My Sappy Little Rant

We often hear about pet heroes whether it be on the news, from an online article, or even just by word of mouth.  I've never actually owned a hero pet, other than they are all heroes of the heart in some way or another (you're free to get teary-eyed now).  I often say that Bill, our male tweenie (in between a miniature dachshund and a standard dachshund) was my hero when I fell on concrete and busted my chin open, but he was only a hero in that he wouldn't leave my side when he's known to wander off-leash.  That's huge for Bill, but not for what we see on TV.

Our late German shepherd mix, Becki, could sense a good person from a bad person from the moment he or she stepped foot in the house.  I was always very wary of the people she didn't like.  But she never really came to our rescue.

And Goldie, the golden retriever we had when I was growing up, was your stereotypical golden.  She would invite a robber into the house with the hope of getting a belly rub.

At least that's what I always thought the typical golden was like.  That's how 99.9% of the goldens I've met have been, and they're popular enough that I've met more than I can remember.  But they're smart buggers, too.  The Animal Rescue Site highlights the story of Calamity Jane, a three-legged golden who came to the rescue of her neighbors because she sensed danger.

I can't say Jane's story is particularly unique as I've heard stories like this time and time again, but I always find it fascinating how brave and selfless our animals are (or are we their pets?) when they come to our aid.

How many times do we not even give them a choice, and yet they go through ruins and hazards to save us?  We pick out the most promising pups and train them to be search and rescue dogs--we choose their futures of heroism--but they don't say, "Well, I'd much rather study Latin, Dad."

It makes me wonder if this rescue-mechanism is programmed into their brains.  Even cats and birds make the news for these so-called miraculous acts of bravery and heroism.  What if humans were so loyal and selfless?  I'm talking all humans, not just the select few that risk their lives every day on search and rescue teams, as fire-fighters and police-people, etc.

Maybe it's that survival instinct that's still so closely imbedded in their DNA, not only for their own survival but the survival of the pack.  We've invented so many objects to help us survive and "civilized" ourselves to the point that we've forgotten how important basic instinct is.

We can learn a lot from these guys. (Beyond how Bill barking at me right now probably means he really has to go...NOW.)

The Lifecycle

Anniversary
May 8th was Bill and Bailey's birthday.  They turned six years old.  Other than the grey speckles on their muzzles and the extra hobble in Bailey's walk, you probably wouldn't know they were six years old upon meeting them.  In fact Bailey's hobble isn't even from age, but from surgeries and her face will always have the soft edges of a puppy's features.  They're crazy little turds.

It's hard to believe they've been with us for four years.  I say that in an "Only four years?  Wow" way and a "Wow, it's been four years already" way.

When we found them at the shelter (we've never bought a dog, or any animal other than a fish for that matter) they were on the verge of turning two years old.  In the next four years they would go through the following:

Bill
*One back surgery for a bulging (almost herniated) disc
*One oral surgery for a broken and infected tooth to be extracted
*A strained hip
*Numerous speculations, foods, ointments, pills, etc until finally a vet put him on the miracle antihistamine (who woulda thunk it?) for his incessant itches that caused raw, bloody spots that turned into a bald chest and the occasional whimper.
*I forgot about the neuter.
*Stress-induced colitis

Bailey
*Two surgeries for herniated discs
*Due to the surgeries the inability to control her pooper (the control, after a few years, is finally starting to come back)
*Also due to the surgeries, the inability to walk normally giving her an old-lady-wobble and making her favor a bunny-hop-run which causes her back legs to work together rather than against themselves
*Laryngitis (That's what you get for over-rooing yourself)
*I know I'm forgetting something...

What have we learned?  Unless you have PATIENCE and a large SAVINGS ACCOUNT, dachshunds are probably not the dogs for you.

But their giant eyes and toddle-toddle-weenie-waddles have captured our hearts and our bank accounts.  We're doomed.

Death
A few days later my mom broke the news to me that my aunt's dog, Pebbles, passed away.  This was not entirely unexpected but seeing as I don't talk to my aunt on the phone regularly like my mom does, I did not realize how sick and old Pebbles really was.

I am taking this for the better because the picture my mom painted for me of Pebbles' last day was not pretty.  I will remember her as the little schnoodle-doodle-noodle dog (she was some sort of schnauzer-poodle-mix-thing rescued like most dogs in my extended family, so her origins are muddled) with little purple bows in her ears from her latest grooming and the long princess-train-tail that dragged along after her.  She was a princess-dog of sorts, but not overly foo-foo like some dogs.  My aunt would never let it get that way.  She was queen of the house and demanded respect but was also soft spoken (compared to what I put up with everyday).  She was twelve years old and will be missed.

My aunt and uncle will adopt another dog eventually, but they will take their time.  Losing one dog and taking in another are two very difficult things especially when done together.

Poop Machines
I haven't volunteered at the shelter in a few weeks and I feel guilty for it.  I love it when there is a litter of puppies.  Aside from the constant need to clean up piles of puppy poo (which is altogether different and worse than adult dog poo--we won't get into details) which seems in endless supply, having little balls of puppy fluff crawling all over me, tugging at my shoe laces and chewing on my jeans always brings a smile to my face.  I fell in love with Mikey, the shepherd-mix pup who did the dive into my crotch and promptly fell asleep.  He and his littermates looked just like our late dog, Becki.  Sometimes I just hang over the door looking in knowing how hard it will be to leave them (both emotionally and because they latch on and threaten to run rampant around the shelter).  But the puppies always go fast, the puppy room is cleaned and smelling freshly of bleach again, and we must wait for another litter of sweet little innocents to arrive.

While You Wait...

I'm in the process of writing a new post, don't worry!  Don't get your tail in a knot.  Yeesh.  

Here are some links for a good dose of cute to hold you over.

Baby Sloth?  Adorable little sins.

When a Bunny Noms Self explanatory.

Create a Mutt! Incredibly fun Animal Planet game.  

Mommy and Daddy are Home!

For the past week my parents were away on vacation so it was just the little turds and me.  They were absolute angels until the last day and a half when they just got tired of me and being fabulous and had to do something naughty.

But they were smart enough to wait until after the field trip.  I'll let you read the e-mail Bailey wrote to my parents about it (yes, she's very talented.  My mom even suggested she start a blog just as I did.)

Mommy!  Daddy!

Jill got us all dressed and took us outside and we thought she was going to drag us around the pond so we started to protest, especially Bill, that wimpy weenie.  But then she took us across the street to the furniture store!  Oh my duckies!  The grass is so green over there!  We were all excited until we reached that really busy road with the really loud cars.  It seemed like forever passing those cars with people pointing and looking at us until we found refuge at the pet store.  But everything is so big and high up there that I kept scratching at Jill's legs for her to pick me up.  She wouldn't.  But she bought ups poopie bags and booda bones!  Bill wanted cat food, too.  He's such a pig.  But both of us wanted out because it was very overwhelming.  The really tall guy asked if we could have cookies but Jill said we have allergies.  Even though that's only half right, it's okay because we wouldn't have taken them anyhow.  You're not supposed to take cookies from strangers.  He wanted to say hello but he was soooo tall and sooo strange that Bill and I just started walking.  Jill let us take a back-way home to avoid the monster cars and boy was it good to be home!  She gave us jerky for being so good (which made Bill super-happy.  He's been upset about not having jerky-time the past few days.  Piggy.)  Now we're pooped.  In both senses.  And Jill has some really pretty artwork on her legs.  I guess the bright side is that the whole world thinks Bill and I are super-adorable.  You're really lucky to have us.  

Now Jill says she's going to go workout.  Bo-ring!  

 

xoxo

Little Miss Bailey Butt

Yea.  I never actually got to work out.  Seven minutes into my treadmill routine and I heard a faint yelp, so I went to the couch to see what was up.  Turns out Bill's having a bit of spring fever.  I had to nix the workout to spend my night making sure he stayed off of her.  

In other news, if you're in the Chicago area you probably know about Eisenhower, the dog.  If you don't, read about him here: Eisenhower the Dog