Barnmaven

Just. Fine. Thanks.

So I returned from Atlanta Friday night late.  Dragged my butt home from the airport and fed the various animals.  I was pretty fried from four flights in three days and two days of conferencing, and the kids were at their dad's, so I figured I'd just take my paperback to bed and read myself to sleep (which should take all of about five minutes).   I did sit at the computer for a half hour or so, checking Facebook and catching up on a few emails.  I heard the dogs wrestling in the bedroom but didnt' think much about it.  They wrestle a lot.  Except sometimes I should pay attention to that. 

This is what was left of one of the new dog beds I just bought them:

Here's the rest of the room: 

I just LOVE my dogs.  Love them.  LOVE THEM. 

Its times like this I wish they had opposable thumbs so they could clean up their OWN DAMNED MESS.  Except if they had opposable thumbs, the messes would probably be much larger and more creative.  So I should be thankful they don't and just suck up the mess clean-uppage.

Guilty parties.  At least one of them has the good graces to look ashamed. 

On internet access and trainwrecks

Originally written Friday, 9/25/2009

 

I’m sitting in the airport in Atlanta waiting for my flight home and daydreaming about how good it is going to be to sleep in my own bed tonight.  The conference center hotel was nice and all, but nothing beats being at home, listening to the dogs snore and feeling furry kitty paws pushing the covers aside to make room.

 

 

I can’t live-blog this, the airport wi-fi setup process keeps crashing.  Its rather frustrating, but I suppose there are worse things in life than not being able to get on the internet for a couple of hours.   Yes, actually lots and lots of worse things.  Like having somebody submit a picture of you to People of Walmart.   That would be MUCH worse. 

 

 

I’ve been fascinated in an “Omigod I just can’t look away” fashion by the trainwreck going on between Chicken Liver (aka Michelle McBee) and a couple of the mommybloggers, most notably Dooce, Pioneer Woman and Lucky Thirteen.  Its grown to such epic proportions that there are now a couple of blogs actually devoted to reporting latest updates in the battle. 

 

 

I’m honestly mystified by the lengths some people will go to when they dislike someone.  So you don’t like Heather’s blog or you disagree with something she did.  What does a healthy person do?  Not a damn thing.   Or you shake your head and think Sandi must be crazy to have that many kids, or think Ree thinks she’s better than everyone else (which, for the record, are NOT my opinions).  If you’re normal?  You just don’t read that  blog anymore.  It doesn’t trouble you, because in healthy, sane-world, you aren’t caught up in obsessing over what someone else should do with their spare time.  You don’t care whether they make money from their blog or not, you don’t care if they’re a perfect parent or not, whatever perception you have of hypocrisy doesn’t bother you because you understand implicitly that what they do or say online isn’t about you.   It isn’t.  Really.  Until it you make them make it about you, and then I guess you got what you wanted?  Or not?  Its really hard to say, and I’m left scratching my head in sincere puzzlement.  Anyway, if you like internet trainwrecks, this  one is, if not entertaining, at least a halfway decent time-waster if you’ve got time on your hands sitting in a strange airport and YOUR INTERNET CONNECTION actually works.  Unlike me.

Note to self...

Don't write blog posts in the morning.  It makes you late for work.

You should always listen to your mother

On the calendar this week is a trip to Atlanta for a vendor conference.  I was invited to speak at a breakout session this year, discussing the software we use and the efficiencies we've gained.  Someone out there actually thinks I *know* what I"m doing - I'm not sure whether to be flattered or horrified.  Someday I'll believe I'm a grownup.  Likely shortly after I receive my first SSI check.  Oh, wait, there won't be any money in the Social Security fund for my age bracket.  Never mind.

So the parents have been back from a train trip across the Great White North (Ok, maybe just Canada, but we like to dramatize).  Dad picked up some mutant germ on the train and spent last week hacking and sounding generally horrid.    By the time we showed up for dinner Mom was choking and coughing too. 

I've never been a germophobe.  I don't suffer from anxiety during flu season and have always believed that the best defense against germs is to expose yourself to as many things as you can as frequently as possible and take your vitamins.  I don't get sick very often, neither do my kids.  Once a year or so I'll get something that prompts me to stay home a day or so - every third or fourth year I will get a doozy of a rotavirus that knocks me on my butt.  I really don't think much about it,  honestly.  I've got bigger concerns than getting sick. 

Which means that instead of turning around at the door and making mom waste her efforts at cooking a meal, we went in and had a nice dinner.  Mom said a few times "You shouldn't have come over" and "Don't hug me!" And being the loving, dutiful daughter, I gave my parents hugs and kisses.  And woke up with a sore throat this morning for my trouble.

Atlanta's going to look very boring from my hotel room bed.

Happy Monday!

He is fine, and random Sunday musings

Roscoe?  He's fine.  He's so fine that yesterday morning he got up at 4:30 am to play with the kittens and ask to go outside.  Yeah.  Suffice it to say Roscoe is currently more in danger of being maimed or injured by me than he is of dying from his injuries.

Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad to have my bouncy dumb dog back.   There were so many "if's" -- If he hadn't gotten out of the yard - If I'd fixed the place in the fence - If I hadn't turned my back for a few minutes.  There are other if's as well - If he hadn't dragged himself home - If I hadn't gotten him to the vet when I did - If the pellet had penetrated his heart.  So not much gain in dwelling on those if's.

In other weekend news, Child A had her second soccer game of her first season playing yesterday.  They don't keep score in the younger kids' league, so I couldn't say if we won or lost.  She' so squeaky new at soccer that she doesn't really have a clue what she's doing.  She lacks the aggressive, attack the ball style of play some of the more experienced girls have.  Even so, she's having fun.  I'm thinking maybe soccer isn't her sport, but we'll at least get through a season.    Here she is in her first game, getting her turn at goalie:

She's rather stylin' in her shin guards, don't you think?  She's the tallest girl on her team.  If she had any skills at all she'd be the most intimidating player on the field.  Some of the girls she's playing against are less than half her size.

We spent some time in the driveway today working on basketball skills.  For almost 8 she handles the ball pretty well, and she gets things I ask her to do after a few tries.  I'm really hopeful she'll take to hoops, it was always my favorite game. 

Roscoe Update, Thursday

Our handsome boy is muuuuuch better today.  His eyes are sparkly, he bounces when he walks (until he remembers that it hurts to move too fast) and his appetite is back with a vengeance.

Here he is yesterday, hanging under the desk:

   He was still feeling a bit punk at this point, but making the best of it.  He didn't want to be up much, and when he got up and around for very long, he was soon back on his pillow, all pooped out.

Today he spent the day in his crate while I was away at work, and tonight he is a bouncy, happy guy.   He's always been the class clown around here, pestering the other dogs to play, using the cats as chew toys.  He never bites them, per se, but he will put his mouth over their head and shoulders and drool on them.  Whenever he grabs one of them they just sort of flop over and tolerate until he either lets go on his own or I catch him and tell him to knock it off.  Here he is, reconnecting with his pal Tucker:

I'm sure Tuck CAN'T WAIT for Roscoe to start chewing on his head again.

His wound seems to be staying clean so far.  When he wakes up in the morning and his pain meds are worn off he seems pretty uncomfortable but as soon as they kick in he's happy.  Great, I'm turning my dog into an oxycontin addict...

His follow up vet appointment is tomorrow and I plan to take him over to Dr. P afterward so he can see how great he looks. 

That's all for tonight, its time for kids to go to bed and me to empty the dishwasher and fold some clothes.  More happy news tomorrow, I hope.

Oh, I forgot to add, I'm waiting to catch my across-the-street neighbor Bob, who is a local K-9 police officer, home off duty so I can talk to him about what happened.  He'll be able to tell me what, if anything, can be done to find out who did this and what possible consequences might be.  I do think, that even if there are no legal actions to be taken, as a neighborhood we need to make it known that discharging a firearm where we all have homes and children and pets is simply not acceptable.  If someone was warding off a violent intruder -- sure.  Absolutely.  But  Roscoe's not a mean dog.  He's not aggressive.  It just disturbs me that someone's first reaction to seeing my dog was to get a gun...am I crazy?

People, you are amazing

The outpouring of support and love since last night has been incredible.  If the power of the human spirit could make Roscoe well he would be leaping tall buildings today.  As it is, even from this morning he is improved.  He is still hurting - his breathing is shallow and labored - but his eyes have a sparkle, his tail has a wag, and he is trying to be the energetic pup we are used to seeing.  He spent most of the day on his dog bed under my desk, since today was a work-from-home day for me. 

At the moment I am feeling very confident that he is well on the road to recovery.  I am incredibly humbled and grateful for all of the offers of financial assistance for him.  I will say that if he should contract an infection and require chest tubes or surgery to make it through I will remember all of the incredible people who wanted to help and reach out to you.  For now, please know that I am floored, touched, blown away by the kindness not only of people I know and love but complete strangers as well.  If my faith in humanity was damaged by the cruelty of a neighbor, it is being patched and mortared by the good will of all of you.

I'll continue to update on Roscoe's condition as we go forward.  I'm cleaning his wound at least twice daily and keeping it well covered in antibiotic ointment, and he gets pain meds in the morning and antibiotics twice daily for the next couple of weeks.  And for those of you who asked about the kids, Roscoe's improved condition today has helped tremendously.  Last night was tough, my daughter was inconsolable and afraid that he would die.  Tonight after seeing him looking so perky she wasn't worried at all.  My son - well, you know how boys are.  His first words to me this morning were, "Mommy!  Roscoe's in his crate and his nose is breathing!  He isn't dead!"  Boys.  :)  Love them.  Don't get them, but love them.

Roscoe Update, Wednesday

   I brought Roscoe home last night.  The day vet wanted me to have him at the emergency vet overnight for observation, but I took him over there to get the opinion of Dr. Pilgrum, the vet who had treated him in the morning.  Dr. P listened to his heart and lungs, read the discharge papers from the day vet, and agreed with me that he would probably be just as fine at home as he would in the hospital.  He thinks that many animals, just like humans, recuperate better at home than they do in hospitals.  Personally, whether its a vet or a human hospital, my opinion is that's where all the bad germs are, since that's where everyone goes when they're really really sick.  Our biggest concern is keeping him free of infection, so logically I'd think that he'd be safer in that regard being at home.  While the environment is *ahem* far from sterile, at least there's a lesser chance of some mutant strain of staph or ebola lurking in the corner. 

He looked HORRIBLE when I picked him up.  He was clearly in pain, and they had given him extra fluids, so he had this huge ball of fluid over his shoulders.  He was walking, which was encouraging, but walking across the parking lot from the day vet to the emergency clinic was about all he could handle, he crumpled down in on the floor panting as soon as we got into the exam room.  After conferring with Dr. Pilgrum and deciding on him going home as the best solution, we carried him to the car.  J was at the house with the kids and helped me carry him in.  He'd moved Roscoe's crate into my bedroom for me, so after a trip to the backyard for a potty break and a drink of water, he went in his crate and promptly went flat for a nap.

This morning he looks a ton better.  He's gone outside and gone potty and had more water, and I've given him his pain medication. His eyes look brighter and though I know it didn't cause him pain, that horrid lump on his shoulders from the fluids is down. You can tell he is hurting; Dr. Pilgrum said that from the placement of the wound in his side, he probably feels like someone who has had a broken or cracked rib.  He's certainly not his usual bouncy self, but he wags his tail like crazy whenever I look at or talk to him. The only thing that's really concerning to me is that he still doesn't have an appetite.  I offered him his antibiotics wrapped in cheese and he didn't even sniff at it...poor boy is definitely not himself.

Light candles, say prayers (if that's your thing) or whatever you can, that he makes it through the next couple of critical days. 

In other news, I braved the thorns last night and stuck one of the pallets from the hay room up behind the rose bushes to provide a temporary block in the fence.  I also went to see my neighbor Larry, who lives on the street where I think Roscoe was shot.  He was outraged that anyone would do that, since so many of us have dogs and its not uncommon for the neighborhood dogs to occasionally get loose.  He promised he would talk to some of the other neighbors - we have three law enforcement personnel in a two block radius and Larry's friends with them.  If anyone heard anything or talks about it chances are Larry will find out.  Not sure if we have any leverage to prosecute, since we are technically outside of city limits, annexed to the city.  I'll have to check the county's enforcement code to see what the penalties are for discharging a firearm and shooting an animal.  In the city those are both gross misdemeanors.

To everyone who asked about me setting up a pay pal link:  Thank you from the bottom of my grinchy heart for your kindness.  I will be OK.  If things get desperate I can always hit up my parents for assistance.  They're pretty good that way. 

Updated with pictures:

Here's a picture of the wound.  So small...so much trouble.  The goopy look is not infection, I just cleaned it and put some Bacitracin on it.

Little Man is happy to have his buddy home.

Dear Neighbor,

Note:  To everyone who has emailed me or commented on this post asking how to donate to help Roscoe, thank you for your generous and kind offers of assistance.  Seeking funding was never my intention when I wrote this blog.  Roscoe is healing well at the moment, and I think we will pull through without him requiring any more care from the vet than he has already received.  If he develops an infection and his condition worsens, requiring hospitalization or further veterinary care, I'll consider putting up a paypal link if the choice is between losing him and losing my pride to accept help.  In the meantime, thank you for your support and for helping restore my faith in humanity.  Please check Roscoe's updates to see how he is doing and keep him in your thoughts and prayers.

 

I live up the street.  I have two kids, three dogs, a couple of cats, some chickens and some horses.  My kids are noisy and not particularly well-behaved, my dogs bark when you walk by my house, and I don't keep my lawn as well-manicured as I should, but I do my best.  Life's a little complicated, with the job, the single parenting and all.  I don't have a lot of free time or money to take care of everything the way I'd like to, but I try.  I do try.  I know about that spot in my fence, behind all the great big rose bushes, where the bullmastiff likes from time to time to scramble over and go walkabout.  I haven't been sure what to do about it, since its in a place that is worse than hard to get to, I lack experience repairing fences and can't afford to have a real contractor come and fix it.  What I've done instead is to try and be sure I'm outside with my dogs when they take their potty breaks.  Today I was brushing my teeth, and I needed to go spit out my toothpaste and eyeball my kids to make sure they weren't killing one another.  I was gone maybe half a minute, but I guess it was half a minute too long.  Lady decided to take a little road trip, and in an unusual turn of events, Roscoe followed her.

Maybe you were mad when my dog came into your yard.  Maybe you thought you were solving a problem when you got out your gun and SHOT HIM.  Let me tell you what your actions have done to my family.  First of all, my dog is at the moment still alive, but at the vet's on oxygen and pain medication.  He might live; he might not.  I can't afford extraordinary measures, so if the bullet is someplace that will cause him to bleed internally or make a lung collapse, he will have to be put to sleep.  I can't even afford xrays.  The money we have spent, which is the minimum to get him stable and give him a chance to heal, means I have to choose between gas and groceries for the next two weeks so my children and I can eat and go to work and school, and making my car payment, which means we might lose our only method of transportation.  We were already living on the edge; you helped pull us significantly closer to that edge.  What I think is the worst part, though, is the emotional trauma my children experienced, searching through the neighborhood for our lost dog and finally finding him near our yard, bleeding and clearly in pain. 

I am sorry that I was a negligent dog owner.  I try not to be. Sometimes things just happen.  But you didn't have to shoot my dog to make a point.  What would have made a better point was if you wanted to be a good neighbor and maybe offered to help me fix my fence, or let me know you had a problem with my dog, or even called the number on his tag and let me know where he was when we were looking for him.  But what you decided to do, in a neighborhood full of children, was to pick up your gun and shoot it.  I guess I'm thankful that you hit what you were aiming for and didn't accidentally shoot a child instead.  Maybe I'm even thankful that I'm learning something the universe is trying to teach me today.  I don't know who you are - but you know.  Maybe you will consider that your actions often have unintended consequences. 

What if the difference you could have made in our lives was a positive one, instead of this?  What if you had been the kind of person who makes people grateful to have neighbors? 

I'm not going to waste any more time wondering who you are or thinking about you.  I'm going to concentrate on making it to next payday, hugging my traumatized kids and nursing my dog back to health.  You?  You get to live with yourself.  Enjoy that.

He's Five!

Today my baby, my gorgeous wee Little Man, is five years old.  He is insisting that no, he is still four, having had it explained to him that five year old boys are perfectly able to put on their own shoes.  I suppose he thinks that if he insists that he is still four, refusing to do so is perfectly acceptable.  Child logic is an oxymoron.

We had a small birthday party yesterday, just another couple and their two kids plus my mom and the kids' dad.  It was ok as birthday parties go, short and sweet with an emphasis on buttercream frosting and presents.  I don't believe in large parties for children so itwas, in my estimation, perfect.  The kids were reasonably well behaved, my daughter didn't boss her brother around excessively, no one got hurt and no one threw up.  Little Man didn't like having us sign "Happy Birthday" to him, oddly enough.  He's really averse to being the center of attention, a personality trait I simply am unable to identify with!  I know, go figure.

The joy of the day (yes, this is sarcasm) was enhanced immeasurably by what I can only guess is my karmic comeback for some incredibly shitty behavior throughout my life.  It started before the party when I was taking the garbage out to the big can.  I walked through my mudroom tying up the garbage bag, not even looking where I was going, and WHOMP!  Walked right into the open pantry cupboard door with my forehead and almost fell down.  Its a pretty sturdy door so it was a decently sturdy whack.  Ever since Natasha Richardson's untimely death from a seemingly innocuous head injury, I've been convinced that every time I bang my head on something (and I'm clumsy, this happens a lot) that I'm going to die.  Considering it was a child's birthday party on the agenda, I tried to tone down the fear of death and simply informed my mother in a suitably serious manner that should I experience blinding headaches, blurry vision or nausea to immediately call 911. I was at some point composing my own obituary in my head.  I should write that down.  Somehow I managed to avoid dying from my head injury long enough to sustain further injury later in the day. 

After the party guests had dispersed and I was attacking the inevitable post-party cleanup, the kids were watching TV when Child A decided that the ribbon from her brother's present was so pretty that it simply must belong to her.  Little Man didn't think this was so fair, and I agreed.  While we tried to discuss this she started to tantrum a little and refused to return the bow, so I shut the TV off to allow her some time in quiet to consider the consequences of her actions.  Apparently this was not a welcome action, and the resulting temper tantrum was monumental in its intensity.  She's been having a hard time since the separation, we've been making progress with her behavior, but its just a slow haul.  Without going into too many details, suffice it to say that at a certain point it was required to restrain her from harming self or others, during which point what *did* get harmed was my right shin.  Note to self:  At outset of tantrum, REMOVE CHILD'S SHOES.  Eventually Hurricane A ran out of steam and life resumed somewhat normally.

Normally, at least, until it was time to feed the dogs.  As a rule my dogs are mild and well-behaved, even when they're being silly big lugs.  We don't have any issues with food in terms of people - you can stick your hand in the bowl when my dogs are eating and they won't bother you.  My gentlemanly old boxer, however, is anything *but* mild if one of the other dogs or cats comes near his bowl when he is eating.  We typically avoid any sort of disagreements at mealtime by placing the bowls fairly far apart while they're eating.  However, as I they were slogging through their dinner, Birthday Boy came running into the kitchen to show me something and stepped on the edge of Hercules' bowl, scattering dog food everywhere.  Hercules chased down his wayward food at the same time the bullmastiff noticed flying dog food and thought "Hey!  More Food"  Hercules snapped at Lady, which wasn't a suprise.  Lady, however, decided for whatever reason not to be the beta in the dog food chain, which was an enormous and unhappy surprise, and suddenly I had 95 pounds of big dopey mastiff trying to kill 60 pounds of boxer.  Uh oh.  Now, what I know about separating fighting dogs is that you are supposed to grab the dog by the hind legs and pull them apart.  What my instincts made me do, however, was totally wrong and the best way to get hurt in a dog fight - I got between them.  KIDS:  DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.  It seemed like it was hours, but it was likely only a few seconds, but I did manage to separate them.  My right forearm is a mass of bruises as is one of my fingers, but I was extremely lucky to escape without punctures.  My boxer was not so lucky, he's got gashes above and below his eye, on his cheek, and the gum over his left canine has a big laceration.   Poor old boy.

We were all unsettled after that, and the rest of the day passed in somewhat of a blur.  I've never had to pull apart my dogs like that and it was not an experience I ever want to repeat.  The important take-away from all of this is twofold.  One, even the nicest and most well-behaved dogs can, for whatever reason, take umbrage and get violent with each other or with a human being.  There is NO SUCH THING as a bite-proof dog.  Two, there is only one right way to separate fighting dogs, and that is to pull them apart by their hind legs.  Never EVER insert yourself between the business end of two dogs who are fighting.  You *will* get hurt.

'Nuff said.