Puppies, puppies everywhere

Yesterday, my boss said I would be due for an intervention if Tiny Dog and I started to dress alike. Which prompted me, with the encouragement of the clinic bookkeeper, to reverse Tiny Dog’s fleece to turquoise. And here we are:

A bit of brightness as I hacked and wheezed through my work day, and walked stiff-necked from a silly injury, a neck pull, from darn-regular towel hair drying. 

There were other small thrills, as well. The box of eight! pit bull puppies, each a special combo of black and white, or brown and white. Eight four-week old babies, wobbly, but still able to climb out of the box again and again, as the four year old boy placed them back in the box, over and again.

Looking past that the dog parents were teen dogs, and siblings, it was a fun appointment. Eight square pudgy faces, eyes half open with blue irises. The mom pacing, getting up on her hind legs to smell the babies on the exam table.

The human, young couple was doing a good job keeping them all straight, all had names, and they looked tired from not really sleeping through the night. Once one puppy roused and yodeled, the others joined in.

I tried to focus on each sweet face, not the fact of the unplanned and large litter. Four of the puppies were spoken for, but I worry at least some of these babies will go out to have their own litters as well. Pits are #1, then chihuahuas #2, the front runners of breeds in shelters. The highest in euthanasias, therefore.

I got Georgie because she was knocked up and left at a shelter, went to a kind person for foster to have and raise her puppies. Her name was Sunny in foster, due to her exuberant sweetness and smiling nature.

Here are her equally cute progeny, all redheads like their mama:

One has to assume these were an accident. George not spayed earlier enough, an intact male nearby.

If there is a happy end to this pit bull story, the couple is ready to spay the mama once the puppies are out of the house. They now know that puppies are expensive, seeing the vet every three weeks. May they all go on to long, healthy lives.

Party pooper

Sometimes I hear myself saying, “George, don’t even think about it,” or, “Drop it! DROP it!” 

And the It is poop. Tiny Dog’s deposit on her piddle pad.

You have to get right on the clean-up or someone else (G) gets there first. And FYI, she’s a big kisser. It’s her M.O.

George is what you a call a Fire constitution in acupuncture talk. Vocal, happy, loves to make out, excitable. She goes nuts over guests when they come to the door, tucking her tail and ears, winding up her whining, and spinning from couch to guest’s feet to couch, in a HEY YOU! YOU, I LOVE YOU! For certain special persons, she might pee a little. She just can’t take it.

Then she sits in your lap, showing off her soft pink belly and all her nipples, jamming her red tongue in your mouth when you stop petting her. 

A recent guest offered to take her home. George had been on her lap the entire evening, tucked in, and then finally sleepy. We kindly declined.

George has other nasty habits. The same, but outside. It all started when Tiny Dog got fancy freeze-dried food with meat and veggies, that was low fat, after she had pancreatitis. This food was delicious, apparently, even after digested once, thought George.

Then you add in a partly house-broken chihua, and it’s snack time twice/day. We can barely talk about it at home. I am pretty sure an intervention with George will accomplish only more kisses, where she flops over to show you how pretty her belly is.

It continues

This is what -20 to -30 windchills outside do to us. We go nowhere, except to work. The rest of the time involves a sleeping bag on the couch. Maybe a book. 

This weather is so fierce, it makes sense to focus on silly things:

Things that are mildly disappointing:

1.     Store-bought guacamole

2.     Thrift store jeans that rarely fit

3.     Vegan cream cheese

4.     Season 4+ storylines of Grey’s Anatomy

5.     Trying to sit up straight

6.     Drive-thru lattes

7.     Frost to scrape off car windows before work

8.     Middle-aged weight gain

9.     Eating ice cream in the winter

10. Static cling hair

11. Finding the Nutella jar empty

12. Cold butter shredding the toast

None of these precipitate a meltdown, or even an itsy tantrum.

Tiny Dog’s list of annoyances are:

1.     Those who will not give her treats 24 hours/day

2.     Me getting up from nest of dogs in the sleeping bag

3.   Dog clothing

That’s about it.

Her greater concerns are:

1.     Cold weather

2.     Me leaving her home when I need to go places, sans dog

3.     Itchy skin

Today, though, today was a glorious 25 degrees. And this felt like summer.  Sun on the face. The dogs were zinging around the house inside, knowing full well that outside was suddenly better. A walk we went, Tiny Dog in my coat, of course.

I am weather obsessed, so I know what’s coming (brr). Is it better to be dog-like and just go forth?