile walk strained my Achilles’ tendon. All I did was walk. I think this officially makes me old. Ice, Advil, and yoga are helping but I’d like to exercise just a bit more. I had to wear this sexy get up for some of Rufus’ subsequent walks:

It worked pretty well until I got to that neighbor who hadn’t shoveled his walk.

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The Eyes Have It (Or: How to Behave at the Vet)

Today’s post is being hijacked by Sophie who gets the star treatment today because once again she has…pink eye!

Sophie has this grossness. I noticed some redness last night, and it was bothering her this morning. The crustiness tells me it is definitely the pink pox.

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I used to get pink eye all the time. First in college, then as a teacher in a public school. I’m so similar to Sophie in this regard that I know the signs. Of course her virus isn’t contagious to humans, or isn’t “zoonotic” – my new favorite word – so at least there’s that.

I got a vet appointment for noon today. Unlike Rufus, Sophie loves the vet office staff. She adores them. She would marry them if she could. She’d move in and snuggle with them every single night. When we pull into the parking lot she squeaks with joy, even more than when we go to PetSmart, it’s just that awesome. img_0063

The vet tech just loved her and couldn’t stop petting and smooching her.

Her eyes were stained with some green stuff to see if she had a scratch or eye ulcers (I had those once. Fun.) Then when the lights were off the vet used a blue light to inspect her some more. No scratches. Good stuff. But that left pink eye. And that meant eye drops.

Sophie does not like getting eye drops.

She didn’t try to run, and she didn’t do anything awful. She just shut her eyes tightly and made it very difficult to give her the antibiotics. But the deed got done and Sophie wiggled and got her treat at the end.

I couldn’t help but wonder what a pill Rufus would have been. I don’t like thinking about that because it is possible that Sophie picked this up from him. He’s had some giant eye goobers after coming in from the backyard, but I chalked that up to allergies. We get weird stuff blooming and flying around during our 50 degree days, in between snow storms. Maybe it was an irritant with him and they played and it inflamed her eyes…who knows. His eyes are not red and crusty. Just goobery after being outside.

Now the trick is to keep these two apart. He is in his crate, not happy to be a few feet away from Sophie (rather than directly next to her). I bribed him with a toy which he has already destroyed. He’s going to have to suck it up.

I’m washing sheets and dog bed covers today in hopes of getting this stuff out of here. And as I learned in college, Sophie is not to share her mascara or eyeliner with anyone.

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His Jolly Tug toy was in tact at the start of the post.
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This is all that remains of the toy. He is now whining. Tough luck, kid.