Advice On Introducing A Kitten To Our Rambunctious Pooch?

The sky is gray, and the clouds threaten more snow with their swiftly moving swirl pressing down on the world below.  We had a beautiful snowfall last night, with flakes the size of golf balls coming down at one point while I was standing on our front porch with the pooch during a yard visit.

It was a bit on the warmer side, though, yesterday, and the accumulation is on the spare side of an inch, if that.

The birds have swamped our large feeder outside the sun room, and the two smaller mesh hoppers on either side are really earning their name this morning as well.  It is a seedy, feeding frenzy.

It is good to be inside and snug.  This morning, I am especially grateful that we brought the new kitty inside, for it has warmed up to 13 degrees at this point, and it would have been a wretched night outside.

Instead, "Sheldon" (his name at the moment and likely to stay that way -- guess which girlie is a Big Bang Theory fan?) got to snuggle on top of The Peanut's bed, nestled and sleeping on her cozy blankets and come up to chirrup for scratches periodically in the night.

It is love at first sight for the both of them, and we couldn't be more thrilled. 

Everyone but Roxie, our westie, that is.

We are taking their introduction slowly.  At times, Roxie seems like she's accepted Sheldon, giving little licks through the kennel when we put them together.  Sheldon has been in the kennel around Roxie for his protection, and that way Roxie gets the run of the downstairs while still having Sheldon's scent be part of her day to day.  They are beginning to be more and more used to each other, and while Sheldon ignores her for the most part, Roxie is seriously curious and gets agitated and growly on occasion, wanting this new furry "thing" to play with and snuffle.

We put up a baby gate on the stairs and have allowed Sheldon free range up there.

Because the pooch can't get over the gate, it's a safe haven for him to stretch his legs.  So far, that is working out well, but we know that eventually they will be in the same space at the same time and that needs to work. Safely.

This weekend we are going to start face to face interaction, with Roxie on a leash inside for a while (held by me or Mr. ReddHedd, since she's submissive with both of us) in case Sheldon needs an immediate escape.  We think that is the safest way forward for Sheldon's sake.  Please, please, please let it go well:  that's where I am at the moment.

Why It Is Good To Be A Dog

This morning, I stumbled downstairs to make a cuppa coffee, after having gotten something like 12 hours of sleep.  I'm grumbly first thing in the morning, and even with the extra snoozing of late, am still very tired.

The moment my feet hit the stairs and it is clear that I am coming down, though?  Our dog, Roxie, begins her quiet keening demand to be let out of her kennel.

Once the door is released, she bounds forth, cheery as can be, tail wagging in a frenzy of greeting and joy.  Oh, happy day, she seems to say, my person has come downstairs to play with me and be with me.  This is the best day ever!

For Roxie, every single day that she is let out of the kennel to spend time with all of us is the best day ever.  And so, she has the best day ever pretty much all the time.

This is living in the moment at its finest.

Doggie Devotion: You Have To Laugh

Much to my dismay, and near constant need to collapse in a fit of giggles, our westie, Roxie, has decided that the cure for whatever ails me must be found in her sticking to me like glue.  She knows something is wrong, because I'm bandaged up, moving slowly and with occasional moans of pain, and sleeping a lot.

But her little dog brain cannot grok it any further than "must fix mom and guard her obsessively."

This morning, as I sit here in my desk chair typing away, she has repeatedly thrown herself at the sun room windows to ward off the scary birdies on the feeder so that they do not get too close to me inside the house, even though they cannot get in here through the windows and she knows it.  Then she began barking incessantly at the UPS truck as it trundled by on Main Street nowhere near our house.

Although, to be fair, she barks at the rumbly UPS truck that way every day, despite the extra helping of doggie lunacy in today's pitch and timbre.  Something in the sound of the truck's engine rattle drives her bonzer yo yo every single day.

Heaven help us if a squirrel shows up on the feeder this morning.    The coming of the four horsemen of the apocalypse would be nothing compared to "operation save hurt mom from the fiendish squirrel" lunacy, I can tell you that.

Who Nose?

Some days, the comedy of errors that is my day to day existence amazes even me.

I've seen a lot of crazy in my day, let me tell you.  But last night's adventure wins for random insanity, hand's down.

It was still early-ish -- about 9 pm -- but we were exhausted and headed up to bed.  The Peanut had long since been asleep.  Since she's been ill, we've been doing very early bedtime for her to try and help her little system fight back against the ick.  Being the parent of a sick child is exhausting, and I could, at this point, safely lay down and sleep for a month.

Or at least it feels that way.

However, something happened on the way to an early bedtime last night.  If it hadn't happened to me, but was some random fictional thing that I saw in a movie, I probably would have sympathized and then simultaneously laughed my ass off.

But it did happen to me.

Our westie, Roxie, was trying to jump up on our bed to lay down while we were reading and get some time with us before she went to her kennel in The Peanut's room to sleep for the night.  She's small for a westie, and a bit of a chunk due to the extra 8-year-old treat love and our lack of walks since my surgery, so she was having trouble making the leap up to our high bed.

So I bent down to help her up...just as she leapt upward with some serious force behind her spring.

And whammo!

Shaking Off The Morning Grumpies

YAWWWWWWWN...

We are at that point in the year when I start transitioning wake-up time from the summer-tastic, sleep-in version to the "sucks to be you" early bird school version.

While I am seriously one grumpy bugger this morning, The Peanut may be in a coma.  We just aren't sure yet, because her interaction thus far today has consisted of a series of grunts. 

This, of course, just confirms that my ritual week of torture prior to the start of school is a worthwhile exercise in mental adjustment.

For us, school starts next Wednesday.  What that means for me is this:  I haven't been able to get into the school building since the first week of July due to construction work on the floors and bathrooms, so the library is still a mess and I have scanty time to finish up.  My inner perfectionist may be having heart palpatations, but it is too early in the day to know for certain.

I'll need more coffee first.

Waaaaaaaaay more coffee.

Rest In Peace, Beloved P.J.

We lost our beloved, elderly dachshund, P.J., this morning.  She had been failing for some time now, and she passed away peacefully and quickly while cradled in my arms, which was a mercy and a blessing for all of us.

P.J. was the puppy of our first dachshund, Tasha -- one of five in Tasha's only litter of puppies -- and has been in our family for more than 15 years.  I was the first to hold her when she was born, and the last to hold her as she was passing.

It seems fitting, somehow, that life should have willed it to be so.

P.J. was a little ball of furry love from the moment she opened her little puppy eyes, all ears and tail and not much else to her skinny little wiener dog puppy self.  She was the runt of the litter, but kept coming over to sigh happily and snuggle into my lap for a nap, and thus it was truly she who chose us at the start of it all.  How could you not pick a dog who wanted to be yours so badly?

When we were going through all of our fertility hell, P.J. was always there with a nuzzle and a warm comforting lick when things were the most dark and difficult.  When we finally got pregnant, and then I almost miscarried with The Peanut at 2 months and was put on strict bed rest, P.J. laid on the bed with me all day long, napping when I napped, comforting when I cried, and loving me as much as she thought I needed it, curling up against my softly swelling belly to give me and the child within whatever comfort her tiny body could muster for us.

She was my rock through all of it, and I loved her fiercely for it.

Hooray!

I never thought I'd say these words in a happy tone, but "Hooray!  PJ has a bladder infection!"

Which means I didn't have to make a decision on end of life issues for her today, because she can most likely be treated with antibiotics.  So long as that really is all we are dealing with for her, that is, which we won't know for sure until we see how she does with the meds.

As things stand now, she's home and resting as comfortably as a nervous dog can when she's stuck in the kennel, has had to make an extended trip to the vet, and been made to take medicine.  We are to give her antibiotics and keep her resting as much as possible, and we'll re-evaluate how she's doing in a couple of days once the antibiotics have had time to kick into her system.

If she's improving, then we know this was our issue.  If not?  Then we'll have to see where we are from there.

Prayers For PJ

Our old girl is having a tough day.  We have an appointment with the vet tomorrow morning, but as of this evening she's begun to cough up bits of ick and does not look at all well.

I'm worried that she may not be coming back home tomorrow if this gets worse.  But I don't want her to suffer, either, just because I want her to stay with us.  So we won't keep her going if that's going to be the end result, we'll do what is best for her no matter what it means or how much it hurts us to have to do it.

Please say a little prayer or send some good thoughts for our old girl.  She sure needs them today.

Need Some Old Dog Advice

Meet PJ, our elderly dachshund.  Here she is doing what she does best -- napping, preferably in a sun spot or in front of a heater vent.

She is 14 and a half, and will be 15 in June, which is getting way up there for a teeny little doggie.  So we've reached the stage with her where things get a little creaky and start to fall apart, but for the most part she's still pretty alert and loving when she's awake (which is not so often -- beyond mealtime, I think she may be awake maybe half an hour a day max.)

We're having the carpet cleaned today because it is absolutely fouled by her inability to control her bladder.  And that's where the request for help and advice comes in this morning.

After it gets cleaned, I'd like to try and keep it that way for the most part.  We have one of those home carpet steamers, which we plan on trying to use as often as possible when we find the accidents.  But the thing is, we don't seem to find them all immediately.

In moving things around to clear every corner, nook and cranny for the cleaners, I found several accidents that I hadn't even known existed.  Ugh.

Worse, this morning as I've been picking up chew toys and last minute bits and pieces, I found two more wet spots that she's made just in the couple of hours we've been up and she's been out of her kennel.

I'm at my wit's end.

Spring Cleaning Begins

Coming home from the Artist's Way seminar meant a long drive on a day when I was already tired.  It was a long haul from Massachusetts to West Virginia, but well worth it given how desperately I was missing my family.

It has taken me a couple of days to get over the exhaustion, both physical from the drive and mental from everything Julia Cameron dredged out of me at the seminar.

What I wasn't prepared for upon my return was how much clutter could breed in my absence.  And, more importantly, how much that would really matter to me at a gut level after I got home from several days on my own.

Because it does.  The cluttered chaos matters a lot.  Turns out it drives me absolutely nutso right now.

And so?  I have spent the day tackling the worst of the clutter offenders downstairs, in preparation for Stanley Steamer to show up in the morning and give our carpets a thorough cleaning.   Because, believe me, they need it right now.

Our dachshund, PJ, will be 15 years old this coming June, and her bladder control just ain't what it used to be.  We try to keep up with clean-up as accidents occur, but we don't always find them immediately and as the weather warms up and the humidity begins to rise?  It's is becoming unbearable in here.

If anyone has suggestions on dealing with an old pooch and her disaster of a bladder, we'd love it.

Is There A Heaven For Goldfish?

The Peanut has a pair of ever-increasingly ginormous fantail goldfish.  It used to be three, but one took a ride on the porcelain expressway to heaven over a year ago after it passed away quietly in the night, leaving just the pair.

And now?  One of the remaining fish is ill.

As in gasping on the bottom of the tank, laying still and not able to really even move its fins or do much of anything besides look pitiful ill.

As in mom is going to have to dispatch the fish because she cannot stand to see it suffering any longer, but hasn't yet had the guts to say it out loud even though she knows it has to be soon and it will be awful for everyone when she does it.

I fear that today, we will be having a mercy ride on the porcelain expressway to save the other fish from catching whatever nasty ick this is.

And I am dreading it.

The Peanut has stood by watching as I've spent the last couple of days tweaking the tank water.  She's been carefully observing the fish and giving me up to the minute reports, and having the sniffles over whether or not there is a heaven for fishies, too. 

We've decided there is one, and that it has a mommy who is more obsessed with cleaning the fish tank.

Why, yes, I am feeling a little guilty about having put that off last week because I was busy with other things, why do you ask?

A Trimming Dilemma

Meet Roxie, The Peanut's doggie. 

She's sassy, loving and playful pretty much most of the time.

But yesterday?

She got a piece of...erm...poop stuck on the fur near her backside.  And she's wigged out about letting us take it off.

So much so that we are taking her in to the vet today to have them try and take care of it, because now it's gotten itself matted into the fur and is a mess.

She's terrified, for some weird reason, of anyone getting anywhere near her backside.  Including when we take her to the groomers to have her fur trimmed, to try and keep something like this from happening.  She just growls, whines, snaps, moves around to avoid you getting anywhere near her, you name it.  Poor pooch has been hunkering in her kennel for the last day, and is terrified to come out for fear we'll try to clean things off.

I've never seen a dog overreact to something like this -- and it has me stumped.

Any suggestions on prevention of this issue, or how to train her to be less terrified of getting cleaned up, would be most appreciated.

It Is To Laugh...

My day in a nutshell, from an e-mail I sent to Mr. ReddHedd earlier.

"Here's my day thus far:

While I was doing a load of dishes, Roxie (The Peanut's westie puppy) pooped all over the entry area rug.  And it was diarrhea.  Very smelly diarrhea -- right by the front door.  Oh joy.

Now she has poop mushed into her back end, but I can't get it off because she runs away howling every time I approach her.  Did I mention that I found it by stepping in it?  Of course I did.

Went out to the garage to take a couple of things over to the storage area.

Stepped in a large mass of cat barf.  Which was strung from the top of the landing in the family room all the way down to the door -- it's like Rascal (our cat) left a trail of ack just for me.  Merry Christmas. (I found this by stepping in it, too.  Of course I did.)

The Good News Is...

PJ is keeping water down this morning, and is resting comfortably under a blanket, cuddled up with The Peanut watching cartoons.

Huzzah.

Now, if we can keep some food down later in the day, we'll be in much better shape.

Looks like this was a stomach bug.  It's just tough to watch an old doggie go through it, because the snap back timeframe is a much, much longer window these days.

We are much more hopeful, though.  Last night was rocky.  Today looks much, much better at this point.  Thank goodness.

The Day All Dachshunds Dread

The dogs are certain that something bad is about to happen.

They have been smack dab on top of me all morning.  So much so that getting up to refill my coffee a few minutes ago was hilarious, because our oldest -- PJ, who is now 14 -- was clinging to my lap as I tried to stand up.

We've gotten out the suitcases for packing, you see.  Which clearly means the world as we know it is about to end.

We're going out to visit Mr. ReddHedd's family in Arizona, and so today is packing day for clothes.  I've gotten travel bags packed and ready for carry-on activities and my laptop, which has been unsettling enough for doggies.

But the big suitcase came out this morning. 

Oh, the horror.

Smile, Anyone?

All smiles here this morning, because all the problems PJ was having were caused by a doggie ulcer.  (Who knew?!?)

As a dachshund, she's prone to issues with her back, and has had problems with a somewhat slipped disc for a few years now.  We have meds that we can give her to help ease her disc back into place and calm the inflammation, which we use as sparingly as possible.  And we try to minimize her jolting the back to prevent problems in the first place.

The last time she had a problem was a few weeks ago, and it turns out that the meds disrupted the good bacteria in her old doggie system.

Which led to a rampant case of ick.

So now?  She's on some more meds to clear this up, including some doggie "good bacteria" to help repopulate her little overwhelmed system with better digestive bacteria.  And we're putting a spoonful of pumpkin into her cooked hamburger and brown rice meals to firm things up, as it were.

Doggie Doo Doo And The Joys Of Carpet Shampooing

It's been one of those weekends where we have been barely clinging onto sanity and sleep here.

PJ, our 13 year old miniature dachshund, has begun to show her age with some exceptionally funky doo doo that started getting a bit bloody.  Never a good sign.

To top it off, it all started at about 2:00 am Saturday morning, in the hallway outside our bedroom.

Hello, carpet shampooer marathon weekend of joy.

PJ has been my baby for years.  We've had her since before The Peanut was ever born, and she got me through some rough miscarriages before we got lucky and pregnant.

And then she stayed with me on the bed every day while I was on bedrest through my pregnancy, nuzzling my hand with her cold, wet nose whenever I was the least bit worried after we almost lost The Peanut in the early weeks.  She was pure love in a tiny, furry bundle, and just what I needed for comfort in those days, and I love her for it.