The (Dog) Walking Undead

We're back into the swing of things at school after the winter break, and I already feel buried under a ton of homework after the first three weeks.  The second years in the Vet Tech program told us that first semester was the "easy" semester and boy, they weren't kidding!  Round two is kicking my ass. I'll get home and go right to bed (goodbye social life), or fret over homework before giving up and sobbing in a corner of the closet clutching a nibbled stick of butter in each hand.  Ah, college!

Anyhow, this week is all about sleep deprivation, as I am on a husbandry rotation for school.  There is a fully functional kennel and clinic/surgery in our vet building, and we students take turns caring for and helping to treat the animals that come to the school from a nearby shelter (not the one I work in).  They are examined, treated, neutered/spayed, and sent back to be adopted.  So the shelter gets some help, and we get to learn how to do all things veterinary.  Sweet deal.

Except for the husbandry hours.  For four days now, I have arrived at school at 6am to walk dogs in the bitter cold. We walk them, help out with feeding, cleaning and treatments, then walk dogs again.  This takes about 2 hours. We have to be back again at noon for another pooch parade, then again at 5pm for a repeat of the morning's activities.  Sometimes I'll go home in between, but staying at school the whole time is handy for homework catch-up.  Like I said, this is the fourth day and I feel like a zombie. A zombie stumbling through the snow behind a bouncy dog who would run the whole way if she could!

These pups get five walks a day, which is awesome.  Anything to break up the stress and boredom of kennel life.  I feel bad though, because I don't even get up for 6am to walk my OWN dogs, let alone walk them 5 times a day.  The sense of devastation radiating off my two goofs when I get ready to leave to walk other dogs is palpable.  The air around them throbs with sadness. And when I arrive home 13 hours later, I'm too tired to play with them properly. "C'mere gih mummy 'nuggles" and vague gestures resembling petting motions from the couch are about all I can manage.

Just don't tell Gryphon and Bruin I've been walking another brindle. Shhhh!

This is Schenley, and she is all kinds of awesome.  If I wasn't full up on brindles...

I'm sitting at school right now waiting for five o'clock to roll around so we can go out walking again. Today is the last day of my rotation, and I'm actually looking forward to being able to sleep in for two extra hours in the morning. In fact, I think the lack of sleep is starting to affect me badly...

Last night the Manfriend picked me up and we stopped off at the grocery store on the way home. I wandered away from him at one point and got lost, stumbling around tiredly and muttering to myself about salsa and acne cream.  He finally found me roaming the aisles, tightly hugging a package of goat cheese and a couple of bags of nachos.

I can't wait to go to bed.

The Cat Who Wasn't There

Of our raggle-taggle band of felines, only one of them was "on purpose".  The manfriend and I decided on adopting a kitten one snowy February day and trotted on down to the Humane Society (I wasn't working there at the time) to find only two kittens ready for homes (I have since learned that because mom cats can bring themselves into heat when conditions are best for them, most kittens come to be in the summer months).  The one kitten chomped his way out of our hands, while the other one perched shyly in our arms and purred.  So home came Marley...

Marley turned three this year, and is quite friendly to us, but a high and mighty cow to most other people.  Female cats. Yeesh.

Marley was our only "planned" cat adoption. The story of the Stubcat you already know; I want to tell you about our third puss: The Invisible Cat.

As a new-ish employee of a Humane Society, I was doing my best not to fall in love with everything that came through the door.  It's a good skill to develop in there, or your heart will be constantly broken (or you'll be some crazy old hoarder with 500 cats).  Anyhow, I was doing well in that regard, until I walked into the Observation Room one day and saw...

...this!  A boggle-eyed chub of a kitten who was in quarantine for biting or scratching the person who found her and pulled her out of construction site rubble to bring her in.  Any animal who bites or scratches to draw blood (on purpose or by accident) needs to be quarantined for ten days for rabies.  I'd find odd moments to duck in and visit this little cutie, who would stare at me upside down from her shelf with her big saucer eyes and mew.  The whole building was stuffed with cute cats, but this one...well...there was something about this one.

After her ten days were up with no signs of frothing at the mouth Cujo-style, she was moved to the Stray Room and had a big fat FOSTER sign slapped on her card.  And the die was cast...

I was fostering two other kittens at the time; two gray tabby siblings who had come down with URI (aka the sniffles), and it took a bit of shuffling to keep everyone separate.

The newcomer, dubbed "Panda" due to her resemblance to the chubbular-shaped Kung Fu Panda, had problems of her own; namely, coccidia protozoa nibbling away at her small intestine and making her litter box offerings quite swampy.  Once the grays (Mika and Milo) stopped sneezing, and Panda's plumbing was fixed, they were all overjoyed to mingle.

I loved them all, but something about that big-headed brown tabby...

It's an all too sad reality that cute kittens grow awfully quickly. The same was true of my little trio, and in what seemed like no time, they were due to go back to the shelter to be fixed and then put up for adoption.

Wherever Milo and Mika ended up, I hope that they are spoiled and happy. As for Panda, I only have to look down to see how she's doing...

So this is supposed to be the part where I make reference to "happily ever after" and so on. Not quite so.

Panda is...odd.  She was a super shy kitten, and me being (at the time) a super-n00b-foster-mum, didn't realize that you have to snuggle the shite out of the shy ones to make them friendly.  People who have come over several times are astounded to learn that we have three cats.  Visitors scare the bejeebus out of her, and she can usually be found wedged under the bed or crouching at the back of the closet when people come over.  She hangs out with me, barely tolerates the Manfriend, and loves other cats, dogs, and especially new foster kittens.

She hates being picked up.

Tolerates minimal petting before hightailing it out of there.

Has NEVER sat on my lap.

Runs at the least inclination of attention on our parts.

Not exactly the ideal cat, eh? And yet, that something that made me bring her home as a foster attracts me to her today.  She is adorable, with big big big eyes, a tiny disapproving mouth and chubby body.

Stubs and Chubs (Heh. Thanks, Ian!)

She loves to play with toys, as long as you aren't pushy about it; you need to entice her to chase balls or string.  She's an amazing help with new foster kittens, as she will wrestle with them and sit with them for hours.  She loves to play with our cats and even rubs against the dogs.  It's just people that scare her. A lot.

She likes me best, but if I pick her up (if I can catch her, that is), she goes tense with fear, and struggles wildly to escape.  I'm not sure what she thinks I'm going to do to her, but she is convinced she doesn't want any part of it. Perhaps I'm not helping her fears, but I leave her alone. Let her do her own thing, and try my best to love her despite her invisibility.

As a reward for not pushing too hard, she hangs around me a lot, and mews and purrs and rolls around while kneading the nearest surface.  When utterly delighted, she'll jump up and headbutt the wall quite loudly and repeatedly. She likes to be talked to, and will "chat" back.  At night, she may sneak onto the bed and I'll wake up to her curled up against my legs.  She loves to be close by, but one wrong move and she's gone.

Maybe not the ideal cat, but she's my girl, and I love her.

From All of Us...

...from us two-leggers and four-leggers at The BB, Happy New Year!

The Words We Cannot Say...

Recently a friend was over and we were chatting; you know, as you do...

Her: It was a really great trip. We got to take a long walk....uh...your eyes just bugged out of your head. Are you okay?

Me: Don'tsaythatWORD!

Her: What? Walk? WALK? What's wrong with wa-

(Cut to me tackling her and clapping both hands over her mouth)

Me: *hissing through my teeth* Oh, god! What have you done! We don't SAY that word around here. Maybe it's not too late...

It was too late.

Both dogs, who had been snoozing at our feet, suddenly snapped to attention and raced for the door in a tangle of galloping limbs and whining screams. Gryphon (the old dog) began to yodel like a wookie (I shit you not, he sounds exactly like one) and spin in circles, while Bruin (young dog) ran back and forth between the door and the couch in total hysterics, complete with eyes pointing in different directions. 

There's nothing like the W-word to reduce my brindle boys into complete gibbering loonies.  We do our best to avoid the word altogether, or to spell it if absolutely necessary.  I'll catch myself asking people at school if they want to "you-know-what to the cafeteria", that's how ingrained NOT saying the W-word is to us!

We also don't say "park" unless we really reeeally mean it (ie. on our way out the door with our shoes and coats already on).  We've learned that even talking about the dog park with the dogs on another floor is a recipe for disaster. They develop super sonic hearing and come thundering up the stairs in a frenzy.  Deciding whether or not to go to the park must be done in code. Asking if one wants to go to "the DP" produced way too much immature giggling, so terms like "snog mark" and "clog spark" had to be invented. 

Other things that cannot be said unless you're ready to follow through include:

Gotta go outside?
Cookie?
Do you have to peepee?

Failing to deliver on these comments leads to frantic running on the spot, whimpering, spinning in circles, and other canine hysterics. 

For "dumb" animals, they (unfortunately) have a good handle on the English language!

Fun with Photobucket

I used up all my wordiness in the previous post, so without further ado...

 

 

All I want for Christmas...is earplugs...

There are many luxuries denied a person with six pets.  Travel is one, although where we would GO with all of our non-money is beyond me. Wearing socks that don't have a layer of fur on the bottom is another; ditto savoring a morning cup of coffee that DOESN'T have a dog hair floating in it.  Oh! And what I wouldn't give to go to the bathroom and not have a little crowd worriedly waiting outside the door to greet me when I emerge.

The thing I miss the most, however, is a really good night's sleep.  I'd send them all to a boarding kennel just for one night of unbroken slumber. Ahhhhh.

Nighttime brings out the worst in our cats.  During the day they are lazy and docile, and earn their keep by weighing down the couches and computer chairs, lest they float away.  It seems like gravity hits them extra hard, even pulling their eyelids to half-mast. The life of the housecat is a taxing one, indeed.

 Once the lights go out and we leave them upstairs, however, all Hell breaks loose.  They shake off gravity completely and decide that the only way to celebrate their newfound agility is by racing laps and engaging in WWF style wrestling matches. The manfriend and I lie in bed, wincing as various objects crash to the floor overhead; we try to reassure each other that each thing that fell wasn't that important.

"It's okay, it sounds like it was just the broom that fell over." *CRASH*  *TINKLE*
"Was that GLASS?!" *BOOOOOM*
"No, it's probably...uh, hmmm. You should probably go check."  *THUD*
"No, they're your cats, you go check!" *RATTLERATTLETHUNK*

And the argument goes on in this vein for up to 15 minutes.  Cutting into valuable sleep time!

Anyhow, when the cats aren't trashing the place and thundering around overhead like a trio of fuzzy rhinos, they are jumping on the bed and sleeping on our legs and heads.  The Stubcat has a nightly ritual of awkwardly climbing onto my feet while I'm lying in bed, then walking slowly up my whole body like an inebriated gymnast on a balance beam. She perches on my back and purrs with her whole body and soul. It's LOUD.  She'll often fall off (balance isn't a strong suit of the Stubcat), get her claws stuck in the blankets in the process and wake me up while she tugs herself free.  Marley favors sleeping on the dresser, and can often be found asleep in the manfriend's pants.  Panda sneaks onto the bed while I'm asleep and I'll wake up with my legs splayed in the most vulgar and uncomfortable position to accommodate her sleeping spot.

Locking the cats out of the bedroom is not an option, as the Stubcat will raise holy hell at the closed door; waowwwwing and scritch-scratching until she gains admittance.  We thought it was cute the first time she did it:

"Awww, she loves us!"

It's a good thing we don't have kids, because we would be the absolute worst parents.

The dogs have their own beds in our room; getting them onto the beds and asleep is a trial unto itself.  There is a lot of standing at the sides of the bed with big sad eyes and cold noses nudging our cheeks until we can convince both dogs that there isn't enough room for ALL of us on the bed.  They remain unconvinced, because they try it every night.

It takes explaining, cajoling, and finally threatening to get them on their beds.  The rebellion doesn't end there!  Bruin loudly licks his legs and butthole all night, and Gryphon smacks his lips repeatedly until I want to scream. Sleep is impossible...

Okay, here we go. Drifting off to sleep, yesssss. Dream of Johnny Depp wearing a rainbow and shaving a walrus incoming...

*Lick lick liiiiiiiiiick*   *Myup myup myup*  *Whistling dog faaaaaart*

What's that, Johnny? You want me to join you in Rainbowland at the Walrus Valley Ranch? Oh, my! Where are my clothes? What's that? I can't quite hear --

*MEEEEEE-YUP*   *Sluuuuuuuuurp*   *Licklicklicklick*

Johnny? Come back!

*Cat begins an arduous trip up my legs and anchors herself on my back*    *PURRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

Bang. I'm awake. And super pissed. I don't dare open my eyes though. Even in the dark, Bruin will take this motion as OMG EYE CONTACT/PERMISSION TO COME ON THE BED and will leap onto the bed in a flail of limbs to stand excitedly on my face. Seconds later I'll see a pathetic shine of eyes in the dark next to my head: it's Gryphon, reproaching me for letting Bruin on the bed and not him.   Whimpering ensues.

Remember that ferret I said I had? Well, he's not to be forgotten, even upstairs safely locked in his cage.  He has, of all things, a crackle sack. AND a crackle tunnel.  They can be heard around the block.  In case you didn't know, night time is PRIME crackle sack playtime. Ask any ferret. 

To sleep. Perchance to <crackle crackle crackle>...oh, forget it.

Anyone have that kennel number handy?

Exam Week Heck

I'm writing a veritable buttload of exams this week, so I haven't had a chance to sit down and write for funsies.

To tide you over, here is an accurate diagram of what is currently going on in YOUR dog's small intestine!

Aaaaaand here's the diabolical Dioctophyma renale.