Dog Days
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Wednesday, August 9th, 2006Defa, my beloved springer spaniel - and most definitely not the sh*t-eating, wee-drinking one - has another large lump. Last time she had a lump removed the vet told me there was an outside possibility that she had diverticulitis. She’s young and there’s no indication it’s cancer, but, here, it could be something just as bad! Or at least that’s how I remembered it being that it was about two weeks after the baby was born and I was a walking zombie.
On Sunday, the day following the discovery of the new lump, we went to a big family party. I hadn’t seen many of my cousins for three or four years. From there being only one baby of the New Generation four years ago (Harry, who as the first grandchild, stole the show completely) there are now ten! Although as three are mine and two are my sister’s I guess we are the ones who should be keeping our legs crossed a bit more in future. It was great fun to catch up with everyone and have everyone admire my handsome boys and my incredibly beautiful baby. I mean, if you don’t know what to say to me, you just have to admire my baby and I’ll do the human equivalent of rolling over and letting you tickle my tummy. Or, even better, I may just roll over and let you tickle my tummy.
Over lunch (a hog roast, but although I couldn’t bring myself to look at the pig being carved up I loved the food - what hipocrisy!) I was talking with my uncle explaining that the vet had said that if the lump returned, she probably had diverticulitis and that this was very serious, most likely terminal. Looking slightly alarmed he practically spat his food at me, ‘but I have diverticulitis!’ I assured him that his was almost certainly not terminal as the doctor probably would have told him if it was and that, also, I probably, even quite likely, had the disease wrong. Of course I had it wrong: it was Furunculosis, not Diverticulitis. So unless you have a Furuncle, Uncle, you are probably in the clear.
Sadly, canine anal furunculosis does not have a good prognosis, not least because vets are not sure really what causes it or how to treat it successfully. When I took her to the vet on Monday, I was given the ‘prepare for the worst’ speech. It is rare in Springer Spaniels but she told me she had a case in a springer just six months ago.
Defa is my little dog that loves her ball, her food and her ball some more. We always joked that when she died we would bury her with her ball. (And maybe a 30kg bag of her food because she is a greedy spaniel after all.)
Now it’s not a joke, just an unspoken thought.
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Posted in Dog Days
One less job
Tuesday, August 8th, 2006When I went into the bathroom today I noticed that the potty was empty. Not only was my son weeing in the potty, he was also tipping it into the loo when he was finished. He clearly likes things clean and tidy. What a boy after my own heart!
I went into the bathroom later and I noticed he had again emptied the potty.
‘Are you cleaning the potty when you’ve finished with it William?’ I ask him.
‘Yes.’
‘Clever boy. Are you wiping the potty too? It looks really clean.’
‘Yes, I put the loo paper in the loo when I finished.’
‘You are a clever boy. Thank you.’
He beams. I kiss him.
My children are becoming more independent every day. That’s one less job I have to do, I think, marvelling at the increasing number of chores someone else can now do.
Washing my hands after changing the baby’s nappy I hear Brin, my cophrophagic, sh*t-eating springer spaniel, come into the bathroom and start drinking from her water bowl. Except she doesn’t have a water bowl in the bathroom, I realise and as I turn around I see her DRINKING MY SON’S WEE and licking the bowl of the potty until it is completely dry.
I kick her out of the bathroom. ‘You wretched cur,’ I sigh.
The dog drinks the wee and cleans the potty, for God’s sake!
I think about how mind-numbingly tired and busy I am. That’s still one less job I have to do, I think, marvelling at the increasing number of chores someone else, DOG INCLUDED, can now do.
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Posted in Dog Days, Parenting
Dog days
Thursday, April 14th, 2005When I can stop feeling self-centred about my own depression for more than a few minutes the one thing in particular that really bothers me is the quality of life our dogs have had since the children were born.
I’m sure the quality of my previous work might have been better without a dog on my knee but they loved it, curling up contentedly like an oversize cat. Once Harry came along, their place on my knee was usurped by this greedy, boob-mad baby. They weren’t best pleased.
They also used to have an hour long walk every morning across rolling farmland and woodland and then they were free to play in and out of the house all day. Now, because of their nasty habit of eating their own sh*t, they are confined inside until such time as I can go outside with them and watch them. This is planned like a military operation. I find the most exciting activity I can think of at that moment and settle the boys down and then I take the dogs out into the garden. Defa loves to play ball so I spend as long as I can out there with them while watching the boys through the kitchen window. When I hear fighting from inside, the ball games are over.
Some days I walk them, but it is tricky with two small children, two dogs and a big muddy field. When we get back all of us have to go under the outside hose (and you think I’m joking). And then some days I can’t walk them and I have to rely on a dog walker. He is, at best, unreliable. But then, in such a small village, we don’t exactly have people lining up to walk them. So some days the dogs sit in their basket looking at me forlornly. I can almost see the black cloud hanging over their heads as they look at me with their sad spaniel eyes.
Surprisingly, you’d have thought they might take it out on the children but they couldn’t be sweeter or more tolerant, especially now William has reached the age where he thinks the dogs are some sort of ride-on toy.
I know my life will return to some sort of normality once the children are a bit older. But how do I explain to the dogs that their lives will return to some sort of normality one day too?
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Posted in Dog Days
The damn dogs
Sunday, March 13th, 2005
[picture missing]
This, THIS, is the one I found today about to relieve my son’s nappy of its contents.
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, BRIN?
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Posted in Dog Days
Bad, bad, bad dog
Wednesday, January 12th, 2005My dogs are at it again. Being BAD, that is.
What do you do with a dog that is so utterly naughty, vile and sneaky but otherwise loveable and cuddly?
This morning I came downstairs to find that one of them had pooped on the hallway floor. And also on the kitchen floor. Ánd also on the living room floor. And poopy footprints from one spot to another.
Actually at first I wasn’t sure if it was poop. It looked a bit like bird-feed or something. I actually had to smell it to be certain what it was. But it was definitely shit. Shit with peanuts in it.
Then a slow realisation that perhaps Eldest Son has been involved - wait, did he have sweetcorn for dinner? No. So he was in the clear then. Second Son also gave him an alibi. “William, has Harry been downstairs this morning?” “No, no, no, no, NO,” shaking his head violently. So Harry is off the hook.
As I look more closely at the mess I realise bits of it have clearly been eaten. Eaten! Yes, the dogs have been back through their own shit, picked out the food bits (which turned out to be bird peanuts they had found on a garage shelf) and eaten them FOR THE SECOND TIME.
And if I hadn’t already had enough to clear up, I think I might have been sick.
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Posted in Dog Days
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