Baxter – Foster Dog

Poor Baxter. Poor, ridiculously-cute, half-a-floof, skin-falling-off, learning how-to-be-a-dog Baxter. Please enjoy his story thus far….

Baxter’s story began on December 3rd when a wonderful person was told by a worker at the dump that someone had dumped a puppy and he thought it was still alive. The puppy was found lying motionless, hidden between the dumpsters at the concrete wall. (The pup would not have been seen if not for the workman.) They scooped his near lifeless body up and cradled him in their arms as they rushed him to the shelter.

At the shelter he was named Baxter and treated for parasites and vaccinated. It was finally determined that due to his extreme parasite load he was severely anemic and required a blood transfusion. That helped a lot, but he was still frozen in fear and you could just tell he felt horrible. So, he went into foster with prescribed antibiotics.

He lived in my guest bathroom for almost a week, just feeling craptastic. Eating, drinking, peeing and pooping normally (on pee pads – he was and is an impressively fastidious little dude), but he just had no energy.

The sad Baxter.

After a week of him looking like hell, I was concerned, was he going to become interested in life? Then, finally, we received a very clear indication he was ready to live: joyful puppy destruction!

Baxter made SQUISHIES!

Yay! It was time to integrate him into my pack because nothing teaches a puppy how to puppy like a pack. It has been constant and consistent improvement every single day as he continues to build muscle and gain weight. He has been introduced to, and played very well with, new and different people, dogs, puppies, and one cat. All went very well and he has the potential to become a wonderful companion.

Baxter being handsome on December 25, 2019
Proud of his digging skills!
Tired and happy after a full day of play and digging fun!

As Baxter began to develop into a puppy (as opposed to the saddest statue you’ve ever seen) he developed some hilarious habits, my favorite of which is his love of sitting on my dog Jane. Jane is the best puppy raiser I’ve ever had, she guards them, loves them, is patient with them, but still teaches them what is (and is not) okay. Baxter really likes to sit on her as if she were a pony, Jane doesn’t like it – but wow does it make me giggle!

Oh Baxter!
Jane is really very patient! β™₯️
Baxter with foster sister Ziesa.
Baxter with foster brother Dobby.
Baxter with friend Sansa, “We killed a pillow together! Let’s eat each other’s faces! 😍😍😍”
Baxter loves squishy beds, nylabones, paper, and shoes. Thankfully he has never done any damage to the shoes, but he is a bit of a kleptomaniac about them. All paper (obviously) must be destroyed and shaped into new squishy bed. πŸ€¦β€β™€οΈ

Baxter still becomes nervous and stressed in new environments, however his reaction to stress is to freeze and become still and quiet; if you’re holding him he squishes into you. Baxter is a very easy dog to love. He really relaxes most easily when their are other dogs around. Thankfully he is very food motivated which makes training a lot easier. He has excellent manners and sits to say please. He has become potty-trained to go to the bathroom outside on his own, however I have allowed him free access to the outside as often as possible. He uses pee pads like a champ if they are his only option.

Belly skritches are the BEST!

He now weighs a whopping almost 16lbs! All of his hair has grown back in and he is getting TALL! He flies away today (I am meeting the travelers around 2pm.) and although we are all going to miss him, he deserves the best forever home in the world – preferably with at least one additional packmate. β™₯️

Mr. Baxter derpily snoozing a couple hours before leaving for airport after a morning of play and fun. β™₯️

Writers Block & Revenge

So……I’ve had horrible writers block since my father passed away. Like, I’m avoiding writing and am not letting myself take the time to even write a few things down. ☹️ It is super weird AND annoying. But, I’m working on it. 🀞

Also, I have a SUPER clingy dog whose name is Humphrey. He is SO clingy and needy that he just forces his 90lb butt into laps and tries to pin people down and slurp-lick them with his creepily large (and moist) tongue while staring at them with slightly bulgy but INTENSE eyes. It’s just A LOT.

So, please forgive my rather inappropriate joy at forcing Mr. Humphrey into a full spoony cuddle and when he wants to wiggle to freedom I just soothe him and hold him tighter until he starts looking at me like, “dang lady, this is kind of A LOT!” while I giggle and laugh. 🀣🀣🀣

I’m still alive!

Short update from an exhausted Heather; I know it has been a while:

– so far, my new job is going well. I keep trying to make a positive difference there, and every once in a great while, I do. There are things I dream of for my new workplace and the dream that keeps bobbing to the top of my brain is a donation of a commercially-rated propane-fueled clothes dryer and installation. πŸ™πŸ™πŸ™

– I’ve been working too much. My dogs are clearly letting me know they are neglected and today, the lovely gentleman who owns the giant yard next door where I (used to) play/work the dogs daily, called to see if we were alive. He was worried because the tenants in his building hadn’t seen me in a while and the ripe coconuts he told me to take at will haven’t been taken. He really is a great neighbor. 😍 It reminded me of the time the bar called the refinery because they hadn’t seen me in two weeks. πŸ˜‚ I used to eat breakfast there every Saturday. ❀️

– part of the reason I’ve been working too much is because my wonderful husband has had to drop me off at work at 06:30 on his way to his job and then pick me up on his way home at about 19:00. My beloved Jeep has a computer and/or transmission problem (after we just fixed the front end suspension problems) and it is time to find a new (to me) daily driver and get the Jeep fixed up properly. πŸš—

– three years ago today was the day I had to let my Herbert (Diabetic Alert Dog) go. It amazes me how much my life has changed in that time and that I still miss him every day. πŸΎπŸ’”πŸΎ

Well, that was descriptive!

I’m trying to tame a feral puppy. It’s a very happy feral puppy who is impeccably clean and loves other dogs, but I can’t touch her for love nor treats.

I just used the term, “Elmer-Fudding” to describe how I was moving around the house trying to touch a Sally.

“Elmer-fudding” might be the best descriptor I have ever written.

Overheard: Nipples

The other day was a fairly quiet day, and there I was a’ tippy tappy-ing on my ‘puter trying to learn how to do my new job whilst allowing my subconscious to deal with the ongoing anxiety about insurance costs and how not to lose medical coverage and figuring out how to quit my old job when I realize I am over-hearing a man attempting to explain to the vet tech that the cat he has at home is a female because it has nipples.

*****Record scratch*****

…..say what now?

It was like beautiful theater. I couldn’t look away. A very small part of my brain was SUPER excited to see where this was going to go.

Vet Tech explains that male cats have nipples. Man agrees, but counters that they don’t have as many nipples as female cats. Vet Tech asks a volunteer go and grab friendly male cat.

Vet Tech showed him the male cat’s nipples and counted them one at a time (he was a VERY friendly cat). CatNippleMan still seemed to think this was malarkey, but you could tell he had started to think.

I couldn’t help it, I had to ask, “Sir, do female humans have more nipples than male humans?”

After everyone giggled and chatted for a while about mammalian nipple counts, it all finally clicked for him, and for a beautiful few minutes much happy laughter was had by all, including the poor man who will always be thought of (to me, anyway) as CatNippleMan.

Be Your Own Hero!

There is a LOT to unpack in this story, but I am stressed, so please forgive me for the excessive stream of consciousness that is about to vomit into this post.

So, while trying to fight the never ending entropy of mess that is the front porch, I saw the pathetic kitchen knife that the festering pustule on the taint of society brought to stab me or Darrin or whomever laying on the tile. I realized I needed to write this down.

I know, there’s a LOT more story to be told.

I have a neighbor, her name shall be J. J has a BF/ExBF who beats her. He is a festering pustule on the taint of society, but for the sake of brevity, his name shall be Pustule. J has issues and has a history of an abusive exs. And, like many people trapped in this shitty cycle, an unwillingness to press charges. I made it very clear that she has to save herself, to be her own hero. That she is worth saving, but that she HAS to be the one to do it.

Honestly, I don’t think it would have affected me so strongly if I hadn’t heard from an acquaintance that he beat one of their dogs to death. I do NOT like bullies.

I’ve learned a lot in just a few short days, I’ve learned:

  1. I still become incredibly clear and calm during emergencies.
  2. I have no hesitation when attempting to defend/avenge an animal. I was doing the whole smart safe we stay inside and call police approach. He came to the door and screamed and ranted and I did the whole, “you are unwelcome and need to leave. I’m calling police and if you refuse to leave I’m releasing the dogs (who were going batshit at that point).” He left, heading towards their home saying J would pay and she cried saying he was going to kill her dogs. To which I said, “okay, let’s go get the dogs.”
  3. He went in their house and came back out with a knife (pathetic kitchen knife). I finally got dog loose (fucking rope fought me). He didn’t come after me, went towards vehicle and husband. He punched awkwardly at husband’s head and hit his ear (?!). I called police, he snatched and threw my phone fully destroying it and stomped back towards our house. I suggested hitting him with vehicle…..husband said no (he really *is* better than me in many ways).
  4. Backing up my phone to a Gmail account and saving NOTHING locally just saves so much frustration. [Aside, I was making the mistake of saving web links on my homepage. Now I save everything as a bookmark.]
  5. Once home, while the Pustule dragged his girlfriend back and forth demanding the keys to her vehicle, Darrin went in to call police. She had left the keys on the porch. I had hid them in the grill.
  6. I really hate bullies and taunting that little shit to get his attention off J as he dragged that abused woman down my driveway by asking as to whether these were the keys the the pathetic little man wanted while jingling said keys was WAY more satisfying than it should have been.
  7. I tried to remove the vehicle keys from the rest of the keys and he snatched them from me so I punched him. Seeing that Pustule’s absolutely stunned expression that someone would dare to hit back was soul-restoringly beautiful.
  8. I’m still clutzy! That gods-forsaken bunched up rug on my front porch tripped me, but I took the Pustule down with me. ::grin::
  9. My husband LOVES me. I mean like, WOWSA loves me. I know this because of his deep rage voice shaking the rafters with a “GET OFF MY WIFE!!!” right before the Pustule flew. (Husband was inside locating his phone and calling police; that stopped when he saw I was fighting.)
  10. I know I’m my mother’s daughter because as I tripped over that muddaskunt rug on my front porch (that must be burned) and dragged Pustule down with me I thought, “right thumb in eye socket” and did it.
  11. I know I’m an overthinker because I also thought, probably shouldn’t blind him permanently (hindsight: should have) and just slid right thumb into medial canthus instead.
  12. My left hand was heading towards his testicles for destruction when the husband made him fly. I find it just a little disturbing that I had a very clear moment of regret when he flew that I didn’t get to maim him.
  13. I know I LOVE my husband. I mean like, WOWSA love him. I know this because when Pustule attacked him post flight, I got close and bit the Pustule on the forehead (no, I don’t know why. But I couldn’t get to any other part of him and it seemed the thing to do. SMH). While they continued tussling I punched Pustule repeatedly in the kidneys. I’ve never claimed to fight fairly and cheap shots are acceptable while fighting a coked out abusive asshole.
  14. I didn’t use my dogs. Could have, maybe should have… but I secured them in the bedroom because I didn’t want them to get hurt.

So, here I am one week and one day later, I believe Pustule is still un-captured. J posted two days ago that someone broke her windshield and she didn’t know who would have done such a thing (I have a guess ::eyeroll::). My phone has been replaced (yay insurance!) and my life appears to have gotten back to normal.

But a small part of me is sure this isn’t done, so if it isn’t and Pustule tries something stupid please know I will use every skill I have to protect me and mine while doing my damnedest to make that little pathetic bully pays some karmic debt.

Love y’all,

H.

Unexpectedly Wonderful Chow Chow

I am incredibly blessed to know some wonderful people, but it is naieve to forget as often as I do that there are people that think casual cruelty is acceptable.
This is yesterday’s example of casual cruelty.
A fine handsome boy who is incredibly self-assured, confident, and just nice – these are all rare traits for any breed of dog (or human!), but to have them all in a Chow Chow that someone, either out of stupidity or with deliberate malice, put a rubber band around his neck until it ate into the skin causing a horrible infection? Frankly, it’s almost unbelievable.
I brought him to the animal shelter yesterday afternoon and he will be sedated and his injury cleaned and stitched today.

Pretty Birds

Dear Jane,

Yes, you now weigh a whopping 20.8lbs which is SUPER big and SUPER impressive. However, even with all that heft and your intimidating hopping and oofing (referred to as her hop-en-de-oof), I’m still going to recommend that you not get into a standoff with that red-tailed hawk. Kthanks!

I don’t know what she was thinking but I heard the (loud as hell) song birds sending out their ALERT! ALERT! PREDATOR NEAR! which sounds more like a frantic cheepcheepcheepcheep.

Then I heard screech of the hawk up high, which led to me hearing the “oof!”. I go outside and there’s Jane, up on her back feet, full on Hop-en-de-oof-ing at the sky.

I know that in theory she is now out of prey-size range, but not gonna chance it.

Just finished belly-laughing!

FoodLady Chronicles – that time Dobby farted:

Good morning all,

I thought very little in this world could be funnier than a dog audibly farting; I was wrong. I was watching Dobby and Jane playing tug with an old hair tie and debating whether it was worth redirecting them to another toy (as I had already done with a roll of toilet paper, a shoe, and a fork; they were in rare puppy zoomy form this morning!), or just let it go to the graveyard of destroyed hair ties (disclaimer – never let dogs play with hair ties cause they can swallow them, etc. etc.). Whilst mid internal hair tie rescue/recovery debate, Dobby, who was sitting at an odd angle while Jane tugged her hardest, farted. I only know this because he was sitting on the tile at such an angle that his booty made a sound kind of like a fog-horn blew on a blade of grass to make a squeaky whistle.

All. Play. Immediately. Stopped.
Other dogs ran over. And then all of the dogs, including Dobby, spent time investigating Dobby’s butt and the tile trying to figure out where the sound came from. I was bent over silently laughing and shoulders shaking and while I can’t exactly explain why, the canine fart investigation looked a lot like a construction safety incident investigation where everyone kept looking (sniffing) at the incident (butthole) and then looking (sniffing) at the location of the incident (tile). At that thought I honked in a gasping breath from laughing so hard which distracted everyone away from the butt-tile-squeak investigation and into the why-lady-honk investigation.

All dogs have returned to their regularly scheduled state of sloth, it was a lot of investigat’n for one morning. 🀣🀣🀣

Diabetic Randomness

So, sitting here working and if I had to swear to it, I would say my blood sugar was going low. I came to this conclusion using logic. I felt a little woobly and sweaty and added that to taking a big bolus of breakfast insulin because I was planning to eat a big plate of leftover Chinese food (ALL THE CARBS) but only ate about a third. Seems logical, right?

Oh, that’s right!? Diabetes is not a logical fucker. It’s an asshole.

Nope. Blood sugar was 171 mg/dL. So, I took another 2 units to knock it down a bit more.

But all I could say was, jeeeeebus! I really have NO FRIGGIN CLUE what’s going on with my blood glucose. None.

I’m a SENSITIVE person. I can usually tell things about my body pretty darn well. I guess that’s why not being able to tell where the fuck my blood sugar is makes me crazy (-ier).

Do y’all know (of course you don’t, why would you?) I spent about 4 months of my life horrifically depressed because I was trying to live with my blood sugar too low? Did I know that’s what caused it? Nope. That sucked.

So, I’m now off of what I think of as the “easy” meds, and I’m back on the insulin fun. It actually works much better for me, except for this pesky not knowing if I’m high, low, or okay.

That’s kind of a bitch.

I’ve begun training the wee Janelet puppy to eventually become a service dog. I had to order new freezer tubes and cotton, so right now we are working on basic manners and obedience. Wish me luck! ❀️

So, sitting here working and if I had to swear to it, I would say my blood sugar was going low. I came to this conclusion using logic. I felt a little woobly and sweaty and added that to taking a big bolus of breakfast insulin because I was planning to eat a big plate of leftover Chinese food (ALL THE CARBS) but only ate about a third. Seems logical, right?

Oh, that’s right!? Diabetes is not a logical fucker. It’s an asshole.

Nope. Blood sugar was 171 mg/dL. So, I took another 2 units to knock it down a bit more.

But all I could say was, jeeeeebus! I really have NO FRIGGIN CLUE what’s going on with my blood glucose. None.

I’m a SENSITIVE person. I can usually tell things about my body pretty darn well. I guess that’s why not being able to tell where the fuck my blood sugar is makes me crazy (-ier).

Do y’all know (of course you don’t, why would you?) I spent about 4 months of my life horrifically depressed because I was trying to live with my blood sugar too low? Did I know that’s what caused it? Nope. That sucked.

So, I’m now off of what I think of as the “easy” meds, and I’m back on the insulin fun. It actually works much better for me, except for this pesky not knowing if I’m high, low, or okay.

That’s kind of a bitch.

I’ve begun training the wee Janelet puppy to eventually become a service dog. I had to order new freezer tubes and cotton, so right now we are working on basic manners and obedience. Wish me luck! ❀️