This is a Pooka

Playing catch-up

2011-05-07T10:11:00.001-07:00

Apologies, dear readers, for being so remiss in bringing you the news from Phinney Ridge(back).

First, Taquito. A month after his knee surgery, the vet declared him ready for adoption, and so back to the shelter he went. It broke my heart a little. So when two weeks passed and no one had taken the little man home for good, we decided to bring him back for another stint at Camp Oona and Jessica.

He was ecstatic. He also had giardia, it seemed. We were up for emergency potty excursions all night the first night he was home. I left him in the crate Monday while I was at work; Oona came home to a poo-covered chihuahua mix. Tuesday, after several embarassing incidents at Oona's office, we decided to send him back to the shelter until they figured out what exactly was wrong and had him on meds.

Amazingly, that very day, someone came in expressly to see Taquito. A match was made, and our little refried bean found his forever home. Not a peep since. We love you, T.

Our next adventure in fostering came in the form of Hector a full Chihuahua, also from Los Angeles. He was tiny and snuggly and followed me everywhere. He liked to burrow down in the covers near my feet. He thought peeing on the carpet was totally OK, no big deal. Our mission was to teach him that it's OK to give up a toy or food to a human without growling, because chances are he'd get it right back -- plus a treat!

Hector returned to the shelter after about a month of work at Camp O&J, and was adopted a week or so later. No news is good news, in both cases. I hope his human doesn't mind that he likes to sit in her lap and "edit" documents in progress by walking all over the keyboard.

We have learned several things from these two animals. One: I am a sucker for little dogs with issues. Two: O. would prefer not to live with puntables that can't keep up with the real dogs. I'll have to get my fix at the shelter, and our next foster will have to be a big dog.

Pooka and Olli have appreciated being the only dogs in the house again, without a little semi-dog underfoot stealing the toys and guarding the humans. Since I quit my job, I've been spending more time at home freelancing and doing chemistry homework, which I think Pooks has appreciated, even though I'm remarkably boring from a canine perspective.

Of note: After many years, Pooka's favorite toy, "squeaky," is on his last legs. He no longer squeaks. He has no tail. One ear. Three legs. Matted, mottled, and smelly. I finally purchased a replacement. Photos say it all:

Taquito Chronicles: Post-Op

2010-12-16T15:55:00.000-08:00

By the end of his first two weeks with us, Taquito was getting the hang of things. He was growling less, barking less, peeing less and overall being more cute, snuggly and more gremlin-like and less over-the-top macho little dog-like.

We took a second trip to Marymoor, and he was perfect on the flexi-leash. And I brought him with Pooka and Olli to another (better-fenced-in) dog park, took a deep breath and unclipped the leash. I was so proud -- he sniffed and greeted other dogs, stuck close and came back running when he strayed too far.

Tuesday, everything changed, again. I dropped him off early in the morning for surgery on his luxating patella -- a condition caused, the vet says, by overbreeding of little dogs that results in bowed legs and kneecaps that pop out of place. When I picked him up Tuesday night, his back right quarter was shaved bald and he had an ugly incision site with big stitches.

Little Quito was completely out of it until midday Wednesday; since then, he's been absolutely ticked off that he's a) stuck in a crate or a pen, b) wearing a cone on his head and c) being picked up -- the indignity! -- and carried outside for bathroom breaks.

I spent Wednesday working from home, keeping an eye on him. Pooks and Olli were also in the house, and they drove me absolutely bonkers with attention-seeking antics, wrestling matches and whining. By the end of the day, I was ready to have a total meltdown. I wanted to scream at the dogs to shut the hell up. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run really, really fast.

Between getting Quito to surgery and home and mapping out the plan for his 6-week recovery, I didn't really notice how deeply I was affected. It's heartbreaking to see such a wild, energetic little guy come home drugged out and shivering. To see the swelling and bruising set in around the incision. To hear him yelp in pain when he accidentally puts weight on the bad leg. To listen to him cry in frustration and loneliness. Add to that the guilty feeling that I'm not taking very good care of my own dog right now, and it was a recipe for losing it.

I swam last night, and I'm feeling better today. He spent a good chunk of the day at home alone in his crate; now he's sleeping in his bed leashed to the chair I'm sitting in. I don't know how to harden my heart a little about all of this, even though I know I must. After all, he's here in our warm quiet home, not in the cold, noisy shelter. And there's almost nothing I can do for him to help his healing along other than locking him in his crate for the next few days, no matter how much he hates it.

Taquito Chronicles: Food Motivation

2010-12-02T15:14:00.000-08:00

Last night after the dogs all had dinner, I thought I'd try to do a little work with Taquito on the "go to your bed" command. So I brought out the clicker and threw some kibble in my pocket, because that little guy will work for any kind of food.

Big mistake. The first click summoned Pooka out of thin air. "Hello? I'm right here? If there's clicking, there's treating, and if there's treating, it should be in MY MOUTH?" She decided Taquito wasn't a fast enough study, so she thought she'd show him by example what "go to your bed" means. By putting her big self into his tiny bed. Emphatically. What could I do? Click, treat for Pooka.

This drove Taquito insane, and he began buzzing and jumping all around me, trying to get his nose into my pocket. End result: a snapping Pooka and a snarling chihuahua, and me desperately trying to empty my pockets so that neither of them would be trying to crawl in and get the treats.

Hopefully this weekend I'll carve out some one-on-one training time for the little guy, because clearly working with Pooka around is out of the question.

Update: I forgot to mention that he was doing really well on the peeing inside...until O. came home last night. I was dead asleep, but apparently he dashed downstairs and promptly peed on the leg of the sofa. Sigh.

Taquito Chronicles: Day Four

2010-11-30T14:39:00.001-08:00

This morning I woke up with a 17-pound Chihuahua in my bed, curled up by my side with his head on my arm. He looked up at me with the sweetest tired little look and totally pretended that I didn't tell him REPEATEDLY last night that he will not be sleeping in my bed, under any circumstances. Unintended consequence of taking an Ambien. Sigh.

Last night I walked Pooka, Olli and 'Quito together and didn't die. Today, a solo walk with the little one was actually pleasant -- he didn't pull at all for most of the walk. And as far as I know, he didn't lift his leg in the house (yet) today. Now, we just need to work on the shrieking cries when I lock him in the crate and the snarly face that emerges when he's cuddled up to me and one of the other dogs comes by.

Pooka and Olli are being real troopers about the disruption in normal operations. They're still mostly ignoring him except to steal a good sniff now and then. This morning they were romping around as usual, while 'Quito looked on with some curiosity and tried to keep from getting trampled.

O. and I have been discussing the profile of a perfect adoptive home for the little man. We're thinking, little old lady, maybe? Your thoughts are always welcome, readers.

Taquito Chronicles: First Days

2010-11-29T14:50:00.000-08:00

Housemate O. and I have been kicking around the idea of taking in a foster dog from Seattle Humane Society -- a pup who needs a little extra love, attention, discipline or socialization, and who might not find his or her permanent home without it.

I've grown attached to one little guy in recent months, a Chihuahua mix who came with dozens of others from a shelter in Los Angeles. According to his paperwork, he's 5 or 6 years old, and was found as a stray. I'm pretty sure no one has ever worked on training with him before; the first time we met, after a walk, I tried to teach him the "sit" command. He didn't always get it, but the moment he realized he could do something that would make me give him a treat, his eyes lit up and his tail started wagging.

A few weeks in the shelter turned him into a more cheerful, social dog, which is saying a lot about the conditions he must have lived in before. Finally, we decided to just go ahead and do it.

Meet Taquito, our new foster dog.

The fact that he's sitting happily next to Pooka on the deck is a big step for a little man who bared his teeth at all the other animals in the family just 24 hours earlier.

The first two days have been stressful -- I'm not sure why I thought perhaps they wouldn't be. I'm feeling some of the same crazy weight of responsibility I felt when Pooka arrived, and my affection for him is muted by my despair that our efforts will be in vain, even though that's a totally irrational concern. I mean, he's already attempting to pee on fewer indoor surfaces every day!

Like all the dogs (and many children, too), he's an adorable angel when he's asleep, and that's what's keeping us going right now. He's bossy, loves food, hates cats and squirrels. Which means he should get along just fine in our family, right?

I'll keep everyone posted.

Woof.

On Expanding the Pack

2010-04-26T10:47:00.000-07:00

Spring has sprung at the cute little cottage, and that means far fewer minutes spent in front of a screen, at least at home. Sorry for being so remiss.

In February, our pack doubled in size, which has been really excellent for both me and the Pooks.

For me, it means company on evenings that might have been spent quietly, mindlessly staring at the television, though there's still some of that. O. is inspiring in her organization and housekeeping skills. Some day she might even rub off on me. I have been trying to do my part to make sure at least our shared spaces don't get sucked into the maelstrom of my life and spit back out in a pile of debris.

For Pooka, it means sheer joy, every day. When she and Oliver-dog have spent time apart, she dashes back up the steps sniffing excitedly, wondering if he's waiting for her on the other side of our front door. When he isn't, she searches the house for him. When he is, no matter how tired she is, impromptu wrestling match ensues. The house is filled with snarly teeth gnashing and body slamming and endless games of chase around the sofa. The back yard is one big obstacle course of jumping and wrestling and occasionally pausing to eat ornamental grasses. Sometimes, Pooks even lets Olli pin her to the ground. Briefly.

I find Pooka is more social at the dog park these days, too, which makes me think some of Olli's open nature is rubbing off on her.

There are moments when Pooka the wild animal gets a little out of control, however. She and Olli are pretty good about sharing food, but man, every now and then she just loses it when he gets too close to her rawhide, food toy, food bowl and, on rare occasions, his own food bowl. Bad. Pooka. No.

One week when O. was out of town and I was single-mom-ing it, I woke up to find Olli whining next to my bed. When I went to tuck him back under his blanket (poor skinny boy gets so chilly), I found Pooka all curled up and looking pleased with herself for displacing him. Yes, Pooka, we know you are the alpha dog in this relationship, but some things just aren't OK.

In Sickness

2010-01-20T13:21:00.000-08:00

Pooka has hookworm. You can click that to read more about this nasty little parasite, but you may not want to.

Having a dog has taught me all sorts of things about myself. One of the most important is that no matter how scattered my own life may be, I am together enough to take care of Pooka when she needs it.

For the last four nights, this has meant waking up every hour or two to insistent whining, stumbling downstairs, getting on socks and shoes and various layers of outerwear and trudging with urgently-needing-to-go-out Pooka around the neighborhood. (Again, you really don't want the specifics.)

Yesterday, I was still feeling good about my ability to pull it together. Today, I am having a hard time feeling compassion because I'm so tired that I actually wobble when standing up. I really, really hope the de-worming meds she's on take care of those little f*ckers soon.

I've taken away her couch and dog bed options today and left the back door open as I work from home today, in the hopes that she'll be awake and stimulated by day and thus as exhausted as I will be by bedtime. I really don't think I can do night #5 without dissolving into hysterics.

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.

Pooka update: HOME

2008-09-10T17:05:00.000-07:00

Just a few brief words. I picked up my parents, we dashed to Crown Hill Vet Supply for a new crate, pad, and sling to help the Pooka walk. We dashed home to assemble (easy assembly, thank goodness). We dashed back into the car. And dashed to the hospital.

Met with tech to go over meds (more details later), and Dr. A to go over the X-rays. When he realized my dad (Dr. M) was savvy, he launched into a more macho explanation of his work. Gorgeous new screws (2) in her body. Nice work, Dr. A, as far as we can tell.

And then, they brought her out. She looked at me with eyes wide and ears up. We gently helped her out to the car. And that was it. She was in my care.

Since she's been home we've made two attempts to go to the bathroom -- no pooping since Saturday, but given Pooka's past poop strikes, I'm really not all that concerned, beyond the basic "are things working" knowledge. Attempt #1 yielded a squat but no action. Attempt #2, poop! Two hard little rocks. Hopefully we'll get her more comfy in the next few days, but now that I know she's willing to try even with me helping her with the sling, I'm feeling better.

She's eaten treats, both chewy and Kong; she slurped a little water when I held it to her face. She growled at neighbors. And she watched a housefly very intently, clearly wishing she were well enough to snap it out of the air.

All in all, it's still my girl. She's sacked out now, so we're going to leave her for a bit to grab a bite to eat. Thank you to all for the good wishes. Direct all cosmic vibes to her hind joints, for clean speedy healing.

Pooka accident update: Looking good for coming home

2008-09-10T07:27:00.001-07:00

I haven't talked to the vets yet today, but as of yesterday afternoon, she was putting some weight on the newly repaired leg and even ate some food. Both are very good signs.

I also finally felt strong enough to open the envelope containing all the records related to her stay at the emergency clinic. It was hard to go through it, but the notes from the vet were reassuring. The biggest surprise was a note from the Good Samaritan who brought my dear Pooka in. She has a name and a phone number, and I can't wait to call her and thank her for saving my darling. Apparently she ran across Aurora from east to west. I might be wrong, but I think she had headed for Greenlake, one of our favorite walks, and then was trying to get back. Makes me absolutely sick to think about, actually, so I shall sign off and get moving. Lots to do today before I'm ready for her.

Temporary blog time-out

2008-09-09T04:34:00.001-07:00

Dear Pooka-lovers:

I'm headed to San Francisco for work for the day, so don't worry -- no updates is a good thing. Keep thinking those good thoughts though.

Pooka, listen: I'm getting on a plane today, but then I'm coming right back. And tomorrow, depending on how your legs feel, you're going to come home again. So show the doc what a strong girl you are today, ok? Love you, Lou, see you in a little while.

Pooka accident update: post-op report, more details

2008-09-08T16:58:00.001-07:00

Dr. A called and gave me the run-down. Her chest X-ray was fine. The mysterious "why are things out of whack" issue in the earlier films was due to positioning, and new X-rays showed no additional breaks in the sacrum. The break on her left side is far enough behind the joint that he decided to leave it alone, after rotating her leg around and judging range of motion and lack of crunchy, crackley bits.

He put two screws into her right side, and while he said his work on one was less than perfect, he said also that he didn't think it would make much practical difference.

So, she's closed up and resting, and they'll gauge her ability to put weight on the back legs tomorrow morning. That will likely be my next update.

Please direct your healing thoughts to her immune system, to accept the new screws and fix her wounds, and calming thoughts so she can get through these next days and weeks in the crate without too much frustration. And to kidneys and liver and all those other important parts.

Pooka: post-op update

2008-09-08T14:11:00.001-07:00

Just called the clinic. Pooka is out of surgery and doing very well, they say. Sleeping, sedated on some very good pain meds, snuggled under a blanket. I don't know any more details -- left message for the doc to call me back when he could.

Sweet dreams, Pooka, rest well, mend well.

Pooka update: surgery

2008-09-08T10:06:00.000-07:00

Just got back from talking to the surgeon, Dr. A. He walked me through Dr. C's notes, and then we got down to business looking at her X-rays.

On the right side, he's certain he knows what's going on and how he's going to repair, with a few minor variations (screws vs. pins and placement of those, etc.)

On the left, though, there are a few question marks I hope will be solved shortly. One is a big break that may be behind her illiac joint (am I getting that right, dad?) and therefore less critical to repair. Which would be good, because it's not an easy break to fix, he said. Risks of leaving it alone include possible interference with the sciatic nerve as it heals...but that is also a risk to going in and trying to fix it. He's inclined to be conservative on this until he sees it in another X-ray.

Then, looking at the angles of her pelvic area, he suspects another break hidden in the X-rays as they were taken on Saturday. He won't know if her sacrum has a break, or whether it's fixable, until he gets in there.

If he does nothing on the left side, he says she may experience some arthritis as she gets older, among other problems that essentially limit her activity level.

He seems cautious. Has a great bedside manner. Answered all of my questions patiently. Pooka's going to have to remain crated except to go to the bathroom for two months or more. No furniture jumping, no stairs. I may have to learn to help her walk with a sling.

That's all I can remember, though my notes are more thorough. She's in pre-op now, sedation for more X-rays, before the party begins. Think good thoughts, everyone.

Oh, and I went in to see her. She was super-whiney before and after I was next to her, but quieted down when I was there touching her through the bars. She put her head against the cage and closed her eyes. She's pretty drugged up, and panting heavily, but she's definitely still Pooka.

Pooks: Listen, Lucca, you're gonna be fine. I'm here for you. I promise, this is going to get better. The whole world is pulling for you, so stay strong, sweetie.

Pooka accident update: GOOD POTTY POOKA

2008-09-08T07:49:00.000-07:00

Just called the overnight vet, Dr. C, for an end-of-shift update. Surgeons haven't arrived yet, but she promises to stick around until they do. So no appointment for us yet.

After the last conversation before I went to bed, C. had the staff take Pooka out again with slings on her back end to try for a regular pee, as opposed to the catheter attempt. And she did it! Good girl. She's been out every 4 to 6 hrs since, and let loose a significant torrent the second time, too. As was my hunch, Pooka just really didn't want to pee in the crate, or with all those people so close to her. I really emphasized that to C., and am really glad she gave it one more go. Now that Pooks knows how the system works, she's taking full advantage. GOOD POTTY, Pooka. GOOD GIRL!

The urine is looking dark, says C, which is to be expected given the muscle damage. She says it shouldn't harm her kidneys given the amount of fluids pumping through her. But she also said she's pulled Pook's food (which she wasn't eating anyway) and water because she's optimistic that the pup will get into surgery today.

Otherwise, her body temperature is "ok," which I imagine is code for, it's been down and back to normal. No fever, though. She's responding to her name and acting like a dog, so I'm not too worried about her cute little brain right now.

Doc is focused on the positives, like the fact that her heart and lungs are functioning well, no more bleeding, etc. She sounds upbeat, and so, I must be too. Now just waiting for the surgeons to arrive. Oh, and Dr. M: they have plenty of blood product on hand in case of need for transfusion.

Pooka Lucca: Listen, hon. Today's going to be rough, but you won't remember most of it. The big docs are going to take care of you. You're going to be pretty sore after, but they'll give you some good drugs to ease the pain. You'll spend a few more days and nights in their care, but then you'll be home to rest. Treats! After the surgery, as you get better, I need you to eat a bit of their food, OK? See you in a few hours, honey. I'll be on the scene making sure it all goes well. Love you, my sweet doggie.

Pooka accident update: to pee, or not to pee

2008-09-07T21:15:00.000-07:00

GO POTTY, POOKA.

My poor kid is whimpering in the emergency clinic right now -- I heard her over the phone -- most likely because she's got a full bladder and hasn't wanted to empty it.

Dr. C is back on shift, and I'm feeling very grateful to have met her last night and gotten a good vibe. My own dad, Dr. M, pushed me earlier today to ask whether Pooks has been peeing, as that might be a good sign that things are going well inside.

When I asked, they said, "Um, hold please." And came back a moment later with, "Actually, she hasn't. We'll go X-ray her now, call back in an hour." Not exactly the stuff that inspires great confidence. The good-ish news is that she has a full bladder, and therefore, a bladder at all. The bad news is that we don't know why she's not peeing. Could be she doesn't wanna in her kennel (duh), or with someone holding her ass up in a sling. Or could be one of any host of neurological issues. At any rate, they had planned a catheter hours ago, and now Dr. C tells me she's next.

I say, "I want you to tell me she's going to pull through this." Dr. C says, "She's going to be okay." I want to believe, and so I shall, for tonight, at least.

So, C. will catheter (though it's not as easy as Dr. L earlier made it sound), with some sedation, P. will pee. She's not eating much (duh), but they're hoping she'll eat more. Her body temp is back up from earlier, when it was low.

Here is how I think things are going to go for the next 24 hours or so: Tomorrow early in the morning, C. will hand off the case to the surgeons and get them up to speed. When I call, they will know all about Miss Pooka and schedule an appointment with me, I think. I'll come in with questions, they'll answer them, sched P. for surgery and get to fixing her back half.

I don't know what happens then.

I'm really upset. I miss my baby. She's more important to me than I could possibly have imagined. I'm restless and stressed out, and when I let myself think for a moment, I'm absolutely full of guilt and anger and sadness. The guilt and the anger are the hardest to bear. I'm superstitious. I had a bad gut feeling about the particular arrangement for the walk that resulted in P. running away and getting hit. I had dreams last week about Pooka running away. If you're reading this, you're going to tell me not to blame myself, but I can't unfeel this. I can only put it aside when it arises, again and again, until she's home and I can fill that space with more useful actions.

Pooka: Listen, sweetpea: I'm here. I'm talking to the doctors. I heard you on the phone, you poor thing. They're going to make you more comfortable. What I need now is for you to relax and believe in yourself, and your ability to heal, and not give up. They're going to do all sorts of weird stuff to you, but you're a tough girl and I know you can handle it. Soon, this part will be over and you'll be home again, safe inside our little apartment. I can't promise that I'll never leave you alone again, but I'm always going to come back. I'm going to take care of you, take care of this. You'll be home, with lots of delicious treats, and lots of love and attention. We'll come up with fun games to play in the crate, and all of your favorite humans will come and shower you with attention. And not long after that, you'll be up to your old tricks, drooling over cats and ducks and squirrels and whining for me to take you out for a walk. Hang in there, Pooka Lou, be strong.

Oh, and GO POTTY.

Sunday morning update

2008-09-07T09:43:00.002-07:00

I called the animal hospital when I woke this morning. The nurse sounded very upbeat, said Pooka's breathing was good over night, so concerns about what's going on in her chest are starting to subside. She's in good enough shape that they plan to offer her some food this afternoon, which I take to be a good sign. I don't know much about animal recovery from massive trauma, but I'm sure about to learn.

When I had the on-call vet paged last night, was pleased to get the very supportive Dr. M, who I know pulls no punches -- he was the one who told me that if Pook's toe didn't heal after the Toenail Incident, he'd consider amputating. He spoke well of the surgery clinic she'll be admitted to tomorrow, so as long as her internal stuff stays stable, I feel confident she's in good hands.

I'm doing somewhat better today -- not much energy left for crying. I'll try to keep busy and get the house in shape, so I can focus on Pooks when she comes home later this week.

Please send love and good healing energy her way.

Pooka Accident

2008-09-07T09:43:00.001-07:00

Friends:

Pooka was hit by a car Saturday. I was on an airplane when it happened, so I don't have all the details, but I wanted to write one big note, and hope most of you see it, rather than try to tell all at once.

She's in the animal hospital. She'll likely have surgery for various breaks in her pelvic bone and surrounding area. She's on IV fluids and pain medication, and is breathing on her own despite some bleeding or other fluid buildup around her heart and lungs.

Please send lots and lots of good thoughts her way for rest now, surgery without a hitch on Monday and a speedy recovery in the next 6 weeks or so. It can only help.

Stay with us, Dodger

2008-07-03T07:14:00.000-07:00

Last night before zipping across town for dinner with L., Pooka and I walked over the ridge to our local dog run -- dusty in summertime, it turns out, after months of mud wrestling. It was a small crowd, but Betty, a black malamute-shepherd-somethingorother showed up shortly after we did, and she and Pooka bared teeth and played bite-face rough and tumble for a bit as per usual.

A man walked in with two soft, shiny Brittany spaniel siblings, nearly a year old. Pooka romped a bit with them -- Abby and Dodger -- then back to dinosaur madness with Betty. I chatted with the spaniels' dad for a few moments, then noticed that Dodger appeared to be trying to cough to clear his throat, or throw up a little something. Pooka does this when she has gotten some dirt or icky bark in her mouth, or tries to swallow grass in a hurry, so I wasn't so concerned.

But then, the poor thing let loose a few little spurts of very watery poo, and before our eyes grew weak and collapsed, eyes closing, rolling back.

Their father B. was shocked, frozen. He and tried to shake/revive the pup, who faded in and out for a minute or two. I asked if he drove, then told him I'd grab the other dog if he'd pick up Dodge, and help him get to the car and ultimately the vet. On our way out, Betty's mom reminded us of the 24-hour pet emergency room nearby.

When B. put Dodger in the back of his little SUV, he didn't want to leave him. I stood there, awkwardly, asking if he had his cell phone (yes), if he had the vet's number (no), if he wanted me to come along. At first he said no, but when it was clear that he was overwhelmed, I offered again to hold the dog while we drove to the ER. The second time he said yes, so I tossed Pooka in the back of his car with Abby (who promptly jumped the seat, but Pooka was perfect and calm), climbed into his passenger seat and took on the task of keeping sweet, soft little Dodge awake.

His eyes were open, mostly, but he wasn't moving. When he seemed set to fade out, I took a page from Jenny's book and blew in his nose, knowing that many dogs hate it. It seemed to do the trick to get the little boy focused and alert.

When we got to the hospital, B. took Dodger and rushed him in, and I followed with Abby and Pooks, who continued to behave as if everything were normal. As I walked in, a nurse was taking Dodger upstairs, and B. was filling out forms. Once he was settled, I handed him Abby's leash, turned down his offer to drive me back up toward the park and said farewell, shaking off his kind "I owe you" comments. God knows if I were in the same situation, I'd want some help. And honestly, the feeling of taking charge and doing something about this sad, stressful situation made me feel good, energized, whole.

I was going to be late for dinner. Pooka and I half-ran, half-walked home from essentiallly Fremont to Hazard Flats, I called L. to warn of my tardiness, and hopped in the car. But I couldn't stop thinking about this sweet, soft little boy I completely fell in love with while holding him on my lap. After dinner and a stop at J.'s for a nice chat, I headed home on a route that would take me close to the hospital. I knocked on the door and the same nurse came out, and was, despite my fears, perfectly OK telling me that little Dodger was on IV fluids, resting comfortably and staying the night. She didn't know what was wrong yet. Test results weren't in.

I hope she tells B. I stopped by. I hope I see them in the neighborhood again soon. I wonder if I'm in the wrong profession, because I want to feel like that more often. I am terrified, though not practically so, that Pooka will some day collapse out of the blue. Mortality.

New collar

2008-06-28T12:15:00.001-07:00

preppy New England Pooka
Originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica

I was inexplicably attached to Pooka's first collar. When I bought it, it was bright green, a deep grass green, with reflective stitching. Simple, pet-store staple. As the days stretched into weeks, the collar grew faded, dusty, stinky and more stinky. I washed the collar. The collar got stinkier. I felt a little bit of panic at the thought of getting Pooka a new collar, like her identity might be tied somehow to this ratty green thing. Like giving up blankie, that was the feeling.

Then, I thought, well, I could get her another green collar...

And then I got over it. At Bark, I found this fabulous bright red and blue lobster collar, perfect for summer, despite being so far away from beloved Cape Cod. Pooka has gotten lots of compliments. (By the way, you can click on the "Jessica Jessica" link under the photo to see the rest of the recent Flickr uploads.)

This morning, I woke at 6am to find her sitting up, ears perked, staring at the closet door. A few minutes later, she was whining at the closet. Sarah's kitties must have been scratching around on the other side of the wall, but Pooka was insistent that she investigate. I feel very safe from whatever horrors might haunt us in the closet now.

In other news, the toenail is growing in -- a bit splotchy and crooked, but starting once again to resemble toenail in shape and length.

Also, I thought I left my carefully prepared lunch sandwich within Pooka's reach yesterday (it's nowhere to be found), but I came home to no sign of sandwich or the large plastic bag, originally from a package of English muffins, in which I had stashed it. So far, no evidence that she stashed it or tried to digest it. I am puzzled.

Also, Pooka is really shaping up to be a Very Good Dog. She's much less anxious than in the early days, as evidenced by her seeming contentedness to flop down wherever I happen to be and chill, rather than pace endlessly through the house. She still does her insane-dance when I come home after a long stretch away, but I think it's overall a sign of happiness, rather than pent-up neurosis. These days when I get home, she has been running to grab a toy, then invites me to a game of "chase me in tight circles around the couch, first one direction and then the other, but I won't chase you if you get the toy, but you can chase me again if you give it back to me," which is our favorite.

Excellent news

2008-05-23T21:25:00.000-07:00

Pooka and I went to the vet after work tonight, fearing the worst. Dr. M had used the dreaded a-word to describe what could happen if Pook's little toe didn't heal over, and to my unpracticed eye, not all that much had changed since we took the bandage off almost two weeks ago.

In the waiting room, P. got all riled up by a mewling kitty, but she settled down as we waited for our appointment with Dr. R. On the one hand, I worried he wouldn't have reviewed Pooka's information; on the other, perhaps he wasn't quite so scalpel-happy as Dr. M.

His examination of the Pook's toe was quick and positive: it's healing fine, and he expects a full new toenail to regenerate. Really? Completely the opposite of Dr. M's pessimistic outlook, but we'll take it. He even said it was OK for her to start licking it a little (less than 5 minutes), and for her to get out and play again (though not on gravel or crushed seashells -- dry humor, perhaps).

"You're responsible for this foot again," he told her very seriously. "No one else is going to take care of this for you now."

She listened intently.

Poor conehead Pooka

2008-05-16T14:07:00.001-07:00

poor conehead
Originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica

This is a repost, because when I used the online editing tool on Flickr to crop, it disappeared from the blog.

Pooka is getting used to the cone. H., who is here for a long weekend, gives me updates on how she's doing, and from her perspective, Miss P. seems to be functioning like a regular dog, if a bit of a clumsy one.

The one drawback is that she doesn't seem to be able to find a good place to poop as readily. It could be some 'irregularity' driven by the antibiotics she's wolfing down hidden in peanut butter blobs, of course. But having to walk her four times a night until she's REALLY gotta go is going to get old.

Jenny loves Pooka

2008-05-16T14:01:00.000-07:00

So sweet of Jenny to send me this photo after taking "Spooka" for a stroll:

Am I crazy?

2008-05-15T14:58:00.000-07:00

I just clicked over to the Rhodesian Ridgeback rescue site and carefully read over all the Northwest region listings, with the idea that maybe if I were to get a second dog, I'd get another Ridgeback companion for Pooka.

Right around when I said "get a second dog" is when I'm expecting to hear the "You must be crazy" responses...why is it so quiet in here?

I miss...

2008-05-14T15:43:00.001-07:00

Yesssss...?
Originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica

my pre-toenail-incident Pooka.

Toe incident aftermath No. 1

2008-05-14T13:19:00.001-07:00

Toe incident aftermath No. 1, originally uploaded by Jessica Jessica.

Last week, Pooka was playing at day care when something Very Bad happened. One of her back toenails somehow parted with her toe, taking a little piece of toe-bone with it.

Ouch.

She tolerated the fluorescent green bandage for a few days, takes her antibiotics wrapped in peanut butter without complaint, and even holds still for 6 or so minutes while I soak the foot in epsom salts twice daily.

To keep her from licking at the wound, which must scab over and heal or the unthinkable happens, she's now trapped in a lampshade collar thingie, and giving me the look. See other photo above.

Update: I wanted to add thank-you's to our Hounds Abound friends for saving Pooka's toenail and keeping her calm and mellow until I could get out of work, and to the affable and energetic Dr. Mortimer at Green Lake Animal Hospital who took a look at said toenail and realized Pooks needed an X-Ray. She wasn't limping, so at first, no one expected she had broken anything. Dr. M. called me on Monday to check in, too. We feel good knowing he's on the case.

Beach adventure, part one

2008-04-07T10:36:00.000-07:00

Pooka, M. and I fled the city for the Oregon coast two weekends ago. We rented a little house in a little town where the Pook could wander in and out to a nice fenced-in back yard, run wild on the beach by day and sprawl in front of the gas fireplace at night.

In sum, the three of us had a divine time, but the two humans got a real kick out of a few of Pooka's more amusing discoveries. Discovery No. 1: Giant whips of seaweed are really cool! She poked, chased, jumped, dodged and eventually dismembered with her teeth the spikey end of a beached hunk of seaweed. As documented by M:

Pooka has me trained

2008-03-24T14:32:00.001-07:00

Quick upload of snapshots from our advanced obedience class. Don't think she was the only one who learned how to behave!

Two of a kind

2008-03-21T11:13:00.000-07:00

Our fabulous obedience class instructor K. just sent some photos along of Pooka and Tuxedo, the improbably similar black-and-white ridgeback mix we met at Sound Animals. (Pooka's the smaller one.)

Every day's a lesson

2008-03-10T10:36:00.000-07:00

Pooka and I had an eventful, educational weekend.

Saturday we went for our regular long walk through Woodland Park. It was early, there were no other people around, and I know many folks let the pups run off leash in the fields, so I decided to experiment. Unclipped the leash and watched Miss P. take off at a sprint, running faster and with more determination than I've ever seen her do at the dog park. Straight for the squirrel-laden trees, then bounding around wildly among them. Completely ignored the "come" command for what seemed like minutes. Leashed walk resumed.

Next was an unpleasant adventure in grooming. I've been clipping the tiny ends of her toenails sparingly, but felt sure I wasn't cutting as much as I could have. Wrong! I went too far on one poor little nail and drew blood (and a dirty look from Pooka).

After sopping up most of the stains, I started a load of laundry, and let Pooks hang around in the little laundry porch with me. B. came over to say hi, and inadvertantly let her slip out the door. "Let's see what happens," we decided, since she does love to sniff around for the cats in the back yard. But the driveway gate was open, and as soon as she realized it, I saw a black streak zip by the window.

When I padded out into the driveway in my socks, I saw that black streak darting wildly from house to house, yard to yard, back and forth across the blessedly quiet street. Yelling "Pooka, get your a** over here" didn't work too well, and when I finally nabbed her by the collar, she cowered. "Sorry, mom! Couldn't help myself!"

Of course, the mad Ballard dash opened up the toenail wound, and P. tracked bloody paw prints all over the living room. Poor kid. Doc recommended immersing the paw in corn starch and staying off it for a bit, so we went back to bed and read for a while.

Saturday afternoon and Sunday were much nicer adventures. We visited M. and Cody on Mercer Island and walked down to the lake, where Pooka jumped in and actually SWAM in mad pursuit of ducks. Cody is a very avid swimmer, but P. seems to be more utilitarian about how wet she gets. Cody is not a very avid wrestler/dog chase game player, which confused Pooka to no end. She made extremely exaggerated "come play with me please" gestures, pounced and teased to no avail. Cody does, however, play a mean game of keepaway. Pooka acquiesced and let him be the alpha, a calculated decision, I suspect, just to keep engaged with him.

Sunday we joined O. and Olli, and new friends M. and J. and their dogs Dude (my favorite line of the weekend was, "Dude, seriously????") and Paps on a hike up Little Si. We went early enough that the trails were clear, and so we unleashed the monsters, who bounded with breathtaking agility over and under, around and about in the trees and boulders. I had to stop Pooka from playing a rowdy game of "keepaway" with a stick on the precarious mountaintop area, but she did an incredible job otherwise of playing nicely and listening to me when I called. Can't wait for the next pack outing.

Daylight savings switch means I can now zip out of work, pick up P. and hit Green Lake for a jog and a dog park romp. Cannot wait for summer.

Duck!

2008-02-17T12:12:00.001-08:00

This morning, Pooka tried out some new living room perches. She usually opts for a couch cushion, but today she tested both the chair and the windowsill. Chair cushion on the windowsill was ultimately the winner, and she sacked out in the sun for a bit. I didn't dare get up for the camera; when I finally reached for my cell phone she decided it was time to move, too. Hence the alert-looking animal in the photo.

We've been running around Greenlake at night a few times a week, me with a headlamp and Pook with my red bicycle tail light clipped to her harness. We occasionally blind each other, but it's basically a good system for seeing and being seen in the dark. Until the last few times, Pooka was indifferent to the various waterfowl bobbing in the water. But then, one night, it hit her: They're floating cats! Now, running is occasionally derailed as a duck flutters or squawks and P.'s prey drive kicks in. And she goes nuts on the dock, back and forth as the ducks gracefully drift away, and return, drift and return.

I know I haven't posted much; things have fallen into a nice rhythm of walking, running, park and relaxing. We haven't been skiing since the last time; the roads have been bad and I've been lazy or busy. In general, her digestive woes have passed, though she's been very, very funny the last 24 hours or so: She assumed the poop position last night, and atone point let loose a loud bit of gas. What? Her head whipped around, as if she couldn't imagine she'd have made such a racket. It happened again this morning twice just as she sat down. The look of surprise and confusion was priceless.

Ridgeback-Malamute mix?

2008-01-29T09:55:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-16T21:21:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-01-12T12:21:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-11T09:04:00.001-08:00

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.

2008-01-10T08:33:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-01-09T13:24:00.001-08:00

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.

2008-01-09T11:29:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-04T10:04:00.000-08:00

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

Off leash

2007-12-24T08:58:00.000-08:00

Saturday night I dreamed Pooka escaped from me, and ended up far across a field, penned in with a vicious pit bull, and I couldn't call her back. When I woke Sunday, I felt jittery about taking her out, nervous that she'd run away from me.

But when we got to the North Beach trail at Discovery Park, the stairs were slippery and I was having a hard time making her heel as we tromped down, so I took a deep breath and unclicked her leash. She did not run away. In fact, she stuck to the trail, listened to my "uh-uh's" when it seemed she might be tempted to dash into the underbrush, and checked in with me often. When we reached the beach, she dashed and sniffed around a bit, but didn't leave my sight. Later, on a longer stretch of sand, she stretched out her stride for a long sprint, then came bounding back when I called. She seemed light and happy. Watching her makes me feel light and happy. We wandered the beach for a bit; I reluctantly leashed back up after she chased a bird a ways and didn't react to my call.

One step at a time. What a good dog.

Sunday evening, we went to visit L. and Pepper the Pug, who alternately sniffed and yipped at Pooka. The Pook wasn't thrilled with this noisy little beast that didn't want to play, but the two coexisted nicely on and off, joined in the common pursuit of Wait For Humans To Drop Pizza On The Carpet Under The Dining Room Table. L. had warned me it might be a little rocky, so I was pleased that Miss P chilled, chewed on a rawhide and generally ignored Little Puggy when things got uggy.

Proof!

2007-12-19T15:05:00.000-08:00

Digital proof that Pooka has been known to retrieve a ball, courtesy of my father.

Will wonders never cease.

2007-12-19T11:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, when it was time for me to leave and get Pooka into the crate, a small miracle occurred. I tipped her out of her bed (no amount of coaxing or treats will get her to stand up when she thinks it might be crate time), followed her to the living room and watched as she hesitated, and then Walked Right Into The Crate.

Today, she hesitated even less.

I don't know what's changed, but I feel more grateful than you can perhaps imagine. Even if I'm just anthropomorphizing, her anti-crate evasive maneuvers made me feel sad and anxious. I've started practicing "Pooka, kennel up!" at home when there's no actual danger of me locking the door behind her; perhaps some day she'll actually enter on command on Crate Days, too.

We had an eventful several days. Pooka met my parents and liked them, even if they couldn't tell. After all, at her most affectionate, Pooka will lean into a nice petting -- rather subtle in her enjoyment, except when it comes to chase-chase-wrestle-wrestle episodes. We all went to Magnussen for a stroll and a romp; once again, Pooka was reserved and stuck close to me in the wide-open play space, but seemed braver when we reached smaller nooks and the beach area. She chased the ball 80% of the time, I'd guess, and actually retrieved it...40%? Dad? What do you think? Go Pooka!

On Sunday, Pooka spooked when a guy came to pick up her old crate (thanks, Craigslist). She took one look at her old crate and zoomed into my bedroom and curled up in her bed -- similar to our morning ritual. Then, when I was helping him maneuver the thing out the door, she sprinted outside and into the road. I tried all sorts of "Pooka, come!" commands in various tones of voice, but it was minutes before she stopped running from me and allowed me to grab her collar. I was terrified she'd run away, or get hit. Terrified.

And of course, last night, she was the star of obedience class. She remembered "Leave it" even though we haven't practiced, and quickly learned to "Heel," though of course, she did it better next to the teacher than with me. (With me, she jumped to try to get the treat out of my hand. Maybe I'm too easy with the treats?! Naaah. She also got frustrated when I wasn't rewarding her "Sit" during a particularly long stretch of time when the teacher was talking, and impatiently slapped a paw up onto my thigh. Um, hello, missy, nice try.)

As for me, I'm warming up to the teacher. And am feeling more charitable toward his animals after one played very nicely with Pooka last night.

Some human musings

2007-12-12T16:36:00.000-08:00

I feel more and more tender and adoring toward Pooka each day. Recently, I've started inviting her up on the bed for a little cat nap if she starts agitating before the alarm goes off. It's all very sweet.

But I've been surprised by my own reactions to her lately, in as much as I seem to have started a) thinking of her as a person, almost, and b) taking her behavior, and others' assessment of it, rather personally.

We were sitting on the couch watching TV the other night, and I noticed that I had left her harness on. "That can't be comfortable," I thought, so I reached over, unsnapped it and started to try to wriggle her out of it. She lay there like a sandbag, and after putting up with a few of my fumbling attempts, growled. It was very quiet, and the most gentle growl she could muster, but I was taken aback. More than that, I was ... offended. Defensive. Rejected. Upset. I actually needed to get up and leave the room and get some air instead of, what, arguing with her? I left to get something out of the car, and when I came back, she was all tail-wagging and thrilled that I hadn't left her. Which made me feel better. Which is crazy, because her missing me is a little neurotic and not all that good for her. So.

At obedience class #3 last night, I humbled up and asked the rather cocky instructor whether he thought Pooka's play style is too rough. He pointed out some things she does that he thinks cross the line and could get her into trouble with other dogs. And then told me he thought she can be cocky when it comes to not taking criticism and corrections from his dogs. The nerve! I was offended and upset, again, though I tried to bravely accept his criticisms. Why am I taking this so hard? Pooka's not the only one who barges in and then feels terrible when she's rejected.

And finally, the other night I was tearing up some bits of treat to put in a new Pooka chew toy. Wellness brand venison jerky. I sniffed it. It smelled incredible. I put my tongue to it. I bit off a tiny piece. And then gave in and ate the whole thing. It has some odd crunchy bits in it, but otherwise, really delicious. My friend B. thinks it was some maternal instinct on my part, but I would argue that I was just hungry.

Not so stinky

2007-12-07T15:51:00.000-08:00

Post-day-care Pooka did not reek of pee last night. She seemed extremely happy to see me when I went to pick her up, almost frantically so. Sounds like she did a good job of running around and being a dog, but I shall remain alert to her reactions again Monday. I'm so looking forward to a weekend with minimal crate time...I can only imagine how she feels.

Casualty

2007-12-06T09:57:00.001-08:00

Oh, Squeaky, we hardly knew ye.

Pooka eviscerated her squeaky ball last night.

We went for a jog, had dinner, then played a round of squeaky hedgehog.

For those of you unfamiliar with the rules: I squeak hedgehog until Pooka takes hedgehog and enthusiastically squeaks it herself. When she starts to lose interest, I make little squeaky noises of my own and wiggle hedgehog in her mouth. Sometimes she goes back to gnawing and squeaking. Sometimes she drops it. At which point, I squeak hedgehog and toss it up in the air. Pooka pounces and chews. Repeat.

When she tired of squeaky hedgehog, we escalated to squeaky ball. Squeaky ball, Pooka! Where's your squeaky ball! (Of course, Pooka doesn't actually know what I'm asking her to do yet, so I actually go fetch squeaky ball.) Squeaky ball is much more compelling for Pooka because the ball's squeaker is about 1,000 times more irritating than the hedgehog's. She plays it like a 5-year-old on a harmonica: Steady, fast closing of the jaws (screeeeeeech), opening (eeeeeeeeeeeeech), closing (screeeeech), opening (eeeeeeeeeech). This game varies slightly from squeaky hedgehog in that it's me, not Pooka, whose enthusiasm for the chewing and screeching wanes. I grab the ball and chuck it into my bedroom. She flops after it, pounces, brings it back to the living room and the racket begins again.

I bought squeaky ball to convince her balls are fun, so that when we're the only freaks in the dog park on a pouring Sunday she and I have a way to bond that still involves her running for a bit. Last Sunday, we actually played fetch with a disgusting, muddy, slimy tennis ball for 20 minutes.

Last night, though, Pooka discovered the tiny plastic vent that made squeaky squeak. I noticed when the screeching stopped and P. started picking at one spot on the ball with a single sharp tooth. It wasn't long before squeaky's squeaker was on the carpet, and the ball was just another tennis ball with a hole.

I fear for hedgehog's life.

Little stinker

2007-12-05T09:54:00.001-08:00

Pooka was waiting, seated, at the fence when I walked in to retrieve her from day care. And was very happy to see me.

But when I got her in the car, I was almost knocked unconscious by the strong smell of urine. This is bad, I thought. Turns out the wild storms in the city had caused something of a flood at the day care center, which somehow translated into dirty, pee-smelly dog. We drove immediately to Mud Bay, where I bought shampoo and a scrubber, and after a walk and dinner I wrestled the poor kid into the tub. The process involved me in a bathing suit, with a leash lashed around my waist, squatting in the tub with soggy treats and a very unhappy animal. She'd put up with my splashing and scrubbing for a bit, then slowly but intently lean toward the lip of the tub. Like she could just will herself out of the shower and I wouldn't notice. Nice try, kid.

The rain that put much of Washington state, including a section of our freeway, under water has stopped, so we'll try that place again tomorrow. Day care lady swore up and down that it was not the norm.

Obedience class last night just wasn't as much fun as last week. The regular trainer, and head dude at Sound Animals, doesn't seem quite as nice as the woman who replaced him last week. And instead of lots of activities, he talked a lot, leaving the animals squirmy and whiny (well, Pooka, at least; in the case of the beagle pups, squirmy and howly). He has this idea that his dogs can teach the other dogs how to be polite canines...but watching them, I just found them to be grown-up dogs, and less interested in playing than Pooka. Sure, they can decline to wrestle with the wonderdog, and they are very well-trained and well-behaved. But the idea that they can "patrol" the play time and know that their responsibility is to keep everyone in line feels overblown to me. The man clearly has had lots of practice, but I get the feeling that he's read the same books I have.

In sum: the jury is still out on whether this guy is going to be very useful for me and the Pook. I think I'll start clicker-training at home and see how that goes.

Anxious new mom all over again

2007-12-03T13:42:00.000-08:00

Today is Pooka's first day at day care. She wasn't sure what to make of the change in weekday morning routines -- all signs pointed to "Jessica leaving, crate time" until I grabbed the leash. She had taken one step to dart into my bedroom (her first escape plan, come crate time) then stopped when she noticed something was different.

She walked very, very nicely to the car (rather than stopping and obsessively sniffing for traces of cat, as per usual). The other pups seemed to listen to the day care owner, and to be happy and wandering around. Barking some, but not distressed. As I left, the owner was leading her around the edges of the fenced-in play area, giving everyone ample time to sniff.

After hours of thinking about Pooka once every 10 seconds or so, I gave in and called to see how she was doing. Day care owner gushed about how she was running around with a ball in her mouth (huh? are you sure that's my dog?), playing chase and wrestle and being overall a Very Good Dog. Once she started talking to me, apparently Pooka came over and sat down near her.

Relieved. Assuming Pooka's reaction seems similarly positive, I have a feeling this will be worth every penny.

Winter wonderland

2007-12-02T08:55:00.000-08:00

It snowed yesterday, the heavy white clumps we in Syracuse would refer to as "lake-effect snow." This is not Syracuse. I was not pleased.

But I was interested in whether Pooka would have any reaction to the stuff. Turns out: nope. She did her usual routine when we walked out the door (sniff at the bench where the cats sometimes nap, sniff her way across the front yard, again, a cat crossing zone). We walked to Woodland Park, me desperately hoping some other poor, snow-covered saps would be braving the weather to spoil their pups with a sprint and a wrestle. Thankfully, we were in good company, and Pook ran and jousted with Bela, a Thai ridgeback mix about her age and 10 pounds slimmer. Bela's person and I chatted about relocating from the East Coast, bored0m-chewing, Italian restaurants and the merits of feeding ridgebacks cheeseburgers. Talking to other dog owners has been the best thing for me during these early weeks -- learning the tricks to having a full human life and blancing dog care; figuring out it's OK to leave her at home in the crate.

Last night we went out for one last lap around the block before bed. Pooka would not, could not, no way no how take one more step into the snowy grass between the sidewalk and the curb. I'm with her -- one day of the white stuff is plenty.

We encountered a curious sight on our morning walk -- the wake-up ritual of a small army of inflateable Christmas yard decorations. Pooka was about as enthusiastic as if 10 vacuum cleaners had been operating at once as the floppy snowmen, Santas, boxed gifts and other larger-than-life figures rose up from the lawn.

Even with autofocus...

2007-12-01T17:08:00.000-08:00

...snapping a decent shot of Pooka at the dog park is a challenge. But I sure tried.

For more photos of the glorious Pook, Click here to see her Flickr album.

My dog is the smartest dog in the world.

2007-11-28T12:18:00.000-08:00

At least, that's how I felt after our first obedience class last night at Sound Animals. Pooka already knew "sit," as you may recall. But she did a great deal of "down" (lured by treats) and even responded well to "come," on the leash, at least. We went before dinner, so she was even more food-motivated than usual. Which is to say, she kept an eagle eye on my pocket hand the entire time, and if I wasn't poppin' them out like a PEZ dispenser, she was eyeing some other poor sap. Very smart. I think I'll get a longer leash for next week, to give her more room to work with.

One of the other dog owners (he and his wife brought their 4- and 5-month-old beagle puppies) took his pups out for a potty break. When he came back in, the typically silent Pooka barked loudly -- the barking she usually reserves for "stranger walking around the house." The training people asked if she always barks at tall men with beards. I thought not, but then remembered she also barked at Berg's dad one night. It was in the front yard, so hard to tell whether she was in turf protection mode or reacting to another man-with-a-beard, but now I'll be on the lookout for patterns.

Crate status: Yep, still hating!

Chin Up

2007-11-27T09:01:00.000-08:00

To encourage the canine to walk nicely on a leash next to or beside its "owner," the Dog Whisperer suggests said "owner" walk with her head up high and chest out. Apparently the posture says, "I'm the leader." I tried that on some early walks with Pooka, and it made no difference. After we got the harness, she stopped threatening to dislocate my shoulder and I stopped stressing so much.

These days, I try to keep Miss Pooka off to the right and moving along at a good clip, but there's plenty of abrupt stops for wild sniffing, and she has a tendency to veer in front of me and get us both tripped up. I've experimented with turning my hips/feet ever so slightly toward her for a few steps, which she picks up on, the result being less veering in front of me. I have also noticed that an exaggerated chin-up, chest-forward posture seems to keep us going smoothly. I'm talking eyes about 45 degrees above the horizon. Looking UP, really. Which forces an odd chest-out gait. Not the most comfortable for me, but surprisingly effective.

The CEO of the Humane Society was on the case last week to help us figure out if Pooka had received a rabies shot. No word back from the deadbeat adopters who returned The Pook, so I went ahead with the shot. Our weekend dog park trips were decidedly less interesting to her, and on Sunday she was a drooling machine. I had my first blast of terror that something was wrong with her, but she did perk up for good game of chase with a giant German Shephard.

Photos of the wonderdog soon to come.

Today when she gave me the "I'm not going in the crate, ohh no, I'm going to run and lie down in my bed, see what a good dog I am??" behavior, I gave her a treat and shut my bedroom door with her inside. She did a bit of flipping out (standing on my bed, paws on the window). I went back inside after being gone for literally two minutes, and she did the same dance as she does when I free her from the crate. Makes me think that it's being alone, not being in the crate, that's making her spaz out. We'll see if the place is a shambles when I get home for our lunchtime walk. I want her to be safe and comfortable, if not happy to be alone.

Pooka is...

2007-11-22T12:57:00.000-08:00

...scared of the vacuum cleaner! Not quite hide-under-the-bed scared, but definitely scared enough to get as far away as possible from it. Is it cruel to be very amused?

Surely there's more food around here somewhere...

2007-11-21T07:14:00.000-08:00

Pooka is staring at me. It's a pitiful sight. Staring, sniffing around the couch cushions, whining a whistly little whine through her nose, and watching me eat every morsel of a bran muffin. Sniffing the bag. Licking her chops. Geez, kid, it's not as if I'm starving you. The bag says four cups MAX per day, and that's what you're getting. Plus treats for sitting down nicely. Plus treats for coming back to me at the dog park. Plus treats for exploring the crate. Plus treats for ... you get the idea. And yet.

I'm trying to explain to her why we go in the crate, on the advice of a coworker/angel. "You see, Pooka, you need to go in here for a few hours because I have to go to work to earn the money that keeps us in squeaky toys and dog food. I will be back in 5 hours for a walk. I will not leave you in here forever. I promise." Yesterday she seemed to get it.

Tired Pooka

2007-11-19T08:53:00.000-08:00

I win!

I took Pooka to Magnussen dog park yesterday to play with Oona's Olli (so far, the best match for P.'s endless desire to run and run and run). The highlight reel includes a moment where Pooka was trying to get the attention of this big Rottweiler who was chasing rocks his owner was throwing into the lake. Rottie would take off running into the water, swim/wade back, and wait for owner to repeat. Pooka would wait in ankle-deep water for him to come back and then try to entice him to play. When it became clear Rottie was only interested in the rock game, Pooka made it more fun for herself by hiding behind a big rock and waiting for Rottie to return, then pouncing. Very sneaky!

My reward for all the time outside this weekend: one tired dog. I had to rouse her from the dog bed this morning at 6 for our first walk of the day. There's hope.

Sit!

2007-11-18T10:04:00.000-08:00

Pooka is doing very well with "Sit!"

This could be because both of us know it's the only thing I know to ask her to do, so we're getting lots of practice and treats for our one trick. She saw me whip out the cell phone and ducked a little, as if to say, you and I both know that's not a treat, so stop screwing around and fork it over.

We walked around Green Lake this morning. Pooka really wants to be let go to chase squirrels up trees, and I really want her to not want that. Clearly neither of us is going to get our way. I try a combination of calm breathing, thinking, "this is the essence of dog, and I love dog, so I love my lunging, distracted dog" and a few stern "leave it" commands. But we're still very into squirrels.

Week in Review

2007-11-17T10:27:00.000-08:00

It's been a week now since Pooka arrived at Hazard Flats. We've both got a lot of work to do still, but I think we're getting the hang of it. I'm not going to stress about the fact that she walks a few feet in front of me, even though Cesar Millan thinks this is sending her the wrong signal about who's boss. We'll figure that out later. I'm also not going to worry that she's not pooping on purpose to avoid going home, because she seems to do it early in our walks and there's no reason for this particular neurosis to be manfesting, but I'm very poop-aware after the great crate break-out incident.

The coolest part of this is that I'm starting to really like her, and to be very proud of her. All the other doggie mamas think Pooka is adorable, and after my initial lukewarm feelings (at best) about having a wild animal snuffling ahead of me on the leash, I'm starting to agree.

This morning she was kind enough to wait until 7am to wake me to go out. GOOD DOG. I forgot we were out of food (BAD JESSICA), so after a long walk I stuck her in the crate while I got some grocery shopping done. Note to self, Ballard Market has a crap pet food selection. One bowl of overpriced Newman's Own dog food later, Pooka was anxiously pacing around the house. She didn't stop as I did dishes, put laundry away, gathered recycling and trash, so we went in and out a few times. She kept up the whimpering and pacing even after I settled down on the couch, but then I brought out the dog bed and put it in its living room position, and Miss Pooka immediately cured up and settled down without a peep. GOOD DOG. I'm going to read the paper and maybe take a nap, then gear up for a dog park session in the driving rain. That REI rain gear I bought this spring is proving invaluable. GOOD JESSICA.

Scandalous!

2007-11-16T13:53:00.000-08:00

Just back from the vet. Pooka did great, and the doc passed her with flying colors. She leaves dog lovers swooning in her wake.

However, Doc raised an eyebrow when I told him the shelter said Pooka is two. Apparently her teeth look younger, so he's guessing she's closer to a year old. Not that it makes much of a difference at this point, but it does help explain why she's got so much play-time energy. We're going to try to track down whether her almost-adopters had her vaccinated for rabies when they went to the vet a few weeks ago, and will be anxiously awaiting the results of her fecal parasite test.

Doc also assured me that I'm doing no harm by sticking her in the crate during the day.

Scrubs

2007-11-16T08:57:00.000-08:00

I forgot to mention two things. One: Pooka may not be the best leash-walker ever (the harness is helping her not drag me around the block, but she still wanders right in front of where I'm walking and trips me not infrequently), but she's an excellent jogging companion. As soon as the pace picks up, she's right beside me trotting along. Too bad I'm not in better shape, because I think she could go for quite a ways.

And two: We went to the dog wash last night. It's a lot like going to a do-it-yourself car wash. For $17, I get an apron and a tub station. Pooka goes up the steps and (reluctantly) hops down into the tub. I try to cram soggy treats in her mouth while hosing her down and scrubbing her with delicious lavendar-mint shampoo and conditioner. We toweled off, hopped in the car and went home. Voila! Good-smelling dog who seems to have tolerated (though clearly not enjoyed) the experience. Is it worth $17? This time, yes, since I didn't know how she'd react to all that spraying, and we could be as messy and shake-shake-shake as we wanted.

Crate hater

2007-11-16T08:45:00.000-08:00

Pooka did an excellent job of not spazzing out pre-walk this morning...and very calmly chilled in her bed while I got ready for work. I'm not sure whether her stress level is down because mine is, or vice versa, but I think we're both feeling a bit more stable.

Yesterday I tried filling a Kong with delicious venison and giving it to her in the crate. She took a few swipes and seemed to like it, but when I put her in the crate with it, she just sat down and gave me the bummed-out stare. I thought she'd resume licking when she realized I wasn't coming back in the door...but no. When I came home and let her out, she did what I'm coming to learn is the out-of-my-crate dance -- dash out, jump up on me a few times, shake shake shake all her parts, paw at her head, lie down, repeat -- and then grabbed the Kong and began licking. Um, hello? Why are we waiting for me to watch before we lick the Kong?

I left her with another one today, we'll see what happens. We've got our first vet appointment at noon, for which I have prepared a nice little baggy of poo.

A brief history

2007-11-15T10:08:00.000-08:00

Just for the record: Pooka arrived in my life a few weeks ago, but another family was already signed up to adopt her. I didn't get too attached, but when I heard they returned her to the Humane Society because she was "horrible" about chasing and cornering their cat, I rushed to the rescue. Meant to be! Or something.

She cleared the landlord-test (B and C adored her) and was ready to come home with me last Friday night...until I was stricken with food poisoning. Needless to say, Saturday and Sunday were a grim blur of anxiety and exhaustion and dread. What is this wild animal in my living room, this snorty, sniffing thing?

Highlights: Pooka runs fast. She loves meeting new dogs. She plays a little rough with her big-dog peers, but mostly just sniffs and backs away from those little furball yippers she meets around town. She broke out of her crate once because she really, really, really needed to go to the bathroom, poor thing, but otherwise is very well-behaved. She does not sit on the couch. She likes chewing on smoked meaty bones and, I kid you not, bull penises. She doesn't really get "fetch," but the squeaky tennis ball is really, really interesting.

So, what exactly is a Pooka?

2007-11-14T16:01:00.000-08:00

I wish I knew.

The shelter tells me she is 56 pounds, two years old, and part Rhodesian Ridgeback.