Fixation

PLUS



EQUALS

Batscat effing crazy.

Have you seen the movie Spanglish? When Paz Vega (aka Flor) accepts the housekeeping job at Tea Leone and Adam Sandler's house, one of the first things things they tell her is NOT to throw the tennis ball to the sweet little golden retriever. In my younger, more naive years (circa 2004), I considered this film a cinematic hyperbole for a dog's enthusiasm for play. Wrong. So freaking wrong.

I know now that the Spanglish dog was really just a precursor for how my life would play out a mere five years later.

In the past week and a half, Darby has found the tennis ball. In fact, she found an entire can--FOUR tennis balls. And watch out. If you can't fully commit to the game of fetch, I suggest you ignore her from the moment you see her mouthfull of slobbery green fuzz. Because she can play for hours. It doesn't matter what you're doing, where you are, or what time of day it is. When Darby wants to play with her tennis ball, she's gonna play with her tennis ball--and she'd really like your active participation in her game. Really. And she doesn't mind telling you so.

Last Saturday morning, for example, I was enjoying a lovely morning slumber undisturbed by the weekday alarm clock. Half asleep, I felt something strange along my side. Thud... damp nudge... squish. Drop the ball. Nudge the arm with the cold wet nose. Pick up the ball and chew. Repeat. Drop the ball. Nudge the arm with the cold wet nose. Pick up the ball and chew. Repeat. I could go on and on, but I think you see where I'm going.

Clearly my dog's low platelet counts (and yes, they're still low--as confirmed by the vet this weekend--damn the cursed medical mysteries at Casa Skjold) have hurled her over the edge of sanity, where she has been teetering for dog years.

Evidently it CAN be Done…

So last weekend was the big camping trip I mentioned being nervous about in a few posts. It’s not so much the camping that worried me, but rather the camping with perishable meds.

Fortunately, the stars were aligned, and the weather worked in my favor. It was perfect. Warm (but not too warm) during the day, and cool (but not too cool) at night. The cooler stayed cold, the medication stayed cool (without freezing), and I was able to inject myself (albeit not in the most sterile of conditions) without issue.

Had it been a really hot weekend, it may not have been quite so smooth. But under the circumstances it was a piece of cake. Which means I was able to put my mind at ease and enjoy the weekend. Here’s some photographic evidence to support that claim…


We had delicious steak with wine sauce and melted gorgonzola cheese the first night, complete with roasted corn. Holy crap was THAT delicious...


On this trip I was also reminded of the lost art of Jiffy Pop. And Uno. Awesome.














And of course, the true sign of a good vacation is a pair of happy and exhausted dogs.

And on that note, I leave you with a picture of the sunset as seen from our campsite--and a recommendation for Lake Maria State Park in Monticello any time you need a quick getaway.

Oops I did it again...

Misfire. Gah! For those of you keeping track, that's twice.

Anyone know what happens when a dog licks Glatiramer Acetate (aka Copaxone) off the floor? Huh. Guess we'll see...

Gainfully Employed

After more than a few questionable reactions to everyday situations, Randy's intense rehabilitation program is underway. Part of this initiative is to aclimate him into mainstream society.

Step one of this process was to arm him with a shock collar (if I had more readers, I would anticipate many angry comments to this controversial approach--thank goodness for obscurity!). Despite the negative implications of the shock collar, it is helping Randy to make progress when none of the positive reinforcement techniques we have employed have worked. And frankly, I didn't have a lot of viable options.

Step two is to get him fixed up as a workin' dog.



As you can see, he has been outfitted and is ready to go. In the very near future, he will be tested as a leader (and dog-food carrier) in outdoor survival situations (okay, survival may be pushing it--but we WILL be "roughing it" without electricity).

If all goes well, I'm hoping to get him living independently in a nice home in the suburbs to live out his remaining years. Fingers crossed...

P.S. While Randy may be geared up and ready to head into the great outdoors, for me--not so much. Still pondering my approach to safely storing my meds... more to come on that when I figure out what the heck I'm doing.