Puppies. So cute, so lovable. Yes, they can be naughty & destructive, but just like childbirth, we forget all those rough parts after a while. Especially when we have a really, really GOOD dog. Yes, I’m talking about you, Lola.
My husband made his feelings clear. He wanted nothing to do with another dog…had no desire to get one….would offer no help and it is “all on you, Gina”. Whatev. I got this. I got Lola (now age 10) when my first husband had just left me and things worked out fine, didn’t they? Not to mention, there was no stopping the runaway train of needing to fill the rapidly emptying nest as child #3 was also about to graduate from high school and preparing to leave for college.
And…. AND, I was going to do it RIGHT this time. Lola, despite being the best dog on the face of the earth, sheds. A lot. And, well, that wasn’t what I signed up for when I got a Labradoodle. So, this time, I found a mix with a little more poodle, but a nice, wavy coat (best of both worlds, as they won’t shed OR get matted). And the puppies were older (14 weeks), so they had a head start on potty training. Yes, this was going to work out just fine.
The day I drove up to select the puppy, I reflected back on getting Lola and remembered how timid and afraid and anxious she was. How hesitant she was to eat and how much coaxing it took us to get her to play with other dogs (she was the runt of her litter). This may or may not have clouded my judgment as I ended up choosing the “outgoing” puppy that was running circles around her litter mates. And she had such a nice coat and this adorable face. Yes, this was just turning out to be PERFECT.
So, I placed her in the car next to me on the passenger seat, on a nice bed of towels (just in case she had an accident) and I drove off, petting her soft fur and feeling, well, elated. And then I noticed the drool. Why was she drooling so much? She didn’t appear to be afraid, wasn’t shaking, but the DROOL. And all over my new Subaru! It was like a faucet had opened up, and it wasn’t long before she had, I kid you not, filled up about half the cup holder with drool. I was navigating through Friday traffic, mopping up the drool and then she started to puke. She puked three times in the three hour drive we had back from the breeder. I managed to catch most of it in one of the towels and by now, I’m sweating and thinking this maybe wasn’t such a great idea, but still convinced that it’s a fluke and she’s just a new puppy. It’s all going to be great. See how great it was:
If you went to the nursing home and picked up your 95-year-old, ancient relative and brought him home, I feel that we could relate. He drools? So does Charley! He needs multiple medical appointments for his various ailments? So does Charley! The quantity and quality of his poop is a constant source of concern and conversation? Same!
She had the intestinal parasite giardia from the beginning, which resulted in diarrhea that required a full hose rinsing after “picking it up” so that a person could even use the back yard at all. And if she actually had a head start on potty training, it was clearly not on a grassy surface. One favorite memory was when she shat diarrhea all over the sidewalk right outside the neighborhood coffee shop, with plenty of onlookers trying to enjoy their bacon gruyere scones & lattes. I bent down with my plastic bag to pick (read: scrape) it up, clearly leaving behind a foul smelling stain on the sidewalk. Have a great day, everyone! She needed TWO medications to treat the giardia, and hell, we need to treat the other dog too, because it’s so contagious. They actually told me to WIPE HER BUTT EACH TIME AFTER SHE POOPED (I did not). And giving this dog medication? Um, she wrote the book on contorting her neck to eject the pill from whatever food it was hidden in, subsequently swallowing the food and releasing the pill out onto the floor. The kids were nearly in tears watching me force the medication down her throat.
Around this time, I also noticed she had sores under her belly. In my delusional state, I decided they were from playing rough with her litter mates and still must be healing. And maybe Lola had inflicted a couple of new ones, too. Right? RIGHT? I also noticed that her fur was getting very thick. It felt a bit…. matted (Oh, you remember when I said that she had the perfect coat that wouldn’t do that, don’t you? Well, shut the fuck up about it, ok?). I took her to the groomer and said I really loved her fuzzy puppy look, but maybe we need to trim it back a bit because of the matting? “Oh, we’re going to have to take her all the way down”, the groomer said. What could that even mean? Well, it meant this:
Oh, and by the way, they said, she seems to have some sores that were likely caused by water getting trapped under the matted fur, so it would be a good idea to keep it short for the summer. So now I have a skinned, pink hued dog who has open sores and will need even more frequent, expensive grooming.
So on our, I don’t know, SEVENTH trip to the vet in two weeks, I mentioned the sores to the vet and she checked them out. It’s a bacterial skin infection, says the vet. OF COURSE IT IS. And she’ll need antibiotics. I said, what about the antibiotics she just got done taking for two weeks for the giardia?? Oh, those are different antibiotics. I begged, pleaded and may have even shed an actual tear, suggesting that surely they MUST have a shot they can give her so that I do not have to face another round of medication torture (I took that opportunity to show off the wounds on my lower arms & hands). I was then introduced to the pill shooter. And feel free to get in touch if you would like more information about THAT life changing device, because it was a guiding light in the storm of feces and open sores that was ensuing.
Honestly, I can’t remember when the prescription dog food was suggested in all of this, but at some point, it became clear that even after being treated for giardia her diarrhea wasn’t going away. Let’s put her on a bland (aka, super duper expensive prescription food) diet to see if it clears that up. OH, and be sure to keep her on it during the entire time you’re treating the bacterial skin infection because antibiotics often cause diarrhea, too. How many times has this exact thing been said to the caretaker of a 95-year-old man?
Am I boring you?
Bottom line…. the prescription food worked for a while and then suddenly it didn’t. She regressed completely with potty training and starting shitting in the house. Or even sometimes in her kennel. Mom, remember the day I was late for our birthday pedicures because I had to clean up dog shit she had walked in and then run all over the house? Good times. Kind of reminds me of when grandpa had that accident in the car and you cleaned him up in the gas station restroom and he came out with his coat tied around his waist and no pants on.
So yeah. She ate my shoes and my glasses, but that’s regular puppy stuff. While aggressively playing with a rope, it flew out of her mouth and across the room, knocking my wine glass over and splattering the entire radiator & couch. But, that's regular puppy stuff. The 95-year old man stuff was what I really, really, wasn’t expecting. I now have a container of Metamucil on the counter, which I mix with pumpkin puree and add to her food each morning and evening (this is definitely karma kicking my ass for making fun of my friend’s mom in high school, as she cooked meals of hamburger & rice for their dog, Snuggles). But it’s working. And when my husband yelled (ok, he didn’t yell, but it felt at least like all caps when he said it) “It’s not my responsibility!” as Charley shit on the rug right by the door while we were trying to get dinner out to the backyard, I flashed ahead to the potential of ancient family members living with us, Metamucil on the counter, strained familial relationships running amok.
I suppose I asked for it. And today, when I took her to the groomer for a “quick face clean up” and they did this….
well…. I realized that she’s like that 95-year-old man, who doesn’t give two shits what ANYBODY thinks and is just happy when he can feel comfortable with his balls hanging loose and never mind if the grandkids saw him naked in the kitchen taking his meds.
So, I packed her ugly, shaved-and-disproportionate-to-the-rest-of-her-body head into the car, with extra towels for the drool. I shook out her vomit when we pulled into the cabin driveway (she finished puking on the road - we almost made it!). I mixed up her Metamucil/pumpkin/prescription dog food dinner. And then, I tossed the stick to her over and over and over again in the water, figuring her shaved head must feel great.
Because, goddammit, I love her.
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