Feliz Naughty Dog!

Our beagle Sam the geezer dog is very attached to me. Whenever I leave the house without him he gets upset and gets into the kitchen trash. We’ve finally figured out that he can’t get to the kitchen trash if it’s up on the kitchen counter. Score for us, clever homo sapiens sapiens!

 

Now, of course, he finds other things to get into.  The recycling bin. Shoes. Laundry – the more, er, personal the item, the better. Ew.

 

Today he outdid himself. He must have had quite the plan. After cleaning up the normal array of chewed up cardboard, breadbags and cans, I found an abandoned cereal box next to the dog door. I picked it up and was surprised that it wasn’t empty. Oh. No. Sure enough, he’d pulled the cereal box off the shelf and tried to get into the rings o’ goodness inside. Because dogs are [i]carnivores[/i].

 

Chewed up cereal box
[center]At least they’re Gluten Free![/center]

 

I hollered “Saaaam!” in my best Rita Moreno voice, which isn’t very effective since he’s mostly deaf, and stomped angrily over to show the evidence to the Yngrdttr.

 

Exasperated, she exclaimed “Aaaaugh! Sam! That’s not even the right way to open a cereal box!”

 

Um.

 

Well, she’s not wrong.

Gettin’ mad

​Parenting dilemma: what do you do when your child confides in you that something at school is really making her “pissed out.” đŸ˜‚
Once I stopped snickering we discussed the various alternatives, wondered once again why all non religious curse words either involve urinating, defecating, or fornicating.  Apparently there wasn’t anything wrong, she was just trying the phrase on for size.
We also discussed how “getting pissed” also means getting drunk, which makes more sense than getting angry.
I think maybe we need to start learning curse words in a foreign language…

Thank you, Dads

​Dear loving fathers – I deeply appreciate all you do for your partners post-partum. I knew how hard the fathers of my children worked at supporting me during pregnancy and intellectually knew they worked hard after I had the children, but now I understand it viscerally. Post-partum moms are mostly in a sleepless zombie state. We probably don’t even realize dads are spooning food into our mouths while we nurse the baby 24/7. Or walk the floors and rock them endlessly. Or bring us water. And advil.

I watched my granddaughter be born and although I’ve DONE it, I had no idea how powerful it was to witness. I have new respect for fathers, they work so hard to try and help the mothers and are helpless to “fix” the pain. It is also a shocking thing to see a baby come out. I am astonished at women’s bodies. A woman in childbirth is a primal, powerful being and I think it’s pretty overwhelming to witness in some ways. I have new respect for fathers and their fears, and how conflicting and terrifying it must be if anything goes even slightly wrong. As mothers, our whole focus is that new life, but fathers have to worry about BOTH.

New mothers are pretty worn out and in pain. Of course families want to feed them and care for them and help. I have a new understanding of how that works. I want to make sure my daughter is eating, drinking, and sleeping properly AND I’m trying to make sure the new baby is fine as well.  Plus, the regular workings of the household do go on. My feet really hurt from running around doing things, walking the baby, fetching things… My husband is faithful, conscientious backup the whole time. 

Dads, I’m amazed at how you hold things together during this time, especially if you don’t have other help. And you often have to go back to work outside the home all too soon. The emotional stress must be significant and we often do not consider that. I’m sorry society isn’t more sympathetic and supportive of new fathers. I hope it’s changing for the better, for more than white collar workers.

I literally wouldn’t have been able to help my daughter if my husband hadn’t been able to take off work when she went into labor. The menfolk really have to do a lot and we fall prey to believing the stereotype of bumbling, clueless dads all too often. No, your strength supports ours. Thank you.

Watching the baby’s daddy cry as his daughter was born was very emotional for me. He’s besotted with her and how perfect she is. I didn’t appreciate how emotional and spiritual childbirth is for the dads as much as I do now – I was too blindsided by the mom thing with my own children to really reflect on it as much. Being there and involved with childbirth is an opportunity to nurture an aspect of being a man that we don’t talk about as much in our culture. It’s harder for men to express, I think. So much focus is on the moms – which is appropriate, but fathers who are involved need attention, too. And young fathers need even more, to help them transition into mature, responsible men. I do not think our society makes it easy on them at all. 

Watching this young father learn how to hold his daughter and change her diaper is wonderful. It’s like he is receiving an amazing gift every time he masters something.  He’s proud and grateful at the same time. Learning to care for her nurtures him, I think, which is entirely as it should be. I’m incredibly proud of my daughter for encouraging him. She’s right.

I’m glad I can help teach these new, terribly young parents these small child care things. I have the luxury of this time because my husband works his butt off to provide for us. My mother, grandmother and mother-in-law helped me learn, now I’m passing that along. I hope that I pass along the best of the best, and that these two young people enjoy parenthood to the fullest.

For the archives

Reminiscing about childhood:

“Yeah, Mommy, I was looking at an old picture of myself and I know it was before I was three, my face was all silent.”
Looking forward to her niece being born:

“Rat yawns are cute, I bet baby yawns are cute, too.”

 

All is quiet – too quiet

​I cannot believe I got up at 2 in the morning and went to look for Nala because it is *too* quiet. Her Xanax apparently knocked her out. Also knocks out her appetite, unfortunately.

Woke Paul up accidentally because faithful geezer dog Sam had to follow me every step of the way, click click click. I just do not understand how he ended up at Animal Control. He’s so funny and sweet and lovable. 

If you don’t like your trash strewn across the house when you leave, put the trash can up out of his reach. That is his only vice, so far. He’s too short to reach the counter or I’m sure he’d snitch food but that’s pretty normal. Bailey was worse because she COULD reach the counter, so I’m pretty immune to that. Seriously, after a dog regularly drinks your coffee, normal food snitching behavior just doesn’t bug you as much.

I love how Sam follows me around and snuffle-sniffs along the edge of the bed to make sure I’m there before settling down. He’s got character, this dog does. Plus, he loves us back, even though humans have obviously let him down.

Den, sweet Den…

​Paul just finished putting together the large wire crate to make a den of sorts for Nala (the border collie). The beagle Sam’s comfy bed of thrift store pillows and a blanket is right next to Nala’s new nighttime abode. I hope she uses it and it helps her anxiety. She’s taken to chewing her own ankle so we took her back to the vet. I haven’t seen an animal chew on themselves like that since I had a rat who chewed his own thumbs off. 

This anxiety misadventure has been pretty tiring for all of us. She crams herself in small spaces and digs at the floor or wall several times a night and awakens the whole house. I don’t know if it’s past abuse and stressors, the upheaval of changing owners and moving here, the crazy amount of sounds here versus the rural area she was in, but she is a pretty anxious dog. Walks don’t seem to make a difference. Touching her and speaking gently helps but we still have to get some sleep.

The Thundershirt only worked the once, which was very disappointing. I think it may be helpful still and she likes it but it’s also really hot. 

The herbal homeopathic stuff didn’t work. Didn’t work on my children when they were babies, same wussy ingredients.  The melatonin chews didn’t work, either. Heck, probably gave her weird dreams likes it does me. 

The Benadryl didn’t work well, she looked rather trapped in her own Yo Gabba Gabba episode. She also didn’t eat the days following the Benadryl, which really bothered me. 

I’m not going to talk about the night I tried all the remedies together. Shudder.

She’s continuing the fish oil and glucosamine supplements and starting Prozac and Xanax tomorrow. Sam takes Gabapentin for his arthritis and  is probably going to take Rimadyl. I might as well set up a whole cupboard for their “life insurance” as my grandfather called his vitamins and medications. 

I’m not sure what to think, I find it weird that they take the same stuff I’ve taken for pain and mental health. I hope it all helps. 

Costco is the cheapest pharmacy to fill prescriptions at, just like it was in the dark days when I had no insurance. I’ve never had to get a prescription for a dog at a human pharmacy before, I don’t know what I expected. The alprazolam was only six bucks, which is good.

I love my geezer dog Sam and my sweet Nala Bala, but I guess I didn’t think about the complexity of medical care that older dogs would require. Ah well, my whole life revolves around feeding people and critters and cleaning up after them so this just adds a bit to that.

Sleep well!