The healthy foster dog. Note the perky ears; the loving, confident eyes that say, “Sure, you can put your feet here. But I’m not moving.” See also, the lamp power cord under her tail….
This post was going to be all about how ‘Tavi is progressing during her heartworm treatment. About how she’s calmer, and more confident, and has learned to use the extra-large doggie door, even though she’s only a svelte 45 pounds. And, she seems like she feels…good.
Then this morning, she killed my lamp. Ok, maybe not killed – just mutilated and disabled it. Moved it from the “useful household furnishings” category to the dust-collecting projects heap, in a matter of — I don’t know — 30 seconds? Five minutes? Longer? If I’d known she was mutilating it, I would have stopped her. But I didn’t notice. And she was right there, at my feet, under the small table where I was typing. And she still feels good. But I feel bad.
The evidence.
Should I have trained her not to chew electric cords sooner? Should I have moved the cord out of harm’s way? Was I supposed to crate her even though she loves to be with her pack — I mean right withher pack? Even though her whines, and her deep brown eyes, say ‘Nooooo! It’s not bed time!’ when I try to put her in?
I now think the answer to that last one was yes. Yes, unless I could work and respond to subtle ambient sounds at the same time. Which I can’t.
The victim.
While responding to emails this morning, should I have wondered why, after hours of restlessly poking around the house and tasting things, asking for ice cubes or a ball partner, ‘Tavi had been resting quietly at my feet for a solid half hour? I tried to stick to my policy, Ignore them, or you will never get anything done.
I could tell she was chewing on something. Fine. Chewing keeps her busy. Plenty of wholesome chewables ’round here. She wasn’t making teeth-on-bone sounds, though. Something softer. But not as soft as her (unstuffed) stuffy toy. And not squeaky, like a squeak ball. That’s good. Or…is it?? So I looked. And let the exclamations begin.
I saw a small scattering of off-white vinyl plus shiny copper, strewn on the floor where the dog had been lying, so happily, just moments before. The bent plug was disconnected from the lamp-formerly-known-as-the-Zoom-light on my work table (which is also known as my dining table). The dog scootched out of there as soon as the hollering began.
The perpetrator. The ears are down (‘guilty as charged.’) The eyes say “I’m really sorry…but did you know those things feel FANTASTIC in your mouth?”
Don’t worry — the lamp wasn’t plugged in. It was only used during Zoom calls, which are less frequent, these days, thank goodness. No electric shock to anyone. Just ‘I can’t believe I have a dog who chews electric cords’ shock, for me.
As I was saying, ‘Tavi seems to feel terrific. She’s been with me for almost 12 weeks. In two more weeks, she will get her final dose of heartworm medicine, and begin a period of more stringent movement restrictions. She’ll need to be in her crate more, like it or not.
Limiting her movement will keep her cardiovascular system quiet. Keeping her circulation calm will prevent the dying and dead pieces of heartworm from infiltrating her blood stream too fast, and causing an embolism. An embolism could kill her.
So, today’s lesson was a good one for me. I’d better toughen up.
Cheaper than sending a kid to college; but still — BE PREPARED.
Sure, usually it’s called dog ownership. But I am ready to admit that my dog fills a role that a dog twenty years ago would not have been invited to fill.
Twenty years ago, there were no Emotional Support Animals on planes, no Chewy.com, and probably no more than two different places you could go to get Fido a winter coat. Now it’s different. Dog family-hood in the early 21st Century is all I know. And I’ve made a spreadsheet about it.
I’m a dog mom, and I’ve got the Mother’s Day cards, coffee mugs and fridge magnets to prove it. Also, I have Gogo. He’s my dog, whose other title is The Sunlight in my Universe. When I picked him up from his foster home, all I had to plunk down was $275. Such a deal!
He was a mystery mutt, pretty-sure-he’s-a-pitbull-but-definitely-lab-boxer-plus-maybe-hound. I bought some food, a collar and leash, pee pads and a crate. His fur was kind of thin, so I thought he would need sweaters. That’s all I thought of, as expenses went.
If you’re thinking of getting a dog, but haven’t taken the plunge yet, this might be a good moment to take a hard look at the financials. If you already have a canine Sweet Baboo, this post may serve to confirm that you’re not alone, and you’re not imagining it: dogs get expensive.
The following cost estimates are based on my real bills, since 2016, and project forward from 2021 until 2033. In this scenario, this dog will live to be 17 years old. That’s optimistic for a large-breed dog, but not unusual for smaller breeds. Each family makes choices along the way: how expensive his food is; how many toys he gets; how often his bed is replaced. Each family will complete this adage its own way:
Shred it once, shame on you.
Shred it twice, that's coming out of your allowance.
Shred it three times...maybe we have to rethink the wisdom of buying you fluffy beds. Ok, ok. One more....
Some items are not optional, in my opinion, and were unknown to me before I got Gogo. For instance, in the past 5 years here in the Northeastern US, leptospirosis and Lyme disease have become so prevalent that many vets, including mine, recommend dogs get a vaccine for each, every year (Lyme vaccine and Lepto vaccine= $27 each this year).
Heartworm preventive medication, which used to be recommended mainly for Spring-Summer-Fall administration (prime mosquito time), is now generally recommended year-round, even here in the Northeast (Thanks a lot, global warming). For the vendor I use, that prevention comes to $112 each year. Without prevention, heartworm can be lethal. Even dogs under treatment for heartworm sometimes die from it. Not a risk I want to take.
Your leash budget may depend in part on how good you are at tying square knots.
Here is the sum total of dog costs, starting with these assumptions:
Healthy, large-breed puppy
Low adoption fee
Private home setting with yard
No major injuries
YEAR 1
YEAR 2
YEAR 3
YEAR 4
YEAR 17
ADOPTION FEE
275
TOYS
100
100
75
60
FOOD & supplements
900
900
900
900
900
poop bags
42
42
42
42
42
PUPPY SCHOOL
200
100
LEASH, HARNESSES, COLLARS
145
34
62
34
winter coat
60
60
TRAINING COLLAR (ELECTRIC)
110
ROUTINE VET CARE**
292
292
292
312
SURGERY, SPECIAL VET CARE
314
236
180
300
Medicine (antibiotics,pain relief etc.)
72
35
50
60
60
Flea & tick prevention
268
260
260
260
260
Heartworm prevention
112
112
112
112
112
Pet first aid kit
180
Bed(s) and crate
120
160
60
Human GOODS REPAIRS/REPLACEMENT
85
100
75
Human CLOTHING REPLACEMENT
200
120
FENCED-IN YARD (4′ high)
$7,000
Housing premium*
$1,400
vacation boarding (1 or 2 weeks/yr.)
280
385
0
150
300
City dog license
25
25
20
20
20
Annual total
$3,176
$10,149
$3,584
$2,310
$1,994
Lifetime total (lifespan = 17 yrs.)
$48,052
Sample costs for a healthy dog
Purposely excluded here are the extras – like a fabric budget for making a fabulous bow tie collection, for example. Also, there is no allowance for major surgeries. A TPLO surgery (tendon repair, common for large and/or very active dogs) can cost thousands of dollars. You can consult gofundme.com for confirmation on that. Lots of owners saying “my dog needs this surgery…help!”
The extra-expensive years (so far) have been years two (splurged on a fence for the yard; gates on both sides) and three (fancy insulated doggie door purchase). These were, in large part, quality of life gifts to myself.
Take this as just one budgetary example, from a person who always, always wanted a dog, lives in a cold climate, and is highly risk-averse. Your results may vary.
Goal 1: Keep ticks from climbing on you and your pets in the first place.
Goal 2: Get rid of any ticks you find hitching a ride, as soon as you see them.
I live in central Berkshire County, Massachusetts. Technically, I’m in a city. But the deer, groundhogs and bunnies all roam here, too. And that means there are ticks. The suddenly summer-like weather gets some credit, as well. This year, the ticks are EVERYWHERE.
I moved to the Berkshires so I could spend time outdoors. I like to dig in the dirt. I got a dog. Turns out, he likes to be outdoors, and dig in the dirt, too. But now, ticks. What are we supposed to do??
We love dirt. And fresh air.
I just read a letter to the editor in the local newspaper (shout out to The Berkshire Eagle) suggesting that we in the Berkshires should warn visitors to be wary of ticks, if they plan to go for a hike. I agree with that. But this year, it isn’t as if there are places one can go, where there are no ticks. How in the Woods are we supposed to find a safe balance between the parasites we fear, and the fresh air we love?
By the time studies come out to declare that yes, New England, you are more infested than ever, and Lyme disease has gone up with it, valuable defensive opportunities may have been lost. So, I’m acting on what I see. The enemy is here. War is now.
By nature, I am a peace-loving, creature-respecting person. When I find spiders hiding in the corners of my house, I capture them and escort them outdoors. If they are precariously close to being washed down the drain, I scoot them out of harm’s way. I’ll admit there have been plenty of times when a black jumping spider (they look to me like teeny tarantulas; but they jump, instead of crawling, when they need to be evasive) has startled me into jumping a little bit, too. But spiders do good stuff, like eat gnats and mosquitos and other bad actors.
There is nothing good about ticks, unless you are someone who eats them. Chickens, turkeys, opossums and guinea fowl thrive on them. I’ll assume you, reader, are not one of those.
A decade ago, I put tick prevention in the same category as first aid for snake bites: good to know, but I’m probably not going to need to apply it. Then, a few years ago, my indoor cat snuck out, and by the time he came home a few days later, he had a tick so engorged, it looked like a pale little balloon sticking up from his head.
Next I got a dog, and I learned to scan him every time we came in from the woods. Now it’s four years later, the Spring of 2021, and it’s ticksanity out there. We pick up ticks just by walking past unmown grass. In a rural-ish city. For two years I’ve been fostering puppies and dogs who aren’t able to be put on flea and tick prevention medicine right away. Now what?!
Ears, especially floppy ones, are vulnerable to ticks. Check the pockets!
I am writing this for dog owners, or even recreational walkers, who are already doing the basics: vet-recommended flea & tick treatment (for dogs and cats); bug repellent oil or spray for you and your best friend; avoid walking through tall grass; tuck pants into white socks (I’m…too sexy for these woods, too sexy for this path… too sexy to get Lyme diz- eeze…). Thorough skin check when you get home.
I fear Lyme disease more than I fear… most things. And I have found that available advice about ticks and what to do with them is incomplete, or confusing, or just plain hard to follow. Like: Use tweezers/ Never use tweezers! Get the tick off/ Don’t touch a tick with your hands! (wait — what??).
I will describe the approach I have been using to keep ticks from getting me and my pets sick. As my menagerie has expanded, ticks have proliferated, and the weather has gotten drier, I have gotten dead serious about winning this fight. You go climbing on my 7-week-old foster puppy who just figured out that pooping outdoors is a good thing, and I am coming after you, mother sucker.
Defense 1: be toxic
In life, I try to avoid excessive use of chemicals. But for tick prevention, I feel the little buggers have left me no choice. So I cautiously use a permethrin spray on my shoes, and on the dogs’ bedding, to kill any ticks that have the bad judgement to try to follow us home. Permethrin takes planning. It has to be sprayed on fabric — never on skin — and allowed to dry completely (out of direct sunlight, and away from animals) before you wear the item (or before dog or cat sleep on it).
I use a relatively dilute form of the spray (.5% permethrin), found in sporting goods stores in the section for hunters. The directions in and on the package are very clear and specific. Permethrin at any percentage is a neurotoxin for cats, if they are exposed to it wet. Not something to be messed with. Once dry, permethrin doesn’t have an odor, and is clear; so it behooves you to remember what you treated. Including, if it’s a blanket or towel for your pet to sleep on, which side you treated.
Ticks die relatively quickly when they come into contact with the permethrin. So this will catch any of those who didn’t die from the flea/ tick treatment you normally give your pet (ideally, those work once the tick has bitten and tried feeding on the animal). Maybe the tick was just strolling around on you or your dog, and was still scouting out a good place to bite, when your dog went to lie down on his permethrin-treated blanket. Bye-bye, tickypoo.
Permethrin spray bottle label. All precautions listed must be followed.
Defense 2: be stinky
Part of the way ticks find us is by our smell, in addition to our body heat and proximity. If we stink of oils they hate, they will avoid us, and wait for a better ride out of the grass. There are many choices for repellents that are safe for you and your dog. Please note, some products that are safe for you are not safe for your critters. The oil I use for my dog (and our fosters) is not safe for cats. It says so on the label. It includes essential oils of peppermint and rosemary, among others. This one is from a local company called Walk Your Dog With Love (walkyourdogwithlove.com), and I put it on the dogs’ collars before we go out in the neighborhood. Perhaps you’ve smelled us coming…. But it does help.
Offensive move 1: if you see it, grab it
Many times, ticks are visible on the surface of your pet (or on your clothing) before they have latched on well. They may be strolling along, looking for a juicy spot. Or they may be just settling in, amid fur, but not latched onto the skin yet. I use a take-no-prisoners approach. No waiting til we get home, no worries about touching a diseased pest. I just grab it with my fingers, hold it til I see a flat spot to drop it onto, find a stone (or use my shoe), and squish it.
If no flat spot is around, I may just try to flick it as far away from us as I can. I just don’t want it coming back. I was going to wash my hands as soon as we got home anyway, so…I’m less worried about touching disease briefly, than I am about letting a tick get settled in on my family. I’m sure this approach is not for everyone.
Offensive move 2: find, remove, murder
Once home from the walk, it’s time to do a real all-over check. It takes a few minutes, but in my experience, the dogs don’t mind one bit. From their perspective, it’s a great opportunity to get their ears fondled and their arms massaged. In my dog’s case, the trick is to get him to roll over for a tummy check, before he has relaxed all the way into REM sleep. He’s heavy.
The tools:
plain liquid soap
cotton swab
V-shaped tick removal tool (“tick key” or similar)
strong flashlight
rubbing alcohol
small plastic cup, such as the cap for a travel-size hairspray; fill with the alcohol
patient hands
V-shaped tick removal tool, and a strong flashlight to help find the ticks.A Cup of Death – small cup of rubbing alcohol, to send ticks to their final swim
Use the flashlight and your hand to see and feel all over your dog’s coat to see any small, dark bumps. Ticks lie fairly flat, but they will feel noticeably different than your dog’s usual coat. The flashlight will illuminate the nooks and crannies, and let you see better where the fur may be dark.
ESPECIALLY CHECK:
between all toes – top view AND bottom view (dog has to be lying down);
in and on ears, including the fairy pockets (the little pocket near base of ear);
lower legs/ feet;
face – likely to be the contact point when your dog sniffed the grass.
Gently splay your dog’s toes to find interlopers.
When I find a tick, I give it a little tug first to see if it’s loose. If it’s attached, it’s war. I do this:
Soap up the cotton swab, and apply soap directly to the little bugger. Sometimes just swirling the soap all around the tick is enough of an irritant to make the tick let go. If not, and I’ve been rubbing the soap on for a good minute, it’s time to use the V-shaped tool. I press the tool against the skin, and use the “V” to scoop the tick off, moving in a straight motion. Some say it’s best to just use the tool, and skip the soap. Those people are probably better at tick-scraping than I am. I like that the soap makes the tick let go, either a little or a lot, before I try to scrape it. The goal is to get the WHOLE tick.
Once the tick is free from skin, it’s time to dunk it in the waiting Cup of Death. I shove it right in there, making sure it sinks to the bottom of the isopropyl alcohol in the cup. The legs stop moving within a minute or two. But I usually wait a long time, before I dump the contents from the cup. Best to be sure.
High-fiving can wait. I just want this dog to not drive us crazy.
Today for the first time, Octavia is interacting with Gogo and getting his attention without assaulting him. It has taken us a week and a half to get to this level of peace in the house.
Octavia is a two (ish)-year-old hound mix whom I agreed to foster, beginning a week and a half ago. I had been in charge of two darling (though challenging) small puppies, but was persuaded to trade them in, to take on a less predictable assignment.
Remo and Ruthie, the puppies, went to a new foster home, where they are continuing their training to become good citizens of the world: to sleep when it’s time to sleep; pee and poop in recommended areas; chew toys not furniture; and charm someone into adopting them.
Octavia sitting outside, after one week in her new home. Each day she is in restless motion, most of the time; so this is progress.
Enter the clueless adult dog. Whether Octavia, the new recruit, got any citizenry training when she was wee, is anyone’s guess. We’re pretty sure she had people experience. At least some of the experience was negative; when she was first in foster, if a human raised their voice, Octavia cowered. She was found as a stray, pregnant, health status unknown, somewhere in the southern US.
The dog rescue group I volunteer with answered a request for help, back in January or February. “Please foster this dog, or she’ll end up euthanized.” Most rescue requests are some variation of the same. Most come from the South, often from the shelters themselves, who are just plain out of room. But that’s a story for another day; today it’s Octavia.
Octavia’s initial vet care, once in rescue, revealed she is heartworm positive. Heartworm is a new topic for me. Before this, all I knew was that heartworm often kills dogs who have it. Also, I had heard that treatment takes a long time. What “long” meant, or how the disease is transmitted, wasn’t really my concern, other than following my vet’s recommendation to give my dog heartworm preventive treatment year-round.
Octavia on her first full day in our home, learning “Sit”. Her mentor, Gogo, gives support. And waits for a treat.
I live in the northeastern US, in a hilly area where winters tend to be snowy, and temps can dip below 0 degrees Fahrenheit, especially in January and February. Time was, up here one only needed to give heartworm preventive in Spring-through-Fall. But now, as climate varies, and can gift us with a 70-degree day on Christmas Eve (as happened in 2016), the appearance of mosquitos can happen ANY time. And besides, if one wants to travel with one’s dog to the South, where mosquitos have no “off” season, it makes sense to protect from mosquito-borne diseases year-round.
Just to review my background: not only am I not an expert on heartworm, I’m not an expert on dogs. I was drawn into foster due to my willingness, not my expertise. And for Octavia’s case, the group wanted someone who was home more than a few waking hours per day (me: check). And ideally, someone who had a confident, calm dog who could be a good role model (me and Gogo: double-check). And for bonus points, someone with a fenced yard so the new dog can safely explore without running off (me: score!).
Gogo was fostered when he was little. Gogo is great. Therefore, I foster. Whether it was a good move for me, psychologically, to take in a new untrained dog before I had even had a chance to clean the stealth-poops left by the puppies under the guest bed, despite all the duct-taped and wood-screwed barricades I had built, is another topic. And maybe a good place to start a therapy session….but I digress.
Octavia’s good qualities:
She knows to do her business outdoors.
She is highly food-motivated. This makes her much easier to train using treats.
She is very eager to please her humans. This makes it much easier to teach and reinforce new behaviors, by either heaping attention on her, or withdrawing it.
She does not bark. At all. I think she may be a hound breed that just doesn’t.
She is happy to sleep in her crate, all night.
Octavia’s challenging qualities:
She is insecure, and seeks attention constantly. Initially this meant she whined all day, unless she was asleep or being attended to. This is improving.
She does not know how to interact politely with other dogs. She moved quickly from being docile and shy, to approaching, pawing, jumping up on, and chewing on Gogo every chance she got. By day 3 of being with us, she was humping him to express dominance.
Fortunately, also around day 3, her post-surgical spay restrictions were lifted, so she was allowed to vent some of her energy by running in the yard. And at the same time, I let Gogo know he did not have to be so gentle, and did not have to put up with her shit. Gogo is more than twice Octavia’s size. They are coming to a new understanding.
She has minimal experience living in a house, and being polite with people. Her first impulse is to crowd, paw, lick, and generally be in a person’s face or whatever body part is accessible to her. It is well-intended, but gets old very fast when you’re the human at the receiving end.
Octavia has been here in my house for 9 days. So far, she has learned these commands:
Sit.
Come.
Lie down.
Sshh. Sshh. Sshh (be quiet).
OFF. (quit putting your front paws up on me/ furniture/ the dog/ the cat’s food shelf etc.)
Drink the water.
Eat the food.
And she has learned these life-affirming, don’t-wear-out-your-welcome concepts:
No-no. (works as shorthand for don’t chew that; quit whining; that’s not a toy; hey those are my good shoes; quit putting your paw on my leg, in my face, etc.)
Relax, or We relax now. (just learning)
Be peaceful, be gentle (when she is being too rough, or just too relentless, with Gogo, or me. She knows what this means, but inconsistently applies it.).
Early wrestling match. Gogo (Black & White) is still letting the new kid win.
Nine days in, our journey of fostering Octavia is just beginning. She still has to survive three more months of heartworm treatment, a couple of trips to the vet, and lots of training. By the time she is up for adoption, my plan is that she will be healthy, sleek, fast, and a pretty good dog. Let’s see if her goals align with mine.
Ruthie (left) and Remo after 16 days in foster, 3 to 4 meals per day.
Wait – doesn’t puppy poop already taste terrible? You’d think so. But here’s an alternate take:
Let’s say that you’re a puppy and your only source of food, for your first twelve weeks, is your mom’s milk. Now, realize that your 5 siblings are in the same situation. And your mom is underweight, and underfed. You’d probably be very interested in eating anything you can find. If all there is, is poop, then poop is what you eat. With gusto.
This is the setting that Remo and Ruthie were born into. Hungry, covered in fleas, living outdoors in somebody’s yard for a minute, til their first humans at least had the decency to surrender them to their local animal shelter in an upstate New York town.
A normal healthy puppy gets milk from their normal healthy mom for the first 6 to 8 weeks of life. Then they get solid food, meant for puppies, with extra protein, fat and calories to help them grow. But that’s not how it went down for Remo and Ruthie.
So having formed the habit of competing for any poop pile they can find, they were not going to give that habit up easily.
“Well, once they’ve eaten a real meal, and they’re full, surely…” I thought.
“Once they realize that they are getting regular meals, three or four times a day, they wouldn’t… would they?”
Waiting for them to see the light, stuffing their guts with great food did nothing to change their behavior. I was picking up their poop as soon as I sensed it had hit the floor. I started to rack my brain about how to get the poop-eating to stop. Had I read something somewhere about adding hot pepper to the poop, and let them eat it? Wait – was that for some other animal? Is hot pepper toxic for puppies? Augh!
I turned to our foster group leader. “I’m having this problem…” I said to her as I was picking up the de-worming medicine from her. I explained that the puppies aggressively compete to own each poop, no matter who deals it.
“That’s because they’re still used to being starving,” she said. “Try putting some pumpkin puree in their food. Just plain, from a can. Either that, or try some pineapple. Just a small spoonful, mix it in. It tastes good going in, but it makes their poop taste terrible when it comes out. That should do the trick.”
That night, I put some pumpkin in their dinner. It was a BIG hit. At one point, Remo was hogging all the food, and growling at Ruthie for trying to get her share. He was eating maniacally. I picked him up to force him to take a break. There he was with bright orange pumpkin smudges all over his chin. He looked up at me, blinking, and let out a big burp. “NOW you feel better,” I told him. He squirmed as I put him back down, and ended up smearing what was left of his pumpkin-chin on my shirt sleeve. A nice long mushy stripe up to my elbow. I sighed. ‘This kid’s going to go far,’ I thought. ‘With that kind of charm…’
Late the following day, I noticed that they weren’t devouring the poop; just tasting it, then leaving it. I still tried to be quick at picking it up off the floor. Because, yuck. By the time we got through 2 full cans of pumpkin (several days of meals), only Ruthie was still trying to eat poop. And less enthusiastically, at that.
When I ran out of pumpkin, we switched to crushed pineapple. I had never known that pineapple was ok for dogs to eat. I would have thought it too acidic, like citrus. They hate citrus. The first trial with pineapple went slowly. It was mixed into their food, and it took them almost twice as long as usual to eat it. ‘Well forget that, ‘ I thought. ‘I need them to eat.’ I thought pineapple was a fail. But then I decided to try again, and just give it to them straight, as dessert. That worked! They gobbled it up. And boy, the next day’s poop was noticeably stinkier. And they didn’t eat it. Not any of it. Ta-daa!
Puppies are Jerks 