life at home... with the nutjobs

I have some miscellany to post, bear with me people. Oh... and yeah, I'm still home but the Chicklet has returned to school. Yay!

I know barfing sucks donkey arse... but seriously? Why my monster beagle Sharkdog felt the need to keep on walking as she barfed, leaving a slimy yellow trail as she went (like snail cooties), is beyond me. It was as if she trying to get away from the unpleasantness as it occurred. I ? Was not amused.

She's okay BTW, see?



Yeah and um, that snort you heard? Totally not me.

Oh, I have a question. Is there any one else out there like me? You see, I can't have fruit in the fruit bowl that still has a sticker on it. It bothers me and I don't know why. Apart from the apples, I take the skin of everything so really it shouldn't matter... but it does. Compulsive much?

Also, does anyone else dread the day when it's time to change the oil in the deep fryer? Do you have a coping mechanism? Or do you just move?



And why is it that even though I leave to go grocery shopping with a list and remember to bring our enviro-friendly bags I always end up buying exactly enough stuff to fill all the bags. Always. I bring 3 bags, that's all I fill. If I happen to bring in the 7 bags that are in the trunk of the car (like on Sunday) I manage to fill them all. I could have sworn that list I had needed 5 bags, MAX! We have 8 bags in total... why? Because I buy more when I forget them (yes, Brian... I too forget them), it's guilt. I should just leave them in the trunk all the time so I won't have to buy more. Unless they come up with winter ones, what?! On the plus side, I may not have to leave the house for a month. (7 bags of groceries... oy!)

Speaking of enviro-friendly... I'm afraid my Chicklet and I may be responsible for wiping out a small portion of the rain forest. For those of you that own stock in the tissue manufacturing companies... you're welcome. Now how about sending some of your windfall earnings our way. Chicklet wants a Wii. And no, the tissues didn't fill any of the enviro-friendly bags. Also, do NOT sick Al Gore on us. I don't have room in the freezer (I repeat, 7 bags full people!!!).



I have to send Captain Dumbass (go ahead, click on his name... only when you're done here though) a toque (pronounced took-eh!) or he'll freeze his brains.

I'm going to riffle through a box here, and even shop for it because if I have to knit it, he'll never get one.





I've also been wondering, why do birds suddenly appear... wait, why are the Carpenters on my iPod?

So Captain Dumbass, if you're game I'll totally send you a toque, just send me your snail mail.

always remember

...to empty the bathtub after your kid takes a bath.

So yesterday, in the hopes of washing away the ickies, Chicklet took a long leisurely bubble bath. When she was done, she got out, dried off (I know this because her jammies were dry although she was a prune) and put on the aforementioned jammies (they have penguins on them) to join me as we watched SYTYCD Canada before she was shooed to her own bed.



I remember asking her if she had pulled the plug in the bath and her "Oops!" response... She always forgets. I swear I had made a mental note to go back and correct her oversight. But the sticky note fell behind some other clutter in my brain.

I settled in for the night with our dogs snoring loudly in the room. Sharkdog was in her usual spot (hogging the bed) and Dumdum was by the bedroom door. That dog seems to prefer sleeping in front of doors. I think he keeps hoping I'll forget he's there, wake up in the darkened room to fetch water or visit the WC and trip over him and provide him with a carcass to scavenge. I'm actually giving him far too much credit. He is the "Pinky" to Sharkdog's "The Brain".

In the middle of the night, as I was sleeping soundly, the plan to take over the house went into full force.



Ok, actually, the dogs were thirsty and requested some libations. So... being the good hooman I am (if I do this quick I'll never really wake up... yeah... that's the ticket) I crawled out of bed and opened the bedroom door so the Trouble Twins could quench their thirst. They're like Hobbits with pints, I tell ya.

Dumdum started down the stairs towards the water bowl in the kitchen and Sharkdog was dragging her fat carcass (I really do love them... yeah...) behind him. That is... until I decided to visit the WC in the dark.

That my friends, is when all hell broke loose.

You see, Sharkdog has discovered the joys of drinking from the faucet in the bathtub.


and


SPLASH!



and


no! no! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!




$%@&(?&!!!!!

Half wet dog... in the dark... wanting to go back on my bed... smelly... not a Bounce sheet in sight.... where the $@%$ is the towel?

Get back here!

No!

STOP!


ARGH!!!!!!!!!!

I need new jammies...

I hate you.

*stubbs toe*

$@%$

*Sharkdog smirking* I swear she was smirking!!!

*drool* Yeah, keep doing that Dumdum...

Great, now I'm awake.

What's on TV?



This morning, Chicklet was still icky. So... home again. After hugging Sharkdog until Sharkdog would be hugged no more she proceeded to hug Dumdum... who had enough right quick but is too much of a wuss to do anything about it.

The following ensued:

Me, the jello and soup maker extraordinaire: "Let him be, he looks miserable!"

Chicklet aka the Germ Factory aka the "why are you blogging this" whiner: "But I want to hug a dog! And I can't hug Chelsea (you know, Sharkdog's given name)!" (in her whiny sucky tone)

Moi: "Why not? She won't let you?" *snarf*

Germs: "Yeah.. and I don't want to... she has tuna-butt"

OH.DEAR.MERCIFUL.GOD!

Not THAT again!!!

Tuna fish... tuna dog?

First, I want to thank all who left good wishes for Sharkdog aka Chelsea the Queen Beagle aka my bestest little girl puppy in the whole world (you have to say that last one in a high pitched babytalk sing song tone to get the full effect).

There are some professions I don’t envy… like Alaska King Crab fisherman, road kill cleanup specialist, septic tank technician and avian vomitologist (owl vomit collector – yes, this is an actual job). Veterinarian is one of them. At least regular doctors have nurses they can assign to the task of giving a patient an enema.

In between two encounters with the monkeys I work with, I took a few minutes and called the vet’s office on Friday to make an appointment for Sharkdog. I told the vet tech (they have some gems working there I can tell you) about Miss Chelsea’s sore tail end and that she had yelped when I patted her and she gave us an appointment for Saturday early afternoon.

About fifteen minutes before the appointed time, I corralled Sharkdog into the car and chauffeured her to the vet’s. She hates that drive. She looked like the stick-up Garfield plush toys we used to have stuck to our car windows back in the 80s.

The vet techs were happy to see her (she suckers every one in) and came over to say hello. Sharkdog gave them a hello sniff and then tried to escape from Alcatraz um.. the vet’s waiting room. I held firm to the leash thus foiling her desperate lunges... err... best laid plans. She also gave me the “you’re not leaving me here again look” and I gave her a smooch on the head and told her everything would be ok (she understands me, you know... she doesn’t believe me, but she understands me).

The vet (he’s new but took care of Tobey aka Dumdum once and we think we like him) came and said hello and lead us to the “torture chamber”... I mean, the examination room.

Turns out the anal gland condition some of you mentioned?... yeah. As much as I adore my dog I am NOT EVER going to deal with this myself should it occur again. The vet had me put Chelsea on the exam table and we went through her symptoms.

This is not Chelsea (obviously), but you get the idea:

I told him sometimes she does the “boot scoot” and he went straight for the anal gland impaction hypothesis.



He positioned his hand at her ...um ... poop shoot and “massaged the glands”. Out squirted some yellow anal gland juice (which apparently is the normal colour) so no infection. YAY!

But then... the smell hit my nostrils and I gagged.

For a while that afternoon she was known as Tunabutt. I was attempting to explain this smell to my Honey (who had never dealt with this despite having had many dogs in his life) over the phone last night and the best description I could come up with was: picture a can of tuna in oil dating back to WWII soldier rations days that has been punctured open and left out in the baking sun of the Sahara desert for a few decades and you have a fraction of the smell that came from my dainty baby girl dog’s nether regions.

That was THE.MOST.VILE.EXPERIENCE. EVER!

Let me just say, anal gland juice could be used as a weapon of mass ... um... torture. Wanna smoke a terrorist out from the caves of Afghanistan? Pop an anal gland juice bomb in there and watch them run out vomiting, green as clover and St Paddy’s Day beer.
Seriously, unless Osama Bin Laden has had his nose surgically sealed and can keep his mouth closed while breathing through his eyeballs, this smell could send him running towards the allied forces if he thought they could make the smell stop.

Yeah... that bad!

The vet also checked out her ears and poor baby has bacterial otitis in both ears. So I have ear cleaning drops and antibiotics and we go back in a week for a follow-up.
She still isn’t fully back to her tail swinging days and I’m keeping an eye out for that. The vet manipulated the tail (stop smirking) and didn’t find anything... so we’ll see.
Sharkdog is now resting in a corner under a chair in an attempt to keep Dumdum the hell away from her behind – yup, things are back to normal. She isn’t falling for the “But baby, I just wanna express your anal glands” trick.

If anyone knows how to contact the R&D branch of the armed forces let me know. I think they need to look into anal gland juice as a weapon... seriously.

Oh... and just so that "internetpetvet" knows: Sharkdog has no problems eating fibre. Or anything else she believes is edible... like MY CHRISTMAS CHOCOLATES! Thus leading to the sparklepoop incident... that dog always has butt issues.

"My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet."
~Edith Wharton

it's Friday... so

...why aren't I doing the Happy Friday dance?

I'm worried about Sharkdog. Her tail doesn't lift well when she needs to take care of business (which both dogs have now taken to doing in the house with great regularity and I'm not a happy camper) and when I gave her a morning snuggle she yelped out as I touched her tail.

I just hope it's not serious.

I'm a bit too worried to be silly at the moment. But I thought I'd leave you with an honest to goodness sign posted outside a farm near Honey's...

I'll let you know how the vet visit turns out.

Wordless Wednesday - lolsharkdog