At the Groomer's

SUMMARY: Actually at home in our driveway.

I am not a dedicated dog bather or brusher. Dogs usually get rinsed down with the hose if they're muddy. Bathed only if they get into something particularly awful (I typed "offal" originally, probably apt) that won't rinse off. They often get hosed down on warm days when they're exercising heavily (e.g., agility). But that's it--their coats remain pretty clean; dirt brushes off.

I live with hair everywhere when they're shedding, which sometimes seems like "always." When they look too scraggly, I'll spend half an hour brushing them, but my excuse is that, with my current knees and back, it's not comfortable for me to do much more than that. And it barely makes a dent, despite the pile of fur that can accrue.

I found out just a couple of weeks back that Tika's foster mom has started a mobile dog-grooming business, Campi's Mobile Pet Services (she has a facebook page but not a regular web site yet).

Since I hadn't seen her in ages and my dogs' coats were just too embedded with an overstock of fur, I decided, what the heck, and made an appointment for her to groom my dogs.

So, yesterday evening, the Merle Girls had their first pro groomings EVAH!

Tika, of course was absolutely delighted to see Gina again. (I took a video but it didn't turn out well, so here's a frame from that.)

I had no idea how they'd react to the grooming--being held in a standing position on the grooming table, and bathed, and blow-dried, and brushed enthusiastically...

But they were both absolute angels! No struggling or fighting or complaining... mostly... Didn't much like the part about getting wet, but didn't struggle much, either. Just looked SOOOO pathetic while wet, hoping for mercy or a quick death.

Tika looks like a hefty dog with her puffy coat, but when she's wet, you can see (a) how slender she really is and (b) all the tan in her coat that's usually mostly hidden by the black and gray tips!

I stood around, feeding them treats regularly, and Gina was so calm and in control that I think it made them calmer, too.

The blow-drying went very well indeed. Both dogs even seemed to enjoy parts of it, and you could see their coats becoming beautiful right before your eyes. That is, if your eyes weren't blinded by the fur flurries coming out of Tika's coat and coating everything, leaving a 6-inch carpet of fur on the floor that floated up with every movement.

I don't exaggerate much. Should've taken photos of THAT. Gina had to stop twice during Tika's drying/brushing and vacuum the whole floor.

Here are two Boost blow-dry shots.

And the results--don't know whether you can see it, but to me, these look like entirely new dogs. And they are SOOOO soft! And their coats are so even (no random attempts at shedding sticking out everywhere).  But the event tired us all out, too, and we slept well last night.

Please don't ever do this to us again.

PLEASE!

Here and There in Portland

SUMMARY: From the river to the hills.

How can I possibly miss my dogs when they have cleverly attached large portions of themselves to my clean black pants?

Walked about six blocks down to the river, then along the river for a ways. Happened upon Mill Ends Park, billed as the world's smallest park.

I couldn't even get in, just sat around outside the park and admired the landscaping.


After returning to the Hilton for lunch and a rest, I walked about 2 miles (and 500 or more feet uphill?) in the opposite direction to the Rose Garden in Washington Park specifically to get nice views like this of Mount Hood. (BTW, yesterday's volcanoes were Mount Saint Helens all blown away on one side and Mount Adams).


I have many other photos, but this slow computer defeats me. Will try to get them up when I'm home again.

LoveYerDog AKA Bath Day

SUMMARY: Dogs are now officially clean.

According to Wikipedia:

In Scandinavian countries, Saturday is called Lördag or Löverdag etc., the name being derived from the old word laugr (hence Icelandic name Laugardagur), meaning bath, thus Lördag equates to bath-day. This is due to the Viking usage of bathing on Saturdays.

OK, today isn't Saturday (dang! that always happens! At least 6 days a week!), but we all got baths today. So when I looked up "bath day" on the web, I found the preceding quote, which says that bath day is called Loveyerdog in actual Scandinavian countries! See how appropriate that is!

I almost never bathe my beasts. Once a year maybe. They get hosed off often enough on warm agility days or muddy winter days, and they don't have greasy coats. But Boost has been scratching a lot lately and Tika's white chest has developed that dangling-tag gray, plus they're both shedding like crazy, so it was time.

But who'd have thought a mere two lady dogs could have gotten so many things wet?

Poo Dog, Poor Dog, Pooped Mom, and Weekend

SUMMARY: Boost's habit of rolling in smelly stuff; Tika's anal glands; my hip & knee; more USDAA coming right up.

Poo Dog

Boost's only major flaw is her propensity for rolling in what some, more particular, people might refer to as "poo". Tika's in most particular. The first couple of times she did it, I was properly horrified, rushed her carefully upstairs into the shower, and gave her a nice bath with warm water and gentle shampoo and all that. The next three thousand times--ferget it. It's the hose in the back yard, with the nozzle set to "shower." Even though she loves to play with the hose spray when it's play time, she's not so keen on the hose dominating the interaction for however long it takes to remove the noisome globs of offensive material.

The other evening, I spent 3 hours down at city hall to try to ensure that dogs like her can continue to be born--San Jose is considering adopting a new animal ordinance that includes limiting litters to one per female per lifetime unless you're a Commercial Kennel, in which case all kinds of inspections and regulations and licensing fees and restrictions such as "must not occur within 250 feet of another dwelling" apply. Since Boost is from her mom's second litter, she might not have been born if such an ordinance had existed. (Maybe more on that topic some other time.) However, sometimes I wonder--

When I got home--late--long council meeting--she greeted me very briefly albeit enthusiastically at the door and then vanished. I didn't think about it while I had a soft drink and talked to my housemate and scritched Tika a bunch, but then realized that Boost had not been around. I went looking to see where she was, and she was lying in the cubby under my desk. Huh, thought I, that's really weird; why is she hiding? "Booster," said I, "why are you hiding under my desk?" She put her ears back, tipped her tail briefly, and scootched back into the dark recesses among the computer cables as far as she could.

My fatigued mind began to make connections. "Oh, you didn't--" I reached under and put my hand in her collar, and felt--something--on her face that shouldn't have been there. I started to withdraw my hand and I didn't have to take it very far before the odor confirmed my dawning suspicion.

I had thought for quite a while that it was my tone of voice or body language when I saw that she had enpooed herself that would make her turn and run, but in this case I had had no clue until after she had already turned, and run, and hid. So she has clearly made the association between being covered with poo and getting hosed off. And yet--and yet--she cannot help herself! It's like the worst kinds of addictions! You rue it after you're done, but the next time the temptation occurs, whammo! there you are indulging once again.

Poor Dog

Over the last 3 or 4 weeks, Tika has been licking more and more insistently at her anal area. Not all the time, but when she begins, she doesn't want to stop. I thought it might be her anal glands, but since I've never had to deal with them before (only one of my 6 dogs ever needed help emptying them, and then the vet had to do it), I really didn't know what I was looking for. Plus she's extremely sensitive about being touched anywhere except in a petting sort of mode (which makes going to the vet a major source of traumatic stress disorder right on the spot). Plus she can lock her little remaining tailbone down over her netherlands so tightly that a hydraulic jack couldn't lift it. Plus all that thick, thick fur.

I finally decided that something had to be done since it was obviously bothering her. So I took her to the vet, along with a clicker and a huge bag of cut-up goodies. Did a lot of tricks and lying down and settling and stuff in the waiting room, and every time I'd go for another handful of goodies, she'd throw herself against the exit door, desperately trying to escape. Her respiration rate doubles or triples--and for Tika the always-over-the-top-dog anyway, that's an accomplishment. Fortuately she's very food motivated, so as long as I had a piece in my hand, she'd hang in there. But so agitated that any attempts to get her to take it gently (read: leave fingers attached to hands) were unsuccessful.

The vet has never, ever, heard her normal heartrate. They always say it's quite elevated. But they can also see that she's about to hyperventilate and then explode from the stress. She was really very good for a dog who normally shrieks when the vet tries to look in her ears. She's never shown signs of trying to nip at anyone during this kind of ritual torture, but she is by far the most-stressed vet-visting dog I've ever had.

Anyway--her anal glands are infected. So I need to try to get some ointment under the locked-down tail twice a day, and give her an antibiotic pill twice a day, for about a week, and then take her back in two weeks for another stimulating visit.

Pooped Mom

My knee has been bothering me a bit. I try to walk normally, not favoring it. But my opposite hip has been flaring up for the last week, off and on. Feels more like something's out of alignment (my thumb sometimes does that, and if I kind of twist and yank it, then instantly it's better--but I haven't found a way to twist and yank my own hip) than merely sore. Feel like I need a chiropractor, not a doctor. Last night, by bedtime, it was so bad that I had trouble falling to sleep, and then it woke me constantly, probably every time I moved in my sleep, all night. I might have gotten 3 hours of sleep.

When I finally dragged myself downstairs around 9 a.m., it hurt with every step and I really was using the handrail to drag myself to the computer to try to find more info about chiropractic care on the Kaiser Medical web site. I sat at the computer for about half an hour, and apparently it rearranged itself during that time, because I was then able to walk, and shower, and dress, and even go to Boost's class, with only minor discomfort.

I haven't been to a chirpractor in many years--hmm, last time my hip was bothering me, in fact. Went to a new one recommended by my renter. Doctor seems nice, and competent, too. Also has 2 dogs and knows what dog agility is, which in my book is always a plus. But he didn't want to do any twisting and pulling until he had done xrays, and it was the end of the day and he was already staying late to see me, so he'll have the xrays processed over the weekend and I'll see him again Monday morning.

But meanwhile that leaves me with ice and antiinflammatories to get me through the weekend. What a pathetic body!

This weekend

Which brings me to this weekend: More USDAA. And a very rare trial in which there is not a single Tournament (national qualifier) class. Just double everything except Relay.

I've managed to work on Boost's weaves only once so far this week. Who knows what the weekend will bring. The scary thought is that she *could* get 2 more standard, or 2 more Snooker, or one more gamblers, this weekend, and move up to Masters in any of those. We are SO not ready. Her AAD (intermediate title--Advanced Agility Dog) requires just 2 Standard, a jumpers, and a relay. We are so so SO not ready for masters. But if she keeps failing to do weaves, the standards aren't likely to come any time soon. On the other hand, if she has fits of perfect weavage like she did this past weekend, we could conceivable finish that title this weekend.

Nope, don't even think about it.

Attar de Dogue Poop

Who's more interesting, a pile of doggie junk food or mom with a camera?

Boost got her first bath today.

It wasn't how I had planned it. I figured I'd introduce her to the shower stall gradually, shaping it, giving her clicks and treats as she went in, playing with her inside; turning on the water in the sprayer hose gradually, and so on. But this is not how it happened.

Earlier this morning, while working at my desk, the distinct odor of dog manure wafted to my nose. This is a bad thing, since the outside doors were closed. I checked Jake's backside. You see, as he gets older, he has soft stools more and more often, and he just happens to be the proud possesser of extremely full petticoats and lush tail feathers. So it sometimes--sticks. (Sorry, this just isn't an elegant topic to discuss.) Sure enough, quite a bit of it all up and down his backside. However, it was also all very dry, so it shouldn't be smelling, but maybe he disturbed it a little and freed some scent molecules.

So I took him outside and spent about 10 minutes disengaging the dried bits with a large-toothed, then a small-toothed, comb, and finally wiping him down. Butt all better. But the odor in the room reappeared. I looked around for stray bits that someone might have picked up on his or her foot and tramped into my office. Nothing that I could find. Then it went away again.

It wasn't until just before the Accurate Mac guy showed up to try to figure out why my PowerBook wasn't working, while I was out on the deck playing tug-o-war with The Boost, that I noticed the tannish stain on her grayish ear. Now, perhaps I've been lucky, but with almost all of my dogs, when they've found something scintillating to roll in, they've had the courtesy to make it something that I, with my mere puny mortal nose, cannot detect. I think only Sheba occasionally found something a bit more blatantly rancid that needed direct intervention. The others would roll, and yet come up smelling like a rose—if the rose smelled kind of doggy in an inoffensive way.

Boost, it appears, is the sort of doggie that likes to wear her art on her sleeve in a more blatant manner. So I've already had to clean off one cheek or ear or another on occasion. Apparently, however, the drastic vomiting episode last week has changed the direction of her artistry. Well, she thought to her little evil self, if I can't eat the poop any more without ghastly nausea, I might as well wear it.

And so, my lovelies, as I started to investigate, I discovered that it was not merely on one ear. And the related cheek. And the related neck. And the related dog collar. But also on the other ear. And cheek. And neck. And right down onto her withers and down the sides. And all the way down her back to her tail. And some even on her tail. By this time, it had dried, so again I was able to remove the large bits by combing, and she was very good about that process. I tried to wipe off the remainder, but realized quickly that this was a deep-cleaning operation, not a mere sponge bath.

Hence the thrusting bodily into the shower stall, dog squirming and fighting the whole way, smearing feces-odored moisture all over her mama's shirt and jeans in the process. Eventually she stopped fighting. Eventually she even stopped hunkering down in abject terror and merely looked miserable. Poor puppy. But boy did she stink.

So now she's clean, her collar is cleaner (although methinks I detect a lingering memory of the event), my bathroom is a mess, my clothes are changed, and—between her and Jake—there goes another hour and a half out of my day.

Oh, BTW, I debated taking a picture of the Before state, but then decided that that was something that I never wanted to look at again, and didn't. So instead I have substituted a photo of all my children trying to behave for me to get their portrait.

Crate Training and Sharp Dewclaws

The crate-training games proceed apace. Not only will Boost sit if she's standing when I put my hand on the crate, but she's getting to where she'll actually sit up if she's lying down (a tougher concept) --and it works for the plastic/wire crate, the zippered fabric crate, and the wire x-pen! So she has generalized well. I'm proofing long & longer times with her sitting there, and me being in different positions. I'm afraid maybe I'm moving too quickly, as she's starting to stand up and head for the door before the release. So I'll have to take it easy.

I started to introduce her to the Dremel tool for doing her nails. It went reasonably well the first night but somehow we jumped from one instance where she was quietly accepting of the vibrating tool touching her toenail (not the tool part yet, just the handle) to her yelping and grabbing violently at it. So the next night I worked very very very slowly and was at the point where I could hold her toenail and touch it with the vibrating handle and immediately give her a goodie without her struggling, but it took dozens and dozens of doggie junk food to get there. And in the early struggle, she slashed my wrist with one of the very dewclaws I need to trim down--they are *very* sharp puppy dewclaws, like miniature scythes.

Then yesterday there was a work crew here all day working on my yard and I never had a chance to move to the next step. Dangerous little doggie feet!