FYI

May. 16th, 2011 11:07 am
kragore: (Bailey)
Raid Double Control Bait 2 Ant traps are .5% Abamectrin, and 99.5% "Inert materials", which, I have had the pleasure of finding out, is mostly peanut butter.

Abamectrin is closely related to Ivermectin, the active ingredient in HeartGuard.

So while your dog chewing on ant traps isn't the best thing in the world for him, in Mr B's case, it's not the end of the world either.


This PSA brought to you by the color Golden and the number for the Animal Poison Control line.
kragore: (Default)
"He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds.

He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea.

He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being; by the way he rests against my leg; by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. (I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me.)

When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded.

When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful.

He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace.

He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts.

His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things. He has promised to wait for me... whenever... wherever - in case I need him. And I expect I will - as I always have. He is just my dog."
-- Gene Hill

Away to Me

Feb. 2nd, 2011 04:02 pm
kragore: (Default)
While I own a pet, I am more than a pet owner. I am the steward of another living being's life.

From the day we accept the responsibility of their care, we also accept that we may be called to make their final decision. We play with them, care for them, comfort them when they are ill, feed them and nourish them in body and in mind.

They look to us for safety and well being. There are many who would say, "I want them to live as long as possible - I want them to die naturally."
That, in my eyes, is a fool's wish and a coward's excuse.

There is nothing natural about a pet's existence. Domestic cats revert to feral pretty rapidly, but their quality of life in that state is not what society currently find acceptable for a pet. There are no wild herds of majestic Holsteins roaming the plains. No wild packs of King Charles Spaniels carrying out the circle of life in the wilderness.

We have selectively bred domestic animals for our use - for our enjoyment and pleasure. As a result, we have an innate and irrefutable responsibility to them.

To hope that they simply die peacefully in their sleep of old age is an idyllic endgame we hope for all of our beloved charges. This is very often not reality.
The reality is much more grim - a sickness that can't be cured, a pain that can not be alleviated.

As the steward of this small life, we have the power and reasoning ability to choose to prolong their life, or end it with simple, quiet dignity.

This is a gift. The one last greatest kindness we can afford them. A kindness we can't even share with our own kind.
After contemplation of their quality vs quantity of life, it is us, the owners, who have to make that choice. The pets can tell you in so many unspoken ways when it is their time, but it is the owner who must bear the terrible, beautiful responsibility of carrying it out.

There will always, always be questions after wards. Did I do the right thing? Was it the right time? Was there anything else I could have done?
But there is comfort in a life well lived, and a life well tended. If you have done what you can within your means to make that creature's life comfortable, with little fear, and a treat and pat on the head once in a while - that is the accumulation of good.


"Away to me, lad," the shepherds call.
And so it goes - Away to me. Comforted by the thought that we've always tried to do right by our mute beasts.
kragore: (Default)
Done now.
Got home and found Dog has opened his face again. So thus begins another round of coneface and antibiotics. I think I'm going to ask the Vet to up it to the more expensive but faster working klavamox (sp?). This nonsense with the other monthlong + drugs isn't doing it any more.
He's also worrying his butt again, which shouldn't happen, as he's got no glands back there anymore.
And he's got the odd lump on his flank that looked like it was going away, but now isn't.

I don't know. Time for pumpkin in his kibble and benedryl. I just can't seem to keep this dog healthy, and it makes me a little crazy.
I don't consider myself neglectful, he just won't stay out of the damned Vet's office.

*arrgh*

Anyway, leaving early today to get to the vets. Joy.
kragore: (Bailey)
Over the weekend, I gave fight and eradicated the Evil DustBunny Overlords that had reigned over my house lo these many months. The kitchen was detoxed and mopped. The bathroom saw the same treatment, with a seperate foray into the realm of the shower for a deep clean. The entryway, livingroom, stairs, bedroom and guest bedroom were all vaccumed to within an inch of loosing their carpets. Baseboards were dusted. Windows were washed, inside and out. Laundry was washed, dried, IRONED and hung. The kitchen table was cleared (if even just momentarily.) Certain camping gear that won't come out until next year was cleaned and packed away in the crawlspace.

By the end, I was exhausted, but it felt awesome. Took myself around the corner to the Pub for a beer and some fish 'n chips. Came home and watched "Legion". They had me until Gabriel whipped out his Ronco OneTouch PowerMagic Blender Mace.

Sunday saw brunch with Little Brother, and a return to me baking. It's been about a year since I had time to bake, and it felt wonderful to be able to play in dough again. I think I let them over rise a little, but I'm not too worried. The cool, rainy weather was just right so that I felt I could turn on the oven and not cook us all out of the house.

The one glaring point of the weekend is that Mr. Dog is unwell. For some reason, his hot spot this time started in his groin, where I couldn't see it, and Blossomed up through his chest and into his face.
Such to the point where he was telling me in no uncertian terms to leave him the eff alone, with his pearly whites. He didn't even wake me up this morning, with his big wet nose in my ear, and I found him downstairs, still on his bed.

This afternoon will be filled with Vets, muzzles, clippers, possibly tranqualizers, and copious amounts of antibiotics.

This is my thrilled face. The icon repersents his thrilled face.
- K.
kragore: (Default)
So, I had to drop off Mr. Dog for elective surgury this morning. Mostly because I'm tired of dealing with his butt issues.

This meant he couldn't have breakfast this morning. I got the Brown Eyes of Starvation - you'd have thought I hadn't fed him in a month. I took a shower, and there he was, sleeping right outside the bathroom door (very unusual). I carried on as if nothing was amiss, and he started to snap out of it, accepting that this was his fate today. Mom was an idiot and simply forgot breakfast.
We went for a short walk up to the cemetary and back. But then, rather than turning left and going home, we turned right and went to the vet's.
Now, he doesn't mind the vet's. There's people to coo over him and other dog's butts to sniff, so he trotted right in. I met Dr. Roger (I swear I live on Sesame Street, with Dick and Jane and Dr. Roger,) and handed him the leash.

The look that dog gave me can be summed up in one word.

"Judas."

I don't know if there's enough squishy food in the world to erase that accepting, crestfallen and accusatory look from my mind.

My only hope is that with his attention span, and the good drugs, he will have no recollection on how he got to be in a kennel with a very sore ass.

- K.
kragore: (Default)
Cut for squeamish )

Seeing Red

Feb. 4th, 2010 10:57 am
kragore: (Bailey)
Mr. Dog is sick.

Cut for those who are squeamish about bodily fluids. )
kragore: (Bailey)
So, the woman who feeds and loves and walks me does this ...thing, with a whole bunch of her people friends. They play with great huge sticks, but don't generally throw them, so I pay little mind to that. Sometimes she brings me to these places, which I greatly enjoy, because I get to ride in the car, and there's all these smells, and usually open fields and people! People who love me and touch me and stroke my silky ears.
And so I do enjoy these things.

Yesterday, she chauffeured me around from place to place. (The Land of Spring Field has a squirrel problem. I'd have taken care of it, but she wouldn't let me.)
There were lovely little walks in new places, and then, the BEST PART, was when we got to this Fight Her Practice.

She let me out of the car to meet the people, and there was this one man in his red clunky clothes - the Best Man in Clunky Clothes EVER, who shared his bologna sandwhich with me, because I was so good and beautiful and sweet.
I like the man in the red clunky clothes.
I told the woman we can go back as long as she wants, as long as the man with Clunky Red Clothes is there with more bologna sandwiches. (With American cheese and mayonase on white bread.)

Woman tells me that we have to be ready to travel more. That she's going to try to make me a nice collar that is peer-id, whatever that means. That we are going places, and that I have to be on my best bee haver.
I tell her not to worry - the Dragon is good and useful for these things, as long as I have my waterbowl and memory foam bed(and maybe a sqeeky toy next time.)
I shall try my best to be good and not covet the clunky people sticks.

And that there should be more bologna sandwiches.

- Mr. Mc WoofyPants
kragore: (Bailey)
I like the outside! The outside is great! It's full of smells and I can run around like an "Edie-it" like mom says. I like running around like an "Edie-it". It's fun! You should try it!
I especially like running around in the snow! It's like, all cold and fluffy and if you plow your face into it, you get it in your nose and it tickles and I sneeze! I like to sneeze! It makes my brains rattle!

But I Hates. Ice.
Ice is not nice. Ice means that mom is going to put things on my feeties. I Hate the feetie-things. They make me feel wierd and flop around and make the other dogs laugh at me. But mom says "it's better than you running around like an "Edie-it" and cutting your pads alltohell."

Whatever that means.

So she wrestled me down and put the evil feetie things on last night before our walk.
I hates the feetie things. Mom siad I'd quickly forget they were there. Easy for her to say, she puts on silly feetie things every day.

So we went and started my "walk" which I should have renamed our "stagger, slip, and slide". It wasn't very far, and it wasn't very fast, and I wanted to Run Run Run! So finally, after much begging, she took me off the leash and let me run! Because it was dark, she never even noticed that I managed to loose a feetie! She was awfully bent out of shape when she figured it out, but I consider it a job well done. 3 more to go!

Quite abruptly, she decided to come visit me down at my level. This concerned me - This is my level, she's usually up there with her head in the clouds. I decided that she must be sat upon. It was the only way to fix things. So while she was being all squirmy and muttering things that I knew shouldn't reach my virgin doggie ears and rubbing her wrist vigorously, i decided to show my concern by sitting on her.
This didn't illicit the expected "Awe, belly rubs!" response I was looking for. In fact, there was only more squirming and louder muttering, and then I was quite rudely shoved away. I stood, stoically, and watched as my silly human righted herself only to come visit me again.

The mutterings got louder, and more heavily laced with a very creative string of bad words.

Stupid human should have just let me sit on her. Do they ever listen? *sigh*

Anyway, my Human is fine, and I've sucessfully lost a feetie! I'd say it was a good walk. :)

Merry Day of Awesome Smells, everyone!
- Mr. McWoofyPants



*Edit - That'll teach me not to listen to His Royal Goofballness... - K.*

HA!

Dec. 1st, 2008 04:08 pm
kragore: (Bailey)
I has a hat.
I has a dog.

I has Photoshop.


Awesomeness ensues.

End result: I has a dog in a hat.

- K.

Follow up

Nov. 25th, 2008 09:50 am
kragore: (Default)
Tufts just called, he's doing fine, liver enzymes are normal.
I can pick him up after 5, but have to bring him back in for follow up blood work tomorrow to make sure the liver is still ok. Apparently it can be anywhere from 24-48 hours before damage can show up.
-k.
kragore: (Default)
Yesterday, at some point between 8:15 am and 6 pm, Bailey helped himself to 1 stick of Burt's Bees Medicated Chapstick, and more unfortunately, 1 package of Trident "Tropical Twist" Sugarless chewing gum.

As many of you know, I'm a recovering nailbiter, and so I keep gum everywhere. I had taken out a pack and the chapstick, intending to put it in my coat pocket on my way out the door yesterday morning. It sat on the stairs, forgotten.

I arrived home, found the shredded paper/plastic remains, but no gum.

One call to my mother who has access to the internet later, and I find out Xylitol, the artificial sweetener in some sugarless gums, can be extraordinarily toxic to dogs. It attacks their liver. It can also play havoc with their insulin, essentially triggering a diabetic coma.



Bailey was rushed to the Tufts Emergency room at about 6:20 pm, where they took him away to hook him up to all manners of IVs and tried to induce vomiting. They managed to get up about 3 sticks of gum, meaning that there were still about 15 floating around his system. The next step was to feed him activated charcoal and wait it out. They let me say good night to him about about 9pm, and sent me home.

They say he should be fine, but with Xylitol poisoning, you never know. They don't know why it affects some dogs and not others.
He was not dehydrated, and was still his usual self (albeit nervous and shocky from his treatments) when I left.

I should know more when they call me this afternoon.

- k.

*groan*

Oct. 14th, 2008 09:37 am
kragore: (Default)
I love my neighbor's dog, but I'm growing rather unfond of my neighbors.
I'm a compulsive dog owner. I have little black bags in a pocket of almost every coat I own, and they regularly go through the wash in the back pocket of my jeans.
Neighbor people tend to leave the gate of their deck open so that their dog can roam freely. Problem is, neighbor dog, while friendly, has a thing about trying to out dog my dog. Which means the little (elderly) bastard comes over and shits in my yard.
Never somewhere where I see it and then can take care of it, oh no, usually right in the middle of the walkway, and when I get home in the dark, I don't notice anything's amiss until I've tracked shit all over my house.

Drives me into a furious rage. How hard is it to keep your damn dog contained?! Thing is, I almost never see this happen, I just get to deal with the fall out. Which has usually fallen out all over my entrance way rug. And my boots. And this time (since someone is apparently on low-grade kibble with an upset tummy) all over the walk up to the house as well.

Keep. Yer. Dog. CONTAINED.

I don't want to escalate this up to dog officer status, because they live right across the driveway from me. And it's a sweet dog. Just stop shitting on my walk!

I think I might encourage Mr. MWP to make use of their front yard, and forget to have a bag with me. Oops.

- k.

conflicted

Jul. 1st, 2008 04:51 pm
kragore: (Default)
http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20080701/sc_afp/usattacksskoreaanimalcloneoffbeat

This makes me kind of sad.
I mean, I love my dog. I've loved all my furry companions., (get yer mind outta the gutter.) But a cloned version of them won't be *them* - it would be a hollow version of them.
As a dog owner, when I accepted his paperwork, I accepted the fact that I will outlive my companion. That I will love him, and some day, make the kindest decision of all, and let him go to to the celestial pack. Eventually, other furry personalities will come into my life - not replacements, just... different.


I'm sure that man loves his dog. Just as I'm sure all the dog handlers in Iraq, and before that, Vietnam, and before that, WWII - hell, let's go all the way back to the Romans and their dog handlers. I'm sure they all, to some degree, loved and respected their charges.

There are SO MANY perfectly trainable dogs, purebred dogs, out there looking for a home, looking for work. All you have to do is go to www.gsrne.org and look for yourself. Why go to the extraordinary lengths to clone one, when there's so many who already need our help?


*sigh*
- k.
kragore: (Bailey)
She's gone around the bend )
kragore: (Default)
Took Mr. Dog out, and we wound up going for a very long walk last night. Beautiful weather for it - we found a network of 4 wheeler trails up behind the graveyard that must run (I suspect) all the way up to Tufts.
Win.

Over hill and dale, up hills over the mud, it was great fun. Mr. McWPs seems to have a good (exhausting!) time, as he put himself to bed while I was taking a shower after we got back.

The weather has been wonderful, if almost on a touch too warm side. I'm a big fan of 65, what can I say.
After we got back, I gave Mr Dog a good brushing, and discovered that there must be a pretty active deer population up there in the back, because for the first time since we moved in, I wound up plucking 5 deer ticks out of his fur (luckily, before they dug in,) and found 1 entrepid explorer trying to make his way up my pant leg (prompting the scalding shower.)

Going to have to get some dog-safe tick spray. Mr. Dog is vaccinated/parasitic-ed to the gills, but I just don't like the idea of things sucking the blood out of him.

Took the car into the shop this morning. Come to find out, the old place had been leading me on, and I don't need to take it in until it says 15% oil life, or a letter (A,B,C) comes up on the service minder screen.
Woot!
This place even vaccumed the front and gave it a quick wash for me. So for $70, an oil change, tire rotation, belts and fluids checked, and a quickie cleaning. Win!

Got out another round of wedding proofs last night before I left work, Got a 1/2 hour of translations done for work after I got home (while watching Antiques Roadshow.) Must work on the Dance company job tonight.
After this, I think I'm going to take another break from freelancing, unless there's a decent amount of money to be made by it.


Anyway, now, for the real work.
- K.
kragore: (Bailey)
My dog is a clutz.

I swear he just doesn't understand where he puts his feet. In the short time he's been "our" and now "my" dog, he's had more nics and dings and cut pads and broken claws then I ever, ever, remember any of our family dogs having. Might have something to do with where we live, now that I think about it. Could be broken glass that's doing it.

Anyway, he's gone and cut his front left dew-claw pad again (the one that's high up) and he did it good this time. Gimping around like his leg is falling off, and looking pathetic.
I do what any good momma bear does, and put the wound lotion on it.
But he licks it right off.
So I put more on, and then one of my socks on his leg over the foot/hock area.
He looks dumb, but it gets him to leave it alone for about 5 minutes. Then the sock is off, and he's licking it again.
So I put more wound lotion on, put a clean sock on, and put on one of his outdoor winter boots of earlier fame.
This befuddles him long enough so that when the housemate got home, it was still on, though soggy.
Housemate take off all layers, reapplies wound lotion, and puts back on boot.

Mr. McWoofyPants continues sneaking licks at it.

So I get out the Cone. Dum Dum Dum....

I put in on Mr. Dog. He take it with good humor. Then I call him to come upstairs to go to bed.

a) He's afraid to walk with it on.
b) He's used to charging up the stairs.

I can tell you that a +b = no good. Mr Dog finally figures out he can move from a sitting position with Cone on, but immediately gets the lower lip of Cone snagged on the steps at full tilt about 6 steps up, panics, flips over and kind of... oozes... down the stairs, glaring at me, the applier of Cone. Housemate comes over, and, holding mr Dog's head up, he makes it up the stairs.

He (the dog) flings himself down on his bed, and proceeds to cry.
I'm not kidding.
He whimpers, and what appear to be tears are running down his snout. I can only imagine he jabbed himself in the head somehow in the great stairs debaucle, but the sight was absolutely and utterly pathetic.

So I've taken the Cone off.

If I hear just one lick though, it's going right back on.
- k.

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