Ridgeback-Malamute mix?

Sunday was Pooka's first real snow day, and she loved every second of it. M. and I cross-country skiied, and Pooka ran around in her new booties. The trail was not designated for dogs, but the alternative was a hectic snowmobile route, so we broke the rules and enjoyed an hour and a half of rolling hills and soft snow.

From the moment P.'s paws hit the trail, she was ecstatic, sprinting ahead, screeching to a halt in a cloud of snow, reversing course and hoofing it back. I've never seen her enjoy herself so much without another dog around.

I outpaced M. down one of the first big hills, and after waiting for her to appear for a minute or two, I called, out, "M., are you OK?" Silence. Then Pooka took off at full tilt up the hill and out of sight. I heard a faint, "Hi, Pooka." And then, my little Lassie, having confirmed M. was unhurt, dashed back down the hill and returned to me.

She was extremely attentive and obedient, came when I called, sat and stayed when other skiiers needed to pass. She bounded off the trail -- once. For one step. When she found herself up to her neck in snow, though, she hopped right back out.

Since the kitchen rampage, I've mostly been keeping her crated when I'm not around. But I did some additional Pookaproofing, including a new garbage can I can lock under the sink, and many new airtight bins for various food items.

I left her out twice in the last few days, in the evening. She has not wreaked any havoc in the kitchen, but she has a new trick: chewing almost all the way through her leashes, which hang by the front door.

The first time, I clipped on the leash and zipped out the door before I noticed it was hanging by a thread. One tug and poof! There went Pooka, with about 9 inches of the 6' leash dangling from her collar. Beelined for the neighbor's cat-door, of course. She is a very, very smart dog.

Last night, she didn't make it quite as deep into leash #2, so we made it around the block a few times before it gave way. I shall be dropping dough on leashes, and more storage bins, after work tonight.

Premature, and paying for it

Brief synopsis:

- Left Pooka out of crate this afternoon
- Was optimistic
- Came home to dog sitting quietly on couch
- Petted dog, good dog!
- Looked at kitchen
- Noticed trash all over kitchen
- Noticed treats (rawhide, bully sticks) in Pooka's mouth as she trotted them out to show me
- Noticed half-empty giant box of milk bones
- Took dog for a walk
- Dog pooped. Mush.
- Returned to house, noticed giant pile of poop on floor
- Picked up kitchen disaster
- Cleaned up poop pile
- Glowered at Pooka
- Pooka slunk into bedroom, lay in her bed
- Ate on couch
- Pooka slunk out to join me
- Suffered greatly, because whatever Pooka ate, between the trash and the milkbones, is now causing great amounts of noxious fumes to seep out of Pooka into the atmosphere

The excitement! The excrement!

Pooka pooped! Last night on our walk. It was, however, mooshy and nasty. Ah well, at least we know things are moving. No repeat performance today.

After a solid hour at the dog park, P and I took a stroll through Woodland Park and ran into E. and Teddy. I took her off leash, and she played very nicely with the funny little herder...lots of chasing and fetching. Then, she took off into the trees and nosed around a bit...and came running back to me with something in her mouth. "What does she have?" I wondered aloud. When she deposited her treasure at my feet, it became clear. See photo. Yum.

Excretion Watch '08: No Decision Yet

While the day care ladies said it is possible Pooka pooped, none caught her in the act yesterday. But they said she played her little heart out and seemed to be the same happy little Pook as usual.

The chicken, rice, cottage cheese, pumpkin diet continues. I might throw in some green beans tonight for kicks (and fiber). Stay tuned.

Update: 48 hours, no poop.

We went for an epic Canterbury Tales-style wander last night, with no results. Over hill and dale. To Mud Bay and Phinney Market. Ran into E. and Teddy, horsed around a bit. And still no rumblings. Also, noticed that she hasn't been drinking much water. Will call the vet if this persists.

The author of the interspecies telepathy book talks about clearing your mind, concentrating on the animal, and sending complete little mental pictures to it. So as our walk crossed the one-hour mark last night, I created a mental image of "How great it feels to have a really good poop." And sent it her way. No sign she got it.

Apparently interspecies telepathy works long-distance, too, so if you're so inclined, Dear Readers, please send similar thoughts her way today. I've got the day care folks watching closely and ready to report results.

On another note, she's taken to napping on the couch with a hind leg curled over her eyes. Perhaps "Gossip Girl" offended her sensibilities? Tough to make out in the cell phone snap, but I shall nevertheless post.

Update: Still nothing.

Pooka has not pooped in more than 24 hours. Sarah just called to update me on the non-news. I fear for both of us.

Don't eat and read.

This post is not for the faint of stomach.

I believe I've mentioned a growing awareness (if not downright obsession) with darling Pooka's bowel movements. What Comes Out seems to be a major indicator of whether What Goes In is good for her, and a general dog health barometer.

So it was with great dismay that I noticed, a few weeks ago, that What Came Out was starting to get mushy. Some days, Pooka would begin to assume the position, poo a little, and then really wobble her knees around, working hard to squeeze out the rest of the unhappy looking muck. And then I'd be stuck trying to get it all into the bag.

(To our neighbors up on 2nd Ave. on Phinney Ridge: Sorry about your herb garden! But I'm sure you understand! It was an emergency!)

On Sunday, I delivered a fresh sack of you-know-what to the vet. And then again on Monday, because they didn't run the $50 giardia test on the first sack. She has certainly slurped enough dog-park runoff to have contracted all sorts of bugs...but no parasitic culprits were found.

So my car smelled bad, my dog's butt smelled bad, and we had no scapegoat to blame. Vet recommendation? "Bland diet." Know what that means? It means I have cooked more for Pooka in the last 48 hours than for myself. Several pounds of boiled chicken breast, white rice, and cottage cheese. Tonight, we will add pumpkin in a can, a miracle cure for disgusting excretions, according to Oona, Julie, and everyone in my obedience class.

Dear Readers, I shall keep you up to date on every single detail, because I know you'd want that.

In other news, Pooka's brief phase of willingly walking into the crate has ended. She is once again hiding in her bed, or collapsing into an immovable heap behind the couch, when I tell her to "kennel up." On the bright side, she has learned what that command means.

Next week, we graduate from obedience class, assuming The Pook can sit, hold her "stay" for 20 seconds, "leave it" when faced with distracting other dogs, and "come" when called. I have great confidence -- we practiced all these things in class last night, and because she really wanted to eat more boiled chicken, she did everything I asked (with lots of extra "sit" and "down," again, because she wanted extra treats).

I've been remiss on photos, I know. But isn't poop much more important?

Happy New Year

Photos and anecdotes coming soon. In the meantime, some Pooka lore from Ireland (thanks, MR) and Korea (AC).