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.

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.

Some Updates (Long Overdue)

I was taking a stroll down memory lane, reading some old posts, when I realized that I am long overdue on a few very important updates. So here goes:

1. As best I can tell (not being a vet or anything), Darby is recovering wonderfully. The nasty rash (which it turns out was spotty full-body bruising) has disappeared, and the antibiotic/steroid cocktail she is on seems to be working. Many (many) (MANY) dollars in, I still don't know the cause of her low platelet counts--and I won't go into how ridiculous some of the shenanigans at my vet clinic have been throughout this process--but at this point I'm taking a positive approach and assuming her innards are healing up right nice. I hope so, because damn--she's a good dog.

2. My follow-up visit to DSO was officially the most boring doctor's appointment I have had in at least a year, probably longer. Yup, treatment is going well. Nope, no new symptoms. Blah, blah, blah--boredom is bliss. Rock it out, Copaxone... if you and I get along like I think we will, there may not be any more of those pricey and cumbersome MRIs in my future (at least not for the next year).

3. I completed and submitted paperwork for the Shared Solutions discount program. Once approved, Shared Solutions will cover 85% (give or take some percentages--math is not my strong suit) of my co-pay, leaving me to pay only a pittance for my daily treatment. I wanted to be sure to include this mention in my blog in case someone who is just starting treatment on Copaxone stumbles across this. So someone, if you're reading this, take note: Ask Shared Solutions about their Discount Program. It certainly helps!

4. I'm making nearly as much progress on T09CP as I am in the frequency of my blog postings. Translation: It looks pretty much like it did in the pictures I took when I started (okay, maybe a teensy bit better, but not much). Bees (SO many bees), rain (long overdue), summer social calendars, and a tiny touch of laziness have significantly slowed my progress. And do you realize it's nearly September? That means it could snow here. Literally. Almost any day now. *sigh* Making a mental note to at least get a coat of primer on before hunkering down for the long cold winter...

I'm aware of the fact that there are many other updates I owe this blog, but I think I'll wrap this up for today in an effort to avoid boring my devoted readers to tears. If only for today...

Nothin' Karmic About This One...

Murphy's law keeps slamming Casa Skjold with citations... this time in the form of a (theoretically, at least) very sick dog. I found a ginormous rash on Darby's belly this morning, and after several hours of testing at the vet, it turns out it's more than the simple itchweed or bug bites I thought it was. Evidently her blood is not producing platelets on its own, and according to the test results (which were run three times just to be safe), her platelet count is so low that she should not have clotted when they took the blood, and she should bruise from the lightest touch.

My little medical mystery.

The blood samples have been shipped to a pathology lab in Texas for a more thorough review. In the meantime, she's on steroids and antibiotics, and under my watchful eye. Any cut or scrape could be a very bad thing at this point, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Won't you do the same?

It's okay if you want to judge me after I write what I'm about to write, but when the vet called me with the results, the first thing that popped into my head was this:

"Oh crap, not the good one..."

Evil Doggie Bottoms and Karmic Retribution

**WARNING--If you are not comfortable with stories about bleeding doggy bottoms, please stop reading now!**

Randy, my Jack Russell Terrier, is pure evil.

Let me backtrack a bit by telling you a bit about my (near) week at the farm in Iowa. As always, it was delightful. My brothers, sister-in-law, niece, parents, aunts, cousins, and grandma all had some quality time roaming around the Iowa acreage, and it was fantastic. With one small exception. Randy the Evil Jack Russell Terrorist.

My cousin's daughter is ten, and she is quite small and sweet. So you can understand why Randy tried time and again to eat her. My niece is 9 months old, and even smaller and (of course) as sweet as can be. So you can understand why Randy spent much of the week devising evil plots to eat her as well.

Randy's list of prospective victims did not end there. It further included the man who came to fix the water main, and the neighbor lady who had the audacity to jog past the farm (twice!).

I am seriously at my wit's end with this dog. I really don't know what to do with him. Am I the right person to handle this human aggression? I don't know the answer to that, or the answer to how to handle the situation.

What I do know is that Karma stepped in to bitch-slap Randy for his bad behavior. This morning, I noticed a funny little swollen area by Randy's bottom when he lifted his tail up. Naturally, the lump (think 1/2 of a golf ball slapped under the skin just left of his pooper) did not go away by itself (despite my passionate belief in the "if you ignore it, it will go away" theory). After work, I ran him to the vet to have his anal sacs expressed (yes, I'm taking this post there). Evidently, the anal sac was actually impacted, and when the vet went to express it, it ruptured a little (can something really just rupture "a little?").

So Randy, the Evil Jack Russell Terrorist, has been hobbling around, ears back (submissive mode), bleeding and oozing in the derrier. Karmic.

Or perhaps it's not so much Karma for Randy, but further punishment for me. After all, I'm the jerk chasing him around with a wet paper towel, cleaning the bleeding butt mound and trying to keep him off the furniture.

I guess the fairy tale of dog ownership isn't all it's cracked up to be...

Casting Call

I saw a link to this video on another blog about a year ago, and immediately fell in love with Ben, despite his insatiable desire to eat his own feces. Since then, I have been researching Ben’s whereabouts, as I would like him to audition for the role of Randy for the remaining scenes of the movie of my life.



**Please Note--I am not a monster, and I am not planning to replace Randy--there are just some days (many, actually) when he does everything in his control to test my patience**

Because I'm a Jerk...

Yes, from time to time I find ways to thoroughly entertain myself at the expense of my dogs. But whatevs... my house, my prerogative. Note: slippery dog boots + snowpacked yard = fun times for me.



**While Minnesota is cold, I should note that this video is from the winter archives, circa December 2008. It is actually quite warm here in May.**