Tag: dog fostering

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

When your critter’s at the vet’s office

I

called a friend on the phone yesterday, and to my surprise, she picked up very quickly. “Oh,” she said, “I thought you might be the vet’s office.” No one wants to miss a call from the vet.

How long do we wait? This charming young lady doesn’t mind waiting, as long as it’s with you.

Over the years, I have gotten used to waiting for an appointment with my vet. He is very thorough, and willing to explain problems and treatments clearly, and answer my oddball questions. An appointment with my dog’s doctor that’s scheduled for 1:00 pm has meant 1-ish, or maybe even 2-ish.

But my friend’s experience on this day was worse. She had dropped her two dogs off, without breakfast, early in the morning. And waited to hear. Then called, and was promised an Xray, and results, by the time lunch was over. She and I were speaking until almost 2:30, and she still hadn’t heard a peep.

She pictured her dogs hungry, and miserable. Meanwhile, she and her son had postponed their day’s projects, waiting to be able to pick up the dogs. What the fox terrier?? After some deliberation, she decided to go pick them up — Xray, or no Xray.

It’s not just us, and it’s not that we’re just getting older and less patient (Ok — with me, it is that). A very recent article by Julia Taliesin on Boston.com notes that vet office wait times are up everywhere, partly because so many people have added pets to their households, and partly because rookie pet parents aren’t sure what to do if there’s a cough, a scratch…or worse. So they call the vet. https://www.boston.com/?post_type=post&p=22754109

Now, other than recommend to all the teens and twenty-somethings we know that they go to veterinary school, what do we do? We need a short-term plan that keeps our pets healthy, and us sane.

My answer to this is: learn pet first aid. And get a pet first aid kit. These might sound excessive at first. Especially when you find out how expensive the first aid kit is. But this recommendation is not only for the over-prepared, risk-averse coddler of pets.

If you’re not sure what bloat looks like in a dog, or what to do about it, take the class. If you have a flop-eared dog who gets into mischief a lot, you can learn to bandage those ears in a class. Even if you know how to bandage humans – you’ll learn something (like: floppy ears should be pressed up on the head when you bandage them; prick ears should be pressed down, to manage bleeding).

Do you have what you need to clean and bandage your dog’s paw when he rips his toe pad open again? Are you sure? That’s what you get when you get a first aid kit — the feeling of being sure you can help, and won’t hurt your buddy. Even if you’re forgetful, or disorganized, or your overgrown mongrel is a big fat baby when he has to have his feet handled. In my house, all three conditions apply.

Pet first aid kit comes in a well-organized, way-cool zip canvas bag.

I haven’t done extensive market research on either pet First Aid/ CPR classes, or on first aid kits. I found a class, and took it. Then I researched my inner soul, to find out if I was going to get around to assembling all the recommended supplies that go into a good pet first aid kit. I wasn’t. So I ordered one from the nice people who ran the pet First Aid/ CPR class. You can find them at Fourfootedfamily.com.

The available classes from Four Footed Family are given in person, or in hybrid format, in central and eastern Massachusetts. There is also an all-virtual class done on Zoom, for those out of area. The virtual version is the one I took, and it was terrific. I’m sure the in-person version is even better. I haven’t verified whether they still offer the first aid kits, or if their time and energies have had to be focused elsewhere… in any case, you will get a complete list of must-have items for a kit. And then it’s between you and your soul.

In addition to bandages and salves, this kit has the day-to-day tools you need to keep everyone ship-shape. Like good nail clippers for dog and cat. So the pedi-pedi isn’t quite so awful-awful.

Preparation at home is not a substitute for a visit to the vet. But it can help you know, and convey, the difference between a get-me-to-the-front-of-the-line emergency, like belly bloat, and an “oops, give him Tums and wait for the farts to start” moment, when your pet needs extra care.

“You…want to clip my WHAT?!”

P.S. – Octavia, the charming 2-year-old hound mix featured at the top of this post, doesn’t mind getting her nails clipped; and, her nails are white or clear, making it super easy to see the target. She loves to have her teeth brushed; generally just likes to be with her people, no matter what or where. She will be up for adoption very soon! She is in the Albany NY/ western MA area. If interested in learning more, please contact the author.

The Acoustics of Dog Care

Octavia quietly waits for something good to fall under the table.

Beware the sounds of silence

Caring for dogs or puppies in your home is a sensory-intensive experience. There is fur or hair, soft or bristly to touch. The moist sensation of being licked — out of nervousness, or love, or who-knows-why, just get ready, tongue ‘n’ snoot comin’ atcha. The scents, of varying intensity – no explanation needed there. Then there are the sounds.

The clicks, growls and purrs of puppies, dogs and one cat are what make my house sing, without me having to orchestrate. Sometimes I try to capture the best sounds: months ago I pushed “Record” on my smart phone, standing in my basement, while the mini-stampede of two puppy siblings chasing after the same toy thundered along the hardwood floor in the bedroom directly above. The recording only captured whatever was quietly humming in my basement at that time. But I sure enjoyed the heck out of the live percussion concert, above.

I’ve tried to record Gogo, my very good boy, doing his signature falsetto mini-howls in his sleep. Sometimes it escalates into a full-throated, mature and mournful howl. How he does that without waking himself up, I’ll never know. But he’s been doing it for as long as I’ve known him. I’ll never get tired of it. Alas, I’ll never get a good recording of it, either; I’m just not that quick with the function buttons on my phone. My active listening takes over, and my fingers fail.

You get used to the sounds of the critters chewing, drinking, scratching their favorite things. Gogo drinking from his water bowl (a one-gallon Pyrex bowl; I needed something too heavy for him to knock over when he was a puppy — don’t judge us) sounds a bit like what you’d expect to hear when a bison bellies up to the watering hole. Maybe without the snorting. When Octavia, the new recruit, drinks from the same bowl, it sounds like a gently trickling stream. Either way, I can tell from two rooms away that my animals are hydrating themselves. And that’s good.

Then there are the sounds of the critters chewing, drinking and scratching my favorite things. And that’s usually not good. Here are some of the sounds I’ve learned, some in time to intervene:

A bamboo and cotton item, previously known as a coaster, being pulverized;

The soft squish-‘n’-squeak of my leather clog as it is being taste-tested by a medium-sized dog;

The thud of a 12.5-oz metal cat food can hitting the rug after being dropped from dog-mouth height, 20′ away from its usual storage shelf; followed by gentle rolling sounds;

The r-r-rip of a guest-dog’s plush squeak toy being eviscerated by the host dog who, for good reason, is not given plush toys any more;

The light, quick steps of the guest dog sneaking into the host dog’s crate to have a snooze while no one is looking;

And the most dangerous sound of all when you’re home with all your animals: silence.

It’s easy not to notice silence, at first. One might be busy, say, writing a blog post, and not realize that there are no bone-gnawing, cardboard-clawing or other wholesome activities going on. And heck, they might be sleeping.

The stuffing material formerly known as part of Octavia’s new bed. Quietly extracted.

But then you go and poke your head into the silent bedroom where two 8-week-old puppies were napping, last time you checked. And see: nothing. And hear: nothing. Or, one is running up and down the floor along the edge of the bed, yapping, and the other one is…not there. Not making a peep.

In the case of Remo and Ruthie, my recent dynamic duo, that meant that once again, one of them* had figured out a way past all the baffles and barricades I put up to block them from going under the guest bed. Did you know, when you’re six inches tall, and weigh less than ten pounds, what the underside of a full-size bed looks like? The most awesome playground you’ve ever seen. And do you now what puppies like to do in their awesome playgrounds? Poop. And pee. Every chance they get. Every. Chance. Oh, and for reference: those extra boxes and other smooth surfaces you shoved under there to keep the varmints out? They make great pooping surfaces, too. And their sound-dampening properties just can’t be beat.

Remo at the foot of the bed…waiting for me to look away.

On the bright side, active silence is how you know that they know they’re not supposed to do that. So you have some good behavioral material to work with. They have been listening, up to a point. The elaborate positive-reinforcement parties I threw for Remo and Ruthie every time they pooped someplace good were pretty impressive, if I may say so. They helped. I…think.

Remo and Ruthie moved out before they’d convincingly learned not to poop under the bed. By then I’d also invested a roll of duck tape, three pieces of scrap plywood, several wood screws (to screw the boards directly into the box spring frame), some para-cord, two pieces of metal crate dividers, and a heavy dose of my time and dignity, to block temptation. They have now each been adopted by loving families.

As I write this conclusion, I can hear Octavia chewing a delicious bone nearby, and Gogo snoring away in his bed. Oh, wait — I just heard the flap-flap-flap of ears-on-noggin. Gogo’s awake. His belly must know it’s 5:05 pm. Time for supper!

*Remo, I know it was you, you little bugger. I forgive you.