It's been so long since I last blogged, I think I've forgotten a lot of words.  Mother says I had rider's block, but I don't understand why since I ride in the car every day.  Bea says it's all part of growing up; that I don't get as excited as I used to about visitors and playmates, and that nothing really shocks me anymore.

The holidays were tough on us dogs.  At the den, Bea and I got to watch all of the happy gathering and giant feast-eating with nary a crumb dropped in our direction.  The clinic was not any better;  lots of food, but none for us, and few visitors with very few happy visits. It seems like during the cold dark days, we say good-bye to so many old friends.

Then, no sooner do the humans shout "Happy New Year" then all the new visitors start to arrive.  Some come from the land called "Up North" and are just visiting to escape something called snow, while others are just new visitors; and by new, I mean only a few weeks old.  Bea gets that motherly gleam in her eye when she smells the puppies, and the squealing sound of my mother and her helpers crying "Oooooooh, look how cute!" always wakes me up from my second mid-afternoon nap.

The puppies come in all shapes and sizes, and all from different places.  The only thing that the humans go bark about more than how cute the puppies are, is how crazy the breeders are.  Breeders are not the hard working dog mothers like Bea was, because that's what I thought at first.  No, breeders are just humans who make all the puppy arrangements, and decide which boy and girl dogs get to be together.  Bea tried to explain it all to me once, but I have to admit that for some reason I have no interest in where puppies come from.

One retriever puppy came all the way from a place called Chesapeake Bay -- he was not allowed to have more than one poke per visit, and then it had to be with special stuff that mother had to drive all the way to Fort Myers to get.  Another breeder instructed the new parents never to get the dogs boy parts removed because people like my mom would kill him with the sleeping medicine.  "Of course, she thought it was just fine to use anesthesia to crop his ears though" mother barked up. 

Even though each puppy comes with a different set of breeder "rules" there is a real sense of new beginnings; of starting over.  All of the humans keep saying that they are hoping for a good "too-thousand-and-eleven" -- if that means puppies, I know it will be a good one.

So the humans are still singing and dancing.  They are also eating and laughing.... a lot.  Vocal Vonnie hurt her back the other day and was walking funny, and before too long my mom and dad were walking just like her and following Vonnie around the clinic.  The humans can seem to amuse themselves for hours with their games. 

Sometimes I follow my mother all around, but it never seems to make her laugh.

The other thing the humans are doing these days is putting tiny versions of their clothes on their pets.  It seems like this time of year they really like to put things on our heads.  I have not yet figured out what this is about, but the wearing of the red hat is always followed by someone holding the one-eyed flashing machine.  Of course, after that the treats abound, so I really don't mind wearing whatever it is they want me to wear.

The pets visiting the clinic this week, have all been happy.  We had one scare with a poodle puppy eating something called Gorilla glue.  "That stuff's really scary" Vonnie said "it expands to triple in size after they eat it and it usually has to be surgically removed!"  The poodle was lucky that he was stopped after only a few licks and so far none of it is stuck. 

Mother says, "only one week left until Christmas!" which make me tail-wagging happy.  Things can't get back to normal too soon for me!

Cat fight!!!!

As winter comes, so do the odd colored lights at night, the funny-smelling indoor trees, the music that plays the same three tunes over and over, and cats. And you might bark, cats?  Why, cats?
I have barked the same question.  Bea says when it turns cold, cats feel frisky too and it doesn't take much to turn a frisky cat into a fighting cat.  Just today we saw two cats come in with thick green goo pouring from wounds.  I have to admit, they smell delicious.
Every time one of the cats comes in, mother launches into her scary tale about a cat that lives in the neighborhood; a tale that according to her is more fact than legend.
Mother likes to tell her cat parents: 

Once upon a time there lived a big orange cat.  His name was Freddie Hussler.  He was the only boy cat in the neighborhood that could make babies because his parents thought neutering him was cruel.  So instead of him being a sweet, docile, indoor cat, he was a lean, mean, baby-making fighting machine. He would come into the clinic at least three times a year with bite wounds.  One time his eye was scratched so bad, it was leaking eye fluid out.  But his parents insisted that he was always the victim, and despite living in a world of neutered cats, being neutered himself would ruin his life.  He was so mean that even the veterinarians couldn't touch him, and he had to get gas pumped into a box to make him fall asleep.  One year, after having been bitten for the third time that year, he tested positive for the Feline Immune-deficiency Virus (or FIV).  His parents still insisted that sweet Freddie was never the cause but always the victim.  To this day he still roams the streets of North Port, whether it be mating or fighting, to spread his deadly disease.  In fact, in the past month we've seen two cats come in for cat fights, right in Freddie's neighborhood that have also tested positive for FIV. 

Usually after she's done telling the story, the cat parents are speechless. 

Usually, the cats stay in the house from then on.
I mean, can you blame them?

It’s been so cold the past few days I think my fur is stuck permanently on end. And I find it so hard to get out of bed in the morning. If mother would just keep letting me go on the bathroom mat, things would be great!  I find it strange that at the same time the nights come early and the cold wind fills the air, the humans string lights, and put up many colored objects around the house. Mother says “it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas”. But if Christmas is cold, why would anyone look forward to it?

Things are staying warm and busy in the clinic. Many of the furry friends coming in are dressing like the humans; bundled up in sweaters and coats. Sweet Sally and Dancing Debbie get such a thrill to see the outfits.

Of course, Bea and I and decked out for the holiday too. Mother denies that she dresses us up. She says the “coats” are just harnesses, and that I can’t wear a collar on account of my sensitive neck.

Barking of sensitive necks, we’ve had lots of dogs come in coughing recently. My dad says “Tis the season for kennel cough with everyone traveling”. Many of the dogs feel perfectly fine, they are just doing “the goose honk” Vonnie says.

One German Shepherd named Barley came in,

 and had to have the black-and-white pictures taken. Mother said, “His chest looks fine, but what’s wrong with his stomach? Has he been eating anything unusual?” “He does like to eat dirt. In fact, just today I saw him with a mouthful!” Barley’s mom said.

 “Well, at least he won’t mind taking his antibiotics then!” mother said, laughing. I couldn’t help but think that Barley probably got so hungry watching the humans eat and eat during this time of year, and never getting any for himself that he just took to eating dirt. Funny, when I think of everything I’ve put in my mouth, I never thought to try the dirt. I’ll have to see if I get any of the big feast planned for Christmas, if not, watch out dirt, here I come!

So it must have been weeks now since the humans gathered to enjoy their endless parade of food.  I can still smell the roasted meats.  Partly that's because they take it out of the box with the cold doors and heat it up day and night.  The worst thing about the food parade is how little of it I actually got.  I can see the food, I can smell the food and every once in awhile I can taste a crumb of the food, but none of the food seems to find it's way into my bowl.  It's a process I can't begin to understand.  I heard mother telling Anna that it's about "being thankful for everything we have".  I guess the faithful companionship that Bea and I provide so willingly is not included in the things she's thankful for.

Based on the pets we've seen this week, no one else got to enjoy food from the feasts either. We did have a scare from some Boxer sisters that were left home alone with two pumpkin pies.  When their parents got home the pies, tins and all, were gone.  Of course, those girls kept their mouths shut and didn't get sick even once. Mother's worried that the pie tins haven't been seen either.  "I'll bet the dogs just pushed them under the oven or the fridge, even Boxers can't digest aluminum" she said.  I don't know what the aluminum is, but if it tastes like pie, I'd try it!

Mother's biggest problem this week came from one of our tiniest patients.  Nutmeg Place was a 4 lb Chihuahua that came to see her for trouble walking.  "We only left her alone for a few hours two nights ago and she hasn't been able to walk right since. We think she may have broken her hip!" her dad, Rock, said.  Nutmeg couldn't stand up on her own, and when made to stand, all of her little legs would buckle and collapse. Mother knew that the tiny dog was in trouble. "None of her legs are working properly" she explained while placing Nutmeg's small paws upside down on the table.  Her paws just stayed knuckled over.  "This means that the spinal cord in her neck has a problem. It's most likely from a pinched disk and she needs to be seen by a neurologist immediately"  mother instructed.   Nutmeg's mom, Hart, said they couldn't go, so mother gave Nutmeg some pinches instead.  "It's very important that she stay strictly rested for the next two weeks. If she's too active she can make things worse" mother instructed.  "Now you're sure it's not a broken hip?" Hart asked.  Mother assured her that all of her other legs would be working if only one was broken.  "Don't you need x-rays to know if she's broken?" Rock asked.  "We do like to take x-rays to investigate a problem like this, but we would need to sedate her for x-rays of her neck and if surgery is not an option, there is only one treatment left, and that's medicine"  mother worked to explain.  It was at this point, that I knew mother was stuck between a Rock and a Hart Place. 
Over the next 5 days, there were questions and calls every day.  Nutmeg did well for the first few days and was back "running in the yard when her back legs stopped moving altogether" Mrs. Place told Vonnie yesterday.  "I figured that lady vet just didn't know my dog so she had to be wrong" she volunteered. Vonnie's only answer was the number to the nerve-ologist. 

So today, mother found out that Nutmeg has since been to see two specialists (because the first one didn't know Nutmeg very well either) and the results were that all the doctors recommended the same thing:  Nutmeg has to have surgery to get better.  Mother smiled sadly and said "I guess I knew her dog pretty well after all!" 
Mother knows me pretty well too.  Now, if she would just put some of the super smelling roasted meat in with my dinner, I could be really thankful as well.

Lessons learned

So life in the clinic has slowly returned to normal.  My parents had three whole days where they didn't have to say good-bye to any of the pet patients. 
It seems like what I've been hearing more than anything this week is "Wow, talk about learning a lesson the hard way!"  

One such lesson was taught by a Cocker Spaniel named Lady.  As a puppy she was adored by all, and no one could be in the same room with her without squealing "ooooooh, how cute!".  Her folks were such proud parents and brought her every few weeks to get her puppy pokes.  By the time she was ready for her sleeping procedure to remove her girls parts -- what my mom calls "puppy prevention" -- she had lost some of her puppy cuteness and seemingly some of her parents devotion.  "We do want to get her spayed" Lady's dad said "but things are getting tight and we're going to shop around for prices to get the surgery done".  Sweet Sally tried to explain the care that she takes with every sleeping patient, but Lady's dad wasn't listening.  That was the last we saw of Lady until yesterday.  It had been months since she had been in for a visit, and months since her surgery.  "She started acting really sick yesterday and hasn't wanted to eat or drink, and then this morning I noticed the sore on her belly.  What do you think that could be?" Lady's dad asked.   Mother took one look at the red, hot and oozing Cocker belly and said "Oh!"  in that surprised-but-trying-not-to-sound-alarmed kind of way.  After a closer look under the green smelly scab, the skin started to fall away over the place where her belly button used to be.  Mother and Sweet Sally took a sample of the green goo and looked into her my-crow-scope, "Yep, white blood cells and bacteria, this is the source of her 104.2 fever", mother confirmed.  Mother was less condemning when talking with Lady's dad "Dogs can have suture reactions after surgery, and if she licked the area after surgery she could have planted the bacteria in the sutures.".  Lady was given a big poke of Antie Biotics and sent home with two containers full of pills.  Vocal Vonie yiped in after they left, "Well, if you ask me, you get what you pay for.  Low cost spay means low cost suture, stuff not sterilized, and who know what other corners they cut.  I wish we could help people to realize just how risky it can be.  It's just too bad for Lady" Vonnie barked on.  Mother said "So long as the infection is just in the skin and surrounding tissue we're ok, if it goes into her abdomen, then it's a whole other problem.  At least she only has to be spayed once."

The other lesson had a happy ending.  Spotsie is a Papillon that is completely adored by her mother.  She is so adored that she never leaves her mothers arms.   When Vocal Vonnie once asked about getting a microchip put in Spotsie the answer she got was "But why?  She never leaves my arms.".  'Never' to humans, means never until they go away on vacation and leave you at home with your human sister.  And apparently no one ever told Spotsie's sister to carry her everywhere because as soon as she hit the ground she was off.  She disappeared for two full days.  Dancing Debbie first took the call asking if we had seen the missing Papillon.  Her first question to the caller was "Is she microchipped?".  Luckily, Spotsie was found flirting with some workers in an empty lot not far from her home.  She was limping,had a bee stinger in her leg, and was really thirsty but otherwise seemed impressively composed. 
I admit, I don't know what I would do for two days away from home -- no laps to lie in, no food and water brought to me on request, and I shudder to think of what might happen to Bea's ears in my absence.  Thank goodness for microchips, I don't know how they work, but I can sleep easy knowing that I have one. 

Pack of poodles

It took awhile for the humans to stop making the water come from their eyes, but by the afternoon, things at the clinic felt like they were getting back to normal.

Mother says, "nothing makes you feel better than a hug from a poodle!" and as luck would have it, we had 3 poodles in the clinic at the same time.  Taco, Moe and Jax all happened to be visiting at the same time, and all for different reasons.  Vonnie says, "They're just brothers from different mothers".  Mother says, "happiness is a poodle in your arms".  The small one, Moe, showed up bright and early at the clinic -- he arrived before I did.  At first I didn't even think he was a poodle, he was nothing more than a head in a bed. 

Pretty soon, mother was carrying him around hugging him and I realized that he was a mere canine with four legs like the rest of us.

Bea wonders why I don't get jealous with all the poodle-hugging going on, but I'm pretty confident of my top dog position around here.  After all I was the one licking the salty water off mother's face last night, not one of the fluffy poodleheads.  Mother says Bea and I just aren't as smart as the poodles, but I don't remember ever reading a poodle blog before, or even wanting to for that matter.  Enough barked.