While I Was Out

A lot happened during my hiatus. One of them is that we lost Gunther, our sweet dog.

He'd been having more and more trouble getting up the stairs. He was eating less and less, and drinking and puking up water. One morning I came down the stairs and Gunther was exactly where I'd left him the night before. He wasn't able to lift his head off the floor. He'd puked up water during the night and had tried to get up but only succeeded in rubbing himself in it.

I had to call Steve to help me get him to the car.

It was very fast.

I miss him now that he's gone, but I'm getting used to it. I no longer stumble in the dark when I get up to use the bathroom in the night. He used to sleep in the middle of the room and no matter how I tried to avoid him he always seemed to be right under foot. I don't feel the same pressure to vacuum. We no longer had to worry about filling his water bowl or letting him in and out and in and out...

On the other hand, I get lonely when the kids aren't here. Puck and I watch TV but it's not the same. Also, I vastly underestimated the amount of food we dropped on the floor after dinner.

I miss that dog.

Frank

So Frank died.

He was a great cat. It was a sudden thing, with him getting sick and then being whisked away to the vet without me getting to see him.

I miss him because he would be on my bed right now, in my face, making that bird-like purring noise and rubbing the top of his head against my hands as I tried to type.

He used to climb into bed when we read books at night. Maybe he thought we were all coming to spend time with him?

Tuesday

Monday was long, right?

How could Tuesday top Monday? I mean, sure it's crazy and we've got a schedule that includes Karate, then Piano Lessons, and dinner in the car as I drive from one to the other.

Unless, of course, I get a text from the Babysitter saying "CALL ME ASAP!!!"

Given yesterday's fiasco with the baby and the phone, I would lean toward not freaking out. Until I read the next text.

"Gunther. Had a seizure. There's blood and I don't know what to do."

Gunther is a dog, people. A pet. A pet who, at 4am, decided to pee in the hallway despite being let out at 10:30pm, a good 2 hours later than usual. And at that moment I seriously wondered if it was time to consider putting him down. It's not like it was my 7-year-old child passing out.

But I rushed him to the vet.

And the vet looked at him and said "He seems fine." And the dog? He was acting fine. I knew he's actually had a seizure because Nate described it to me in great detail, and there was blood in his cone-of-shame, which was coming off tonight anyway. The blood was probably from biting his tongue while he was shaking.

The vet said sometimes dogs will have one seizure and then never have another. Or sometimes they start having them every few days, or every 30 minutes. We'll have to see. Unless we want the expensive bloodwork to start now. I opted to wait.

There was no karate. There was no piano. Instead we had our sandwiches at the table. I let the kids listen / watch  the beginning of Amadeus (after the suicide attempt) while they took a bath.

After the boys were in bed I realized that Andy had a concert tomorrow at 10am and that there was also an after school trip that the boys had to be at by 3pm, which was awkward and involved picking all three kids up early. (Because they don't let you pick up after 2:20. If you have to be someplace at 3:15, you need to get picked up an hour earlier. Even if it's down the street.)

Then I ate cheese and had a bowl of cereal.

Tomorrow will be better, right? It has to be.

Wakeful Nights

Even when I was a small child I sometimes had trouble sleeping.

Maybe everybody does. Maybe this makes me not special at all. I could just be like everybody else.

When I was a kid I would turn on the light and read until light began creeping in my window. I would do  my best not to look outside into the dark, because without leaves the trees shaped themselves into a creature with eyes that never failed to find my in the dark. Also, because I read Salem's Lot when I was really young and I was afraid I'd see a vampire floating out there who would charm me with its eyes and get me to let it in my home.

OK, sometimes I'd run and climb into bed with one of my sisters, but they didn't appreciate that.

This past year, my wakeful nights have become more frequent.

I used to think they were random, or caused by caffeine, sometimes a wine overdose. And I don't think I'd rule those two out as factors 100% of the time.

But these days there's a lot floating through my mind. Paperwork, finances, parental dilemmas, existential crises, all of these pinprick my brain at times it should be resting and sorting through the day's bucket of information. 

Also, there's Gunther. Gunther is my dog, and he has recently been returned to the Cone Of Shame, due to the fact that his leg hurts him. Well, his leg hurts him, so he licks it, and then he keeps licking it, and then it becomes a large bloody infected sore. So the vet made us put the cone back on. Gunther has lost most of his hearing, and now he's mostly blind, because of the cone. He's also still in pain, despite the pain meds I try to fool him into swallowing twice a day. This makes him extremely annoying to live with. 

I've also lost most of my compassion for Gunther as he has begun to spend his nights doing the crying-whining thing. He gets up, he turns in circles, he pant-cries a bit. He sits back down. He makes odd lapping-licking-slurping noises inside the cone. It's all very loud and unsettling at 1am. I'm never sure what the problem is - does he need to be? Should I let him out? I don't want to do that because if he doesn't have to go sometimes he just walks around out there, wandering and taking his time. He's deaf and mostly blind and it's dark. He can't see, he can't hear, I can't find him in the dark, and I'm tired and would rather be sleeping. Maybe he's just thirsty? Should I go downstairs and make sure he has water? What else can I do? What else is there?

Eventually I try to shut him out of the room, but Gunther then barks to be let back in, undaunted by the fact that it's the middle of the night and the house contains sleeping children.

I'm tired. I'm cranky. I'm sleep deprived. I blame the dog. It's like having an infant that won't sleep. I remember holding Nick and trying to find a way I could get some sleep, setting my eyes on the closet and thinking "You know, if I put him in there and shut the door, I might not even HEAR him cry, so I could sleep then!"

Sleep affects the thinking part of our brains. (I'd like to state here than I never put Nick in the closet. Even sleep deprived, I realized this was not actually a valid option.)

And I would be lying if I tried to pass this all off on the dog. There are nights I simply wake at 2am and can't get back to sleep. I read books. Sometimes I even write a little. Sometimes I just squeeze my eyes shut tight and try to not be awake until dawn creeps through my window and the clock says it's an acceptable time to get up and start working out.

Around Here

Here's what you've missed:

I forgot to inspect my car last month. When I finally remembered and took it in, I was told I could not have a sticker until I replaced three tires. Apparently it's not good when you can see the fabric underneath the rubber. They are run-flats, and cost over $200. Each.

The glass on the inside of my oven door shattered during a self-clean cycle. When I opened the door, half of the glass had already fallen into the oven, while the other half waited until I had cleaned up most of the mess to fall. The glass nuggets fell in between the oven and the door, onto the top of the oven door below, and then into the lower oven when I opened that one. I'm still finding glass bits everywhere. The oven is new from when we did the kitchen last year... just a little over a year ago. Guess how long the warranty is? Yeah.

Andrew is six.

I thought I was safe taking the cone off Gunther. I removed it long enough to clean it before noticing that one of his legs were already bloody from over-attention. So frustrating.

I got a (long term temp)  job. This is a good thing. Only it is a bad thing. I am glad I got the job. I would have been devastated to not get the job. Only it's not that great a job. And I'm mourning the loss of the time I get to spend with my kids. I'm suitably terrified about childcare.

My house is a mess. I'm way behind on laundry. I'm yo-yoing between feeling on top of the world and all powerful and feeling taken advantage of and out of control. I'm sure cleaning my house while blasting music will help.

Cone Story

Gunther is wearing the "Cone Of Shame."

No idea what Im talking about? Go watch the movie "Up!" for heaven's sake! At least watch the first ten minutes. It won't help you understand what I'm talking about, but it is required if you want to be my friend.

Um. I'm sorry. I'm a little sleep deprived. Where was I?

Ah, yes, Cone Of Shame. You know, the cone you put on a pet to stop him from licking a wound. Or more specifically, in Gunther's case, to stop him from licking his legs for no reason until he creates wounds.

I have very little sympathy for him in this. He did it. It's his fault.

Anyway, with the cone on, Gunther is a little clumsier than usual. First of all, he has lost all peripheral vision, so he keeps bumping into things. Second of all, the cone keeps getting stuck on things, like the stairs or corners of furniture. Gunther can't figure out what's happening when he does this.

And once he managed to accidentally shut himself into the bathroom.

Where was I going with this? Oh! Yeah....

So last night Gunther started walking around the bedroom.

He sometimes does this when he gets hip pain. It's like he hurts standing and hurts sitting so he just keeps circling. Only he had the cone on, so he was walking around the bedroom very, very loudly, the cone scraping on every available item of furniture.

And then I heard him start to pee.

I might have shot up faster than when I hear unexpected vomiting.

I don't think I was yelling. The boys didn't wake up. I managed to lead Gunther, cone scraping, down the stairs and to the front door, where he could go outside and finish peeing without additional stairs.
While he was out, I prepared an aspirin tablet. Then I looked out the door and saw him disappearing around the side of the house.

I went to the back door and saw him walking to the woods.

And this was when I remembered that I hadn't put his electric collar on, the one that keeps him in the yard. Away from the street and other people's yards. And he has no peripheral vision.

Did I mention the snow on the ground? There was. Did I mention that it was 4:30? AM?  And pitch dark?

I decided I had to go out and find him. I put my snow boots on, and my coat, and headed out the front door.

But I didn't see him. I didn't see anything. It was dark.

So I went back inside and grabbed a flashlight, and went out the back door. I still couldn't find him. I saw his footprints go off to the woods, and loop around the swing-set and back around to...

This was when I heard him start barking at the front of the house. Impatiently. Because I wasn't there to let him it RIGHT AWAY when he came back.

If this had been it, I wouldn't be so cranky, but even after the aspirin, even after I cleaned up the pee in my rug, Gunther refused to settle down. And I was too riled up to go back to sleep, especially with the cone scraping and Gunther's loud breathing. Seriously, the panting... I think the cone was acting as a megaphone. And  Gunther kept coming over to the bed and looking at me, like I was supposed to do something.

It's not that I don't feel bad for him. I do. But the cone is his fault, and I can't DO anything about any of this.

Over Medicated

Last week we went to the vet.

This was a special trip because I was taking not one, but two of the pets in. Puck - to get his T4 levels checked, and Gunther, because his hips have really been hurting him, he has a cut on his hind leg I wanted looked at, and to top it off we discovered that he'd been peeing in the basement. For some time. And while I took care of the issue by keeping the door to the basement closed at all times, I couldn't help but think there might be, you know, something wrong with the actual DOG.

I placed Puck in the carrier, but not before putting Gunther on the leash. This is because, as soon as Gunther saw the leash, Gunther started barking and moving his body around in that overly excited way.

Halfway to the vet I detected movement at my elbow. I thought it was Gunther, suddenly curious about what was in front of us. This would be strange because he's usually very good about staying down while we're in  motion.

Puck, however, is not. Especially when he somehow gets out of his carrier mid-ride. He stood there next to my elbow, meowing pathetically while I articulated threats of what I would do to him if he even tried jumping down by my feet, the ones involved with the gas and the brake pedals.

After the vet, I was left with a multitude of small blue medicine bottles.

As you might already know, Puck gets a shot of insulin 2 times a day. He also gets a methimazole pill twice a day.

And now Gunther has been handed a number of medications as well. He takes one pill twice a day, one half of another once a day, and has a salve he's supposed to apply to his cut twice a day. The pills are for his hip pain and an anitibiotic for a possible bladder infection. He'll take those if you put them in his food. The salve, however, he's not so thrilled about. I have to distract him with his food and step behind him, and then quickly put a drop on the cut while he's looking the other way. Even then he growls and tries to nip at me - he's afraid I'll hurt him. To keep this from happening I put the cone on him, so he's focused on trying to eat his food with this cone thing on. But it's very stressful for him.

And for me. I know what's happening, but I can't keep up with all these medications. It's not sustainable. Not physically, emotionally, or financially. The vet told me she thought Gunther might have cushing's disease, and I freaked out in my head a little before she told me they didn't usually treat it in dogs because it was so expensive and not fatal.

All I know if that the pets are getting to be A LOT.

And now, here's a reward for sticking with me. This link to the Alot.

A Dog's Life

Gunther 2013

He doesn't even get up anymore. He just lets them put things on top of him until they get bored. Then he moves on.

No Formula

Have I reached middle age? Am I in trouble now? Is this the crisis everyone warned me about? I'm an adult, but I'm moving backward. I'm going back to people for help when I should be standing on my own no matter what. I feel like a student left back a grade, until I learn how to write.

puck 2013

The thing is, there are no grades, no A's and no F's In the end, no one will be there to judge my performance, and so what if they do? I'll be dead. I may as well just go ahead and live things my own way, best I can. I should spend time with the important people, do the things that we love doing, and sing all my old favorites until we're sick of hearing them.

cape cod 2013

A life is not a job, so the job I get will not be my life. I'll get one sooner or later, but there's no sense stressing about it. This is the time I have with my kids, the last lazy week of summer. We should use it well.

Andy & Gunther 2013

Nick 2013

Nate & Gunther 2013

Give A Kid A Camera

This time, though, Nick took the camera. I think Nate took that second picture.

And Now, Photographs of Snow

So... um... It's snowing here?

In case you hadn't heard, it's snowing in the NorthEast. A lot. They knew it would. They predicted up to 2 feet of snow, and people started freaking out, and then the amount of possible snow kept rising. We could get over 36 inches of snow. There would be winds! Oh! The Winds! And it would be COLD!

I bumped my usual Friday shopping day to Thursday morning. The grocery store was already more crowded than usual. "Bread and Milk! It's going to snow! I need bread and milk! And five cases of bottled water!" And of course, people would bring up the blizzard of '78. "Our street wasn't plowed for a week! We went to the store on a sled!"

Anyway.

They cancelled all of Friday. They cancelled most of Saturday.

It snowed all day Friday, and we got....eh. Snow.

It is now Saturday morning.

I went to let the dog out. This is what I saw.

2013

In case you can't make it out, it's out back porch with about a foot of snow pressed against the door. I quickly realized that Gunther, once out, would have to pee on the porch because he would never make it down the porch steps. So I let him out the front door.

Gunther, Feb 2013

Gunther couldn't go more than two feet. He didn't know what to do when he got down into the snow. He just kept turning around and coming back. And, to be fair, there is a lot of snow out there. You can tell when you look at my car.

Feb. 2013

And the fron porch itself had a good deal of snow on it. Which is odd, because it's a covered porch. It doesn't usually get snow. Even the doorknob got snowed on. There were winds, I tell you.

Feb. 2013 

Feb. 2013

And it's still snowing. That's the thing. Snow will be falling until 4pm. Saturday is cancelled. I may declare today non-stop movie day, except when we go outside. Which I'm nervous about, quite honestly. I felt like Gunther couldn't make it around the corner. I'm afraid I might actually lose a child in the snow.

A Gift for Every Child

Even the furry ones.

Who doesn't like catnip?

The Thing With Cats

The other day one of my FaceBook friends posted a picture of kittens that are, apparently, up for adoption. They really were cute little things, huge ears, humongous eyes, and just so sweet looking. It's almost enough to win me over, make me forget myself, and say "Gimme Gimme Gimme!"

But I have two cats already. And they are a world of trouble.

As I am pretty sure I mentioned, Puck is diabetic, and requires an insulin injection twice daily. He also needs Thyroid meds twice a day, 3/4 of a really tiny pill which I need to break into bits slightly larger than dust specks and enclose in a pill pocket, special treats designed specifically to trick pets into taking pills.

That's a handful. As is the fact that Puck needs special food and Frank, the other cat, gets a little uppity with there being no wet food in HIS bowl...

For some time now, one of the cats has been peeing outside of the box.

Not on the rug, not in some other location, but right outside the front of the box. It's like the cat climbs in, but misses. I place a rubber mat there, to catch the bits of cat litter before they get tracked all over the house. And at least once a day I lift it, very carefully, because it is full of cat pee. It always overflows and gets underneath the box itself, so I need to clean the floor, the underside of the box, and whatever mat or cloth I managed to place under the box because this has been going on for so long I have been trying everything!.

I have to admit, in my lowest moments I often think about taking Puck to the vet and having him put down. I mean, the medication, the crazy feeding arrangements, and the now the pee? It's just too much. I can't take it any more.

The thing is, I was never 100% sure Puck was the one peeing outside the box. It's just that he's been the one with all of the issues. What if I had him put down and it wasn't even him? Also, he doesn't seem to be in any pain, so I don't feel it's right.

With the kitchen getting redone, and the laundry room, I have moved all of the pat things around. The dog food and the water bowl are also moved to the dining room. The cats are getting fed in all different places. And the litter box has been moved into the bathroom.

I was worried about this, because of the pee issue. I'm a little fed up with pee issues. See, I live in a house full of boys, and apparently they all have terrible aim. I mean, TERRIBLE. Actually, I think they are all just in a gigantic hurry, and as soon as they think they are done, they begin to move away from the toilet, but the last few drops of pee always seems to hit the floor in front of the toilet. You know, the place where my feet, as a woman who sits down, would go. 

Oh, we're all kinds of bathroom issues. closing the door is one thing. There is no modesty, as became painfully away during Nick's Sleepover, when a little boy was looking at me, wide eyed, asking about a place he could change into his PJ's, as Nate was running down the hall naked shouting "Whoohoo! Whoohoo!"

This lack of modesty is why the door was open when Nick was using the bathroom yesterday, and why I heard him shout "Mom! Mom! Come quick!" I ran in to see Nick using the bathroom, sitting on the toilet. And in front of him was Frank, who apparently had also felt the need. His tail was sticking out of the littler box opening, and a stream of pee was hitting the mat behind him. 

"Caught!" I shouted, hitting the side of the litter box. Frank flipped out - no really, he jumped straight into the air and flipped around - then dashed out of the bathroom,  cat interrupted.

So now that mystery is solved. I know who is doing the deed.

But this morning, as I was carefully carrying the pee on the mat across the room to dispose of it, I realized it didn't matter. We STILL have no idea how to get him to stop. I just have a target for my anger and frustration. Which doesn't matter. Because I can yell at him and scold him all I want. He just looks at me and meows a "Feed Me!"

Bratty Cat. 

Dog?

The other day, as we were walking through a house, we met this little puppy.

I have mixed feelings about dogs like this. First of all, when someone says the word "Dog" I picture something closer to Gunther. Or to, you know, something dog-sized. Something bigger than my cat. This dog is four pounds.

Secondly, I can see putting a sweater or a rain coat or even booties on a dog to protect from cold or rain. I do not understand putting a dress on a dog so she can run about the house.

But then again... she is so cute.

Problems with Pets

We have three pets. Gunther, the dog, Frank, the cat, and Puck, the diabetic cat.

Taking care of multiple pets takes some getting used to. They each have their own needs, and they each have their own habits.

We learned, for example, that we couldn't feed the cats on the floor, because GUnther would quickly stick his nose in and in three seconds the only thing left in the cat dishes would be a thin layer of dog spit.

So we adapted and started feeding the cats on the counter, a place they otherwise were not allowed.

This worked for two or three days. And then Gunther learned that, if we weren't looking, he could place his front paws on the counter and reach the bowls with his tongue.

After many months of yelling, bowls falling to the floor, and a few skipped meals for the cats, the vet told us Puck had a thyroid issue and needed medication. It was important that he get regular meals.

So I placed a baby gate to the pet hallway, moved the dog's food and the water bowl to the outside of the baby gate, and fed the cats on the inside of the "pet hallway." The "pat hallway" also happens to be where the coffee maker is, and this means that, in the morning, there was some hopping over baby gates involved, not to mention that when it was Andy's turn to feed the pets, he had to climb over one baby gate and then reach over a second - the one I had placed in front of the closet to keep Gunther or the cats from knocking the bin of food over. The gate comes up to Andy's armpits, so it means a lot more to him.

On top of the baby gates, I was giving puck pills twice a day.

And then... and then and then and THEEEENNNNN.... the vet told us Puck was diabetic. And now needed special food, special WET food, and also had to have injections.

So... the wet food meant that Frank got jealous and would try to eat Puck's food. And Puck, naturally, preferred Franks food. Again, I tried making them just get used to it, but they are cats. So after weeks of loudly yelling at Frank "THIS IS YOUR BOWL!" I finally broke. I started placing Puck's dish of food in the bathroom, far away from Frank.

But then Gunther the dog had new access to Puck's food.

So I had to shut the door.

By the way, I should note that Steve had long ago stopped trying to keep up with this whole thing. He now refers tot he downstairs bathroom as "Puck's private dining area" as though Puck were the one at fault. I tried pointing out that it's the other two pets that eat his food, but it does no good.

So now, twice a day, I place Franks food in the pet hallway as I give puck his pill, Gunther gets fed by one of the boys (it's easier, just a scoop of dry) on the outside of the baby gate, and the Puck's food gets placed inside the bathroom, with the door closed. As soon as he is finished, I give him an injection of insulin.

Except this is a busy place, and sometimes, just sometimes, things get forgotten.

The other night I forgot about Puck. Not only did he not get his injection, he was shut in the bathroom all night long. When I came down the net morning, he had turned over the trash bin and peed all over it. I mean, he had to pee somewhere, but really? Soggy cat-pee dryer lint was stuck all over the bathroom floor.

Also, he wasn't very excited about breakfast.

Dog Collar

Gunther is back in The Cone.

The doctor didn't tell us to do this. We just think it's funny. Ha ha ha ha!

Just kidding.

The doctor did NOT tell us to do this. In fact, when I took Gunther to the vet a couple of weeks before I left on vacation, he brushed off the cut on Gunther's leg, saying it wasn't deep and it would heal on it's own.

Maybe, but Gunther refuses to let it heal itself. Instead, he licks it and licks it until there is a nasty red spot he won't let us get near.

So I dragged out the cone, thinking we'd just put it on for a week or so. It would give the sore leg a chance to heal.

It's not ideal. Gunther is irritating without the cone, but with it on he is a holy terror. He is large and clumsy, and with the cone he can't even see or hear correctly. He bangs into people, knocking the kids down. He scrapes the cone against legs and furniture.

And Gunther hates it.

In fact, he saw me remove it from the closet. And he started barking right away. It was dirty, so I washed it in the sink. Gunther barked the whole time. He was obviously angry, and with it on he is downright dejected.

But.... you know... he's the one that wouldn't stop licking his leg!

Frank

"Can't you see how busy I am?"

More Gunther Grumbles

I should change the name of this blog to "Gunther, My Insane And Insanely Annoying Paranoid Dog."

Something has happened to our dog. I don't know what it is. He won't tell us. But he's freaking out.

Remember when he got stuck under our bed? He got scared and the crawled underneath and could not figure out how to get out?

Well, one would think that, after such an incident, one would stay away from the underneath of beds for awhile. But two days later, he woke us in the middle of the night whining and barking, once again stuck under the bed. We let him out, and laughed at how stupid he was.

The next night, it happened AGAIN!

We lifted the frame and Gunther got out, but he would not settle down. He kept pacing and whining and then - this was the kicker - TRYING TO GET BACK UNDER THE BED! Steve and I, despite being super human beings, do, in fact, need to sleep sometimes, and that time usually includes 2:30am. Eventually we tried to get back to sleep, and Gunther once again got stuck under the bed, and started barking - from under the bed, mind you. There is no ignoring this.

Steve lifted the bed, but at this point he was so irritated that Gunther didn't want to be anywhere near him, so he took his time scooting as far away from Steve as possible before making his way out of the bed, making Steve even angrier because here he was at 3am, lifting the bed frame for a stupid dog who couldn't figure it out.

We then shut Gunther out of the room, but he just walked into the boys' room and barked at them. At 4am.

I went to let him out. It was light enough for me to see him wandering through the grass, and he didn't seem too nervous out there. He also refused to come back when I called him to come in. And I was tired. So I left him out there.

Twenty minutes later, he was ready to come back in. Be he lacks our patience. He sat there barking at the door nonstop, so I had to go get him.

The next day I barricaded the underneath of the bed with boxes of books for the library and clothes for storage and art projects that are half-finished. I also looked up "Paranoid dog" and "Crazy dog" on the internet. I brushed him and gave him his frontline. He was quiet for one night.

But last night he started barking and whining again. Steve and I had talked about it, and we had agreed to ignore it. Simply because we don't want him to be rewarded for the behavior, you know? If he gets the idea that he can just bark in the middle of the night and go out to play... well, we'd be done for.

So... I'm tired right now. And I think my dog is insane. So if anyone has any ideas of what to do or what might be wrong with our dog... we'd love to hear them.

Gunther Goof

Gunther is afraid of thunder.

This isn't unusual for dogs, I know. Many dogs are traumatized by loud noises. When I was small my parents had an english sheepdog who used to run away every Fourth of July.

In the past, Gunther has tried to climb into the bed with us. He has forced himself between my legs and the toilet when I use the bathroom. He has flat out refused to go out and do his own business.

Steve was away the last time we had a thunder storm. It wasn't a very bad storm, but it did have a lot of rain. When I woke in the morning, the sun was out, and I got ready for my run. I laced my running shoes and realized something was different. Where was Gunther?

Well, he was under the bed. Gunther used to climb under our bed quite often. We finally chased him out because he kept scratching and our mattress would get thumped from underneath. So I really didn't think anything of it when I saw him there, other than he usually follows me around in the morning, determined that this be the day I would feed him before my run.

An hour later, I climbed the steps to the rest of the house. The boys were awake and playing in the living room. But Gunther was nowhere. "Where is the dog?" I asked. The boys shrugged.

The dog was under the bed. Whining. And stuck.

Yes, he was stuck under the bed. I have no idea how he got under there, but he couldn't manage to crawl out without scraping his back on the frame, and apparently it was too painful for him, because he kept backing up.

I had to lift the bed frame, which is kind of heavy, to let him climb out.

He was too embarrassed to thank me.

Doggie Daze

I may have mentioned my little trip to the vet a couple of weeks ago. When we came home, I had to put Gunther in a cone. You know, a collar shaped like a cone to keep himself from licking his leg. A huge one, like a huge lampshade, because he has long legs.

He happened to be on the staircase landing when I cornered him and put the darn thing on. The cone was so amazingly huge that it hit the bottom step whenever he tried going up the stairs. Gunther couldn't figure out that all he had to do was lift his head, and instead believed it was an invisible barrier suddenly preventing him from moving. He also refused to go DOWN the stairs, probably because he couldn't see the step he was aiming for.

We had to show him how to go up and down the steps. For the next few days, Gunther sulked. He stayed flat on the ground, lifting his head only when we forced him outside or filled his food bowl. When he ate, the cone would cover the whole bowl and touch the floor, creating a seal between cone and floor, completely enveloping both dog-head and bowl.

By the time we got back from New York, Gunther was over it. He seems to have forgotten, actually, that he was ever without the cone in the first place. He scratches his head, making a huge plastic scrapy sound, and it foes on for minutes at a times. He pushes through doorways and between legs, scraping things and people and children aside as he passes. He barges through doors before they are open all the way, sometimes keeping me from opening it further at all, and creating another Invisible Barrier.

The cone is now so dirty from being licked and drooled on and puked in and rolled around in the outside dirt, I can hardly stand it. I think I want it off more than Gunther. If that's possible. But it might be because he has forgotten he has it on.

And Gunther has become much more annoying than usual. I don't think he's doing it on porpose. He's just too stupid to realize he is bigger around the head than usual. Like a pregnant woman trying to slip between chairs at a restaurant. Not fitting.



Here is a link about a dog from Hyperbole and a Half. It's worth going to and reading all the way through, even though it may seem a little long. I thought it was long, too, but I was laughing before the end.

Because dogs? They are dumb.