No, that is not a type-o or a euphemism or a metaphor.

MY DOG ATE MY DOOR!

We came home from our trip, picked the dog up from the usual dog-sitters, brought her home and carried on with life as usual.

Except suddenly, life “as usual” is not good enough for our dog. She has developed a staggering case of separation anxiety, and on Friday night while we were out she ate a big piece of molding off our front door! (Along with making a huge mess of the room where her food is.) We made sure she wasn’t left for long over the rest of the weekend, and gave her lots of exercise.

It hasn’t helped.

Her anxiety’s been getting steadily worse over the past couple days, and this morning I couldn’t even shower alone. She clawed and whined at the bathroom door until I opened it.

We have no idea what triggered the anxiety. She’s 6.5 years old and has never had a problem before. She’s had plenty of upheaval in her life and has always settled immediately back into a routine without being destructive. She always goes to the same dog-sitters, and she’s been with them for a 3 week vacation before.

The only thing new, is that our dog-sitters now have a dog of their own, and she became quite good friends with that dog while we were away. Does she miss having a buddy SO badly that she can no longer handle being alone? That would be terrible, considering we are not going to get another dog.

Anyone out there had experience with a sudden onset of separation anxiety in their dog? Any suggestions for what to do about it?

I would prefer she stick to eating ice cream.

It doesn’t help much that the people “in the know” have been battling the stereotype for quite a while, so they tend to get a little testy and short-tempered about the spreading and proliferation of misinformation and misconceptions.

In fact, I find it hard to restrain myself (now that I am one of the “enlightened ones”) from correcting others when they trot out (oh, another pun!) the old, tired cliché. I even bit my tongue during a brainstorming session at work where it came up – because the first rule of brainstorming is that you don’t judge, correct, or otherwise trample on the ideas of others.

But then Alice mentioned it in her blog post a couple days ago, and I knew I could be silent no longer! I mean, she’s a pretty popular blogger, the potential for prolonging the proliferation of this particular piece of pop-trivia is just staggering.

So here goes – prepare to have your world turned upside-down:

GOATS DO NOT EAT EVERYTHING, AND IN FACT ARE REALLY QUITE PICKY!

There. Now you know.

What goats are is destructive. They will chew anything they can reach. The list of things they will swallow, however, is apparently pretty limited. A goat’s notorious pickiness is apparently the bane of many a goatkeeper.

Anyhow. I just needed to get that off my chest.

Also, this is what happens when you say “yes” to marrying a guy who grew up on a goat farm (and has the 4H Champion Herdsman awards to prove it). So really, you’ve been informed, and warned!

Despite the fact that it had only been 3 days long, this week has been exceedingly busy for me. I’ve had 4 interviews in 3 days and managed to pick up a freelance project. Combine that with an evening volunteering, the sudden heat that I’m not used to yet, and the rest of life that needs taking care of – all I wanted to do last night was relax.

After finally finishing for the day and grabbing some dinner out (we have been too busy to procure foodstuffs), it was about 9:30pm and I was looking forward to hitting the couch with a good book or whatever TiVo had in store.

Neil wanted nothing more than to go walk the dog to the beach. Despite his cajoling, I (who’d already been out with the beast twice that day) resisted and grabbed a book while he took the dog and headed out.

I’d only gotten a couple pages in when the phone rang:

Jen: Hello?
Neil: You’ll never believe what just happened to the dog
Jen: uh…. I assume she’s alive?
Neil: Oh yah – but guess what she got into?
Jen: She rolled in something smelly?
Neil: Close!
Jen: Uh…..
Neil: She got sprayed by a skunk!

If you have ever dealt with this before, you know what the rest of my night consisted of.

The Highlights:

-Googling for skunk oil removal remedies that could be procured from either a corner store, 24h drug store or other retailer open at about 10:00pm
-Wrestling with a big, wet, hairy, upset dog in the bathtub, trying to apply vinegar and baking soda to her chest and face
-Realizing vinegar doesn’t work on skunk oil worth a damn
-Sending Neil to the store for peroxide, more dish detergent, and douche (kinda bad for people – apparently good for removing skunk oil from animal faces, where you shouldn’t apply caustic solutions).
-Finding out that nobody who works the night-shift at Shoppers Drug Mart on 4th or Broadway a) knows what products the store carries, b) speaks English or c) cares.
-Applying a foamy mixture of peroxide, baking soda and dish soap to a dog who’s been bathed twice already and isn’t happy about it, and trying to keep her from shaking it all off for 10 minutes.

We finally gave up and got to bed around 1:00am – us in our bedroom with the door closed to protect it from the smell, the dog in her crate in the living room, the towels and clothes we used out on the deck.

This morning we were back at it at 6:00, tossing Neil’s clothes, yesterdays’ towels and anything else that got covered in skunk stank into the laundry or garbage, and scrubbing down the bathroom. Thankfully, it seems like we’ve gotten most of the offending odors out of the house – though I think I need a trusted friend to come by and let me know if it does smell in here or not.

The poor dog seems to be mostly ok. Neil was unable to get the douche solution for the dog’s face, so her wee head still smells a little – but other than her dry fur (stripped of all its natural oils, along with the skunk oil) and her wounded pride, she is recovering just fine out on the deck in the sunshine with a peanut-butter kong. I’m going to go out and try to procure some douche concentrate today to soak her face with, and hopefully that’ll take care of the last of the smell and we can let her back in the house, and get on with life, skunk-free.

I *told* Neil I didn’t think a walk last night was a good idea. I think after all that, he agrees.

Anyhow, I’ve been really excited to write about this, but was waiting for everything to finalize and the training to finish before I put it out there for internet posterity.

Sasha is officially a Hospital Visiting Dog with Pets and Friends! We visit the GF Strong Rehabilitative Centre one night a week.

I really enjoy volunteering and giving back to the community, but I’m socially awkward enough that my stint volunteering solo in palliative care a few years back was painful for all involved. I’ve undertaken some other volunteer projects both big and small, but they all had a finite term, so I’d have to find something new time and time again.

And this time, I really wanted something I could do with the dog. When both Neil and I are working (and even when I’m not, because I’ve been out of the house a lot this week) I feel pretty bad about leaving her at home alone so much.

A few months back, I saw a random blog post where the author mentioned something about therapy pets. So I started googling and found a local organization.

Now therapy or assistance animals and visiting pets are entirely different entities. Therapy animals are those that have been specifically bred, raised and trained to offer assistance to people with disabilities. They’re the labs and shepherds you see who accompany those with vision or other physical impairments, have been trained to recognize seizures and offer assistance for other purposes. These are working dogs, not pets.

Visiting pets are just that, they visit. They’ve been screened for temperament and training, and go with their owners to hospitals, hospices and other care facilities to visit with (usually long-term) patients. They offer a change of routine, a distraction, and unconditional, wet, hairy love.

It’s incredible to see how much a happy dog lights up the faces of people who are facing a really tough time. Especially those who are facing significant life challenges, away from home, friends and family (and their pets!) for extended periods. It’s sad, but so many of these patients, without anything else to do, will just go to bed after dinner (at about 6:00pm) out of sheer boredom. A visitor of any sort (two legs or four) is exactly the kind of thing worth staying up for.

And Sasha is a pretty perfect dog for the job. She’s unfailingly friendly – usually more interested in people than other dogs even, and always more interested in strangers than the humans she sees every day – in a very gentle way. She’s tall enough to stand up on her hind legs and visit people who can’t bend down out of bed to reach her, and is happy to just sit and be scratched on whichever bit of her is within reach.

Honestly, the people we’re visiting care far more about the dog than the human at the end of the leash – and that’s exactly how I like it. Sharing my happy dog with people is way more rewarding than just forcing my awkward presence upon them.

If you’ve got a pet you’d like to volunteer with, a facility you think could use some animal visitors, or just want to know more and perhaps support the organization – go ahead and check out Pets and Friends, or look for ways to get involved in your local area.

In the meantime, enjoy this video of my dog, licking the dregs out of an ice cream container.

Dog! Eats Icecream!
from Jen

Generally I walk the dog either around 11:00am, or 3:00pm, depending on my schedule for the day.

The other day I had to go out at 5:00, and in an effort to avoid the wearing of pants as long as possible (one of the very few perks of being at home more often than not these days), I delayed the mid-day walking of the dog until 4:00.

Oh my.

In our 2-ish kilometer jaunt, we encountered no fewer than four completely awful, aggressive dogs. These dogs are the reason leash laws are in place.

Poor Sasha was accosted for crimes such as:

-> Chasing her own ball
-> Walking through the park
-> Walking away from having her bits sniffed
-> Existing.

I was admittedly lucky that my dog chose that day to actually remember her “Canine Good Neighbour” training, and actually broke away from the dog-fights when I told her to “leave it” and “come.”

And I really wonder at the mental facilities of the woman who had her dog off leash when she knew it was going to try fighting my dog for ownership of her own ball (not when chasing, but when returning), or the guy who had his behemoth on a regular collar lead, and couldn’t control it when it lunged at Sasha for being so offensive as to be heeling beside me as we waited to cross the street.

These are the people who give dog owners in the city a bad name. I bet they don’t scoop their poop either.

So, you’ve been warned: if you want to avoid the mean dogs, stay away from the Cornwall/Macdonald area on weekdays (or at least Mondays) around 4:00pm.

Until today.

Today, I completely lost my shit (figuratively), because the dog lost hers (literally).

I left work a smidge early today to go home and put together some final notes on a bit of market research I was going through for a client (reading and summarizing research is always best done on a comfy couch as far as I’m concerned), and was feeling pretty pleased with myself, and already half-writing the notes in my head as I walked up to the building.
When I opened the apartment door, I noticed instantly that something was Not. Right.

The Smell.

I looked in and didn’t see anything straight away, so I ventured in a bit further to see what exactly had gone on in my 8 hour absence. I made it to the kitchen.

Three full quarters of the surface of the 20 square feet of laminate that occupies the centre of the horseshoe that is our kitchen was COVERED in liquids of various colours and consistencies. The orifice they came out of was still up in the air.

Cursing the mess, but secretly smiling about the fact that, hey, at least it’s not on the carpet(!), I glanced over at the sliding door to the patio. Uh oh. Danger Will Robinson… There are some brownish drops and smears by the door. More dog mess? I wandered over to check it out.

Then

Out of the corner of my eye

I saw it.

THE GIGANTIC PILES OF SHIT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE (FULLY CARPETED) OFFICE FLOOR!!!

Ok, in all fairness, there was one gigantic pile of shit, and three lesser piles surrounding it.

And this was no ordinary shit. This dog had clearly gone for the extra grease, extra cheese, extra beans, extra extra hot sauce superdeluxe chalupah, and my carpet paid the price.

I was stunned. Dazed, I turned back to look at the door from whence I’d entered this, the 4th circle of hell that had replaced my home, and saw it. The other puddle of shit on the tile at the front door, that I’d stepped in on my way inside.

And then I lost it.

I picked up my phone and called Neil; as soon as he answered I just yelled “OH MY GOD THE DOG DIAHRREA’D ALL OVER THE APARTMENT!” To which he replied “So I guess I should come home?” To which I replied “OH MY GOD I CAN’T HANDLE THIS!” And promptly hung up.

I grabbed my purse, and the dog, and my keys, and just left.

I managed to make it down to the coffee place at the end of the block, tied the dog to a table outside, ordered a cappucino, and just waited for Neil to make it home (I did think to call at some point and let him know that I was in a place other than the befouled apartment).

To make an already long story a little shorter and spare you the grosest details, it took three hours, three kitchen catchers, one roll of paper towel, two dishclothes, a can of Spot Shot, a Rug Doctor rental, a method air pill and scented candle, Chinese food dinner OUT, three beer and two larger-than-is-decent-in-polite-company glasses of scotch, and we’re finally feeling better (if not ok) about the experience.

And now that I’ve made it to the other side, I can say that maybe, perhaps, there is a tiny inkling of indication that there is hope for me yet to be a parent of small children and actually enjoy it.

Because even with the experience she put me through, I can say with conviction that even if she were to do this again, I would still prefer that the dastardly hound spend her time at the end of my bed, rather than the end of my fork.

In fact, I’m in such a good mood, I’m going to do something completely uncharacteristic.

Blog about cats!

If you know me well enough, you know that usually the best thing I have to say about cats is that they “taste good with rice and teriyaki sauce.”

But I found a cat video that I actually liked enough to a) make me want a cat to do this with, and b) want to share with you!

So go forth, and check out this YouTube video.

Embedding has been “disabled by request,” but I assure you, it’s worth the clickthrough.

What had me so tired yesterday? A few hours of playing in the snow.

Especially a few hours in the snow, trying to keep up with this crazy beastiie who LOVES the white powder, and acts every inch the crackhead when she gets to run around in it.

Check out the entire set on flickr.