Tummy Trouble

Last Saturday did not go well.  First I threw up in bed.  Momma, who wanted to avoid washing the bed clothes, quickly cupped her hands under my mouth to catch the vomit.  Naturally it didn’t work and the vomit ended up on the bed and the carpet when it dripped through her fingers on the way to the bathroom.  (Nanny Becky suggested that maybe in the future Momma should keep a towel on the bed – just a thought, she said.)

An hour later I threw up again.  Momma still didn’t think too much about it, assuming that I had eaten something that didn’t agree with me the day before.  Therefore she went ahead and fed me, but I promptly threw up again – this time in my little doggie bed (which she also had to wash).  When Momma saw the mess, it finally sank in that I might actually be sick.  Her next thought was – oh God, it’s Saturday and that meant if she were to bring me to the emergency hospital it would cost a fortune!

She was not about to make that trip if she didn’t have to and decided to wait and see what happened.  What happened wasn’t good – I puked all over her imported area rug in the living room.  When Momma found me there surrounded by little puddles of green and brown slime, she shrieked, “Lina, no!!”  She was so upset that her precious rug (I wonder how it fit into her budget) might be ruined that she totally forgot I was sick or frankly that she even had a dog.

Realizing that things were – once again – exceeding her ability to cope, she called Becky who as usual dropped everything and came over.  After comforting me, cleaning up the mess and locating a nearby animal hospital, Becky loaded me in the car and off we went.  On the way over Momma threatened to sell me for about the 100th time.  Becky, having heard it all before, told me not to worry and gave me a big hug.

Another one of Momma’s friends, Cheryl (Annie’s momma), who had told us about the hospital, was waiting there to see how things were going and had been inside to ask if we were there yet.  Seriously, I wonder what the staff must think.  How helpless must a person be to have someone waiting for them at the hospital and a nanny along to help care for a dog with an upset stomach?

Nevertheless, things turned out okay and $217.00 later I was on the road to recovery. Don’t be surprised though if you see me on eBay.

The Pet Cam

The other day Momma had the bright idea to put a camera in our house so she could observe my activities while she was away.  She did a little quick research, ordered the camera and downloaded the accompanying app for her phone.  This made her feel good by the way – very tech savvy – almost like she could be a member of Geek Squad.

When the camera arrived and Momma finally figured out how to use it, it dawned on her that she could not only keep an eye on me – but on the house as well!  Thus, she had cheaply – and accidentally – installed a surveillance system and could now see if an intruder had broken in (in case the intruder happened to be glued to the spot in the corner by my bed).

Momma was especially excited that the little camera included a speaker and laser light.  The laser was supposed to be a little “toy” that would enable owners to play with their pets remotely.  And with the speaker she could talk to me while she was away (although I don’t know how I was supposed to hear her over the Rush Limbaugh program which was always blaring in my ears).

Momma was really “digging” her new gadget at this point and tested out it out by repeatedly yelling “Lina” into her phone.  After a little delay, the speaker also yelled out “Lina.”  This confused me to say the least because now her voice was coming at me from all directions and I didn’t know where to look or what she wanted.

Momma was pleased with the device though and thought that just maybe – in a pinch – it could take the place of expensive doggie day care!  She could have me chase the little red dot around the room for exercise (never mind that I’m not a cat), and could talk to me as though she was still at home (“Take a nap, Lina” and “Don’t go potty in the house, Lina”).

Momma couldn’t wait to try out her new built-in dog sitter/surveillance system when she arrived at the golf course the next day.  At least every other hole, she would activate the camera app and insist that her friends look at me.  I was just a little dot on the screen by the way – Momma didn’t have an extension cord that would allow her to move the camera closer to my bed – where I constantly slept while she was gone.  At least I used to constantly sleep.  Now I am awakened every 15 minutes when Momma’s disembodied voice screeches, “Hi Lina” causing me to whip my head around and look for her.  Is it any wonder that I get an upset stomach?

I wonder how long it will take her to realize that nothing much goes on during her frequent absences and gets tired of the gadget.  I also wonder how long it will be before no one will play golf with her anymore.  I’m just woofing.

Lina, Longing for Peace and Quiet – and Wishing You a Happy 4th of July!

WOOFDA!

Even though (or maybe because?) Momma was gone for a good chunk of the spring on her whirlwind trip, I have been having a great time.  Besides getting to spend time with my favorites, Dr. Becca and Nanny Becky, I made three new furry friends!

The Foster Dog

I actually met the first one right before Momma left on her trip.  She had been carefully planning her upcoming golf schedule upon her return and was scouting out various doggie daycare facilities in which to place (dump) me.  She finally found one nearby that she thought was acceptable because it had a separate play area for small dogs. Excited, she called to enroll me.

Momma’s excitement turned to exasperation, however, when she was told that she first must bring me in for an “interview.”  She had a change of heart though when she found out that if I “passed” my interview, Momma would be required to leave me (on a complimentary basis!) at the daycare for at least 3 hours to see how I got along with others.  She quickly decided that screening was a good practice after all.

Unfortunately we did have a little stumbling block before my stay when Momma insisted on touring the day care facility.  When we got to the play area, she noticed that one of the dogs was quite large.  Why was he not in the big dog area, Momma wanted to know.  In response to her pointed questioning, the manager, who had been enlisted to help (no surprise there), explained that the dog was a foster/immigrant dog and was a little nervous to be with the big dogs.  Well this got Momma’s attention, but she was of the “big tent” party after all, and decided it was okay to leave me.  Actually I think she finally remembered that she had at least 3 (free!) hours without me, so thought she better take advantage of it – after all, I had to fend for myself at some point, didn’t I?

When Momma came to get me 5 hours later, the staff said I did well and handed her my report card.  Momma was pleased with the report (especially the part about me being a social butterfly) until she got to the notation that one of my best friends was – you guessed it – the big foster dog!!

Winnie

Shortly after Momma left, I had another nice surprise – Becca adopted a rescue dog!  She is a little wiener dog named Edwina, which Becca had shortened to Winnie – ignoring Momma’s near insistence that the dog be called Eddie.

Winnie is about my size and age and we had a great time together.  I was tickled to have company and helped show Winnie the ropes as she got used to her new life with Becca.  Here are some shots of us getting to know one another!

I also got to see my old friend Reese while Momma was gone.  Here I am at Becky and Uncle Tom’s house spreading the love.

Annie

Next I met Annie, a puppy who was recently adopted by Momma’s friends Erik and Cheryl. She is a lab and shelty mix and is also a rescue dog.  She is just a little bigger than me and we have quite the time chasing each other around the yard!  She is a sweetheart.

Erik and Annie

I got to know Annie when Becky took me on a walk with her and Cheryl, and again when she came over for a play date.  Erik also brought over a new paddle board and Momma had grandiose plans for us all to go out on the water together – never mind that Annie had never even seen a lake before and the fact that I’m not a huge fan.

Luckily it was too windy so we went out on the pontoon instead.  That would have been fun had I not been all “decked” out in my pointless protective gear.  Really, what were the chances I’d end up in the water?  (Plus I can probably swim.)  On the other paw, Annie was able to stay cool – and see – so she got to enjoy her first boat ride.

I am so looking forward to summer and more play dates.  I know this is very cliche, but all of a sudden I have more friends than I can shake a stick at.  🙂

Lina, Social Butterfly

WOOFDA!

After we got home from Florida in early April, I noticed that Momma was in more of a frenzy than usual.  It didn’t take me long to figure out that she was going on another trip.

First, she dialed up a bunch of salons to make maintenance appointments – you know the kind – hair, nails, skin, etc.  Then I observed her studying a little black binder for instructions on how and what to pack for a 24-day trip.  I next saw that she was spending an inordinate amount of time in her closet (and that’s saying something) looking through clothes, shoes, handbags and totes.  The dead giveaway, of course, was when she brought out the suitcases.

Since Momma had failed to share the news of her trip (“I didn’t want you to feel bad, Lina.”), I couldn’t help but wonder what type of arrangements she had made for me.  When she saw the look of concern on my face, she reassured me that there was nothing to worry about.  “Yes, Lina, Momma’s going on a little trip, but she won’t be gone long and guess what – Dr. Becca will be staying with you and Nanny Becky will also be around.”  (I know that she had heard that dogs have no concept of time, but even I could tell that 24 days was a tad long.)

Unfortunately a couple of days before she was to leave, Momma was forced to turn her attention away from her non-stop prepping, to me.  Out of the blue, I began having episodes during which I had trouble getting my breath.  At first Momma thought the problem would just go away or was something I would have to live with based on comments of several dog owners that it was likely just a “reverse sneeze.”  Huh?

Momma wasn’t satisfied with that explanation either, and decided to take me to the local vet for a look.  He couldn’t find anything wrong but thought the problem might be allergies and suggested that we try children’s Benadryl.  Momma, however, drawing on her vast amount of medical knowledge, decided it wasn’t allergies and declined to buy the drug.

The day before she was to leave, I was having the breathing problems more frequently and Momma, half crazy by now because her big trip was looming large, concluded that she better bite the bullet and take me to a specialist.  I’m not sure how, but she roped Nanny Becky into going along.

Becky comforting me at the clinic . . .

We had booked an appointment at the nearest specialty clinic which turned out to be in Eden Prairie, a suburb southwest of the Minneapolis.  The internist there said they’d probably have to do a rhinoscopy to determine what was wrong (I never experienced the breathing problems while with the vets so they didn’t have much to go on).  The internist further explained that I would have to be anesthetized for the test, which would consist of putting a speculum in my nostrils to view the inside of my nose!

By now we were both sick – me at the thought of the scope going into my head and Momma because of the inevitable astronomical bill.  Nevertheless, she did have that trip coming up the next day so had little choice but to approve of the horrific test.

We were all set to go forward when the clinic informed us that their rhinoscopy equipment was on the blink.  If we wanted to proceed, we would have to go to their sister clinic in Blaine, a northern suburb about 45 minutes away.  As far as Momma was concerned it might as well have been in another country.  (Even though Momma is from a tiny town about 5 hours north of Minneapolis, she thought of Blaine as in “the boonies” and dreaded the thought of going to a vet clinic there.)

Out of options by now though, we piled into the car and headed to Blaine.  Momma casually looked at the little map she had been given from the first clinic and announced to Becky that she knew the way.  Well, it turns out that she didn’t and took the wrong exit as we were approaching Minneapolis.  Pretty soon, instead of speeding up to Blaine on I-94, we were driving past all the bars, strip clubs and theaters on Hennepin Avenue.  Really, I thought, would it have been so hard to just plug the address into the GPS???  I’m sure Becky, who was not at all happy with this turn of events, was thinking the same thing.  (She did have a family and her own schedule, after all.)

After driving around downtown Minneapolis for about an hour in the middle of a busy workday, we somehow ended up on the freeway again and headed north.  When we finally, mercifully, arrived at the clinic in Blaine, Momma quickly came off her high horse.  She could tell that this was a top-notch facility with a great staff.  And we loved our vet (even though she did knock me out for the dastardly set of tests I was about to endure).

Here we are before ~

And me, trying to get my paws under me again, after ~

In addition to the rhinoscopy, they also conducted a series of X-rays, a CT scan and a nasal biopsy, after which they informed Momma that my nasal passages were somewhat pink and inflamed.  Despite this finding, however, the internist was not sure of the cause.  She did suspect allergies though and therefore suggested we pick up some – you guessed it – Benadryl!!

Momma, by now staring at a bill for $2,200.00 was beside herself.  “Becky,” she wailed, “if only I had given her the children’s Benadryl before, think of the money I could have saved!”  (And I was thinking, if only you hadn’t booked a 24-day trip, think of the money you could have saved.)  Anyway, after she reluctantly paid the bill, we rushed out to the car, all of us anxious to get home.

Our excitement for the day wasn’t quite over yet, however.  Momma, understandably was by now pretty upset over the day’s events.  I was sick, she was out at least $2,200, she had probably used up all the goodwill Becky had left in her, it was 8:00 p.m. and (this was the clincher) she had not yet finished shopping or packing for her whirlwind trip the next day. So what happened next really shouldn’t have been a surprise.

When we finally pulled into the garage that evening, Momma could not find her keys.  In fact, they were not in the car with us.  “That can’t be, Becky,” she croaked – after all we had just driven home in the car (which had a keyless starter).  “The car wouldn’t drive without the keys would it?”

Well, it turned out, it would.  God only knows how it happened, but Momma must have started the car, put the keys on the roof or hood or trunk or on the street and driven off.  Luckily Becky had keys for our house, and was able to get us in and on her way.  Now Momma had a new worry, however – the cost of a new key fob, plus the fact that her keys for everything were somewhere in Blaine, possibly in someone else’s possession!

Unbelievably though, Becky (who as usual mopped up Momma’s messes for her) got the keys back.  She had called the vet’s office the next day and after explaining the situation, an employee found our keys in their parking lot.  (Am I the only one thinking they are probably still talking about us?)

In the end, I must report that the Benadryl did not clear up the inflammation – and Momma was happy to be vindicated.  It turned out I had an infection and with the help of the vet, Dr. Becca and Becky, I switched medicine and had a complete recovery!

When the dust finally settled, as it always does when Momma leaves town, I was able to enjoy my time with the Bs, as I always do.

Lina, Survivor

WOOFDA!

The other day fur was flying at our house.  It seems Momma had let some bills lapse (“I didn’t know they were due, Lina”) and now she had to face the music.  She blamed her inattention on the fact that we were in Florida for the winter – apparently she thought the bills would be on hold until we got home.

Anyway, when Momma finally thought to have her mail forwarded to her, she saw in her mountain of paperwork, that she had two statements from most of her creditors.  She also observed that the latter of the two statements included penalties and interest.  Momma, as usual and despite the serious nature of the notices, got on her high horse and declared, “They are barking up the wrong tree if they think I’m paying any late fees, Lina!”  Nevertheless, even she knew she had better get busy.

Momma grabbed her cell phone (luckily she still had service) and started punching in numbers.  I had an inkling that this was not going to go well and swiftly retreated to my crate.

Momma began with her cell phone provider.  Sweating – she had noticed that the latest statement instructed her to PAY IMMEDIATELY! – she dialed customer service.  She soon learned though that she would not be talking to a person, but with a robot who informed her that she could speak in complete sentences (excuse me but how would he/it know?).  Momma got nowhere fast.  No matter how many times she screamed “representative” or stabbed the number 0 on her phone, she was not connected to a human being.

Finally, falling in line, she did her best to answer the robot’s questions so she could be routed to a representative “trained to deal with her particular issue.”  When she finally got to tell the robot that she was calling to pay her bill, she was informed that she would be sent a text with a new temporary pin code and then she would have to create a new personalized passcode.  (Momma was forced to do this twice having gotten it wrong the first time around.)  She was also informed that she would have to key in the last four of her Social Security number.  Momma was almost apoplectic now, but she needed to keep her cool, and she soon realized that yelling (especially at a robot) did not help.

Finally, miraculously, Momma was connect to a person.  Having gotten this far – and having had quite a bit of time to review her bill while she was on hold (and having been denied a waiver of her late fee), Momma decided that she had a few bones to pick with the highly-trained, bill payment specialist.  For example, why was she being charged $10 for a phone number related to her iPad?!?  After the specialist explained the fee and Momma still didn’t have a clue what it was for, she surrendered, whimpering, “Please just tell me how much I owe so I can get off the phone.”

When the specialist asked Momma how she wanted to pay, Momma, still smarting over the late fee and the other indignities of the phone call, curtly informed her that she would be paying with a credit card.  This would mercifully have brought the matter to a close — except for one tiny little detail — the card was denied.  (At that point, Momma remembered that she also had two statements from said credit card company in the stack.)  The by-now wary specialist then asked Momma if she had a different method of payment that she would like to use.  Momma, struggling now to retain some measure of dignity, replied loftily that she would be using another major credit card.  Then she held her breath until the charge was approved – she really couldn’t remember where she stood with that card either.

A little panicked now, Momma quickly dialed up the company that had declined her card.  To her  amazement, she actually got to speak to a person right away and explain herself (“I’m in Florida so I didn’t know I was behind on my payments”).  Apparently no excuse was too stupid for them, because not only did she get the late fee waived, she was also told she could start charging again the next day.  Things were looking up!

The rest of the calls also went relatively smoothly:  the electricity would not be turned off and her homeowner’s insurance would be reinstated.  Another crisis/scandal in our lives had been averted.  And not one person – or robot – had even mentioned bad credit or collection agency!

After the dust had settled, Momma spotted me observing the action.

Immediately concerned about the Blog, she asked enticingly, “Lina, would you like a treat?”  Sadly, as a professional journalist, I was forced to turn her down and tell my story.

Lina, Reporter

WOOFDA!

Shortly after Momma got me, I began to suspect that my life as a dog was, to put it mildly, not typical.  It seemed like Momma had good intentions but lacked common sense when it came to doggie parenting and we consequently suffered through one calamity after another.

In fact, our little misadventures were so fur-raising that I thought others should be aware of what was going on and decided to start my Blog.  (A pet in my predicament never knows when she might need incriminating evidence or even a foster home.)  Luckily though Momma and I are still hobbling along – although not without drama.

For example, take my last unnecessary trip to the vet.  Momma made me swear on a stack of “how to blog” books that I would never tell what the latest visit was for, but I’ll give you a hint – what Momma thought was the cause of a (non-existent) intestinal blockage was really just my tailbone.  This visit was so humiliating for her that she swears she’ll never go  back.  Never mind that I may actually need to see a vet at some point.

Anyway, to celebrate one year of staying alive, er . . . enjoying life with Momma, I have included a little movie for your viewing pleasure.  It begins with my idyllic, sunny life in Florida, only to be hijacked to winter in Minnesota and all the tumult that followed.

https://animoto.com/play/W00geVbPcqUb7h1yiItiFQ

Thanks for watching and for reading!

Lina, Producer

WOOFDA!

Pawscript:  Don’t tell Momma I said this, but maybe it hasn’t been all bad.

Will you be my Valentine?

Happy Valentine’s Day from sunny Florida!  Momma and I are now about half-way through our winter stay and things have settled down nicely – one might woof miraculously.  I have not been to see the vet in about two weeks (see “More Doggie Drama,” February 1, 2016) and Momma has stopped worrying about the authorities closing in on her, although one of her “friends” – CoCoa’s momma to be specific – threatened to turn her into the ASPCA.  (Momma chose to ignore her though – saying she is just some liberal activist.)

Gracie & Me

My time with Grace is going spectacularly well.  We play all the time – in fact, I basically live with Gracie and her family now.  Even though Momma has good intentions about having Gracie over to play, I’d say the hound hosting tally is about 50 to 1 in Anne’s favor.

In Momma’s defense, though, I don’t think Anne quite trusts Momma to care for two dogs on her own (and who can  blame her – see the aforementioned post, “More Doggie Drama” – in fact, see all previous posts).  The first time she left Gracie with us, Anne hesitated at the door and nervously asked, “Are you sure I can leave Gracie?  Will you be okay?”  Momma said “sure,” then let us run wild and returned to online shopping – I’m not going to say for what or whom.  Here I am getting the upper paw with Gracie for my beloved Lamb Chop:

Don’t tell Anne, but after a few minutes of our raucous play, Momma was seriously considering drugging us with a few of the “calming aid” treats she has on hand.

(When) Will I Become a Stroller Dog?

The other day Momma wanted to go to an art/craft show in Ft. Myers and as a special treat decided to take me along.  This was our first outing of this sort, but how hard could it be?  She would just put me in my harness and have me heel smartly at her side, maybe visiting with a few dogs as we went.  Plus, she had her cousin Janet along to help (actually this was key and I’m sure influenced her decision – I’m just woofing…).

Things didn’t go exactly according to plan, however.  I was quickly overwhelmed by the noise, the smells, the foot (and paw) traffic and the hot weather.  Pretty soon I was panting and dragging so Momma decided she better carry me.  That lasted only until we reached the nearest wine stand at which point she handed me off to Janet.  After that, they continued to pass me back and forth, but I was getting heavy – I was way past being the tiny accessory dog Momma had dreamed of when she purchased me.

By now, Momma was frazzled and started eyeing women pushing dog strollers with envy.  (She had always viewed these  people as crazy and often proclaimed, “I’m never going to be that woman, Lina.”)  Today, however, Momma was reconsidering.  It seemed every second  doggie momma was pushing Fido along in a comfortable pram with a mesh top for good air flow and a great view.  More important, the owners were free to visit, eat, drink and browse the show unencumbered.

Finally, Momma couldn’t take it any longer and started asking people if she could buy their strollers.  When that failed (and people began to avoid her), Momma began looking around for a doggie stroller kiosk – why had no one ever thought of selling those at one of these stupid shows???

Luckily for all of us, we got rained out and had to leave early.  Unluckily for me, I may be the pet of a crazy person after all.  I just hope there’s room for Gracie!

Lina, Awaiting My New Ride

WOOFDA!

PawScript:  Stay tuned for the LDB Anniversary Issue!

A few days after our misguided trip to the vet for my flattened ear, we had another mishap.  This time, Momma was absentmindedly throwing the ball for me to fetch when it glanced off the wall and struck me in the eye.  Although it wasn’t a hard hit, it hurt like heck I could only open the eye partway.  Momma didn’t like the look of it, but she decided not to rush me to the vet.  (The fact that we would not be going to the weekend emergency hospital where Dr. Varny works also may have factored into her decision, but I’m not going to point any paws.)

Anyway Momma was in no mood to be ridiculed – and to spend $150 if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.  “Just lie down and close your eyes for a while, Lina,” she encouraged.  I did, and amazingly my eye seemed better when I woke up – at least I could hold it open!  Momma was thrilled – she was actually a little scared that another injury to me within a couple of weeks might raise a red flag with some “watchdog” group (pun intended).

By the next morning, however, my eye seemed worse – squinty and pink, and Momma rushed me to our regular doggie clinic.  Luckily, there was no scratch so the (female) vet just prescribed some eye drops and sent us home ($110.00 poorer).

I may have mentioned that my BFF in Florida is Gracie.  She lives in our building and I adore her.  Here we are on one of our almost daily play dates:

As we were driving home from the vet after the eye injury, Gracie’s momma, Anne, called and asked if we could play.  I looked at Momma beseechingly (with one eye) so she called the vet who gave us permission, with the caveat – “but keep the rough-housing to a minimum!”

Right, like that was going to happen.  Here is an example of Gracie and me playing, but not “ruff”-housing:

Anyway, we had the ill-advised play date, and as expected, my eye was re-injured requiring Momma to bring me in again.  (Now she really was getting nervous about the authorities.  She also noticed that the staff at the vet’s office was not as friendly to her as on previous visits.)  Although there was still no scratch in my eye, we left the clinic with specific instructions –  no play dates for four to five days!  Momma was sure she was on some kind of watch list now.  She was also $65.00 poorer.

By day four, Momma was getting a little tired of me being underfoot all the time so she told Anne that I was good to go.  We met her and Gracie out on the lawn for our long-awaited play date.  After a few minutes, Momma went inside to get her cell phone (and ostensibly some doggie toys) and left Anne to watch both of us.  While she was gone, the twig I was chewing on got lodged crossways in the back of my mouth causing me to gag and flail about.  Anne was frantic – I was clearly in distress.  When Momma saw me, she ran back inside to get the car keys.

By the time we got loaded, I had somehow expelled the stick, but now things were in motion and they decided it was still a good idea to get me checked over.  Momma begged Anne to go along for support (and so Momma could identify her as the caretaker when this latest injury occurred), so she and Gracie rode shotgun.

Upon our arrival, the tech whisked me into an exam room (and pointedly told Momma to stay in the waiting room).  When I was gone, she hiss-whispered to Anne, “They better not charge me for this visit – the stick was gone after all and I’ve already spent a fortune here!”

After a few short minutes, the doc (this was the seasoned, handsome vet she tried to impress on our first visit to the clinic last year), brought me back out to the waiting room.  After carefully scrutinizing Momma (four injuries in less than a month??), he informed her that there were scratches in my mouth, but no stick and I was fine.

Momma, sensing that she was being eyed with suspicion, immediately pointed to Anne and said that she had been supervising a play date when I choked.  Anne (always the grown up of the two), graciously and unnecessarily shouldered the blame and apologized that I was hurt on her watch.  At that point, the vet must have decided that I didn’t have to be taken into protective custody because he let me go home with Momma, but not without paying.  Ouch!

The next day, Anne (she was pretty much co-parenting me by this time) suggested that Gracie and I have an indoor play date – where I would be safer.  Momma thought this was a great idea and told her to bring Gracie up to our place – after ten play dates at Anne’s, she figured it might be her turn.  Gracie and I had another rol”licking” good time, but once again had a little too much fun and now my other eye was hurt and half shut.  When Momma saw it, she practically cried – there was NO WAY she was taking me to the vet again.  She would be locked up.  Instead, relying on a lick (mine) and a prayer (hers), she put some of those drops in my eye and it healed!

Lina, Down (Dog) But Not Out!

WOOFDA!

When I was only a few weeks old, one of Momma’s “friends” took one look at me and said, “Do you think she’ll ever grow into her ears?”  When Momma got over her irritation, she took a closer look and realized they really were quite large.  Thinking maybe she was on to something, she nicknamed me “Little Big Ears.”

My ears in all their glory

When I started my Blog, they became a really big deal for Momma – she had pie-in-the-sky ideas of making money off the big ear concept.  Therefore, you can imagine that what happened a few days ago was a near-tragedy in her mind.

We had just returned to Florida when Momma decided to buy something for me (probably to keep up with the other doggie mommas in her building).  She swung into the local pet store and found a cute tee (which would be great if I wanted to wear a tee) with “Marco Island” emblazoned on it.  Not knowing if it would fit – and not wanting to have to return it, Momma insisted that the sales lady try the tee on another dog who weighed about the same as me.  It fit perfectly and Momma shelled out the money.

Arriving home, Momma called out, “Lina, wait ’til you see what I bought you!” and pulled my new tee from the bag.  (It should have been a clue to her that this was a bad idea when my ears fell and I ran into the next room to hide.)  Undeterred, Momma found me and pulled the shirt over my head and tucked my little legs into the openings.  Satisfied that it fit – and picturing showing me off to her friends – she exclaimed, “Don’t you look fetching, Lina?” and went about her putzing.

Meanwhile I noticed that something was wrong – my left ear felt funny – so I started whipping my head back and forth to get rid of the sensation.  After about five minutes of this, Momma looked at me and said, “Okay, Lina, let’s take it off for now.”  She removed the dreaded tee but the strange feeling in my ear did not go away and I continued to vigorously shake my head.

Now I really had Momma’s attention.  “What’s wrong, Lina?” she asked, taking a good look at me.  At this point she saw that my left ear no longer stood up like the right.  In fact, it was plastered against my head!  Momma went into a panic and wailed, “Oh my God, Lina, what’s wrong with your ear?”  Momma was terrified that her tugging the tee over my head had done some permanent damage and frankly, extremely concerned that our “Little Big Ears” franchise was in danger.

Seeing no alternative, Momma called the emergency animal hospital who predictably recommended that she bring me in.  So off we went – me in the front seat so Momma could keep an eye on the precious ear and see if it popped up again.

When we arrived, Momma carried me up to the front desk of the hospital.  The two receptionists looked at us quizzically and asked what the problem was.  When Momma explained that there was something wrong with one of my ears, they paged a nurse who came into the waiting room to take a look.

Admittedly, it didn’t look like much was wrong, so the nurse asked Momma to tell him what was going on.  “Well, I bought a new tee shirt for Lina and tried it on her and now one of her ears won’t stand up anymore,” Momma explained and added helpfully, “and she keeps shaking her head to straighten it out again.”

As you can imagine, every eye in the place was now on us, all ears perked up (except for mine).  The nurse looked at us as if we had just dropped in from Mars.  Also I’m pretty sure I heard a few snickers from the other dog owners.  Seriously, who brings their dog in because one of her ears won’t stand up?

Also, by now my errant ear was looking better – it was at least at half-mast.  Just so the nurse didn’t think Momma was totally crazy, I shook my head emphatically to demonstrate that something wasn’t right.  Although he had pretty much determined there was nothing wrong with me – indeed that maybe he should call security – the nurse invited us to have a seat and wait for the doctor, warning us that it would be about an hour (it was three).

At the point Momma was wavering.  It didn’t appear the nurse was concerned – and did she really want to spend Saturday evening at the animal hospital?  That all changed, however, when she learned that the young, hot Dr. Varny who had seen us before, was on duty.  (Am I the only one who suspects that she knew this all along?)  Suddenly a three-hour wait on a Saturday night for a likely unnecessary $150.00 exam seemed like a gift from God.

File photo of Dr. Varny and me

When Dr. Varny finally appeared, Momma repeated the ridiculous tail about the tee and the lopsided ears.  He listened patiently, if warily, but as expected couldn’t find much wrong – even though I did the head-shake for him too.  Nevertheless he gave me an anti-inflammatory shot before sending us on our way.  To Momma’s disappointment he did not say we needed a follow-up exam.

Lina, The Author Formerly Known As Little Big Ears

WOOFDA!

Momma is glad Christmas is over.  Not that she doesn’t celebrate the birth of the Christ Child and enjoy all the related festivities.  She just finds that Christmastime gets more stressful and complicated every year.

First, there is the yearly debate about whether one can still say “Merry Christmas” or should play it safe with “Happy Holidays” – or something even more milktoast like “Happy Winter Solstice.”  Actually, though, this is not a big dilemma for Momma who freely (and pointedly) calls out “Merry Christmas!” to everyone she sees.  (“We are celebrating Christmas, Lina – others can say what they want.”)

To Momma, worrying about what to say so as not to offend was a waste of time and detracted from the true meaning of Christmas.  She had other things on her mind – there was shopping to be done (some even for others), self-promoting Christmas card to be ordered and cocktail parties to attend.

Next, just like clockwork, the annual legal battles over religious displays in public places pop up.  Just as predictably the issue of school music programs arises every year – what type of music is permissible – indeed, is a program allowed at all?  Surely someone would be left out even with the best intentions and efforts humanly possible.  Momma fondly remembers the good old days when she taught music in North Dakota and could have the kids sing whatever she wanted – at their Christmas program.  Come to think of it, she bets they can still do that in North Dakota!  Maybe she would just move back there.  (For once, I’m onboard with Momma – I hear they have almost no lakes.)

While tiresome and annoying, these are not the biggest issues confronting Momma at Christmas.  The one that takes the cake (speaking of food) is making dinner for her family on Christmas Eve.

Is used to be so easy – she’d buy a honey-baked ham at a specialty store, some pre-made Swedish meatballs (she could never find/didn’t know if there was such a thing as Norwegian meatballs – close enough though she thought), some pre-made mashed potatoes (always being careful to remove the store packaging and imply she made them herself) and call it a day.

When a relative asked what they could bring, she’d assign a time-consuming item like a complicated hor d’oeuvre, salad or vegetable to round out the menu.  For dessert, she’d usually take the chocolates out of a box she got from someone else and arrange them on a platter as though she had just thrown together some gourmet chocolate truffles.  (“People don’t really need dessert anyway, Lina.”)

As with the rest of Christmas though, dinner was more complicated now.  Out of the nine family members she served on Christmas, at least four had special dietary needs.  Two required food to be gluten free.  Those same two were also lactose intolerant.  Two others were vegans – although one would occasionally make exceptions – like when someone brought something especially tasty that was not allowed on his/her diet.  Plus two were organic farmers which also had to be factored into the mix.  And one ate only dog food.

First off, Momma had only a vague idea what these terms entailed.  Gluten-free she was pretty sure meant no wheat, but were other grains allowed?  Lactose intolerant meant no dairy she thought, but really what constituted “dairy?”  And vegan totally threw her – she knew there was almost nothing they could eat (really how did they stay alive?) – but she was reasonably sure vegies were okay – but only if they were organic, right?  And did anyone require that their food be pasture-raised?  (When Momma first heard that term being used by two granola crunchers at the grocery store, she was sure they were confused and corrected them, saying “It’s pronounced pasteurized.”)   I’m glad I was at home.

Luckily (as is usually the case with Momma), others came to the rescue for Christmas Eve dinner this year, bringing enough food items that were lacking in one or more prohibited ingredient that everyone was able to eat.  For her part, Momma’s big concession was that she made her own mashed potatoes and, being careful to stick to prescribed dietary guidelines, did not use butter or cream.  (She was in something of a snit later though after being told that butter is okay for the lactose intolerant – but come to think of it, that wouldn’t have worked for the vegan crowd would it?)  Anyway, she found a recipe online for “Delicious Creamy Dairy Free Mashed Potatoes” and dutifully whipped them up.  The fraudulently-named and nearly inedible recipe basically called for potatoes and chicken stock.  But whatever.  The vegans did not need to know about the chicken stock.

Paw-ning off the meatballs on me

Hanaramakwanzmas!

And all the best to my readers in 2016 ~ Lina

WOOFDA!

The other night as Momma and I watched Fox News, I noticed something outside our living room window.  I sprang to my paws and glared mightily at the creature.  My ears shot up, my fur stood on end and my legs twitched.  I looked at Momma expectantly.  Even she could tell something was up, but she dismissed it saying, “Oh Lina, that’s just your reflection in the glass you see,” and went back to The Factor.

My nightly in”dog”trination . . .

Then I saw the same shadowy figure appear around the corner at another window. Instantly I hopped off the couch for a better look – but what I saw was so scary that I immediately high-tailed it (well, I ran fast) back to Momma emitting a ferocious little growl.

Now I had her attention.  Although annoyed that this incident was interrupting The No Spin Zone, she decided to investigate.  Remembering that bad guys can see in when the lights are on, she snapped them off and turned the deck lights on.  Not surprisingly, she saw nothing – I mean, who/what stands there bathed in bright light waiting to be identified?  Then Momma walked to the back door and turned on the security system.  As she walked past the front door, she saw an animal approach and gaze in.

Yikes, she thought! – is that the big gray cat that she had been seeing in the neighborhood for weeks?  Probably not, she reasoned – too big.  And too feral looking with a pointy nose and beady little eyes.  What was it then?  (Momma grew up on a farm, but somehow managed to learn nothing about animals.)

As the animal continued to stare in through the door, Momma tried to identify it.  (I had wisely stayed in the living room guarding us from a possible attack from the back of the house.)   She thought that it could possibly be a wolf, raccoon, fox, coyote, cougar, lynx or dingo (just kidding – even Momma knew better!), but she really didn’t know what any of them looked like.

As the animal sauntered away Momma took one last look and tried to memorize the image, but it was hopeless.  Five seconds later she couldn’t even remember if it had a tail.  Then she had an inspiration – she would Google it!  Truth be told, that search engine pretty much did all of her thinking these days.

She plugged in “small wild mammals in Minnesota” and clicked on IMAGES (she was pretty proud that she knew of this feature).  At this point Momma didn’t even really care what the animal was anymore – she just wanted to appear knowledgable to her friends – being a farm girl and all.  Admitting that she didn’t know if the thing was a wild animal or a big gray cat (which she hadn’t ruled out) would just be too embarrassing.

Momma had heard that coyotes were appearing all over the Twin Cities – so why wouldn’t they be in our backyard she thought?  She would go with that.  It fit in nicely with her narrative – coyotes were known to go after small animals so now she’d be fearlessly protecting me from a dangerous predator.  Yup, it was a coyote!

Once Momma had finished watching the nightly lineup of Fox programs, she suddenly remembered me and had a frightening thought – she still had to take me out to go potty once more!!  Could she make me hold it all night?  Force me to go on the pee pad in the laundry room?  (Not that she was scared, but she had to protect me after all.)

We did end up going outside for potty but only just outside the door where it was well lit.  When I wasn’t able to go within about 7 seconds, Momma pulled me back inside explaining, “It’s not that long ’til morning, Lina.”

We haven’t seen the animal since, but now Momma is talking about buying a gun, pointing out that she is going to exercise her Second Amendment rights.  I just hope she can tell a Toy Aussie from a big gray cat.

Lina, Guard Dog

WOOFDA!