clickmom

Puff the magic doggie

When I took Josh to school this morning I accidentally locked Devil Dog out of the house in the fenced in back yard. I figured the weather was nice enough and the devil was wearing a fur coat after all and she would be fine.

I went to the gym (I let the arc trainer beat me to a pulp) and then I came home to finally sit down and do some of grandma's paper work and return some calls, and rsvp for my popular kids (who are already getting invited to birthday parties) and other stuff that I have been putting off for a while. I walked in the door and Devil Dog was right on top of me begging and being typically annoying while also making a weird noise that she doesn't usually make. (Probably you guys know this going to a bad place, but me, I am dense and I was preoccupied and I did not get suspicious yet)

I tried to get devil to lie at my feet while I did my stuff but she wouldn't stop flopping around. After a few minutes I had an envelope to put in the mail box so I called devil to escort me to the end of driveway. Once outside devil dropped to the lawn/weed patch and began rubbing her head so hard that she was taking up the grass (weeds) and exposing all the dirt (clay). I called devil over and saw that she did not look like herself. For a minute I suspected that devil had been replaced by a hound dog of some sort, a dog with a wide droopy face, but no, it acted too much like the devil to be any one else. So I called my neighbor to come over and tell me if the devil looked funny. And that was when I realized that all the devil's skin was actually crimson underneath her fur instead of white.

But then I decided that I was not crazy about devil looking weird and I called the vet and told her that devil was red and puffy and the vet told me to bring her right in. Oh joy. The devil hates going to the vet almost as much as she hates going to the groomer. It's easy to trick her into the car, but dragging her from the car to the vet and then standing my ground while devil tries to drag me back out the door of the vet's place is not fun. Also, she whines the entire time we are there. I get kind of embarrassed standing around with the only animal that is making a huge fuss. I always joke that devil doesn't believe me when I tell her she can only be fixed once.

Vet took one look at Devil, flipped her swollen swinging fleshy cheek flaps over and found the marking of a stinger. The devil had most likely licked a bee out there in the back yard this morning. Then just about every body working in the vet's office today came through asking to see my "puffy" dog and snickering. She was puffy! I don't know what else they would have called it. Devil (aka: Puff Doggie Dog) got a shot of steroid and a shot of benadryl and now I will on nursing duty for the next 11 days administering those same medications in pill form via a slice of american cheese.

Here is a picture of devil (little miss saggy cheeks) from this summer.

And yes, that is one of friends attempting to ride on her back. Here is a picture of what the devil reminded me of today:

And if I could have found you a video of Lewis Black doing that thing when he lets his cheeks go slack and shakes his head and goes "brghbrghbrgh" I'd show that to you too because she did that as well.

mowed

Someone asked Josh what kind of dog the food thieving devil is and he answered "Well, they say she is a retriever, but to me she is a more of a taker." Out of the mouths of babes!

As a retriever the devil has beautiful long feathery magnetic to all things dirty fur on her tail, legs and underbelly. Unfortunately for the devil her fur to filth magnetism fades as she crosses the threshold into our house, which is still technically located on filth infused construction site. It is for this reason ( and also because I am getting so very tired of sweeping up her dusty dirt piles all day long) that I am considering finding a groomer and disguising our retriever as a lab.

primordial

That sound you heard, that voice? The tortured cry that sounded out loud enough for all of the garden state to hear Sunday morning? That was me. It started out simply enough. Evan and I set out to walk the devil. And we went on a street we had never walked before. And we saw a path off the street. And I took the devil off of the leash, not only for her pleasure but for to assist in the never ending battle to keep my leash holding hand's shoulder grounded safely within it's socket. And as Evan and I ventured deeper into this previously unchartered by my territory, it got wetter and wetter.
And honestly more into the woods meant more beautiful. I asked Evan if he could imagine when our entire neighborhood looked like that photo. And dinosaurs roamed the landscape. And four legged devils decided to stop, drop and roll in the primordial ooze. Oh yes she did. Several times. And then a few more. Despite my ground shaking (<- voice ->) soul shredding piercing wail of protest. And then she would drop down and rub around on some deer shit to dry off.

Guess how ineffective dog claws are in attempt to stop your 78 pound stinking self from being dragged across a tile floor and into a stall shower. Yup. They are worthless. Now the devil has the frizzies. And honestly, my conditioner turns out to be a wee bit fruity smelling, (who knew?) but at least the kids assure me that it smells better on my head than on her fur.

cat devil burglar

When I lived in Manhattan with the husband (pre-kids) we had this adorable (code for really small, mouse infested with low ceilings) garden apartment. Our garden neighbor had an uncharacteristically vicious pug (No, seriously, this pug would chew your pinky toe off in a heart beat! Folks were afraid to wear sandals in the hallway!) who went all psycho through a crack in our fence every (freaking minute of every freaking day) time our dog was in our back yard. Someone once mentioned that tylenol was toxic to dogs so the running shared fantasy in our house was tossing tylenol laced steaks to the pug next door in order to get a good night's sleep. Oh stop, we didn't do it!

So, back to the present, on that fateful day when the chiro told me that the vials indicated cancer of THE SPOT he also tested out some of the supplements he hawks to us believers as a side gig. He declared one such over priced immune boosting supplement would help me in this battle and I figured I was good for a bottle. You know, I figured I'd take a bottle for the cause (which I suspect is a vehicular upgrade for the chiro, but you know, I adore his magic hands, so whatever) Now these excellent supplements that are somehow every allergen free yet are also food based which means that in retrospect it was stupid for me to leave the bottle (cap on and all but still) of supplementation out on the kitchen table where a four legged devil could potentially jump up and thieve them away in the night. Which is exactly what happened, except it happened in the day, but the night has so much more drama to it, no?

So, sometime after the crime occurred I am in the front entry of my home and I spy a chewed up medicine looking bottle on the floor and for a second I'm thinking that maybe, oh maybe, someone with four legs got a big old bottle of tylenol, and she's been pissing me off lately and my first thought was not to do anything, but then my big old conscience set in and I pried the chewed up bottle apart to see what it contained back when no one had chewed the label off of it yet only find 4 of the really expensive chiro cancer fighting vitamins left in the bottom of the bottle. I almost gave the devil a tylenol enhanced steak right there on the spot, but instead (also because I didn't have a steak handy) I just glared at her a lot (and maybe once I tried to get her with the twisted up towel, locker room style, but Evan thought I was aiming at him and made a big to do over it so I stopped) and the devil knows what that stare down means coming from the one who dispenses sustenance so she wisely kept her distance.

I figured the devil wasn't going to die or anything so I did nothing about the vitamins. Then I crated her up for the night and went upstairs to hopefully have a decent night's sleep since the husband is at a conference and I have the whole bed to my blissful non snoring, non bed hogging, non blanket grabbing self. Oh joy! But you know what happens when clickmom fantasizes about a good night's sleep right? I ignored her caged cries when she started whining at midnight and I ignored her again around 4, but when she heard me tip toeing to the bathroom at 6 I knew her cries were serious. I came down stairs and let her out. She dashed to the backyard and proceeded to squat and squat and squat in the first available (and squat) open patch of (squat) green for a good (squat) 15 minutes. And if you happened to hear someone yelling between 6:01 and 6:15 this morning it may or may not have been me shouting "And I hope it burns too! Bwah ha ha ha!"

Don't worry about the devil's feelings she paid us back all morning with farts that made our eyes water from 3 rooms away.

foxy

The devil dog has been barking non stop for abot, oh 40 minutes now. I called, screamed and yelled and may have even uttered few death threarts at her. Finally I went out to see what could possibly be freaking her out so much and there is FOX running back and forth between my two rear neighbors yards. A FOX! Oy vey.

today

Mom is okay. Though there was quite a bit of confusion regarding how okay she was. It seems that the doctor's nurse took one look at mom's jaundice and assumed she would be admitted, so there were all sorts of calls to mom from the hospital telling her her room was ready, and from the visiting nurse trying to find out what room she was in. But, in the end the doctor sent mom home (or I should say back to my house) with instructions to eat more and sleep all she wanted. Sounds nice right? What I wouldn't give for a medical professional to look me right in the eye and tell me what I need to do is eat more and sleep the day away!

I did bring Matt to the podiatrist who thankfully only clipped the triangular corner of his ingrown toenail and not half the nail as I had feared cause that is what they did to the husband a million years ago when we were young. Matt's big toe resembles a toe once again and not the blow fish he was kicking around there for a couple of weeks.

I realize what shitty dog owners we are and have devil dog on suicide alert, since when we are in utopia she gets to follow us around all day and is a joy to be with and here we pretty much ignore her and wonder why she is always pestering us. She doesn't know she is getting to go back up there later today and boy will she be happy when we call her into the car.

I shaved Evan's head this morning and plan on applying the henna tattoo to his scalp shortly. I better get the nicest mother int he world award, that's all I am saying. He wants a dragon and I am going to attempt to copy the dragon of his choice off of the internet. What did we ever do before internet?

Unfortunately there will be spotty posting from utopia, but we'll be more vigilant about finding someone's wifi to borrow, since I'm not sure Matt will be able to make it through with out at least some internet. He's being somewhat teenaged about it, that's all I am going to say about that.

And since I am finding it difficult to generate the funny during these stressful times. WARNING: I am going to throw in a little bit of TMI just for giggles: I had steamed fresh beets for dinner and just made the most awesome purple poop ever.

time

So, remember when devil dog had that infection in her girlie bits? Well, the husband took her to the vet where she got a steroid shot, a prescription for antibiotics and a jar of medicated pads for wiping her girlie bits with two times a day. OMG the pads. You know who had to drop to her knees every day and get to third base with the dog, right? Cause the husband wasn't ever going to do that. Ever. He walked in handed me the jar of medicated who-ha pads and have me the look that meant "Don't even try". And then I had all kinds of sympathy for devil dog, owning my own personal girlie bits and all. So, the other day I was getting to the end of the antibiotics and still had plenty of pads left. Her privates are looking fine to me and I wondered how long I was required to be getting intimate with the devil for. As I walked across the room pad in hand the devil dog looked up saw the pad dropped to the floor and rolled over and spread her legs for me. I took one look at the position and the longing expression in her chocolate brown eyes and said "She's done".

in or out

In my life as a stay-at-home-mother I wear many hats. I love the chef's hat. I am proud to occasionally wear the nurse hat. Every day I don the jaunty cap of a chauffer. And then there are the hats that I wear for a moment or two now and then. Sometimes I wear the school volunteer hat, the crossing guard hat, the police man hat, the judge's gown (hey- the judges need hats!) and so many others. The one hat that I have to wear (and in all fairness make my kids wear as well) is door man to the Devil Dog hat. SInce Devil Dog loves being outside and loves being inside equally as much she spends a great deal of time undecided between the two venues and she likes to go back and forth making sure she isn't missing out on anything. This is all fine and dandy in the 2 or three weeks a year when we can confidently throw the doors open with out fear of heat stroke, frostbite or west nile virus, during this time Devil Dog can satisfy her needs by lying half in and half out, but during the other 50 weeks a year someone has to get off their butt off the couch and actually let the Devil in or out. We are all getting a wee bit tired of that hat.

So, I took the plunge. I actually contacted the internet dog door selling place I have been stalking for months and ordered a doggie door. I am comfortable that Devil Dog will, in no time at all, get the hang of the dog door. I know she uses one when she goes to the dog sitter. I have only a small hesitation or two. The first is that Devil Dog might decide to stand half in and half out while preventing the doggie door flap from re-closing and allowing all the frigid air we are supposed to soon be experiencing (after all they say it is actually winter) here in the -up until tonight- balmy Northeast into the house. The other and more serious concern is the frequency and potency of skunk odor I have been noticing around here since last May. Yes, folks, I do suspect that a skunk has taken up residency in my next door neighbor's never used and heavily treed back yard. Have you ever noticed that when you get a whiff a skunk from far away you think to yourself "Hmmm ... smells like skunk" but when the little fuzzy critter has blasted it's butt juice anywhere within a mile radius of where you are standing the thought immediately following scent identification goes more like "(GAG)Holy Shit, (dry heave) there's a @#$%^&* skunk (wretch) around here!! CLOSE THE WINDOWS! CLOSE THE WINDOWS!" I have said that about once a month since last May. Let me tell you people, if Flower gets into my house, I am never going to shut up about it. Honestly though, it makes me look forward to getting a doggie door. It's like a whole new adventure just opening up in front of us.

Two posts in one - both of which include the word DOG

1. In the DOG HOUSE

It was a hectic and busy weekend. It was nice to get my house back, and also, the peace and relative quiet. At least the amount of three boys quiet that I call quiet. I have long since forgotten what actual reality quiet is. Sunday morning, my first morning of relative solitude, the husband enters the shower, just as I am finishing up with a nice back scalding, burn the holiday off moment of attempted relaxation. He sits down on the little bench and timidly says that he mentioned me during a discussion with my parents. This is bad, I feel my heart begin to race and stare silently at the husband while secretly beginning to catalog every house hold implement we own that can be used to kill. He then proceeds to tell me that he informed my parents that I had gambling issues because of some family vacations to Las Vegas my family took when I was about 9. I begin to scream. What man who wants to live tells his in laws something like this? Issues?!?! I have issues?!?! You know where I want to shove my issues?!?! Especially when I do NOT have "gambling issues"? I just have no interest in it. Naturally, I yelled at the husband, I stomped my feet, I threw my arms around, (they may have gently brushed up against him) I fled the bathroom and called the parents and left a less than calm message on their answering machine, completely disrespecting the husband and letting them know that under no circumstance should they listen to anything that my clueless betrothed manufactured in his emotionally incompetent brain.

Then I brought Matt to Boops' to hang out with her kid, and vented to Boops and her boyfriend who talked me out of cutting the husband's brake wires before sending him on a down hill errand. They explained to me that this may have been some kind of bizarre attempt at defending me to my parents. The hilarity of the husband defending me by creating new reasons for my parents to believe I am the psycho they already think I am broke the tension of the situation and enabled me to turn off the steam that had been coming out of my ears and come home ignoring the knife drawer. No steam, but still pissed.

2. DOG STENCH

In the meantime, I had let the Devil Dog come with me when I dropped off Matt. She runs with Boops' dog, and being fairly confident that Devil Dog wouldn't run away or anything (but knowing that if she did run away I would certainly be able to cope with the lack of guilt and would most likely pretend not to know her if who ever found her managed to hunt me down in some kind of futile attempt in making me take her back) I let the devil hang out outside while I moaned and bitched away inside. When the devil dog finally did come in, Boops and her boyfriend said she smelled, you must know that I find a smelly dog to be terribly embarrassing, so I said that she always smelled weird when she came back from the dog sitter (see just blame the dog sitter!) and that she had been there while grandma was at my house over the holidays. Then I got close to devil dog, and OMG it was the stench of rotting animal corpse, known well to this dog loving ex-city dweller with a blatant disregard for authority as well as leash laws. I reluctantly brought the devil home, her fragrance was overwhelming. First thing this morning I brought her (technically I dragged her) in to be groomed, which was interesting, since the last time she was groomed was up in utopia, and if I have any issues in my life, it might just be with groomers.

I threw away the devil's regular collar, since there was a death toll smear of putrid on it, and I had already washed her irreplaceable (at least not instantly replaceable) electric fence collar with two different kind of soaps to combat the deeply embedded scent of death. For the record, all natural lavender hand soap does nothing to abate the stench of cadaver. Matt was helpful though, thinking that me washing an electronic collar might just be something to see. I saw him grinning at he prospect of fried mother. He even laughed a little under his breath.

I have taken before and after photos, (new camera to replace old faithful) if I could figure out how to download them, you would see the devil really needed the grooming, her ear hair was very early 80's David Lee Roth and her toe bushes were down right Cro-Magnon dog, not the overpriced 21st century high strung pure bred that she purports to be.

3. back to the DOG HOUSE

When my mother finally got hold of me I found out that the husband told her I had ABANDONMENT ISSUES because she had left me and little sister in day care during the world's most boring Vegas vacation ever when I was 9 years old.

All in the name of showing support for your spouse.

secret life of Devil Dog

105 years ago when the first family built a cabin on this island they came to it by boat. It was after all, an island, and the two options to get onto it were by boat or go for a swim. I suppose in the winter one could have walked or skated across the ice. This remained true until about 55 years ago when the then resident, under the cloak of darkness one night, built a gravel causeway from the closest main road to the nearest end of the island. The question arose over the weekend whether or not what we call our island is actually an island or whether it is a peninsula, since technically it is attached on end to the mainland by a sort of isthmus.

When we journey down the causeway towards the road, one side our causeway adjoins the side of our very nice neighbor, Rosebud's, property. I have tried to convince the Devil Dog that there is an electric fence at the end of our driveway off of the island, just as there is at home in the Garden State, in hopes of dashing any ideas that the Devil Dog may have of exploring the neighborhood. I stop each time I am about to take her for a walk and tell her the same command I use at home which indicates it is safe for her to cross the electrified barrier. I think I have Devil Dog fooled. Rosebud, the neighbor at the end of the causeway, but technically not on the other side of the street or across the pretend line of electric fence I have tried to convince the Devil Dog that exists, is a dog lover and happened to lose her 13 year old spaniel this past spring. One day we stopped to chat and she told me that Devil Dog often comes down the causeway to her house in the mornings. If she is not already outside Devil Dog will stand beneath her balcony and bark until she comes out and tosses a stick for her. They play for a while and then Rosebud walks the Devil Dog back down the causeway. I had no idea. What a bad dog-mommy I am. Rosebud asked me not to keep Devil Dog away from her, as she likes being near a dog, and is still greatly missing her own dog. Now I look at the Devil Dog and think to myself, "I have your number you little attention whore."

The other day we took Devil Dog on the boat. We came back around 5 and I noticed that Devil Dog had a swim, and I thought to close her out of the house, lest she hop onto the couch, or worse, an unprotected bed, while still dripping wet. Two hours later I was preparing to serve dinner to both my kids and a couple of neighbor kids when it occurred to me that I had not seen the Devil Dog in 2 hours. The Devil Dog is always under my feet when I am in the kitchen, so I was concerned. I called her and she did not respond. I tried not to panic, served up dinner and told the kids I was going to walk around the property looking for Devil Dog. In the mean time , the other kids mother appeared, heard the story and hopped back into her van, sure that Devil Dog had taken off down the road. I thought this might have been a possibility since she had been in the car earlier when we drove past some local dogs wandering around and she whined to play with them. I thought maybe she did decide to check out the competition.

Rosebud heard me calling for Devil Dog, and immediately ran down here to help me look too. I thought that maybe Devil Dog had a paw stuck in between two rocks, had been attacked by the fox we saw here one night, or maybe even a sasquatch, (we are in the woods people!) maybe she had fallen off a rocky part of the island and didn't know enough to swim around to get back on. With a flashlight I searched the water for signs of her. She was nowhere. I listened to hear if maybe she was whimpering when I called out for her, but nothing. I began to panic, my heart was racing. I circled the house twice, calling and calling and getting more worried by the second. I imagined her hit by a car, ripped to shreds, floating in the lake, and then I saw my truck sitting there and remembered that I told one of the kids to get something out of it after we had gotten off of the boat. I walked over, opened the door and sure enough, Devil Dog bounded out, perfectly fine and refreshed after a two hour back seat nap.