Another Wednesday passed at the clinic, but not with the usual flurry of activity.  Visits were scarce today, as if everyone was off doing something else. 
My Aunt Becky, the one that smells like cheese, came in for her weekly soap treatment.  Sweet Sally and Vocal Vonnie had great fun making her hair stand on end while she was wet.  Becky's never been that friendly to me, she likes to hog all the treats and chase me around -- so I didn't feel sorry for her, not one bit.

We did get to have a happy visit with one of our regulars; Moon Pie. She trotted in, with her one eye still sewn shut, and wagged a friendly greeting to all.  She didn't even put up much of a fight when mother and Sweet Sally cut off all the string from her eyelid.  I know mother was expecting a gruesome sight, and was pleasantly surprised when a very normal appearing, properly seated eye, looked back at her.  Of course, after sitting still for the string removal, Moon Pie would not cooperate for the vision tests.  "Well, she's not bumping in to anything, she's gaining weight and now she's sleeping through the night.... I guess we should just be happy for what we've got." Moon Pie's young mom was thrilled to look into both of Moon Pie's eyes again, and didn't seem to matter to her whether or not they looked back.

I get the distinct feeling that something might be going on tomorrow night.  I can't quite put my paw on it, but I sense that Bea and I will be logging some time in our cozy cave at the den tomorrow.  If I don't get another chance, let me just bark a "Happy New Year" to everyone within earshot.  Best wishes for a safe, happy, tail-wagging new year for everyone from our den to yours!

My father kept busy today running the clinic. No dire emergencies arrived which was nice.  The biggest event of the day was his first procedure.  A very large black lab dog named Flagstaff was in to have her "spay surgery". The reason she was a large black lab and not a puppy was that the man who had adopted Flagstaff had been told that she was already spayed.  No one had any reason to doubt her history until she started dripping the red syrup liquid from between her legs.  Something about that red syrup liquid makes Bea a little crazy; almost like she's remembering a previous life.  "Well, either she wasn't spayed at all, or whoever did it left some parts behind" was father's diagnosis when Flagstaff came in to have the red syrup problem investigated. 
I'd overheard mother and father discussing the case the night before.  "For your sake, I sure hope she's not spayed.  Trying to find a remnant of an ovary in that dog will literally be like finding a needle in a haystack!"
Father tried to play it cool, but the smell of fear was definitely present this morning as Flagstaff lay sleeping on the prep table getting her belly shaved.  No one was as happy as my father when he announced shortly after, "Yay!  I guess they just got the story wrong, because she has all of her parts --  or should I say, had!"
The rest of day sailed smoothly after that.
In recounting this story to the crew, father also told the story of a similar dog situation that had happened years and years ago when he worked at the Cloudy River Hospital.  That time it was a boy dog named Pat.  At father's first meeting with Pat and his family he wondered why the record indicated that Pat had not been neutered, when to look at him he clearly was.  "No we never had him neutered" Pat's family attested, "why, is he missing his parts?"  Father had checked, and checked and checked again.  He had questioned and questioned and questioned again.  "You're sure he wasn't neutered?  Because I can't feel either one of his testicles and if they never descended he should have surgery to removed the retained parts -- they're at high risk for developing cancer!"  Pat's family had agreed to the surgery, and the next day my father had gone in to solve the case of the missing testicles.  "It was the longest surgery I've ever done" he recounted "I looked and looked and looked everywhere.  I even had the owner of the clinic scrub in to look.  We couldn't find even one testicle anywhere.  As soon as we recovered the dog, I called the family and asked them one more time -- are they sure he was never neutered.  Finally they answered, 'Oh yes, maybe he was' and  I literally couldn't believe it!"  Pat was sent home, the only one who had known all along that he'd had the boy procedure done years previous.   Needless to say, father has been nervous ever since relying on what people say. 
Just listen to what the animals say, that's my motto, those humans just cannot be trusted!

Christmas was quiet and peaceful at our den.  Our girl, Anna, did most of the barking about presents and Santa.  She made quite the mess on Friday too.  My parents didn't get mad at her once; just lots of hugging and kissing, opening box after box, filling garbage bag after garbage bag.  None of the good smelly garbage either, just paper, strings, ties and plastic.
Bea and I each got to open a present.  Lucky for Bea she soon realized that both of the gifts were for me; a 6 pack of rawhides and a fuzzy squeaky toy.  I noticed Bea's ears perk up at the sound of the squeak, so I made sure I ripped that squeaker right out before Bea could get her little mouth on it.  Dog rules number 5, 6 and 7: if it's yours it's mine, if you want it I'll take it, and a little slobber does not mean it's yours.
We didn't get invited to the big Christmas feast either, but judging by the cloud of good smells that wafted in when my parents got back, ham was served.  All was not lost though, over the weekend I got my share of goodies off the floor: part of a bagel, one shrimp tail, two cheetos, a piece of a candy cane and three bits of egg bake Anna sent my way.  Poor Bea didn't get any.  She really needs to work on getting faster.
Today at the clinic I was happy to see that most of the pets fared well over the weekend.  Not the usual tummy upsets that mother often has to treat.  Everyone stayed busy though.  We met, Allie who was having a hard time getting the yellow marking liquid out, and Smelly (not her real name, just one I thought fitting) who was getting the liquid out all the time.  Maya, the big mastiff tried to bite mother and Brawny Brandon, just for touching her back legs (during a limping exam where mother could barely notice a limp) and sweet Alfalfa the maltipoo endured stretching and picture taking for a dislocated hip without so much as a yelp.  Enrico returned for one final visit to have the rest of his metal ties taken out.  Still not so much as a whimper, just lots of shaking and longing looks toward the front door.  Alfafa and Enrico's toughness just continued to prove what I already knew, that small dogs are the toughest dogs. 
I did enjoy my holiday with the human pack, but it's good to be back amongst the pets that make me proud to call myself a canine.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

So it's the night before Christmas, at least, so I hear


and I'm waiting and watching with each eye, whisker and ear.

There's a tree in our den all twinkly with light,

and it's calling to me to take one little bite.

There are stockings hung carefully up in the air,

as if someone is expected soon to be there.

I wait and I wait for my girl to snooze in her fleece,

in the hope that for awhile I can enjoy some peace.

My parents won't rest, they wrap this and wrap that,

they even tried to wrap the bed where I sat.

The kitchen was humming and smells did abound

it was all I could do to not make a sound.

It all happened so quick, it went by so fast,

and before I knew it Christmas Eve had passed.

The morning saw my girl beaming with cheer,

Santa had come and brought lots of gear.

The parents were smiling, and their parents too,

and finally I realized what I already knew.

This holiday has lots of banging and clatter

but the spirit of Christmas is what really matters.

The gathering of family, the spreading of joy

is the point of this holiday, more than just toys.

The love of one's family, and friends you hold dear

is truly the meaning of real Christmas cheer.

So give warm licky kisses to loved ones whether furry, young or old

and enjoy this time while we still have them to hold.

From our den to yours, may you holiday be bright

and hold the true Christmas spirit of goodness and light!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Yet another day of cookies, cookies and more cookies -- of course none for me or Bea -- no, no, just more and more cookies for the people.  Apparently, all Bea and I get for Christmas is the soap treatment.  Mother was grumbling something about Bea being stinky and before I knew it, Vonnie took each of us in turn to the tub.  Now we even smell like the cookies and still haven't seen the first sign of one headed in our direction.

Maybe it's my bitterness from sheer hunger, but amidst all the warm feelings of happiness, I took heart in a good old story of revenge.  Two dog brothers, Ocho and Melvin came in today.  To truly appreciate this story you have to know the background. Two years ago, before my time, Ocho visited my father because he was limping.  "Melvin plays so rough sometimes, I think he doesn't know his own strength.  He stepped on Ocho and he's been carrying the leg ever since".  Ocho is one of the those strong, silent types.  He didn't complain once for the black and white pictures so everyone was suprised when father said it was broken.  As the story goes, Ocho took all of his bandaging visits like a real dog.  Through all the glue stuck to his hair and the rash from his toes rubbing together, nary a whine was heard.  Little did anyone realize that he was storing up all of his anger.  Schnauzers are known to be smart dogs, but no one knows they're as conniving as they are smart
Fast forward to today, Melvin comes in for limping.  Mother was certain that he had twisted his knee and was surprised when he let out a yelp when one of his toes was touched.  Then it was Melvin's turn on the black and white table.  Despite the fact that he was three times the size of Ocho, his bravery barely half the size.  He shook and twisted, and needed his dad to hold his paw to get him through.  No one was surprised when mother said, "Yep, it's broken".  I was the only one who got a look at Ocho when the news was delivered.  A wry smile started to spread across his face. "You don't know how long I've waited.  How long I've tried to pay back the big oaf for squishing my toe.  How many holes I've had to dig waiting for him to fall into one just the right way.  Finally I have my vengeance.  Finally, a merry Christmas for me!"  Of course, Ocho's parents were too busy worrying about poor Melvin to see the look of sheer delight on Ocho's face.  I must bark, nothing makes me happier than to see the small dogs rule the world.  Well, other than a few cookies maybe.

Another quiet day at the clinic.  The sweet smells once again filled the air as more, and more baked goods filled the hospital.  Can you believe not even one treat for me, or Bea for that matter?  After all, this blog doesn't write itself.  Does no one out there realize that dogs can celebrate Christmas too?  Mother certainly doesn't think we notice any of the festivities.  This is despite that fact that she insists on dressing us up like one of the decorations.   I must find a way to convince her that we notice the holidays, well, I guess I can't bark for Bea, admittedly she doesn't notice much, but certainly I do. 

I didn't mention one of our visitors yesterday.  She was a sad little Chihuahua named Ivana.  She was sad because she had jumped out of one of her boys arms and landed wrong, horibbly wrong.  Ivana had a puffy foot and hadn't put it down since she fell.  The reason I didn't mention her yesterday is because her stay with us was very short.  Mother was certain that there were broken bones in Ivana's paw, but her parents wouldn't let mother take any black and white pictures.  So she wrapped the foot in a big padded bandage, "just in case". 
The reason I thought to mention it today was because of a phone call Patient Pam took from Ivana's grandfather.  Apparently the story of Ivana's troubles had reached all the way to a land called Michigan, and now granddad wanted to know "just how broken is she?"  I didn't realize that a simple question would start mother on a tirade.  "Well, maybe if they'd let me take x-rays, I could tell them how broken the dog is.  Sorry, my x-ray vision was broken yesterday!" she barked on.  The best Pam could do was relay the message, "I'm sorry that Dr. Smith is not available to speak with you.  We could set a recheck exam and take some x-rays to better answer your questions" Pam offered.  "I'll have to think about it" was all Pam could get.
It dawned on me then that I had been whining about not getting treats, and poor Ivana had a likely broken, largely bandaged paw for Christmas.  Guess I should wag my tail for small favors.

Another long weekend spent home in the den.  Bea and I logged a lot of cozy cave time.  Mother and father went out Saturday night for something called a "ClinicChristmasParty".  They came home with full bellies and delicious smelling treats in white cartons. Bosco, Ruben and Kaylee's mom delivered a large sweet smelling bear-in-a-box that got to go with them, but only one half of his body returned.  What was left was spilling out his fluffy white insides.  If I could jump on the kitchen counter, I would have eaten whatever remaining body parts I could find.  But no such luck, I really need to get Bea to teach me her secret of scaling the couch.

Today at the clinic, the sweet smells once again filled the air.  There were cookies and cakes, candies and fruit.  There was even one basket of dogs all lined up with a happy "Merry Christmas" message.  I honestly don't know how those dogs sat there so quietly with all that food around them. 

It seemed like the merry message came through loud and clear in the furry visitors too.  Moon Pie returned with her one eye sewn shut but she was trotting around the clinic like nothing was wrong.  Sweet Sally said she'd gained a pound and was taking all her medication like a good little patient.  The only remaining problem was that for the past two nights she had refused to sleep and yelled all night long.  Mother changed some of the medications and prescribed ear plugs for Moon Pie's young mom;  "Just until the new medication has had a chance to work" she said. 
Enrico also came back. No body parts hanging out this time, although as hard as he was shaking you would have thought he might shake something loose.  Sweet Sally checked him for a fever, and removed all his metal threads. Mother touched, smelled and prodded the newly scarred tissue and declared him once again deserving of his "dog of steel" title.  Enrico and Moon Pie were visiting at the same time, and mother asked if Enrico could share some of his steel constitution with Moon Pie.  Mother said "If Enrico is made of steel, than Moon Pie is made of pudding". It could be worse, I thought, at least everyone loves pudding.

Today started off the same as any other.  It wasn't until our ride stopped that I realized we weren't at our clinic. I didn't recognize the place at first, but once I stepped inside I knew that this place belonged to my friend Carly.  I dragged Bea over to the place that Carly usually sleeps but she wasn't there.  Mother continued to lead us to an entirely different place.  My nose quickly took in all the scents and I knew that both dogs and cats frequented this place, similar to my home clinic.  As I listened intently, I began to realize that mother was doing something called "a favor" for her friend Christy (known only to me as Carly's mom). 

Bea and I were shown to our guest room. It was more spacious than our usual villa, and I did like the wallpaper, but the view was disturbing to say the least.  This place, this clinic that I thought belonged to Christy and Carly actually belonged to cats.  These cats did not simple claim ownership of this clinic either.  These cats declared their ownership to all that entered.  Bea and I were sniffed at, brushed up against, and even hissed at.  Normally, I don't think twice about the whiskery, flippant, butt-up-in-the-air felines but each one was bigger than me and Bea put together.   They walked with an air of authority and were not even kept in a villa; they went wherever and whenever they wanted. 

After being in the guest room for awhile, Bea and I started to relax and even tried to bark our usual greeting.  This met with looks of disdain from the cats and water in the face from mother. Thankfully, we were only there for what felt like a week.  I quite happily wagged my way out of that feline dominanted world when it was time to leave.  My only regret is that I didn't quite figure out how those cats earned all their freedom.  Definitely something I'll have to work on. 

Things got back to more normal visits with dad in charge today.  No body parts popping out or holes where they don't belong.  Some of our more frequent visitors stopped by today, too.
Moon Pie seems to be handling all of her adversity well.  She's taking all of her medication, wearing a white room on her head, watching the world out of only one eye and still managing to have a spring in her step and a voracious appetite.  Dogs like that really honor our kind; proving to everyone that we are tougher than we look, even when we look small and adorable.

Barking of small and adorable, the tiniest Pomeranian I have ever seen stopped by today.  Her name was Pixie and if it wasn't for an occasional tail wag I would have thought she was a stuffed toy.  Stuffed toys are my absolute favorite toys.  I have a whole bin of them at home in the den, and one of my special talents is to grab one, carry it around the den offering to allow Bea or mother to play with it and then lock my jaws when they try to get it.  One time mother lifted me 3 feet in the air only using the toy, but I still wouldn't let go.  Seeing Pixie today made me long for my toy bin.  In fact, I was ready to give her a shake and squeeze her to make her squeak when father scooped her up to give her a hug, and I noticed her tail wagging all on its own.  She had come all dressed up for the season which only added to her toy like quality.  Seeing her reminded me of that colorful tree at home and all the boxes underneath.  I may just have to tear into one or two to see if mother has any new toys for me, after all I deserve it.

Something about this time of year really brings out the tough dogs.  I've barked at length about Enrico; the plucky Chihuahua that would not allow the I'm-going-to-bite-you-in-half actions of an angry Rottweiler slow him down.  Enrico showed up again today to have the plastic tube taken out of his arm.  He was not very excited at the thought of being back at our clinic, less still at being held while the humans worked on him.  Enrico remained the perfect gentleman.  Although he was thoroughly tired of being handled and held, he obliged all requests and even wagged his tail whenever his name was said, as if to say "I will do as you ask, just don't stop petting me."  Once again, mother bestowed the title of "dog of steel" with a look of awe, satisfaction and pride we don't often get to see.

The second tough-as-toenails dog was Gracie.  Gracie was a 3 year old, 40 lb cur dog -- as her dad referred to her.  "Nothing but an outdoor dog really" he began "she's carried a limp for about a month now, ever since she got loose from her chain and came back the next morning all scraped up."  Patient Pam couldn't hear another word of Gracie's story.  Pam came to the back and then barked and howled and rolled her eyes at the thought of Gracie living for a month unable to use her leg.  And a month in people time is a whole lot longer for dogs, I thought -- although it was a thought I kept to myself lest I anger Pam even more.  The only thing scarier than an angry Pam is an angry mother....and believe me, no one wants to see either one!
Mother went in the room to look at Gracie. She was impressed by the calm, polite dog who was disguising the pain of a shriveled leg bravely.   Mother had Gracie stay with us to get a pinch of happy sleep medicine.  Soon she was snoring away and was carried off to the humming table for her black and white pictures.  One look and mother knew instantly what was wrong, "Her left hip is out of it's socket.  This dog has had a dislocated hip for a month!"  Patient Pam stayed silent and just shook her head.
After Gracie had woken up, mother went over the findings with Gracie's dad;  "She's going to need surgery to fix this.  The hip has been out of place too long to try to just put it back in, it wouldn't stay."  Mother was looking for some sense of agreement from Gracie's dad but none was coming.  His only question was, "And what will happen if we do nothing, will she always be painful?'   "Yes, she will" mother answered, as Gracie hopped back to her dad on her three good legs.  Patient Pam did manage to convince Gracie's dad to take some pain medication for her, which was a small victory of it's own.  Unable to jump into her dad's truck by herself her father carried her, but instead of a seat in the cab, she went into a cage in the bed of the truck.  I didn't even know you could ride outside of car like that.  Gracie was one tough girl. I really hope that I never have to be brave like that!

As promised, Enrico was at the clinic when we arrived.  His whole body was shaking, and the entire apartment complex shook right along with him.  "Not again, not again" he was mumbling along to the vibrations. 
Mother went to work right away.  Pinch one to keep Enrico from vomiting, pinch two to make him sleepy -- neither one worked.  Sweet Sally had to put a tube in the moving target of the shaking arm.  Pinch three went in the tube (so not really a pinch at all) and finally the shaking stopped.  Enrico got all connected to the sleeping machine, got his fur removed and then carried into the no-awake-dogs-allowed room.  Mother got washed and all wrapped up to start work on the little dog.  It wasn't long before Enrico's belly was wide open and all of his parts were sitting outside of his body.  "I've found the hole" mother finally exclaimed "wow, it's huge.  Maybe it's because he's on his back but his spleen, and his stomach are in the hole!"  A few minutes later, my dad had on the special wrapping and both of  my parents were up to their elbows in the little dogs belly.  Mother had father holding the belly open while she worked -- and my dad started to not look so good.  "I can't feel my fingers anymore, and my shoulder is starting to cramp" he whined.  "Hold it right there" mother instructed "and hold this kidney out of the way too".  Mother managed to finish her work before father collapsed.  Water got put in and then sucked back out of the little dogs belly and then he got closed up.  "Well, that should do it" mother said only half confidently, the whole while eyeing Enrico's breathing. 
In a few moments, she saw what she was watching for.  Not at all what she wanted to see, but what she had been afraid was there all along.  Enrico's chest started to bubble up between his ribs with every breath.  "I think by pulling his belly fat back into his abdomen, we opened up a hole in his chest!"  Soon, mother was scrubbing her hands again and donning the plastic wrap.  Father was talking into the number machine on the wall, "Dr. Quinn says you can just tie his ribs together over the hole and that should take care of the problem."  Mother talked to father, and father talked to Dr. Quinn and pretty soon the hole was closed.  Sweet Sally and mother stared at the little dog, watching him breath for what felt like a couple of days, until Enrico decided he had slept enough,
Then Enrico got up.  And he stayed up.  He was put back in his apartment with my favorite bed and blankets but refused to enjoy them.  He insisted on walking around.  Mother kept giving medicine into the tube in his arm, just to keep him comfortable and help him sleep.  But Enrico was determined, I really think he would have walked home if they would have let him.  When he got to go home for the night, I overheard mother discussing Enrico's new nickname -- "the dog of steel".  I don't know what it means, but if you have to go through what Enrico went through to achieve that distinction, I'll just be known as "the cute one", that's fine with me!

Luck. Another purely human idea. I must admit that I don't totally understand the concept of luck.  I hear mother and her helpers use the word a lot.  Dancing Debbie will say, "You're so lucky to have such a sweet dog" or "It's your lucky day, Dumpling, no shots for you."  Dogs don't think about luck, you either have something or you don't, and if you don't have something but you really want it, you just take it.  Or maybe you just try to take it, and sometimes the plan works and sometimes it doesn't.  But even if it doesn't, you just try again tomorrow.  Bea is a living example of this philosophy, every day she tries to get on the kitchen counter and usually someone sees her and yells, but every once in awhile, a day like Sunday comes along.  A day in which the couch was pushed just a little closer to the counter than normal, and a day that saw half a brownie get put on that counter for safe keeping.  Before mother could turn around Bea had herself a brownie.  Now some would call that luck, but not me, I got right in on the action and I would call it delicious. 
Moon Pie would have what mother would call bad luck.  She returned today, not for a happy visit, or taking of the syrup, she came in today with one of her eyeballs hanging out.  No one knew what had happened.  "Did she have a seizure?  Did she bump her head?" so many questions, but no answers.  Mother even called someone called a nerve-ologist to see if eyeballs can just pop out on their own, but everyone seemed to think something must have happened to the little wrinkled girl.  If something did, no one was talking.  Sweet Sally and Mother gave Moon Pie some pinches, put a tube in her mouth and strings through her eyelids to get the eyeball back in place.  "We'll know more in a few weeks when the sutures come out" mother said " I doubt that she'll be able to see out of the eye though" she added.  Poor bad luck Moon Pie; finally a happy home only to discover her liver doesn't work and her eyeball out of it's socket.
Enrico also made a return visit today.  He seems to be doing well; no stinky oozing wounds, and he walks like he feels pretty good.  Mother had the worried look though, which you should know by now is not something you want when she looks at you.  Enrico got his drains pulled easily, and the beeping machine up the back end was "normal" according to mother.  But the problem was Enrico's side, it was as swollen today as it was when his spleen was hanging out.  Mother had hoped that the swelling was just fluid, but after 5 days, the fluid should have moved.  Sweet Sally and mother worked on taking more black and white pictures, even putting special fluid in the holes to see if it would show up in his abdomen.  The end result was that Enrico has to come back tomorrow for another procedure, "I think some of the muscles between his broken ribs have given way and he has another hernia.  I don't think anything too important could be sticking out otherwise he'd be acting sick.  Lucky really". Compared to the little boy mother was reading about that lost a fight with a Rottweiler, I guess I could see how mother could call Enrico lucky.  But facing a second  procedure at my clinic tomorrow, I don't think there's any convincing Enrico of it. 

It was so quiet at the clinic today, you could hear the crickets.  Actually, it wasn't crickets singing, it was a little dog named Miles.  He's a 4 month old Chihuahua with "fear issues", as mother would say.

Miles is the only puppy from a sweet Chihuahua family.  My parents have known them since they were puppies.  Miles was an "accident" that happened just before Miles' dad had his neuter procedure.  Their human mom was not expecting a new mouth to feed, so Miles was kept at home most of his young life to keep him healthy and safe.  Now Miles is a healthy teenager but scared of his own shadow.  So mother asked that Miles come to stay for the day so that he could learn that other people and dogs and shadows aren't all out to kill him.

For the bulk of the morning, he sat by himself huddled in the corner.  He yiped at the slightest movement or touch.  He even threatened to bite Bea's face right off.  I ate every one of the treats that he wouldn't touch, just to try to prove to him that they weren't poisoned.  After a few hours of not having anyone to cuddle up against, his desire for companinonship started to overpower his fear.  Patient Pam sat next to him, and he got right in her lap and started licking her face!  Vonnie and Pam were so happy that they were able to win over little Miles.  Mother says Miles will probably have to come for more visits so he really learns to overcome his fears.  No one ever listens to me.  I could have told him that they were good humans, but no, no one every listens to Ronnie!

After Moon Pie woke up out of her daze last night, she continued to improve.  Mother brought her home to our den, where she drank water, ate some dinner, drank some more water, wandered around the house, drank some more water and basically made herself at home.  We generally encourage our den guests to relax so that they heal faster.  But when making themselves at home includes yelling at 3 am to go outside, we tend to draw the line.  I overheard mother ranting "You slept all day, just so you could be up all night.  If I thought that you were going to act so normal, I would have sent you to your own house."  But none of us could stay upset at the wobbly little pug for very long; even mother continued wear her satisfied smile whenever watching her.
The best part of Moon Pie's whole story was seeing the look on Sweet Sally's face when she trotted in the morning.  "Look at you go" Sally crooned, "You look sooo much better!"  Bea and I were quickly escorted to our villa while Moon Pie got to roam around, eat a scrumptious looking breakfast and be cuddled by Sweet Sally.  It almost makes me want to get sick, just so Sally will hug me.

Enrico came back from the overnight clinic.  There were more than a few similarities with this case, to a little white Fluffy dog we took care of a few months ago.  This little tough Chihuahua had flappy pieces of plastic draining bloody juice from his side, and yet he didn't make a peep.  He didn't have the rotting meat smell that Fluffy had so I figured that he was doing pretty well, but I've learned that it's kind of early to know for sure.  Vocal Vonnie kept fluids running into the tube in his leg and gave him all of his medicine, but if he didn't have to go outside I wouldn't even have known he was there.  Wanting to eat little dogs makes me think that Rottweilers aren't so smart, but they sure know how to pick the toughest dogs to chew on.  So I just have to remember not to act so tough, the next time I see one. 

Today was a super long day; and I don't just mean that in dog terms.

The morning began with the return of Moon Pie.

She was the sweet tiny Pug that had a really rough start in life, stuck in a closet.  She had been living it up in her new home until a few days ago when she started to feel bad, and stopped eating.  Moon Pie spent last night at the emergency clinic and ended up on our doorstep this morning.  "She started acting really strange the past few days.... turning in circles, bumping into things. The emergency clinic ran some blood tests and think that she has a problem with her liver" Moon Pie's new young mom updated Sweet Sally.  "Well, you thought she might have had a shunt when you saw her last month" Sally added, after relaying all the news to mother.  I was excited to see the cute little pug again, but changed my mind when I saw the look on mother's face after checking Moon Pie out.  "She's pretty bad off" mother concluded "I think her liver has shut down. It's probably because her liver never formed properly as a puppy.  There are still a few more tests to run, and some medications we can try, but I don't know if she'll turn around."  Moon Pie's young mother was head over heels in love with her and wanted to try whatever could be done.

So Moon Pie came to the back for her tests and the standard tube-in-the-arm treatment.  When mother said that Moon Pie was "pretty bad off" I never imagined that meant she couldn't stand, or even hold her head up.  She looked skinnier than last visit. And when she did open her eyes, they didn't seem to see anything at all.  "Will she get any better?" was the question each nurse and helper asked mother, in turn, after taking one look at Moon Pie.  "I hope so" was all she could say.  "If all her problems are related to a liver shunt, medication has a real shot of helping her for awhile."
The most amazing thing about my mother is that despite the number of times things don't go her way, or that she has to say good-bye to one of her patients, she continues to hold out hope for the next one.  Bea took one sniff at Moon Pie and went to lie down -- her way of saying, don't get too attached to that one.  I was torn, I admit that the empty-eyed wrinkled little thing didn't look or smell too good, but I couldn't help rooting for her all the same.

After Moon Pie got all situated, the rest of the day unfolded according to plan. That was until a Chihuahua named Enrico walked in with some of his insides hanging out.  Enrico had met with the teeth end of a Rottweiler and mother had to go into emergency work mode to put his spleen back where it belonged.

Finally, at the end of a long day, Enrico was sent off to the emergency clinic to be watched overnight. Moon Pie was taken outside because her apartment had been dry all day -- despite all the water dripping into her arm tube.  Mother set her down, to see if she could walk, and off she trotted; right on to the grass, where she squatted and watered for close to 10 minutes.  She was not the only one with the look of relief on her face. Mother had a smile, one I don't often get to see, that satisfied smile that means maybe all the hard work has paid off.  When it comes to Moon Pie, I really hope so. 

There was definitely something in the air at the clinic today.  Bea knew it right away.  She carried her head a little higher and her tail wagged a little more.  I couldn't really put my paw on it.  The only thing I noticed was a couple of little man dogs named Doc and Teddy.  The boys were staying today for father to clean up their teeth.  Doc was tough and didn't let on that he was the least bit nervous.  Teddy worried and clung close to Doc, "Dad, why are we here?" he kept asking.  At first, I thought he was talking to my dad, but then I realized that he was talking to Doc.  Bea and I are close, sometimes I even forget that we're not related, but I don't ever call her mom.  I save that for my human mom.  After all, that's where the food comes from.  It wasn't until I overheard Vocal Vonnie talking about them that I realized that Teddy really was Doc's son.  " Should we call him a Yorkie-Pin, or a Pinorkie?" she mused.  "Wow, he and Ronnie really would have made cute puppies" Vonnied added.  That's when it hit me -- the stuff in the air, the reason why Bea had an extra spring in her step.  These boys were men, and Doc had offspring to prove it.  Even mother couldn't seem to resist.  When she first saw Teddy she was inexplicably drawn to him.   Before I could even turn around three times before lying down, mother went right up to Teddy's cage and started to carry him around.  "Whatever you want to call him, you have to call him cute!" she said.  There aren't many boys that mother says that about so I knew Teddy had something special. Their procedures went quickly, and they were up and talking soon afterwards.  Doc had to have a tooth removed but it didn't slow him down a bit.  By the end of the day the boys felt so comfortable that they were trying to take my job and bark at newcomers.  Cute or not, I was not about to let that happen, so I made sure to add my voice to theirs.

  I guess the word has gotten out about the blog, because another little girl dog showed up dressed for a party.  We didn't have the heart to tell her that she was too late, so mother made a fuss all the same.  Good thing I'm cute, otherwise I'd really have to worry about all this competition for mothers attention.  Too bad for Bea. 

Sorry about Friday. As you may have noticed, I didn't get a chance to blog. In fact, I didn't get a chance to do much of anything on Friday. Last week mothers car got angry, spit out some metal parts and blew smoke all over the place. Mother is not one to have patience for tantrums and that was the last we saw of that car. Friday she went to get another one; this one's nice with a big space in the back for me and Bea to look out the windows. Bea and I didn't get to go with mother to get the car so we were stuck at home in the cozy cave. Unfortunately, that didn't leave me with much to blog about other than how loud Bea snors – which is actually really loud.

Today was a different story. Mother and Sweet Sally were busy, busy, busy. This was partly because one of the new girls mother hired to help out didn't show up. “Thank goodness for Pam” helped out for awhile, but otherwise Sweet Sally and Dancing Debbie had to handle everything. I tried to pitch in and greet everyone, but no one seems to give me any credit for my work.

Luckily, nobody was too sick. Our only guest was a toothless old man Yorkie dog named Guy. He stayed for the day so that mother could take a few samples of his red syrup. Guy is another dog mother thinks has the Cushing's disease. We've had so many recently I wonder if it's contagious, like the Parvo.

Mostly the pets that came in were for happy visits, but mixed in with those they also saw a Chihuahua with itchy skin, a golden retriever with gooey ears (that smelled super delicious) and a cat whose neck was so raw it looked like a piece of ham. I do know what ham tastes like and one look at that cat's neck made my mouth water!

The highlight of my day came during the midday break. This is usually the time that Bea and I get to stretch our legs and get our snack. We had some of my friends visit, Kaylee and Ruben, who came “dressed for the season” as mother would say. I've noticed that ever since the day of turkey smells that the walls, and the doors and the houses have all been done up in red and green and white. Ruben and Kaylee looked “so adorable” according to Patient Pam. We enjoyed our own version of a Christmas party, if by party you mean dancing around, rolling on the floor and playing with your friends while dressed up in silly outfits. Yep, it was a real party alright!

Not much going on at the clinic today.  Bea and I like to take these opportunities to consider things that often trouble us.  And when I bark about us, I really mean Bea, because she tends to get troubled by lots of things.  It started as she was licking her paws today.  Whenver the ground is wet in the morning, Bea cannot rest until she's licked all the water off.  I try to tell her that her paws are not any drier after she's done, but when Bea sets her mind to something there's no changing it.
So, as she's cleaning her feet she notices, almost as if for the first time, that her thumbs are missing.  Porscha the bull terrier was in yesterday to have hers removed, but Bea swears she's never had them.  You can't take Bea's howl on anything, so investigate I did and sure enough, no thumbs.  This led us to wonder about some recent visitors that also had missing parts. 

There was Lance the chihuahua that had only one testicle.  Mother had to look for the missing one during a procedure.  Turns out it wasn't missing at all, just hiding in a different place.

Then there was Mercedes the bull dog, that mother examined for a missing tooth;  one of her extra large teeth up front was nowhere to be found.  Mercedes is still just a kid but all her other teeth had grown in, so mother had to look for the lost tooth with some black and white pictures.

I don't know if she ever found it because she was talking into the number machine on the wall for a long time afterwards.

After some serious thinking about the missing body parts Bea and I were exhausted and had to lie down for awhile.  I had a hard time sleeping wondering not only where the body parts had gone, but who was taking them.  Until I figure this out, I may just have to sleep with one eye open, I like all my parts right where they are.

Wednesdays are always mothers' procedure days. This morning was no exception. We had two dogs that had to get pinch medicine to get their black and white pictures taken, on the humming table. One dog got pictures of the front half, and one got pictures of the back half. I wonder how they decide which part to take the pictures of. I'm pretty sure that my right side is my best side.

There was also a sweet dumpling of a dog named Porscha that had to get her deformed thumbs removed. Porscha is a bull terrier, almost full grown, that plays as seriously as she eats, and got her thumbs caught one too many times, and now had to get them permanently removed.

But the biggest thing that happened today was the arrival of the Jennifer. The Jennifer was what mother referred to as a “shadow student”. Bea told me that students are people, or dogs for that matter, that are trying to learn new tricks. I was a student once when I was little. Mother would take me to the puppy party and I learned to sit perfectly to get treats, or a click, or a click and a treat. Actually, I think click means treat doesn't it?

So the Jennifer was a young person, who was apparently learning how to follow my mother around. She actually got pretty good at it by the end of the day. She seemed to be happy enough (well, who wouldn't be getting to follow mother around) but other than the following trick, she didn't seem learn much. Come to think of it, I don't think I saw her get even one treat! I hope the Jennifer comes back, I have a thing or two I could teach her. Especially how to scratch that itchy spot on my back that I can't quite reach.....

After the holiday weekend the clinic has been filled with dogs and cats and their people.  Usually, mother stays busy seeing pets for their happy visits.  Something must have happened to the dogs over the weekend because most of the pets she saw today were sick.:  some had their brown nuggets turned to liquid, some were carrying a leg from frolicking too much, and some, like Ralph, were bringing up the kibbles.  Ralph was a  four-year-old boy dachshund, that came in with his head down and strands of drool hanging from his lips.  "He vomited all night long", Ralph's mom told Patient Pam "I don't know what could be wrong with him!".  After asking Ralph's mother all the usual questions, Patient Pam reported back to my mom, "He didn't get into anything, or eat anything different.  No toys are missing, the garbages haven't been disturbed, and nothing toxic around.  I can't figure out why this dog is so sick."  Always loving a challenge, mother went right to work.  After checking Ralph over she said, "He's dehydrated and his belly is painful.  We really worry about pancreatitis in Dachshunds, but that usually involves them eating something high in fat.  You're sure he did eat anything different?" mother questioned.  "No, absolutely not" Ralph's mother attested, "in fact he didn't even have a second helping of turkey and mashed potatoes like he normally does!".  At that, mother nodded and took some red syrup from Ralph's neck to run some tests.  Mother was not suprised when the pancreatitis test came back positive. 
"Foods high in fat can make a dogs' pancreas work overtime, and leak out enzymes that cause pain and indigestion.  We have to rest Ralph's stomach and give him fluids in his veins to keep him hydrated.  This condition can lead to problems down the road as well, so we'll have to watch him really closely for the next few days." mother advised Ralphs' parents.  "Once he's feeling better, he'll have to start on a low fat diet, too.  No more mashed potatoes for Ralph I'm afraid".  After all that, and seeing Ralph get the tubes in his legs, I'm glad I never did find that turkey.