The Accidental Birthday Gift

On Wednesday, this picture popped up in my facebook feed, posted by one of my knitting club friends, along with a caption: I need to find a home for this adorable little guy. I do not know how old he is. He was abandoned when someone moved out of their apartment. Very sweet. If you have any interest please message me.

Well. I didn't message right away, I just commented something along the lines of him being awfully cute, but that there was no way I was going to get my husband aboard! I texted B the picture, told him the story and his response: "I love it when you initiate serious conversations over text message." I laughed and let it be until that evening. 

Well, later that evening, I brought it up again. I wasn't yearning for a second dog, I was actually content gestating (14 weeks) this baby and adding a second dog once this kid was about a year old. Swarley has been depressed since Chloe's passing, and we knew we were going to add a second a some point. My ears always perk up when I hear of an adoption event on the radio, but I wasn't actively seeking one out. But there was something about that picture, and something about the circumstances that called to me. 

B told me to message her. What was the harm? If she had already found a home for him, then great. You'll feel better once you know. I told him that I was surprised with his reaction; he said that he never liked having a single dog, he just didn't want to start going around to different shelters yet. "If this one falls into our lap, I'm hardly going to say no. Also, you try saying no to your pregnant self."

Well, the dog was staying with my knitting friend's friend. She couldn't keep him, because her one year old lab thought he was a rag doll. She constantly had to keep them separated, and it just wasn't feasible for the long run. We exchanged several messages, I asked all the pertinent questions, and I set up a time for the three of us to go over and meet him. When asking where they lived, I told myself: Ok, if they live far away, we won't go. If they live close by, then that'll be another sign. Well, it turned out they lived about a 5 minute drive from our house, and so we headed out there the next day. I told myself not to get too excited. To make sure he had the right temperament for our family, for Swarley, and most importantly, for Mia. Mia, who is fearless when it comes to dogs, a feeling which is not always reciprocated.

Within minutes of meeting this tiny little guy, Mia declared that she loved him, and that he was her best friend. He licked her face, sat on her (tiny) lap without hesitation, and was just overall incredibly sweet. The woman who had him seemed really attached, so I asked her what she wanted to do. I told her that I liked him, and our only obstacle was to make sure he got along with our Swarley. If she wanted us to go home tonight, we'd bring Swarley back the next day if she wanted to make sure everything was fine before she handed him off. She told us to take him right then, if we wanted to. If we wanted to think about it, I could call her the next day. If things weren't working with our other dog, then please do call her and she'd take him back and keep looking for a permanent home for him. I took him in my arms, we stopped by PetCo on the way home, purchased a collar, and brought him home.

He was a little standoffish of Swarley at first, probably because of his initial experience with a bigger dog, but within minutes, everything seemed completely fine. More than fine, really. Swarley was happy, he was excited, and animated. He had never seemed happier, actually.

A few hours later, we had named him. Roscoe. It is the name I wanted to name Swarley, but I gave in to B's preference (because he had given in to my preference for Swarley over another dog at the shelter that he preferred). Fair's fair. Plus, it was my birthday. So my name choice trumps.

Later that night, he jumped on our bed about a trillion times. Enough times to make us give up and let him -- we are not let your dog sleep in the bed people, so it looks like we'll at least have something to work on!

2 Week Update - with pictures!

It's been two weeks. I'm not sure how that happened, but there it went anyway. We've done a lot in the past two weeks, and not much of it was done in front of a computer, so that could be part of the reason.

Two weekends ago, we took a nice trip to L.A! More specifically, we were in Santa Monica. We left early Saturday morning, to get in around lunchtime on Saturday, and took an unfortunate 7 hours to get home, but LA to Vegas traffic is no joke, especially during a holiday week. It was really fun, though. We checked out Shop House, the new Asian restaurant by the Chipotle folks. My opinion: definitely delicious, but, like Chipotle, will take a few visits to figure out the right combination. We spent an evening at the Santa Monica Pier. The girls rode the ferris wheel - the boys were too chicken. The boys played some games and won a couple of the very small stuffed animals. One went to Mia, the other, to their own baby (a yorkiepoo).

I took Monday off, so it was a quick 1 and a half day work week for me (our office closed at 1pm on Wednesday), and then, a nice few days away. I spent Wednesday afternoon at the grocery store, Wednesday night prepping, and Thursday morning cooking pumpkin pie, scalloped potatoes, and mini hotdogs. We spent thanksgiving with Brian's co-worker and her family and had a lovely time.

A kids table! It was excellent - not having to fuss over whether she was eating or not! And she did! Eat!

 The rest of the weekend, I obsessively made earrings for the Etsy Shop. I decided to try my hand at some earrings, and once I got started, I just couldn't stop. Twice my budget later, and I've made about 25. I know what I'm giving the daycare ladies!

Promptly the day after thanksgiving, I went through the Christmas boxes and everything was up by Saturday night! Including our newest addition, Pippin the Elf on the Shelf.

Lastly, and sorry to end on sad note, but we said goodbye to our Chloe last Friday. If you'll remember, I had posted a while ago about Chloe being on her last leg. Well, almost a year and a half later, and it was true. She started having some blood in her urine and wincing when her abdomen was touched. And most alarmingly for our little glutton, she stopped eating. So, it was time.

Goodbye, Chloe. We miss you, but as we explained to Mia, you went away to rest.

The Secret Life of Dogs

One of the most common first steps in a tending-towards-serious-relationship is the aquisition of a common pet, most often after moving in together, but before marriage. Or, after marriage as a band-aid on the kids question.

For B and I, it was after moving in together, a couple months before our engagement. It was a natural step. We both loved dogs, we both grew up in houses with two dogs. I already had Chloe, my cranky beagle. [She is doing absolutely great, by the way. When we moved into the new house, we also moved far away from our Vet, so we went a couple weeks without refilling her meds, and lo, she regained so much energy and spunk, we decided the meds were doing more harm than good, so she's off them and doing swimmingly. We may inadvertently be shortening her life span, but honestly, her life is 150% better now than it was while she was on her meds, so there's a lot to be said there.]

Even while I was pregnant, the dogs I doted on took a big backseat. Towards the last few months of my pregnancy, I banned them from the couch, then once Mia was born, I banned them from the living room area all together, and now, in the new house, they are banned from the upstairs completely, and no longer sleep in the same room as we do. I am pretty sure I used to call Swarley my little baby, and now, he is definitely down-graded to the status of pet. I think it's allowed, and inevitable for any new parent. I may be worse than others with this, and I do think I am going to come around and include them in my evening couch-time again, once my baby no longer wants to sit next to or on top of me at all times during her waking hours. At least I hope so, for my poor Swarley's sake. Usually, his sad little face when I turn down his offer of couch-snuggling makes me feel awfully guilty. But, not yesterday, since I came home to this:

 Mia learns to say "Oh my God!" and continuously repeated it throughout the clean up process. It took: a broom, a vacuum, and a swiffer wet jet to clean this up. Not a job to just leave to my Roomba. 

The flour was not limited to the kitchen, as you may imagine, since they trekked the flour on their little grubby paws. It was on the living room rug, the entrance rug, and of course, in the backyard.

Snout covered in flour paste, GUILTY AS CHARGED.

Please explain to me what it is a dog might find appealing about tearing apart and eating a big bag of flour? Of course, this is a-typical. They are generally lovely dogs and our household is totally manageable, normally. But last night, I cursed the day we decided to add a second dog to our brood. Whenever it is that Chloe kicks the bucket (Answer: never. She is the most fiery beagle of all time and will never leave us.) a second dog will not be added to this family again until ALL THE CHILDREN are made and grown and wipe their own butts.

Frustrating Sunday

Lately, I've been seriously neglecting my apartment. I've been letting clean laundry stack up unfolded, I've been piling things on the guest bed rather than putting them away, I've been letting my dining table get full of jewelry-making and knitting clutter. Sunday, after being surprised by a trail of ants coming from my laundry room and invading my kitchen and Mia's daycare backpack, enough was enough.

Despite having been awoke before 6am by Mia, who refused to go back to sleep, B offered me a 5 hour energy that some reps had dropped off at the Bank. I popped that little bottle (my first 5 hour energy) and seriously felt a burst of energy 10 minutes later. It was kind of impressive, actually. Four hours into my energy burst, and I had vacuumed every corner of my apartment, scrubbed my couch cushions with oxy-clean, killed all the ants I could find with a vinergar and water mixture, put all picture frames that had a hook on the back up onto the wall to declutter our bookshelves and entertainment center, dusted said bookshelves and entertainment center and rearranged a few small pieces of furniture. Our main living area looked awesome, save the remaining jewelry-making tools on the dining table.

I really wanted to move on to our bedroom, but as soon as I glanced around to see what I could get rid of or rearrange,  all I could do rule out all the game plans I came up with. I threw my hands up and gave up. Also, my five hours were up. Our bedroom, which should be a serene and restful place for B and I to relax at the end of the day instead became a repository for furniture that has nowhere else to live. In addition to our bed and our two dressers, we also have an enormous dog crate and a desk. The dog crate has to stay around as long as Chloe is around (Did I really just type something so crass?), since she's still likely to urinate all over our carpets when we aren't at home, or when we're sleeping. We will not throw out the desk since it is a nicer piece of IKEA (oximoron?) furniture, which we bought in Chicago back when we had a guestroom that did not double as a nursery. Unfortunately, we do not have any kind of storage where to move said desk, or to put the huge dog crate in favor of a more beagle-size dog crate. Our bedroom has a large walk-in closet, but it is already full of who knows what. We toyed with the idea of getting a garage that our apartment complex rents out, but that is an extra $100 a month that we do not have in the budget.

So, I reach the same conclusion writing this out as I did when I collapsed on the couch on Sunday evening (woozy from the 5 hour energy, by the way): We have to move. I am currently hating our apartment complex manager who somehow sold us on some bullshit that there were no more 6 month leases available, making us sign an 8 month lease. So instead of the end of September, we're stuck here until the end of November.

Let me end on a more positive note. Tomorrow's my Birthday! Because of some AT&T activation stuff, I got my iPhone upgrade a couple of days early (from a very slow 3GS to a 4S -- Siri is mispronouncing my real name, so I just asked her to call me Frenchie!) and it's really pretty. Also, this:

At least the Bachelorette is on tonight!

Senior Pet Worries

My Dad and I got our first dog when I was just around 1, in the Philippines, where dogs did not have the same status as they have always had in the Western world. There are tons of baby pictures of me smiling delightedly with Snoopy, a mutt that looked somewhat like a Basenji. When we moved to Thailand, he lived with my Uncle, but always recognized us when we came to visit.

Since then, I've always either had a dog, or desperately wanted a dog. Just a couple of years after getting our next dog, Mitsy, my family became a two-dog household, bringing in Chloe the Beagle. After Mitsy passed away, we immediately adopted Swarley.

Now, Chloe is turning 14 next month. She's been sick since she was 10. She has Cushing's disease, which means that she has a tumor on her pituitary gland that causes her to produce too much adrenal hormone (this is probably totally wrong -- she's got a tumor on some gland that causes too much of some hormone). Basically, it means that she makes a whole lot of urine and there's something wrong with her liver. She drinks tons of water and pees a lot. She takes very expensive medication that costs us over $60 to refill, and we've been filling it for four years. We get funny looks at Walmart, because who would spend this much on medication for their dog. I ask you, who wouldn't? If you dog will DIE without it, you will find the $60 somewhere. She started out on a small dose of the medication, so that $60 refill used to last three months, but now has to be refilled more and more often.

We know that her current dose is probably no longer strong enough, because her urine production has increased, a lot. She's become somewhat incontinent. Sometimes, we've noticed that she's sleeping in a wet bed - because she just couldn't hold it. We try to be as diligent as possible, taking her out as regularly as possible when we're home with her. But now, that isn't enough.

We don't really know what to do. Taking her to the vet means doing a re-evaluation test of her current dosage. That test costs upwards of $500. We feel like awful people, but we're not sure that spending that much on a 14 year old dog is worth it. How much time could she really have left? And what if that test doesn't determine anything? We'll have spent that $500 for more of the same, more waiting and wondering what to do next.

We know that she still has a couple months in her. She can't control her urine, that's true, but that seems like a bad, lazy reason to make the decision. Other than that, she doesn't seem to be in any pain. She's grumpy, but she's been grumpy since before her Cushing's diagnosis, and well before she even hit double age digits. She's not interested in much, she sleeps, she eats, she sniffs around. It's tough though, having a pet that is becoming ancient. What's worse is that often times, B and I resent her. Resent her for having to constantly clean up after her. I do dog laundry more often than baby laundry! When we renewed our lease, they told us to call and schedule our carpet cleaning. I silently told myself that I would wait until... well, until they won't immediately be stained by our incontinent dog.

The issue at this point is how do you know when you're supposed to make the decision? When we made the decision for Mitsy, we were way too late. She was already so far gone, that I can't believe we waited that long. I very consciously do not want to make that same mistake. We did too much to try to help, too much to extend what was obviously already an uncomfortable life. But Mitsy's degeneration was quick. She lost the use of her back limbs, and we had time then. Time to take her to physical therapy, to walk her around the neighborhood in her sling. So far, the only real issue Chloe is having is that she can't hold her pee. She's showing signs of old age, of weakness, of grumpiness, but those aren't factors in my mind. Maybe sometime those will become issues, but right now, it feels like we're in a terrible state of limbo. Knowing that there isn't progress to be made, but knowing that we aren't at place where we can make any decisions. And the toughest part is trying to know when it's too early, and when it's too late.

The doggie loves of your life.

I started this post forever ago and just had the time to finish it up this afternoon:

Juliet posted on facebook that the Capulet/Montague family is considering getting a dog. I wrote an inordinately long response for facebook standards, and was inspired to write more on the topic. I shared the story of Chloe the Beagle a while ago, but I can't shut up about how much a dog can add to your life.

Chloe and Mitsy, the two family dogs.

When my parents had left for China in January of 2009, they left Mitsy, our 15 year old family dog with us for her last few months. A few weeks into her stay with us, I brought her to my Vet that I loved, and she did some x-rays and figured out that Mitsy had been misdiagnosed by my parents' Vet and was getting progressively worse. They thought she had arthritis in her hips, but it turned out that she had a degenerative spinal condition. She had arthritis all right, but it was in her spine, which was damaging the nerves and basically making her slowly lose control of her back half. B and I had spent the past few months carting Mitsy to her doggie physical therapy appointments, buying all sorts of rehab equipment, etc. We were happy to do it, so long as it seemed to be making her better. She was still a happy dog, despite having trouble moving her back legs. In the apartment, it wasn't a problem. She could walk short distances on her own, and she was content spending most of the day on her bed, keeping watch over her beloved tennis ball.

Mitsy seriously was the love of my family's life. My parents "bribed" my brother and I into being excited to leave Bangkok by promising that we would get a dog. I was 12, and he was 9. We adopted her no less than a week after we touched down in Quebec. We had initially planned on buying a Beagle puppy, but my Dad suggested we stop by the shelter to check out whether there were any dogs there we'd like. Mitsy was already a year old, and unlike the rest of the dogs, was just hanging out in the SPCA office. My brother and I were reluctant, we wanted a puppy! But, the administrator there told us to just take her home for a few days, that she was a great dog for a family with active children, and if we still wanted that puppy, that we could bring her back after a week. RIGHT. Mitsy instantly became part of the family. She got us all of us out into the mounds of snow for hours a day, which was no easy feat for a couple of kids from the tropics. I wish I had some pictures of us in the snow to share with you guys, but alas, this was in pre-digital camera days. Mitsy moved from Quebec with us to Chicago, and then went back again when my parents moved to Montreal, while Chloe stayed with me.

B's family was also very much a dog family. They had two golden retrievers who passed away within months of each other, the first just before we started dating, and the second just after. Mitsy's last few months were really hard on us. On me because this was my beloved family dog, who amazingly was 15 years old. On B because this was the 3rd dog in a row he had to watch in its last days. Once the therapies stopped working, our Vet told us it was time to make a decision. I looked into one last option, a doggie wheelchair, but we lived on the second floor, in a 900 square foot condo with narrow walkways, so it just wasn't feasible. It was a hard decision to make, knowing that I was the only person in Mitsy's family of four to know that it was the right time.

The few days after were hard. I never knew that losing a pet could be so hard. Plus, B was working but I hadn't found anything yet, so the apartment seemed so empty. My days had previously been filled with caring for Mitsy, carrying her down the stairs, walking patiently next to her as we went up and down the block. On B's next day off, I insisted we "visit" a shelter. I wanted to look at the puppies, watch them wrestle with each other with so much energy and unbridled joy. There was a dedicated puppy room, where a bunch of 6-week old black lab mixes were biting each other's ears and generally having a great time. They were adorable, but none of them spoke to us. We went around to visit the rest of the dogs, and saw a scruffy looking brown dog, labelled "Sleepy" and described as a German Shepherd/Lab mix. I immediately hesitated, we didn't have room for a big dog. The volunteer who had been taking us around told us his story. He was one of seven puppies, all named after the seven dwarves. He and his siblings all came in with Parvo (which is a super contagious disease in dogs), and four out of the seven had died. Sleepy had taken longer than his two surviving siblings to recover, so he hadn't been available for adoption during the prime puppy age. Sleepy was already four months old. Once we learned his story, B and I decided to at least go into his room and check him out. We sat on the floor next to him, he climbed (sleepily) into B's lap and snuggled up. Plus, he had a beard!

At that point, there was another dog - a 10 month old female basenji mix - still in the running. We went home to pick Chloe up, because the shelther required that she meet any dog that we were going to take home that day. Chloe hates other dogs, so we were pretty nervous about this part. She met the basenji mix and was not a fan. She growled, the basenji mix growled. It was not a good fit, and the volunteer took that poor dog away. They brought Sleepy in, and Chloe neither growled nor tried to attack him. We have a winner!

So, Sleepy came home with us. We changed his name to Swarley, and he brought so much joy into our house. I realized that we needed the puppy energy back in our home to brighten it up again after the darkness of Mitsy's last few months. I never saw Swarley as a replacement, but Mitsy's passing opened up a spot in our house and in our hearts to rescue another dog in need. Swarley is a bundle of joy, happiness and energy. I spent my unemployed days taking him to puppy classes, house training him, and putting him down for naps.

Well, their German Shepherd/Lab mix turned out to be a Cairn Terrier/Lab Mix, topping out at an ideal 35 pounds.

Mia is lucky to have a built in best friend. At six months, she already appreciates him. She tries to reach out for him everytime he walks by, and her first giggles came when she was on B's lap and I was playing with Swarley on the floor. Although Swarley didn't understand her at the beginning, now that she's interactive, he loves her. He sits right next to her playmat when she's on the floor (not on the mat, of course! He knows) and watches her as she plays with her stuffed animals (longing to run off with them, but restraining himself). Sometimes, we think about how Swarley's passing will happen when Mia is between 10-13, and how difficult that is going to be for her. But, we'll explain the same thing to her as I learned with Mitsy's passing, and let her know that now, we'll have room to rescue and love another dog in need.

Chloe the Beagle's tragic story

That's right, it's Mommy and the Sin City's first guest blog post. So, take it away Chloe:

Hi everyone! Remember me? It's me, Chloe! Yup, you remember. I'm the one that you all used to fawn over. I'm still here. And I'm still adorable, but I've gotta tell you, things have taken a turn for the worse over here in Sin City. Let me tell you my story...


I started out in a sad little pet shop on Ashland. All my brothers and sisters were meek and quiet, but not me! I barked and barked. How else is anyone going to notice how much better I am then the rest? Apparently most of the shop's patrons were idiots, because they kept on picking the quiet ones. The shop owners made an extra special sign over my crate, which said "50% off!" in big red letters, because sometimes, you have to make it clear which puppies are the best. Finally, this 15 year old Girl picked me and I went home with a family.

It was a good start. I had two teenagers, two adults, an older sister and a backyard. We all lived in a nice house with nice wood floors (perfect to pee on!). Everyone came to visit me because I was so soft and cute. My big sister was always trying to tell me what to do, but she was a Golden Retriever, and what do they know? I did what I wanted! I liked her though, my big sis. She always gave me her left overs. After a few years, things started to change.

My teenagers grew up and left the house. Then, my Girl came back from where ever she was for four years, and took me away from my big sister and my adults. At first, I was pissed, but soon, I realized that she needed me! How could I stay with the adults when someone had to take care of my Girl? Poor Girl, she was left behind. I had to be strong. I spent lots of time her. She always wanted someone to sit with her on the couch, or sit at her feet when she was at our table. I took her on walks, I took her to the beach, what more could I have done for her? I was so important to her, I even had to go on airplanes with her. My adults and my big sis came to visit a few times, and sometimes we went to see them at their new place. I took good care of her, we made a great team.

Then, this Guy started coming around and kicked me out of my bed. It's cool though, one less thing I needed to do. I like the floor better anyway. He brought a bunch of things into our house, and he was kind of a pain in the ass. He was always trying to play with me! No way buddy, I'm a Beagle. I am too good for those dog toys you're throwing around. Clearly, he'd never had a Beagle before. He was probably used to those other kinds of dogs, like Golden Retrievers, those suckers. She started wearing something shiny on her finger, and I think she was happy. It turned out, his lap was pretty comfortable, too.

Anyway, it turned out that this Guy needed me too. He probably didn't have anywhere else to go, the poor Guy. So, I started taking care of him too. I took them both on long walks by the lake, to the beach, and we even went on road trips! I sat on my Girl's lap, or at her feet, while he drove me around in the car. We went and visited my adults and my big sis. We went around to other people's houses, I think they were my Guy's people, because they all talked real loud, like him. They were all wanting to pet me all the time, telling me how cute I was. But, I put up with it. They were cool.

Then, one day, we went on a car ride and stopped at this place with lots of cats and dogs. They brought this little dope of a puppy around to meet me, and he was so annoying. He looked so scruffy and had a beard, and I don't know why everyone thought he was so cute. Hello, everyone knows that a smooth coated dog is superior. I don't know what this puppy's deal was, but he would not stop following us around, and he came all the way back into my car and then into my house.

They called him "Swarley". What kind of name is that? That's not even a real name. My Girl even set up a second bed on the floor, like he was staying! Man, I was pissed. He was always bugging me, and bugging my Girl and my Guy. Always asking to go out and to be taken care of. I don't think they knew that he was the kind of dog that needed taking care of, one of those Retriever types. They even let him come up on my couch. We still went out on long walks and the beach, but he took up so much of their time, it just wasn't the same. I guess he got better eventually, but he did have the nerve to get bigger than me. Don't worry though, I'm way tougher. This kid needs me.

The one day, my Girl started getting fat. Like, really fat. She didn't want to go on long walks anymore. We went on a long road trip and now, I don't need boots or a coat in the winter, but sometimes, it gets really hot. I wasn't too mad at her though, I didn't feel like going on long walks anymore either. One day, she went away for 3 days. I didn't know what happened to her, and I had to take care of Swarley. Everyone was always out of the house and my Guy only came by for a few hours a day. Then she came back. But she wasn't alone...

You guessed it. It was a Tiny Human. I had heard about these at the dog park. Those other dogs warned us this might happen soon, but I never believed them. It cried. All the time. My Girl's always holding it and kissing it. And me? I'm not allowed on the couch. I'm not allowed on the bed. Those other people, they're always asking about that Tiny Human. Nobody asks about me anymore. What's the big deal? The Tiny Human doesn't even have any soft fur to pet like I do. Even Swarley has better fur than the Tiny Human.

Sure, my Guy still takes us on walks. Sure, sometimes she still needs me on her lap, but only when the Tiny Human sleeps. Yeah, alright, I still get food, and water, a warm house, a soft bed, but it's not the same.  My Girl promises we'll go to the park again when the Tiny Human gets a little bigger, but I'll believe that when I see it. Sometimes, that Tiny Human watches me and Swarley run around and she laughs. And I guess that's kind of nice. But I'm still mad.

So guess what? I'll pee on your floor. That'll show you.