Believe it Or Not.

I'm a firm believer in spaying and neutering animals.

There are entirely too many unwanted animals in this world...full breed as well as mixed breed.

So, it was no surprise when I made both Layla and Thomas O'Malley appointments for their respective surgeries this weekend, the first weekend of the month, ie. payday weekend.

We have used our small town vet ever since we moved here and were more than satisfied with her and her clinic for many years. However, in the last year or so, she's been slipping.  I've been concerned enough that Layla has never been a patient at her clinic, and when we left for our vacation on the beach over the long 4th of July weekend, I moved Hermione's records to the big city vet where Layla's records have been since we got her.  The cats never need much except shots and don't really like car rides, much less longer car rides, so I decided to leave their records with the small town vet for now.  

Since Thomas O'Malley's neuter surgery was a pretty simple procedure, I decided to trust him to our small town vet while transporting Layla to the big city for her more invasive procedure.   Layla's puppy classes also take place in the big city, so I dropped her off after puppy class Thursday night before her surgery was to take place on Friday morning.  The big city clinic is like dropping a person off in the hospital.  Those folks are serious about animal care.  Layla's computerized records were pulled, and her chart (very similar to a human patient's cumulative file in the doctor's office) was reviewed, the procedure explained to me in detail along with any and all charges for the process and explanation of what those charges were for.  I signed forms giving my consent, and the vet tech came to take Layla back.  All of the techs wear scrubs, are respectful and it is obvious that there are high expectations for their performance.  While I was very sad as I walked out the door, I knew Layla couldn't be in better hands. 

I dropped Thomas O'Malley off the next morning on my way to work.  The tech wrote his name and procedure on an index card and took him, his travel crate and the card back to the back.  Period.

By mid-morning on Friday the big city vet called to say Layla's surgery was complete, she had responded well to the anesthesia, her kidneys, etc. had responded well, and she was waking up.  The big city vet called again late afternoon to update me again and still again this morning to tell me Layla was doing "excellent" and was ready to go home whenever we were ready to come get her. 

The small town vet never called.

My youngest, middle child and I decided we would go and get Thomas O'Malley midmorning today, bring him home and let him relax a little before leaving for the big city and getting Layla.

We arrived at the small town vet around 10 this morning.

The smiling tech brought our travel crate out and set it on the counter.

Middle daughter, youngest daughter and I immediately starting oooohhhing and coooing at the box.

Then, we all stopped.

Almost in unison, we said, "This isn't our cat."

The vet tech looked at me with wide open eyes, "What?"

We repeated, "This isn't Thomas O'Malley!"

"Are you sure??" she says. 

Um, yeah...I guess we know our own cat pretty well...

Small town vet tech then begins to stumble all over herself...there were two cats scheduled for neuter surgery on Friday...the vet took them both in at the same time...took them both out of their crates and laid them on the same table...

Stop the story for just a minute and absorb this part of the tale...

THE VET WAS PREPARING TO PERFORM SURGERY ON BOTH ANIMALS AT THE SAME TIME.

I feel sure the tech was not supposed to tell me that part.

The tech continued to stammer...the vet realized that one of the cats was female instead of male and realized that she could not do both of those surgeries side by side.  

And, of course, most importantly, did not return the correct cat to the correct crate.

The vet neutered the male cat on the table, called the owner (or so she thought) of the female cat and informed them that their cat was female.  She did ask the owners if they still wanted the cat spayed now instead of neutered.

Have you figured out yet that the female cat was and is our very own Thomas O'Malley...who will now and forever more be known as Thomasina?

Oy.

The other owner came and picked up our Thomasina about an hour before we arrived to pick him/her up.   She noticed that her cat was lighter (her cat is more than twice the size of Thomas...er Thomasina, so duh on that one).  She was also surprised that he/she ran and hid as soon as she opened the crate when she arrived home.

Arrangements were made for a cat swap within the hour.

My youngest was slowly but surely becoming beside herself.  I myself was trying to remain calm...all I wanted was my youngest's cat...I told the girls that we would go to McDonald's and have a biscuit while we waited...and regain our composure.

We returned about 40 minutes later to find our Thomas/Thomasina on the counter in his/her crate.  We recognized her immediately and she also recognized us.  She looked pitiful...after a painful surgery she had been returned to the wrong home and literally looked as if she had never been more relieved to see us in her whole little life.  If you'll remember, the beginnings of her little life were pretty traumatic as well, so my anger began to surface again.  I knew we needed to get out of there quickly.

I received a $10 discount on the spay surgery...since they lost our cat and all...and was told they would see us in a week to remove the stitches.

Once I arrived home, we also noticed that Thomas had an extra incision...the incision was just through the top layer of skin but was so red that I thought it might be bleeding.  It was not, but obviously someone had cut Thomas  in the wrong place, realized it, and then cut her again.  There was some kind of red medicine on the wound, which is why I thought it was bleeding.

Please imagine me red-faced, heart beating fast, teeth clenched.  Thomas ate some food, drank a good bit of water and then we put her in her favorite resting spot, my middle daughter's loft bed.

We left shortly after to pick up Layla at the big city vet.

We arrived, checked in and waited to be called back.

The vet tech called us within just a few minutes, we went to an examination room with her where she showed me all Layla's records again, explained the surgery again, explained what to watch for, showed me how to break up Layla's pain pills (doggy Ibuprofen) and asked me if I had any questions before she brought Layla in. 

I asked her about Thomas.

Very professionally she declined to speak specifically about another vet's practice but did indicate that surgery on two animals at the same time was not standard practice in their clinic.

The vet who performed Layla's surgery arrived and reassured me that he would be more than happy to take over Thomas's care and would remove her stitches the very same day he removes Layla's.  

We paid our bill right there in the private exam room and the tech left us to go get Layla.  

I could hear various techs and other personnel cooing over Layla as they came down the hall...telling her that her family was waiting for her...and that she was such a good girl.  When Layla came in the door of the exam room, the three of us fell to our knees to hug and kiss her.  

She was, of course, happy to see us but not frantic in any way.

We led her out quietly among more good-byes to both us and Layla and more comments about what a well behaved and mannered dog she is.

PetSmart puppy class, baby.

Little Thomas/Thomasina has been sleeping most of the time since she's been home, but when she's awake, she's visibly uncomfortable, sitting hunched over, twitching her tail, etc.
Thankfully, she is eating, drinking and using her litter box so we'll just try to keep her as comfortable as we can.

Hopefully she'll be rolling around in the sunshine again soon.

Nutter Butter

Returning from our morning walk, Layla and I spotted the cats circling something.

Layla took off to see what the excitement was all about and just how involved she might become in the fray.

As I called her name, she was overcome by the excitement and bounded over to the cats without paying me any attention whatsoever (Yes, we have just completed 12 weeks of puppy training; why do you ask?)

Layla approached the cats and used her paw to nudge the victim.  

The victim immediately began making these squeaky noises, which I knew immediately didn't belong to a bird.

We've been down the squirrel rescue route before, so I was in familiar territory at this point and immediately began clearing away all the animals so I could assess the little fella's injuries...

As I moved the cats and Layla inside, my youngest heard all the commotion and came to see how she could help.

We learned during our foster experience with Squeakers that many times the "injured" party is actually better off left to its own devices...and that many times well-meaning humans step in where they shouldn't and mess everything up, so at first we observed the little dude without touching him.  

He was moving, and scooched himself under a pile of pine straw with only his tail sticking out :)

He was making an awful lot of noise...a lot more than Squeakers ever made..not "I'm hurt" noises, mind you, but "I'll be *&^&*&&&*##"  "Those **&*&%^ cats"! kinds of noises :)

Little buddy was mad!

I could also tell from his tail that he was much older than Squeakers and Whiskers had been when we found them.  To me, the already furry tail was another reason to leave him be.

I convinced (or so I thought) my youngest that we would leave the cats inside for the day and that Squirrel with an attitude would regroup and return to his nest or wherever he needed to go, so we went back inside to finish getting ready for work and school.  

When I stepped out of the shower, I knew immediately that it was too quiet.  

Our house in the mornings is just like those movie scenes where everybody's moving in different directions in fast forward.  

Then I heard my youngest calling my name.

"Mommy!"

When I walked through the kitchen, this is what I saw:

Ahem.

So much for leaving nature alone.

My youngest explained that she simply could not just leave the little guy out there all by himself and then rattled off a long list of things that might happen to him if we did.

No idea where she gets this kind of behavior from.

This was not exactly how I'd hope this day would play out, but I knew once we touched him, we would have to help him.

So, we did.

Little dude with a 'tude got his name changed to Nut Head and then changed again to Nutter Butter.

We purchased a dog crate, another heating pad, snuggled him down with blankets to burrow in and waited the appropriate amount of time before feeding him.  The youngest was beside herself, but I kept reminding her that we didn't know how injured he might be on the inside and to not get her hopes up.

You know where this story is going, right?

I knew when we got Nutter Butter out of the box to feed him that this wasn't going to be like last time.  I could tell that he was already less active, sleepy eyes, less mumbling and grumbling than before, and he bit my youngest just for the heck of it.  The bite itself didn't hurt, but it should have.

I began preparing her for what I knew was happening.

My youngest held out hope that the formula would be the magic potion that would cure all Nutter Butter's ills.  

We put him back in his box, and I told her that we would check on him every hour after that, but we needed to let him rest in the warm covers of his box.  

Each hour Nutter Butter moved slower and slower...his breathing became heavier, and finally he just laid there.  Each hour I reported the same sad news to the hopeful eyes of my youngest and finally had to tell her that he was gone.

My youngest became hysterical and cried for her Nutter Butter, who she'd known less than 48 hours, but to her it was a lifetime.

All I could do was sit and hold her...and let her cry.

I reminded her that Nutter Butter was in God's trees now, and that there are plenty of acorns in Heaven.

I told her she rescued him and allowed him to die in peace in a warm bed with a full tummy of delicious milk...and that that was a good thing.

The Head of My Household dug Nutter Butter's little grave the next morning, and we all said good-bye.

One of the hardest things to realize when you're a parent is that you can't fix everything. 

While I wish I could spare them hurt of all kinds, I'm proud that each of them has a respect for the creatures of the Earth and wants to help whenever they can and sometimes that includes pain.  I guess a part of parenting is to help them learn to deal with the pain of loss...and to love others without fear of that pain.

And, that sometimes loving something means you have to let it go...as it was with our Squeakers.

I thank God everyday for my children, their pure hearts and the love they give freely...and I also thank God for the animals He's brought into our lives and the intelligence He gives us to learn how to take care of ourselves and the animals of His world...and when to leave things be.

I am blessed.

Children's Sunday was this past Sunday and one of our soloist sang this song...it's one of my favorites by the Carpenters and so very appropriate for little Nutter Butter.

A Small Break in the Clouds

Summer School is proving to be a teaching/grading marathon.  

We're 2 weeks down with 2 more to go.  I miss blogging, I miss clean laundry, I miss cooking, and I miss sleep.  

Layla misses me while I am at work...in this photo she is waiting by the door to our garage where my car is parked...my children send me pictures like this I think to make me feel good about how much my dog misses me.  

This photo didn't make me feel good; it just made me want to come home.

After staying up till 1 a.m. last night to catch up...again...Layla and I took a long, slow leisurely walk this morning.  

It reminded me of the first walks she and I used to take when we first brought her home in May.  She's always been a joy but today she walked by my side, never pulling on the leash, sniffing around here and there and listening for my direction.  I rewarded her at the end of our walk with a swim in our lake neighborhood.

She loves the water.  She swims and accidentally splashes.  Then, she tries to catch her splash and splashes even more...and tries to catch the splash she created when she was trying to catch the original splash :)

Just good fun and relaxation.

Thanks, Layla...I needed that.

:)

Layla, you got me on my knees, Layla...I'm begging darlin' please ;)

All of my reading plans went up in smoke when this little bundle of joy came into my life.  The picture below is her enjoying her first soccer game :)

I'm so smitten I don't even begin to know what to do with myself. :)

I put aside even the new Anita Blake book, which was auto-shipped from Amazon on its release date, in order to spend some time with the following books:

Laugh if you will but Cesar Milan, aka the Dog Whisperer, uses behavioral psychology in order to train humans how to interact with their dogs...yes, I said "train humans."  The Head of My Household and I learned the hard way with a Rottweiler how very important it is to understand your dog completely...when the owner is able to work with how the dog thinks, the dog responds not only with obedience but with respect.

The Monks of New Skeet follow the same philosophy as Cesar...with full attention to the dog's pack mentality.  The "pack" includes all of the people/other animals within the home the dog resides.  The dog's instinct tells it to follow an established leader.  If no leader presents itself, the dog will take that spot.  Really, it's like raising a child.  Children actually need structure and need to know somebody is in charge...so do dogs.  How convenient for me that the Monks of New Skeet have been training German Shepherds for years :)

Then, of course there are the standard breed books...I've looked through them all...the biggest difference I can see is that some of them are actually written with the specific breed in mind all the way throughout the book, no matter how many sections might overlap with other breeds.  Others have one little introductory section on the specific breed and then the rest of the chapters are generic material that supposedly you could apply to any dog.  The one above by the publishers of Dog Fancy is one of the best I've found in the standard variety with very specific information whether on potty training, the basic commands, etc. with a German Shepherd's temperament, instincts, history in mind.

This MagBook is also published by Dog Fancy; I read it cover to cover along with another MagBook specifically focused on German Shepherd puppies published by the DogChannel folks.  I found both of these publications at Pet Smart the day we brought our Layla home.

The German Shepherd has a long history of being a loyal, intelligent and hard working dog...specifically in the military as "trackers."  I've found a few books and DVD's about these working GSD's (German Shepherd Dogs) and have added them to my WishList; however, I'm a little nervous about reading these because I know just as with humans in war, there will be death and grievous injury for the dogs as well.  One particular book is called None Came Home...it's about dogs in Vietnam who were left behind even after the American troops pulled out :(  I haven't exactly made up my mind about that one.

We have always been animal people...cats, dogs, squirrels...you name it, we just feel a sense of responsibility to the creatures that are sharing our world.  There is also nothing, and I mean nothing like a good dog.  Our first child was a Chow.  The Head of My Household and I got her right around our 1st anniversary.  We trained her and treated her as if she was our child...a part of our family.  She was with us through the birth of our two older daughters and loved them as if they were her own pups.  She was very protective of all of us but she never, ever showed any kind of aggression towards any of us or anyone we were around.  We lost her after 13 years to breast cancer...and yes, she had been spayed.  I vividly remember the day the vet told us the best thing to do was to let her go...she was suffering.  And, I vividly remember the man I love burying our beloved dog with tears in his eyes as rain poured down around him.   

I have high hopes for our Layla :)

Wordless Wednesday - Squeakers the Academic Squirrel

Yes, I have a squirrel in my house...orphaned baby and all that.

No, he did not chew my copy of Garland of Girls.

His little squirreley butt would no longer  be in my house if he had.

His favorite place to perch is on top of my copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

No, this post is not wordless as it should be ;)

I told you I would have a difficult time being wordless.

Squeakers and Whiskers

Squeaky (who is actually Squeakers) and Whiskers are still doing fine. 

I read that baby squirrels actually stay with their mamas for 12 weeks so that explains their natural need to snuggle.  Using a chart I found on the internet, based on their size and the fact that their tails are actually beginning to get fluffy, I think Squeakers and Whiskers are 8-10 weeks old.  According to the vet, they have a pretty good chance for survival if we can get them to eat. 

I also read that mama squirrels will actually take their babies back if you can find her, so we spent some time yesterday afternoon looking in the woods behind our house for any sign of Mom.  It saddens me to think about a mama squirrel who might possibly be out there somewhere wondering where her babies are...my dad said that right now is foraging time for the squirrels...nuts are beginning to ripen and they are gathering.  I'm assuming that while Mama was out, these babies either fell out of the nest and/or Mama was injured or killed while foraging and the babies fell out because they eventually got hungry. 

How in the world they somehow found their way into our garage and under our lawnmower is and probably always will be a mystery.

My girls are taking their jobs as foster parents very seriously.

They are happy to snuggle with Squeakers and Whiskers...my firstborn has actually moved them into her bedroom in a pet traveling carrier of course.  She even changed their towel last night so that their burrowing material was clean and woke me this morning to get me to help her feed them. 

Who is this person and what has she done with my self-absorbed (and I mean that in the nicest way) firstborn??

My middle child also has taken to Squeakers and Whiskers and offers a steady hand when snuggling or making decisions about their welfare.  She keeps an eye on the cats when they are in the house and/or when its feeding time.  As much as we love Uh-Oh and Beneigt, the girls know it would be their natural instinct to hunt Squeakers and Whiskers.  Uh-Oh and Beneigt may even have had something to do with Mama's disappearance.  But, I don't want to think about that.

I tell my girls several times a day that squirrels are not made to be pets.  We will do everything in our power to help them until they can help themselves...but our goal is to reintroduce them to the woods.

One of my students actually informed me yesterday of a Wildlife Rehab Center in the town 30 miles south of us...so I will be making that phone call Monday.

Until then, we'll do everything in our power to provide what these little guys need.

You know you want to say Awwwww...so go ahead...I give you permission.

Critter Week

Ok, you are not going to believe this.

I was sitting in my chair on the soccer field watching my baby and her little 6 year old friends run drills.

My phone rang.

It was my firstborn.

Now, my firstborn calls me frequently...like me, she feels the need to tell people things when they are on her mind...so she won't forget.  Actually, that's me...I forget.  She, on the other hand, never forgets.

So, I answered my phone.

"Yes," I simply said as I juggled my youngest's Hannah Montana chair, her gatorade, my Blackberry, some papers I was going to grade, my keys and my camera.

"Mommy," she said in the sweetest voice ever.

"Yes," I repeated, this time a little more curious.

"We have baby squirrels," she announced in the sweetest, softest voice.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm holding two baby squirrels"

"Your HOLDING them????"

At this point I'm imagining some big mama squirrel sneaking up behind my firstborn.

"Yes, Mama...they were under the lawnmower.  The cats found them."

After the bunny rabbit fiasco from yesterday, I won't even go into what I was imagining here.

"Oh my heavens...are they ok????"

"Yes, Mama.  They are fine....and they're soooooooo cuuuuuuuuuuutteeeeeee"

"And Mama they make the cuuuuuuuuuuuuuutest little noises"

Oh boy.

After soccer my youngest and I went to pick up pizza, and we actually ran into my firstborn who had been to a tennis lesson nearby.

20 minutes for a pizza was quickly turning into 40 minutes, and my youngest was growing impatient about meeting the squirrels, so she rode home with her big sister while I continued to wait on the pizza.

When I arrived home, my youngest introduced me to the two baby squirrels...ahem, excuse me...now known as Squeaky and Whiskers.

Oy!

Go ahead and say Awwwwwwww!

Because you know you want to!!!

Just in case you were having trouble telling whose tail was whose, maybe this  picture will help out.

Go ahead and say Awwwwwwwww again....

I'll wait :)

These little fellas are cuter than I thought they would be.

Please don't ask me which one is Whiskers and which one is Squeaky.

I don't know them well enough yet.

My children could tell you though.

What is astounding is that these little fellas act like they are sincerely glad to be in my daughters' arms.

They are not afraid...they actually act like they feel comfortable and safe.

I guess that's what a near death experience with two black cats will do for you.

They actually constantly try to snuggle even deeper into my girls' hands...

This is Squeaky (my firstborn told me) in my youngest's hands.

Remember, she is 6.

He's not even trying to get out of her hands.

On the contrary, he'd rather crawl up her arm and snuggle into her shirt, next to her warm little body.

He misses his mommy :(

Go ahead and say Awwwwwwwwwwwww again.

You NEED to.  

Whiskers is also trying to cuddle into my firstborn's shirt.

Squeaky said "Somebody please turn out the light...but leave a nightlight on so I won't have nightmares about those big black panther monsters."

Yes, we are already worried about what to feed them, whether or not to take them to the vet, whether or not we should try to set them free, how in the world to keep them comfortable, etc. etc. etc.

and most importantly, how we're going to explain this to Uh-Oh and Beneigt.

Sick Day

At soccer practice last Tuesday night my youngest went from happy go lucky giggling girl to sad, sluggish exhausted girl in about 5 seconds. 

On the way home she sat very quietly in the car, which is absolutely abnormal for her.  She usually talks 90 miles an hour all the way home...asking questions about soccer practice, what's for dinner, what she's wearing the next day, what's for lunch the next day, what's for dinner tonight, what's 2+2=...etc.

But not last Tuesday.

I was a little worried...but not so much.

We are incredibly busy folks.

From the day this one especially was born, she hit the ground running to keep up with her big sisters' activities...now she's added her own activities.

Whew!

By the time we arrived at home, she was crying.

She showered, and I cuddled with her in our bed.  

She was asleep in 3 seconds flat.

She felt a little warm, but I still wasn't concerned.

In the morning when she was running 103.1 temp, I became concerned.

When she cried because her stomach hurt, I became more concerned; tummy aches have become a normal part of her life for the last couple of months.

When she didn't even want to play, I really became concerned.

After a frantic pediatrician visit, it turns out she may have a bacteria in her little tummy. 

Her white count was very high.

We are waiting on further test results to pinpoint the specific type of bacteria.

In the meantime, the ped. started her on a whopper of an antibiotic and some tummy medicine.

I'm happy to report that she finally was able to return to school today.

Our little dog Hermione was especially glad.

Hermione is just about the most agreeable little dog that has ever existed...

but even she has her limits:

Hermione: See Mom, she's smiling!

Uh, ok...are we done yet?

Oh nevermind; I'll just take a little rest...I kinda like the boa anyway.

You're not putting these pictures on your blog, are you??

Best Buds

We rescued Hermione after Hurricane Katrina, and she is just about the most laid back, gentle dog I've ever had.  She loves everyone and everything.  

Even Beneigt.

Beneigt and Hermione are buds.

Well, sorta.

Beneigt likes to test Hermione's patience.

I think it drives Beneigt crazy that Hermione doesn't act like most dogs and chase him.

C'mon, Hermione...don't ya just want to jump at me??  Even just a little?

Well....nah...no thanks, Beneigt.

You gotta be kidding me! What kinda dog are you anyway?

I'll even let you be the boss.

It would really be a lot of fun.......

Sheesh!

I believe Hermione secretly enjoys driving Beneigt crazy. ;)