This is a Pooka

Couch time

2009-11-11T09:06:00.001-08:00

Sleeping beauty
Originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica

Sometimes Pooka curls up on the couch and buries her face behind her back knee/elbow/whatever. I take it as a sign that the lights are too bright, the TV is too loud and would you PLEASE just leave me alone. She cracks me up.

All's well in our little house, which doesn't make for very exciting blog fodder, but I'm not complaining (and neither should Pooka's grandparents). She's become an avid sentry in the back yard, protecting our turf from invaders of the crow and squirrel persuasion. Sometimes she and the neighbor's dog just stand and stare at each other through a small bit of open fence. The only back yard hitch of late has been her impulse to eat/smear unidentified poo on her face less than an hour after a bath. Pooka. Seriously. Disgusting.

It's winter, so if you're thinking of us, imagine her in a pink and yellow reflective vest and me in full-body raingear, tromping through the neighborhood.

And the kitty lives to tell the tale

2009-07-02T10:13:00.000-07:00

Last night on a quick walk around the block, Pooka and I came across a little marmalade kitty with a big meow and an apparent lack of fear. I might have called this a lack of good sense, given Pooka's propensity to chase with intent everything small and furry (or feathered) that crosses her path.

But this little kitty rolled on his back, stood upright and walked right up to us. I gave Pooka a little slack, which she used to sniff the kitty all over. As kitty slowly wandered up driveway, Pooka followed, sniffing along. She whined a little, which I interpreted as, "What the f---?" And didn't chase. Didn't snap. Didn't bite. Very interesting.

Of course, Miss P. still seems to regard every other small critter as a delicious snack. And when this little kitty wised up and dashed under the car, she still lunged. But it was a heartwarming moment, my little killer keeping it in check.

We're heading off on our first backpacking adventure this weekend. Trial runs with emtpy backpack have been positive so far. Stay tuned.

It's not you, it's me

2009-06-16T11:22:00.000-07:00

I'm wondering whether to take this personally.

For the last few nights, I've woken up in the morning to find Pooka's bed empty. She's been creeping downstairs and curling up in her new Costco bed, a big fluffy thing that smells like cedar. I could swear she looks a little guilty when the alarm goes off and I tromp downstairs to make sure she's really still there (and not, say, bashing through screens and roaming the neighborhood).

Maybe my snoring is disturbing her beauty sleep?

My sweet and vicious guard dog

2009-06-10T09:09:00.001-07:00

We've been in the new house for less than two weeks, and I'm hoping the next few weeks will be a little less eventful in the dog-settling-in department.

Our new neighbors on one side are renovating, and the endless parade of contractors, carpenters and painters are setting Pooka off. When I'm home, I'm working on "leave it" with her, and she consistently is giving up the barking and trotting to me for a treat.

But Saturday night when I was out, something must have really bugged her, because I came home late to a Pooka on the front stoop and a clawed-out screen lying in the driveway.

Yikes.

The sick feeling of horror and relief and stress is just leaving me, four days later, and I'm trying to devise a plan. I've hooked-and-eyed the door she got through, and won't leave windows open more than a crack while I'm out, but I'm scared she's going to go through the glass one of these days and really hurt herself. And we already know how hard she works to escape crates. I'm going to try to increase our morning walks, do some training exercises before work, and leave her with frozen Kongs (this is called enriching her environment). Continue to work on "leave it," though I might also take Jean Donaldson's advice and try to get her to bark and quiet on cue. And try to work on desensitizing her to things that move outside the house. But without being able to absolutely control what happens when I'm away from the house, it's going to be slow going.

Also, she clawed through my new sofa, which is not as sturdy (or as leathery -- vinyl, I think) as it looked. I paid someone to come fix the small tears, and will not be letting the P. on the couch ever after. Why do I feel bad about this??? Am contemplating getting her one of the round IKEA chairs she likes so much. Mostly to ease my own guilt.

But there are funny and good things happening in the little house, too. Pooka loves surveying the back yard from the upstairs window. She can hear a crow land from anywhere in the house, and goes tearing outside to scare it off. And she has buried every rawhide I've given her in the loose dirt of the garden beds. She digs a shallow ditch with her front paw, but then covers it up with her snout. It's hilarious to watch, as is her dusty face after she's done. Real sneaky, Pooks.

I spent hours weeding last night. She spent those hours guarding (lots of "leave it" moments), sniffing, eating ornamental grass and finally curled up in a ball sleeping nearby.

Pooka 1, Car Safety 0

2009-04-06T12:15:00.000-07:00

I've toyed with the idea of buying Pooka some sort of car/seatbelt harness for a while now. Especially after the accident, I'm thinking, an ounce of prevention could save me the next $7,000 in vet bills.

So, after poking around online for reviews, I measured Miss P.'s girth and ordered one, $25, free shipping. It arrived. I slipped it over Pooka's head, then pulled her paws through one by one. So far, so good. When I buckled her in, she glared at me, but stayed still en route to the lake, standing and staring out the window.

When it came time to get back into the harness after a long walk around the lake, she turned her head, clearly a cool "no thank you" gesture. I had to work a little harder to get her into it -- and even harder still to convince her to hop back into the car. When she did, she immediately cowered on the far side of the back seat. I had to climb in and wrestle around to get seat belt looped through strap and buckled again.

Not half a mile from the parking lot, I hear a whole lot of scuffling coming from the back seat. Little Pooka "Houdini" M. had wriggled out of the darn thing. And what's more, a terrible, terrible smell begins to emanate from the back seat, too. Appears her contortions prompted a little glandular expression. I'm interpreting that as a pup's equivalent of flipping me off.

Now what?

Short: Discovery Park's allure

2009-03-31T22:09:00.001-07:00

Pooka could spend an entire hour sniff sniff sniffing through the grassy field of Discovery Park's south bluff. She hounds along until she finds an interesting scent, then:

Pause.

Sniff.

SNIFFSNIFFSNIFF.

(Ears up, pounces nose first into tuft of tall grass.)

Pause. Sniff.

(Pulls head up dramatically. Sniffs. Repeat.)

Must be the bunnies.

Ew.

2009-03-19T18:38:00.000-07:00

So Pooka and I just wandered down to the schoolyard with the hope that she'd find someone other than me to wrestle with.

The field was emtpy. But wait! A nice-looking man in nice-looking clothes with his nice-looking black lab waltzed in. Hello, Maestro.

It went downhill fast. He is one of those "show your dominance" dads, and I bet you can guess how well that goes over with Pooka. She barked, growled, threw her hackles up, and dodged his overly stern efforts. At first I was scared she'd attack him or something equally horrific, but when I realized he wasn't provoking violence, I had a hard time not laughing as he tried to impose his weird macho mean will on Pooka, and she persisted in ignoring his loud sit and drop-it commands.

Unfortunately, she was also ignoring me, so I didn't have much opportunity to show him how generally well-behaved she is. Could be because she was too focused on keeping 8 feet between her and machoman, or because she hasn't eaten in 24 hours (the post-diarrhea fast we're about to break). Half felt like I should explain her bratty behavior, half wanted to get as far away from him as quickly as possible. Just: ew.

Rewarded behavior is repeated

2009-03-16T22:08:00.000-07:00

With the big madness of Pooka's accident behind us, what is left for me to do but sweat the small stuff? Such as, why is this dog so itchy? How am I going to keep her from breaking another (yes, another) window? Is she ever going to ditch the little twist in her left hind knee when she walks? Is she going to hurt herself dragging my sharp knives out of the kitchen sink? Is the landlord-barking getting worse? And why is this dog so itchy?

I've been most irritated by a new walking habit of hers -- slipping behind me as we walk so she can sniff the hedges and grasses on my other side, then outpacing me so the leash is wrapped around my back. I don't know why exactly, but it's been driving me absolutely bonkers.

Time spent working on clicker training with the pups at the Seattle Humane Society reminded me how magical it seems. Click, treat: the dogs get it. Ace the springing terrier, whose default behavior is to endlessly jump head high in his kennel, gets it when he sits, I click and treat. (When he's overly excited, which is often, he still dissolves into jumping fits -- but you can tell he's thinking about sitting.)

So tonight I brought the clicker on our late-evening walk. When Pooka zipped around to my left side, I stopped and maneuvered so that she was headed back into position. Click. Treat. Bingo. Helps that she hadn't had dinner yet, of course. But within a few blocks she was responding to "right side!" when I called it out. When I didn't, but she ducked behind, she was quick to return to the right spot and looked at me, expectant, every time.

One other tidbit for the record. Tonight when I came home and was puttering around, I called out to Pooka, "where's your ball?" She got her ball, but when she lost interest in it, I switched to "Pooka where's your squeaky?" Referring, of course, to the ever-rattier tail-less squeaky squirrel. Girl went and got it first try.

Hydro-Pooka and more

2009-01-13T11:34:00.001-08:00

Hydro-Pooka
Originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica

It's been a few weeks since Pooka's hydrotherapy sessions ended. I was away for one of those weeks, but from what I hear, she was still pretty active.

This week, we're stepping things up a bit, and went on our longest walk yet last night. She was freaked out by the traffic, so noisy on these wet winter roads, but still performed like a trooper and had energy to spare for a Maka-Pooka smackdown in the back yard after dinner.

She's getting used to our nightly stretching ritual and has stopped protesting as much on her sore side (the one they didn't operate on). She had been doing the "downward dog" stretch on her own, but in the last few days I've noticed she's working on "upward facing dog" too, a sign that the hip extension stretches are a little less challenging for her now. She's still walking funny, stiff-legged with a turned-in knee, but I'm starting to realize this isn't going to magically fix itself. I'm going to start upping her chase/run/play time and just see what happens.

What the. ?

2008-12-30T12:22:00.001-08:00

What the. ?
Originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica

Speaks for itself, really. Alert!

Project

2008-12-27T11:10:00.001-08:00

Pooka's coat (1)
Originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica

In a burst of creativity, I used Pooka's store-bought raincoat as a pattern for a very homemade wintry coat, courderoy outside and warm fuzzy fleece inside. I have to rejigger the tummy-straps, for the velcro doesn't quite line up right, but it's otherwise adorable. At least, I think so. Pooka is not quite so sure.

What the snow shows

2008-12-18T06:30:00.000-08:00

Brief but interesting: Kitty-cat footprints in the snow let me follow along when Pooka gets a wild sniff going. It's like invisible ink.

Milestones

2008-12-17T20:16:00.000-08:00

Pooka and I just got back from one of our old walks, up the big hill and to the north, looping home, logging almost an hour of trotting along. An hour! This little pup has come so far, to go so far.

After a good session on the underwater treadmill last weekend, in which Dr. L noted longer, more natural strides, we got the green light for unlimited leash walks. I'm hoping she connected with Dr. A at the surgical clinic to discuss the pros and cons of taking out the screws sooner (before she hurts herself playing, though we don't know she will) versus later (once she's already run around like a maniac and ands up in pain).

In other good news, Dr. L also gave the OK to put away the crate and let Miss P. while away her solitary days on her favorite sofa cushion or rooting around in the kitchen for overlooked morsels. Our bigger, better, collapsible wire crate is folded up, the sofa is back in place, and I've reclaimed my living room. This feels so...normal.

We've also reinstated one of Pooka's favorite activities, the "Chase me around the living room sofa while I carry my favorite toy of the day, then reverse direction, repeat." I have been taking it slow so she doesn't wipe out on the slippery bits, and she seems stable enough for it.

Tonight she tried to grab the squeaky tailless squirrel toy from the floor as she dashed past me, and missed. A few strides later she realized her mistake, but too late! I had snatched up little tailless squirrel and was holding him over my head, cackling. Is it possible that I take this game too seriously? I did relinquish squirrel and the order of the universe, in which Pooka has the toy and I do the chasing, was restored.

Of course, things with this animal are never easy. She has an unexplained, festering boo-boo on her tail that requires wrapping, antiseptic goop and a stint with the conehead. She also has a bumpy, hair loss-inducing dermatitis of some sort on her inner forearms which yet another vet thinks is an infection sparked by itching and irritation from an allergy. An allergy to what, you may ask? Well, it could be flea bites, even if she has no noticeable fleas. So we flea-treated. It also could be a food allergy, so I'm gearing up for the idea that I might have to put her on a strict hypoallergenic diet for 8 weeks to see if that does the trick. My poor itchy baby -- every time I see her stop what she's doing to sit down and have a mad scratch at her ears or her chest or her neck, I cringe knowing that it might be a discomfort I've inadvertantly caused.

Amusing IM moment

2008-12-17T16:00:00.000-08:00

Me:

I'm thinking of new middle names for her.

Like, Pooka "Trouble" Mintz

Pooka "Go Fertilize the Money Tree Out Back" Mintz

Pooka "Wallet Sinkhole" Mintz

Any thoughts?

Friend:

Pooka "I Sure Am Lucky to Have My Mommy" Mintz

Pooka "I Really Am Not Trying to Bankrupt My Mommy" Mintz

Me:

hehehe

Pooka "Wish Dogs Had Trust Funds" Mintz

all this in addition, of course, to Pooka "The Landlord is Evil" Mintz

or Pooka "Never Trust a Man in a Hoodie" Mintz

They tried to make me go to rehab...

2008-11-28T16:53:00.000-08:00

On a recommendation from Animal Surgical Clinic of Seattle, I scheduled Pooka for an appointment with Dr. L at Sunset Hill Veterinary & Rehabilition Center, thinking we'd add a few sessions of underwater treadmill running to the three-weeks-and-go schedule Dr. A had prescribed.

I should have known it would be more complicated -- and expensive -- than that.

So far, we've had one evaluation appointment and three treadmill workouts, with five more on the books. Dr. L and her staff have measured Pooka's hind muscles and the degree to which she can flex various joints, and taught me massage, passive range of motion stretches and other little exercises that I do with Miss P twice a day. She, of course, doesn't want anything to do with this, but tolerates my poking and prodding most of the time.

The underwater treadmill is neat -- Pooka steps into a giant fishtank, and we seal the front door shut behind her. It fills with water up to her armpits or so, then the doc switches on the treadmill. So far, she's just tromping along at walking pace because she's reluctant to stretch her hips/extend her back legs out. And since you know exactly how much she loves water when no ducks are in sight (hint: NOT AT ALL), it's a miracle she doesn't fight harder to get out. As it is, she plods along with a sour look on her face, occasionally puffing out her cheeks because she doesn't want to pant with her mouth open and risk getting splashed.

I went hiking last weekend and really missed having her on the trail. And I'm officially as bored at home in the living room as she is. And I'm not giving her enough attention. I keep telling her it will be over soon, but since I don't actually know how soon, I feel my reassurances carry little weight these days. We have another appointment tomorrow, and I'm planning to ask Dr. L what the next steps are, and when.

Addition to the list of odd things Pooka likes:

2008-11-13T19:11:00.001-08:00

Hunks of frozen spinach! Who knew?

Overdue update

2008-11-11T09:49:00.000-08:00

I took Pooks in for 8-weeks-post-op X-rays last week. Dr. A called me up at noon, and when his first question was, "So, how has she been behaving at home?" I knew it wasn't good.

Summary: The screws are loose, and it probably happened in the first few weeks. Flash back to the handful of times Miss P. tried to stand on my slippery floors, only to have her legs slide out from under her. Flop. If, when she starts playing again, they bother her, she will need to have them removed.

Also, the positioning means her pelvis is now more narrow than Dr. A would like, but since she's having no problems pooping, it's not a big deal.

On the side Dr. A didn't repair, the break is still...broken.

As was my heart, in the hours after that call. Guilt, of course, is a common theme on this blog, and I was feeling bad for letting her play in the house lately, for not catching her as she climbed on the couch that handful of times, for letting her walk instead of tying her to the furniture when I wasn't right there keeping her still.

But then I looked at Dr. A's directions, and realized that he's giving me the same timeframe as before. Two more weeks of house arrest -- for a total of 10, as planned -- and then about three weeks to ramp up to the normal level of walks/exercise.

And Dr. M, Pooka's grandfather, wrote this encouraging note the other day, which also made me feel a bit brighter:

She's a young, well-nourished dog, and should continue to heal, and bone union is not an all or none phenomenon. The fact that the area with the screws has healed is excellent. The fact that the area without the screws (and didn't need them) is slower to heal is not a surprise, but I would doubt it's not as if there has been no healing. ... Also, how can you keep a dog inactive, especially a young one bred to run? So feel not guilty. She'll do what she can and limit herself as she needs to. If the loose screws really bother her, they'll have to come out, but that's not nearly as big a deal as putting them in.

Thanks, Dad.

And, Pooka, listen up: One more week of this lame routine, and then we'll be on a whole new plan that will bring new blades of grass to sniff with every step.

Vignettes

2008-10-22T16:46:00.000-07:00

1. Pooka has just gone outside. She returns to the house. She eats dinner. I sit down to eat dinner. She begins whining to go outside again -- whine whine, walk to the door, turn to look at me, ears up.

I ignore her at first, then say, "Pooka, let me eat dinner first." She takes a few steps closer, whines, paces a little. She then walks behind me on the couch, and though I don't notice, stands with her nose very close to the back of my head. WHINE! Eeek, I jump. We go outside.

A day later, we repeat the little dance. When I still don't give in, she stomps her feet and tosses her head. She does some sort of snorty growly whine. And then starts talking -- or her closest approximation given her anatomical shortcomings. Rwaawwwwwwawawarrarrgggggh. I cannot help but crack up. Pooka, are you talking to me? But still, she wins. We go outside.

2. Pooka eats breakfast. I putter in the kitchen. She stares at me from the other side of the baby gate. I have an empty cereal box, so I insert a few treats and seal it back up. I hand it to her and she drags it into the living room. The clasp on the box was already shot, so instead of tearing the box itself apart she's able to stick her entire head right down into the box. I hear crunching. Then she swiftly picks up her head. Who turned out the lights? She lurches around for a few steps, pauses. Changes direction. I take pity on her and remove the box, but again, I can't stop myself from laughing. She's so silly.

In which I call the Good Samaritan

2008-10-19T10:14:00.000-07:00

I finally called her, the woman who left the note in Pooka's file, telling me she saw the accident over on Aurora. I don't want to dwell too much on the details, but I am glad I had a chance to thank her.

The person who hit Pooks had his whole family in the car, and felt terrible, she said. She disregarded advice of other onlookers, urging her not to touch Pooka, and went over to pet her. Then she and a friend drove P. to the shelter, and on their advice, turned around and took her to the emergency room. Thank you 100 times over, J.A., for all that work.

She said she was worried all these weeks that Pooka was so badly hurt that I wouldn't have the means to afford her care. She was very interested in the details of the injuries, and told me she had a little dachshund who fell off the sofa and was paralyzed in the hindquarters, but that it goes on walks in a little doggie wheelchair.

And that was that.

This week marks the beginning of slightly longer walks for P., so today I took her to the coffeeshop to visit with the baristas for a few minutes. Lots of sniffing and peeing along the way. And of course, when we got home...she wanted to turn around and go right back out. Soon enough, missy, soon enough.

Like watching paint dry

2008-10-10T08:44:00.001-07:00

Dear Pooka-lovers,

Just a quick update on a crisp Friday morning. Pooka is doing very, very well. She still walks like a drunk -- somewhere between a swagger and a stagger -- but in all other respects, is very much herself.

She's back to peeing almost normally, with just one squat per walk, for the most part. And she's got a manic amount of pent-up energy by the time I'm home from work. Of course, with the stock market plummeting and the product cycle kicking up at the companies I cover, I do not have a manic amount of pent-up energy by the time I'm home from work, and I can sense the frustration on her part. The other night she went over to her toy box and pulled out every last thing, tossed it around for a moment and looked at me. "How about this one? Can we play with this one? How about now? Can we please go back to the life I used to lead, where you'd chase me in endless circles around the couch? Please?"

And two nights ago, I gave her a Bully Stick. Now, Pooka chews through chew-treats faster than any dog I've seen. I have brought home things the nice but naive doggie boutique workers say should last for "hours" and watched her devour them in just a fraction of that. An eight-inch bully stick lasts her * maybe * 10 minutes. But the other night, she did not gnaw or chew at it, she bit off whole pieces like it was a Slim Jim. Manic, I tell you.

I sigh. Poor kid. I try to explain to her that as soon as her bones have mended, it will be back to business as usual, with lots of running around like a crazy-dog. But for now, and at least the next 3 1/2 weeks, we have to pretty much sit still and wait for things to happen on the molecular level. Pooka sighs a lot, too.

More Pooka than not

2008-09-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

Apologies for having been off blogging for so many days. After the initial high following a first good night's sleep since her accident, the ensuing days have still been tiring, and nights more often interrupted than not. So while the sedatives have definitely helped, things remain a bit rocky. And thus, a bit of a rambling, tired post.

The biggest problems aren't really big deals. She's frustrated and bored, and wants to go outside and play. And instead, I take her out for mere minutes, then tie her to the furniture or shovel her into the kennel. And this is not making my life easy. She wants attention, a lot, when I'm home, and can barely stand for me to be in the other room while she's alert. A friend was over, and she was unsettled and whiny for much of the time. The whining may not start until 6am...or it might be 4am: whine whine moan moan barkbark, barkbark, barkbark...repeat to the point where I cannot take it any more and get up to take her out. Ear plugs are the new potty training pads. (See next paragraph.) I'm generally patient, but reached the outer limits of my ability to deal last night, and realized how much I need some time away from her after spending most of Saturday together in the house. I feel out of touch with my friends, my life. I miss all the walking we used to do. I need air, exercise. And so does she, poor kid.

The other -- the difficulty peeing problem -- is getting better. We no longer require the potty-training pads, though there are still very occasional accidents, and she seems to pee more in a single attempt than a week ago. Dr. A was concerned we might need to consult a specialist, because his opinion was that Pooka's bladder should be better if it were merely accident-related trauma, but Dr. M (the vet, not the dad) said he thought it might take weeks longer. I'm happy to give it time, as long as it's not getting worse or causing any major additional problems.

Other than that, her recovery seems to be on track. The incision has healed over, so no more blue doughnut or conehead Pooka for the forseeable future. The swelling in her legs and behind has gone down, her bumps and scrapes have scabbed over and are getting much better. Her shaved parts have enough hair that she doesn't look pathetic.

She can't stand well on the floors still, and I'm still helping with the sling on stairs and when she seems wobbly. She's walking more steadily, but nowhere near 100%. Today she tried to jump on me when I came home and took her out of the crate -- but realized when she collapsed into a squat that she wasn't quite ready for that yet. She's started using hind legs to scratch gently, and has begun a very toned-down version of the game where she parades around her favorite treat when I come home.

Basically, the hardest bits now are the waiting, and saying to her, no, you really can't go out again. You can't keep walking. You can't play with Maka. You can't get on the bed. You can't hang out on the couch while I'm out. Dog: stop being a dog. I hope she forgets this all when it's over. I hope I forget it, too.

Two more things

2008-09-17T13:06:00.001-07:00

I forgot to mention:

- One of the hardest things for me at first was to see Pooka's hairless hindquarter. I'm pleased to report she's not looking nearly so bald.

- Kennel + conehead = absolutely batshit Pooka. On O.'s suggestion, I got an inflatable blue donut-shaped collar that keeps her from reaching her incision. I put it on her, left for a few hours, and came home to a neatly deflated blue donuthead. In the middle of a sleepless howling-filled night, it struck me that I could fill the donuthead cover with stuffing from the fabric store. Voila! An un-poppable blue donut, which freaks her out way, way less than the cone.

Pooka's Progress

2008-09-17T12:43:00.000-07:00

It's Wednesday, and that means a week since Pooks came home to Ballard. She's doing well in many regards, and not so well in a very few.

First, the good news. The swelling (doctor jargon is "edema") in her hind legs has cleared up. The bruising around her back end has cleared up. The incision area is less swollen, and if she'd only stop with the stealth licking it would be nicely scabbed over by now. She's out of the crate several times a day, insistently dragging me over to the nicest-smelling patch of grass out there, and is uninterested in going back inside when our few minutes are over.

Now, for the less-good. She doesn't seem as uncomfortable when she has to pee -- but she's still peeing while laying about the crate & house. I am contemplating buying stock in the company that makes our potty-training pads of choice. They're significantly better than Petco's.

For the last several nights, she's been inconsolably whiny, making this low moaning noise whenever I try to sleep. When I wake up and go to her, or look at her or stand up over her, it stops. At first I thought it might be pain. Nope. Dr. M (the vet, not my dad) thinks it's behavioral. Could be caused by the narcotics, or by a narcotic hangover, or because she wants attention when things get hairy. I went so far as to put my sleeping bag outside the other night. But about three minutes after I lay down, the horrible noise began anew. And I can't take it. So I went back in and sat with her for the rest of the night. At daybreak, the gouls went away and she went to sleep...and was more or less sacked out the rest of the day.

What to do? Though I was operating on almost no sleep yesterday, Dr. M had me keep her awake, and then we drugged the snot out of her with some doggy sedatives. She and I both had a good long night's sleep. And I feel great!

The point was to get her back on a normal schedule for sleeping and waking. The downside: She has spent much of today making the horrible nighttime moaning noises. And I'm supposed to ignore it, so as to not inadvertantly encourage it. These are terrible, terrible noises. I'm working on rewarding the quiet moments now.

Thanks to the other Dr. M, aka Pooka's grandfather, who suggested we lay off the heavy hitter meds and knock her out at night, to keep her from "sundowning," or losing her marbles at night.

And I am so incredibly grateful to my boss & coworkers, who have been incredibly flexible and supportive as I've stumbled through the last week. I'm going to work from home for two more days, then attempt normalcy next week.

Keep sending those good thoughts for speedy healing, and let her know that it's going to be OK. The humans are in control, and she's through the worst of it. I think she's a little worried still.

Pooka update: the first weekend

2008-09-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

Pooka's arrival home Wednesday was rather miraculous -- she could stand with help, and seemed very much herself much of the time.

But caring for her in the days since has been exhausting.

She was having problems peeing more than a few drops at a time, and needed to go out every few hours. On Friday afternoon, I chatted with the vet about whether we thought antibiotics were warranted -- bladder infection, or simply trauma? We decided to wait a few more days to see if it fixed itself, but by Friday night it was clear that things were getting worse, not better. Miss P was up ever hour moaning and whining, and so, I was up every hour trying to encourage her to get up and go out (she usually settles down after she's walked a little, peed a little). She's quiet when I'm looking at her, petting her, clearly awake and in charge, but as soon as I try to get some sleep she begins the moaning again. It's an awful sound, and it gets louder if I ignore. And let's be realistic, it's impossible to ignore at this point, because I feel so horrible for her.

Oh, and she's taken to peeing wherever she happens to be laying down. Which is fine, because all that up and down may not have been great for her broken bones. But now a whole host of questions about neurological vs. trauma/infection-induced incontinence is dogging me, and no matter how many times Dr. M (that's dad) tells me to "put away the magnifying glass," I'm still worried.

So, started antibiotics Saturday evening, and so far I'm not sure if things are better or worse. We had a better night Saturday, but back to all of three hours last night. I'm really, really tired, and looking forward to another call from the vet's office to discuss possible pain meds.

Other issues...she's become incredibly picky about what she eats. Normal kibble is out, as is (I found out today) beef-based canned food. She's still semi-enthusiastic about the chicken/turkey canned food, so I'm getting as much into her as I can, but she turns away from portions bigger than a spoonful at a time (best served in the palm of my hand). If I knew she was just being a brat and making the most of the situation, I'd feel better about leaving her a plate and saying take it or leave it. But I feel like I just need to get the calories into her, and if this is what it takes...ugh.

Pooka's grandparents have been fabulous at giving me time to rest and then taking my mind off the poor kid in the eveningtimes. I don't know how I'm going to go back to work and leave her all day. On the one hand, I already feel guilty and nervous about how she'll feel while I'm out. On the other hand, I am desperate for a break. Terrible to leave a suffering creature all alone.

Crate living

2008-09-11T08:20:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting on the couch. Pooka is lying down and looking sleepy in the new crate. A crate into which she willingly tumbles, I might add. I think she knows she's safe in there.

I am happy my girl is home. She has an appetite, drinks water sometimes when I put it near her face, and is back to growling at the landlord. But it's breaking my heart to see her so beat up, various gashes and swellings, shaved and sutured. And helping her walk with the sling, seeing her little feet slip on the floor. Sadness.

Now she's snoozing, having some good REM sleep, it looks like. I'm distracted and tired -- the pain meds had her up and panting and whining at 2:30, so I took her out for a bit -- but must work.