Greener Grass

 We had a bit of a problem with our backyard. The grass died along our back fence. The new lawn service (we get a guy to mow) thought it was a feature rather than a bug. So widened it and weeded it and maintained a lovely patch of dirt. We thought it was kind of interesting when the birds in the neighborhood enjoyed taking dirt baths. It was much less fascinating when Booker discovered dirt baths. Which were followed by water baths and wiping mud off the bathroom walls.

 In an effort to do something about it (three Booker baths in two days prompted some action), we went to the home improvement store and bought the required ingredients for lawn: topsoil, fertilizer, seed, and a seed blanket.
My thumb is notoriously black - if it's green and it grows it runs screaming in the opposite direction when I approach. Imagine our surprise when, after only a week, there are signs of an impending lawn! I keep expecting failure in all things outdoors. Booker may be sad about the changes, but he probably won't miss the bathtub.

Dealing with Booker's "hairy eyeball"

This morning we're on tenterhooks. Booker, Fran's five-month-old Boston Terrier puppy is having surgery today to remove a growth (dermoid cyst) from his right eye.
Aside from being good fodder for jokes (Booker's quite literal "hairy eyeball"), there's nothing good or fun about it. From the stress of diagnosis, to finding a good specialty vet, to figuring out how to pay, to worrying about the procedure, the follow-up, and the long-term ramifications - it's all a source of stress. And it's one that every pet owner faces at some point.
So how do you find a good veterinarian? It takes some research, which is easier now than ever before. The internet makes it both simpler and more perplexing - after you've read umpteen dozen reviews of a particular veterinary hospital, what impression are you left with? Good, bad, more confused than when you started?
We've been going to the same veterinarian since before there was an internet. But I still remember how we found her - a friend whose opinion we trusted referred us - with glowing accolades. So we tried her and we liked her. And she listens to us. Which is increasingly rare and much appreciated. When we take one of our dogs in because "he's just not right" - she takes us seriously and works to find the source of the issue.
So the first resource for finding a good vet is to ask people you trust - people who take care of their pets the way you want to. People whose pets are healthy and happy.
If you have several to choose among, secondary considerations may be costs, hours, and distance. When you've made your decision, it may be a good idea to make an appointment and take your pet for a "wellness check." It's an opportunity to assess the facility, personnel, and the vet - before you and your pet are in urgent need.

Baby gate shuffle!

The logistics are difficult when we want to train one dog without the others "showing off." Booker needs a few sessions to himself during the day, but I don't want the other dogs sitting in front of me when I'm telling Booker to sit! They'd get the treats. Now, there are times when jealousy is a great trainer - like dumbbell work, but that's for much later! So, we do the baby gate shuffle. Treats for everyone as I move them into one room and move the baby gates so they can't get out. Luckily Booker is small enough so that I can pick him up and carry him into the room where I want to work! He likes to stand on his hind legs for everything, so we're working hard on having "4 on the floor!" - Fran

Booker is a play machine!

Booker loves toys! Especially ones with squeakers, it turns out! He loves to run with toys, tug with toys, fetch toys and just basically have fun with toys! Tango looks a little put out, don't you think? Booker is playing with his latest favorite, a Mini Skinneeez Raccon. Booker even likes to play with me! - Fran

Booker's here!

Day 2 of life with Booker! He's pictured in his crate at the shop. So far, Booker has been doing a lot of sleeping and playing. But, that's a puppy's job! Booker is a 9-week old Boston Terrier. His little ears are taped so that they'll stand up like they're supposed to when he's older. He doesn't bother them, so we'll leave the tape on. Yesterday he modeled a new jacket here at Golly Gear (http://www.gollygear.com/snwdrft_cuddler.htm) and was completely worn out by the experience. Well, the modelling, plus a visit to the vet to say hello, and a visit to Tango's agility class - again, to say hello. The little guy has to say hello a lot! We think Booker is pretty cute, so get ready for lots more pictures! - Fran

Where did the year go??

Astonishing that 2012 is almost history. We're still here, so the Mayan people probably just ran out of room on their calendar. No doomsday (yet). We're expecting a new addition here in the Golly Gear family. That's Booker (Boston Terrier) and me a few weeks ago. Booker was about 4 1/2 weeks old in that picture, and I'll be getting him in a couple of weeks. I was lucky enough to meet Booker's breeder in person as she was passing through (almost) my area. Tango and the rest of the crew are looking forward to a new play and training buddy in the new year. You'll most likely also see Booker in new harnesses, collars and coats that we'll be featuring in the shop. It's going to be a blast! - Fran

Ceilidh Day!

It's been a really long time since Ceilidh had a day at the shop. So, since she'd been seeming stressed at home, I brought her in today. Ceilidh is having a restful day.

-Fran

I'm a bad, bad auntie

Fridays are my day off. I have the whole house and all four dogs to myself - my two (Roc and Dax) and Fran's two (Golly and Ceilidh).
I think we've mentioned about 80 zillion times that Ceilidh is a "special" dog. She doesn't like to be petted, she's constantly on the move, she's not good at eating, is hyperactive, etc. etc. etc.
So yesterday, I took the dogs out into the backyard, let them do their thing, sniff some, lie in the sun for a while. Then it was time to go in - I had things to do!
So I call them. Golly goes back to the house. Roc is right on her heels. Dax reluctantly gives up her patch of sun and goes inside. Ceilidh's running around the yard with a stick in her mouth. Ceilidh, who is obedience-trained, ignores "Come" ignores "Go Home" and dashes around the yard some more. I'm getting impatient, so I say "Dammit Ceilidh." At which, she immediately goes home.
So it occurs to me that Ceilidh thinks "Dammit Ceilidh" means go home. Poor Ceilidh.

Life with Ceilidh isn't getting any easier

Ceilidh is a dear, sweet Boston Terrier girl. She's also, as has been mentioned more than once, not an easy dog to live with. Her vet says she's not wired right - she described Ceilidh to a friend of ours as living life "double time."

Her two speeds are full and off. There's no in-between with Ceilidh - she's either running a mile-a-minute or crashed. She never just "hangs out."

And it's not getting any better. Ceilidh turned 8 years old in April. And she was diagnosed with a fairly serious heart condition in the last year. And now, as her most recent development, she's terrified of thunderstorms. And fireworks.

Needless to say, this weekend wasn't much fun for her. The official fireworks celebrations were bad enough - we can hear three of them from our house. What was even worse was the neighborhood idiots shooting off illegal firecrackers until the wee hours of the morning. Every time we thought it was over, another one would BANG right outside.

Ceilidh was beside herself. She couldn't settle, couldn't find a good place to hide, refused to be comforted and was generally miserable.

We felt so bad for her - and there was nothing we could do. We tried some herbal/holistic thing, but it did nothing. Because of her heart medication, our pharmaceutical options are limited. I do know that next year, if we're lucky enough to still have our Ceilidh, we'll ask our vet to figure something out. I'd rather she spent the holiday knocked-out sleeping than quaking in fear. Poor baby.

The Girls Like it Hot!

This is our fifth day of 90 degree heat here in the Chicago area. We had below-normal temperatures all spring, but but did summer start with a bang! (Literally - thunderstorms the day before summer began knocked out our power for a few hours at home.) Dax, Ceilidh and Golly all love to lie in the sun and bask! Silly girls - this is the last thing any of them should be doing. French Bulldogs are prone to heat stroke, and Ceilidh and Golly both have heart conditions that make basking kind of dangerous. So I've been carrying Dax and Ceilidh into the house - that's how I've been getting my bicep work in. Golly can be persuaded into the house most of the time with a yummy treat!

Caught in the act

No toy is Ceilidh-proof.

More than just a river in Egypt

So we look at Ceilidh and can't believe anything's wrong with her. If I hadn't seen the EKG for myself, I wouldn't believe it. But there's not much arguing with two separate tests with scarey flat lines that seem to go on forever before that reassuring little bump that says - not done yet!
And she's not. Not by a long shot. Because Ceilidh has no symptoms, her vet says we can work with medication, trying to get her dosage right, seeing what effect it has, etc. Another EKG in three weeks and we'll see where we are.
In the meantime, we intend to ignore the situation entirely, aside from giving her the pills. There's a lovely view from this wonderful place called "denial." Visit anytime!

Facing choices

I'm off to pick up Ceilidh at the vet in a few minutes. She spent the day getting checked out - the vet said the heart murmur she found last year had worsened considerably - from a grade 1 to a grade 3. Ceilidh's only seven years old, and we don't even want to consider the implications if she has exercise restrictions. Not the full-speed, party girl! We're dreading having to face the choice - quantity or quality of life?

Her place in the sun

A patch of sunshine is the only thing that would ever, ever, ever convince Ceilidh to share a bed. Fran's "special" girl usually doesn't like being touched. By anyone. Ever.

Routine is good

Saturday when I got home from work I didn't even notice that our power was out. The temperature was comfy and it's time of year when daylight lasts well into the evening. Of course I'd noticed the major thunder/wind storm on my way home - but it'd already passed and I just wanted to take the dogs out and relax.

When I got out with the dogs, I did notice that all of our neighbors on our side of the street and across the alley were standing around outside. I couldn't help but notice, since Roc is an adherent of the "little yappy dog" theory of guard dogsmanship. I herded the kids back inside and went out to find out what the fuss was about.

A huge branch from a tree across the alley landed directly on the power lines. The live wires were sitting on a neighbor's garage, the alley was blocked with tree bits, and the fire department was on its way. I missed all the excitement - apparently sparks flew, literally.

I called Fran to let her know the situation - and asked her to pick up a bag of ice on her way home. Crises are easier to deal with when you have anything-on-the-rocks in your hand. I brought up our cooler, the battery-powered fan (standard equipment for French Bulldog owners), opened the windows wide and dusted off the battery-operated radio. No, the weather alert system is not an addiction. The Cubs are.

We did just fine for a while. We had a nice meal while it was still light and Fran had her usual 15-minute intense fetch session with Ceilidh. Then - there was nothing to do. Every one of our usual pastimes requires power. Reading, watching tv, working, all of it. We had a couple of candles for light.

Ceilidh really, really hated it. Her normal routine was interrupted and she just couldn't deal. We sometimes forget how much of a "special needs" dog Ceilidh is. She wasn't happy; didn't eat, couldn't settle, didn't like it one little bit. You could almost see the waves of stress radiating from her little body. Of course we felt badly for her - but there was nothing we could do to help.

We never thought we'd be happy to hear the sounds of heavy machinery and chain saws at 11:00 on a Saturday night. Power was restored shortly after midnight. All was once again right in Ceilidh's world.

A face any mother could love

Sometimes I think Ceilidh looks like a cartoon character.

And she acts like one, too.

Dax the Huntress

Ceilidh and I had an uneventful evening at Agility class last night: we drove to class in Rush Hour traffic (honestly, when is it not?); played with our beloved Latex Soccer Ball while we waited for the Beginning class to finish; warmed up a little; TUGGED on the Latex Soccer Ball before our first run (tugging - yeah!!) which, by the way, was spectacular!; practiced our spins, touches, give paw, dance, lie down, etc., etc., etc., while we waited and waited and waited for the other dogs; Ceilidh no longer interested in Latex Soccer Ball, just want treats and so did only mediocre on the second course. And then drove home in the much faster traffic.

Ceilidh crashed on the couch and I started to unwind. We had to wait for quite a while last night - lots of weave poles and consequently lots of restarts - and Ceilidh requires a lot of attention to help her maintain at least some focus and not try to eat all the spots off the floor at class. All this as a preface to: DAX the Mighty Huntress!

All of a sudden Dax leapt off the chair and stood quivering in front of a cushion, staring at it intently. We picked it up and there was one of the creepiest, crawliest, biggest, ugliest bugs I've ever seen. EEWWWWWWW!!!! A few tissues and a hard-soled shoe later, it was gone. But Dax found it!! What a good girl.

Boston Fresh Roasted Terrier

Ceilidh loves basking, too!

Dogs are evil. Our neighbor said so.

After work yesterday evening we needed to take some pictures of a dog in the Active Dog Harness. Ceilidh is usually our model of choice - her very short fur shows off products beautifully, she's a solid mass of muscle, and the fact that she's obsessive/compulsive/ADHD/nuts means that as long as you hold her toy, she'll look where you want her to.
So we were in the front yard, because it was shadier and better for taking pictures.
I should mention at this point that we live in a community that prides itself on diversity. Over 30 languages are spoken in the homes of the students at a local junior high school. Every year our town holds a "Festival of Cultures" that draws dozens of ethnic groups, hundreds of participants and thousands of festival-goers. The relevance to this story?
The neighbor who lives two doors east of us, who is of Western Asian descent, came over to talk to us while we were taking pictures. He's seen our dogs many times, of course, but we're usually on our way somewhere and just wave. This time, we were fairly stationary, so he came to talk.
Ceilidh, of course, was beside herself, wiggling and chirping little monkey-noises because she was so delighted that someone came to see her. Our neighbor was, justifiably, rather hesitant, but after being reassured that she wished to lick, not bite, he came over and tried to pet her. On the top of her head. Which is impossible unless she's very, very soundly asleep.
But he made the attempt, which was nice. Then he was telling us that he and his daughter really want to get a dog. Since his wife won't allow a dog in the house, he planned to keep it in the backyard, with access to the garage in Chicago's 20-degree-below-zero winter weather. It was fairly easy to convince him that this was a bad idea; dogs are pack animals, need to be with the family, etc. He got it.
And then he told us the kicker - his wife is convinced that dogs are evil because she heard a creation story that says that dogs were made from Adam's vomit and therefore rejected and evil. Huh?

She's fallen off the veggie wagon!

I took Ceilidh and Dax to the vet for their annual visit last Friday. Ceilidh is a solid mass of muscle and pretty perfect in every way. (Okay, her teeth need some additional attention, brushing-wise. But I dare you to come and stick your finger in an unhappily-squirming, really-don't-want-this Boston Terrier mouth. With all those lovely Boston Terrier teeth in that so-strong-you-can-swing-me-around-by-my-toy Boston Terrier jaw.)

Dax, on the other hand, has gained a couple of pounds. She's a bit round at the moment and needs to lose it. French Bulldogs, I'm told, gain weight very easily, and the three months we've missed agility haven't helped.

But the poor girl doesn't seem to have her nutrition facts straight! For the last week, Dax has rejected, refused to eat, even spits out! her vegetables. This is the girl who would forego hotdogs for lettuce! Her favorite munch was carrots! We used celery as her focus/tug toy in agility class! And now she won't touch the stuff.

Last night we had her absolute favorite - Romaine Lettuce. She took a piece, crunched and spat. I don't know who told her that veggies were on the "don't" list, but I hope she stops listening to this evil propaganda. I need my Daxie to eat her veggies!