It’s Not All Mary Poppins

Three, two, one… PUPPY EXPLOSION!!!

Remember how pathetic Daisy looked after her Big Procedure? How limp and floppy, how droopy and sad? Well, it’s been a week now.

A week of wearing The Cone.

A week of short, on-leash walks.

A week of a SERIOUSLY UNDER-EXERCISED PUPPY.

She is no longer limp, floppy, droopy or sad. She has not been that way since, oh, 50 hours after surgery.

It’s only been a week since she had a hysterectomy. And if she were HUMAN, she might just be considering creeping carefully from room to room in the house. But she’s not human! She’s a PUPPY! And so, as far as she’s concerned, she is FINE, just FINE — and has been, since about 50 hours after surgery.

She has NO IDEA why we make her wear that damned cone, of course, but even worse… why won’t we let her run? and play? and frolic with the other dogs? Why, why, why?

I am not totally cruel. Each day’s walk gets a little longer, of course. But she is getting maybe a third of her customary level of RUNNING and BOUNDING and BOUNCING and LEAPING and PLAY-PLAY-PLAY-PLAYING!!!!

She is, to put it mildly, a little antsy.

She’s begun having these moments of total frenzy in the house. Not aggression, just frenzy.

MUST BOUND!!!

And she bounds, in great sproings, from one end of the house to the other. This takes her about four and a half sproings. The half, because she hits the wall, either in the kitchen (north end) or the front hall (south).

MUST LEAP!!!

And she springs onto and off the couch, madly. Books, magazines, socks, iPods go flying. If someone is sitting on the couch, no problem, she will just SPRING ON YOU!!! And a cone-armed puppy comes flying into your face and then off again, in a flurry of fur, tail, and claws.

If you’ve ever interacted with a puppy with a cone, you’ll know why “armed” is the word of choice. She has only the vaguest of notions of the edges of that thing, so when she leaps at you (head-first, of course), you get the edge of the cone, a thin, semi-rigid plastic edge, driven into your face, your arm, your leg. Ouch.

MUST PLAY!!!

And poor, quiet, gentle Indie finds herself the victim of a flurry of cone-armed chewing. Her neck, her legs, her entire body bears the assault of a mad tail-wagging, desperate for OUTLET puppy. Indie usually rolls onto her side while Daisy pounces all over her head, and moans. Mournfully. “Won’t someone please rescue me from this idiot? Pleeeeeeease?”

MUST RUN!!!!

And she races, races, races from one end of the house to the next, catching walls, doorframes, books, furniture, people with that cone. Things fall down. Things get knocked over. Things rattle on the walls. People duck and run. (And she only weighs 8 kg. One can only imagine the destruction caused by a large exercise-starved puppy. Eesh.)

The stitches come out Saturday. I’ll be there Bright and Early.

Three more days…

September 7, 2011 Posted by | the dog | , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Travails of a Puppy

My baby is growing up! Daisy will be six months old on Sunday, and so, to celebrate this momentous event, we

gave her an extra-juicy bone
took her to an exciting new dog park
bought her a new collar and leash

took her to the vet to have her reproductive organs yoinked.

Poor Daisy!

Now, if my surgical experience is anything to go by — which, I hasten to clarify, is NOT the same one Daisy has just endured — the actual surgery was a non-event. You go to sleep, you wake up. You wake up not even knowing you’d been asleep. Odd how that, when you sleep, you’re aware in a general way of the passage of time, but when you’re knocked out, you are not. Not at all. Weird.

But then you wake up. Which is when it gets yukky. And for Daisy, I am very, very sure that the worst part of the yukky is The Cone.

She does NOT approve of the cone. The vet calls it an “Elizabethan collar” or “E-collar” for short. Amongst dog owners in our neighbourhood, it’s known as the “Cone of Shame”, the shamelessly anthropomorphic myth being that “all the other dogs will laugh at her”.

I’m sure there’s no shame in her heart, but there sure is weariness and misery. Here she is yesterday, still all drugged up, in pain, and absolutely bewildered. “WHY are we DOING this to her? WHEN will it STOP???” (That is Indie’s crate she’s in, since she can’t get into her own. The door’s too small, you see, to admit The Cone.)

Look at her! Isn’t that pathetic? Don’t you just feel so sorry for the wee mite?

All she wanted to do was creep away someplace quiet and be miserable, but all her usual hidey-holes were banned by virtue of That Damned Collar. In the corner behind the chair? Nope. Her crate? Nope. Under the couch? No way it would fit. And yet at a certain point yesterday afternoon, she vanished.

It took a minute of rather anxious searching before I found her. She had managed, somehow, to squeeze herself under the end table beside the couch. I’ve no idea how. And awwww, more with the pathos.

My poor baybeee! That doesn’t look comfortable AT ALL. I managed to coax her out, then lifted her onto the couch. There. She at least looks comfortable now. (Depressed, but comfortable.) It might be my imagination, but it seems to me there’s a little less pain showing in her big brown eyes…

Here she receives comfort from Emma.

That orange thing against Emma’s face? It’s an ice pack. Yes, Emma does indeed have an ice-pack held against her jaw. That is because yesterday was not only The Day Daisy Lost Her Lady-bits, but also The Day Emma Lost Her Wisdom Teeth.

Whee!! do I know how to plan FUN EVENTS for my HOLIDAY!!!, or what?!?!

Now, lest you all be shocked and horrified that I am giving the DOG more post-op love and attention than my DAUGHTER, let me remind you that Emma is eighteen now. While, yes, I had lots of opportunity to take “awww, lookit my poor baaaybeeee” photos, I think I could safely put myself on Emma’s “People I NEVER want to speak to EVER AGAIN” list were I to have PUBLISHED any of the pictures.

So yes. I love my daughter. I love my daughter SO MUCH that, not only did I not post pictures of her in her swollen, blotchy, drugged-up state, I DIDN’T EVEN TAKE ANY.

That, my friends, is mother love.

But if I had taken pictures of Emma yesterday, she’d have looked much like this:

Aaawwwwwwww….

September 1, 2011 Posted by | health and safety, my kids, the dog | , , , , | 5 Comments