Punky

Yesterday we said goodbye to our cat Punky.  It was unexpected and way too soon. He was only a month shy of 8 years old, and always the third wheel in a house full of dogs.  I’ve never been big on cats, but for a dog person, Punky was the cat to have.

Punky The Cat

A few days ago we took him to the vet where he was diagnosed with Renal Kidney failure.  We gave him a few days, hoping and praying for a miracle, but it he never responded to treatment.  So with our options exhausted, we decided enough was enough.

I met my wife at the clinic, where I opened the door to the small office to find her in the small room kneeled over our old friend.  She looked up as I entered, her eyes brimming with tears as she stoked his chin.

“He’s purring.”

The rest was awful. It’s the worst part of owning a pet, the heartbreak of outliving them. And now our house will be a little gloomier for a while, and as I pack up his food and bowl and treats, I’ll say a prayer for our old friend.  The dogs already seem to be missing him, my wife is in tears.  I'm just glad little Simon is too young to understand.  So here’s to the only cat I’ll ever own.  He was a great one. 

Rest in peace, Punky.

Road Weary and Dog Tired...

We made it.  The dogs made it.  My wife made it.  The kid made—wait….okay, yep the kid made it too.

First off, I’d like to thank everyone for not robbing me.  Because it’s not very smart to post online about being out of town while you’re out of town.  But I figured the small group of people who read this are good people.  And I put my lights on a timer, just in case.

Bruce

1,670 miles.  And I will never do that again.  At least not with both the kid and the pets.  Someone's staying put next time, a dog, a dad, perhaps a kid. Because it was just a little too much.  Our visit was great, as always my in-laws were more than accommodating and we had a great time.  I’m very fortunate to have such great people in my life.  But getting there and getting home was not all that great.  Even splitting our trip into two days did little to put me at ease.  For example…

This morning, after a full day of driving in Pennsylvania bottlenecked construction hell, and then tossing into a turbulent night’s sleep with a very off schedule and out of routine baby, I stepped out to start packing the car. In my grogginess, Mason, our husky, (see here, here, and here), squeezed his pinhead right past me out into the hallway. When I turned to grab him, Bruce—once thought to be our good dog—bulled his way out and the stampede was underway.  I had to give them credit—the plan they’d sprung was perfectly executed.  When the door slammed shut I was left with two dogs making a getaway, no leash and no key.  The last thing I remember thinking as I watched Mason take the corner towards the lobby where guests were sitting down to breakfast was, I’ll have to blog about this.

It ended up being way less drama than I anticipated.  I mean, sure some old people dropped their wheat bran toast and gawped, but luckily I was able to round them up without further incident.  All this before 7am.

Mason

Outside, the rain was heavy, which was good because it washed my car clean of the sludge from up north.  But it wasn’t good weather for putting your entire little family at risk.  With white knuckles and tight necks, we slogged our way down I81, weaving in and out of truckers.  By the time we stopped at Sheets in Virginia, the weather had cleared but the damage was done.  My shoulders drooped, my hair was matted, I was toppled over from the constant worrying that yes, this is it, that truck was coming over into our lane and taking us out.  And because Simon hadn’t had his nails trimmed all week and had clawed my face earlier that morning, I had cuts and nicks on my forehead giving me that just- binged-on-meth glow. 

And the car was in worse shape.  The seats reeked of wet dogs and dirty diapers.  There was the drool from Mason’s neurotic meltdowns.  I had to laugh though, as my wife got up to use the bathroom and her pants were covered in dog hair.  I’m really surprised people didn’t offer us money.

But now we’re back.  And there’s nothing like pulling into your driveway after a long trip.  I have to get back into that car tomorrow and drive to work, a sickening thought.  I know that truck driving is not in my future.  There are few things worse than sitting for hours at a time.  But my family is home and safe and now there’s nothing to worry about….except….what’s that smell?

My Dog Got Stuck In A Tree...

My dog Mason weasels his way into many of my posts.  He's trouble, pure and simple. And although he’s come a long way since we first brought him home, yesterday proved that he still has a lot of growing up to do.

I was rushing out of the house after work to get him down on the trails so that he could burn off some energy.  I have to run this dog. If he doesn’t run we all pay dearly. His boundless energy needs to be exorcised, or rather he needs exercise.  You get the point.

The woods behind our house border a public natural area consisting of wooded acres of doggy paradise.  There's trails and large rocks, and a winding creek with ducks, deer and various other critters. I usually try to let him run off leash on our side of the woods, but at dusk that can be hit or miss.  More hit for him and  more miss for me.

Anyway. Mason bolted out of the gate, his blue eyes scanning the woods for movement. Hopping along, he stopped, froze, and then cocked his head--all troublesome signs. But I didn’t know how much trouble until I blinked and my forty pound husky/terrier/demon mutt vanished.

I gave chase, following his white-tipped tail in the midst of naked trees and graying dusk. He galloped along, twigs snapping and leaves crunching as he howled and whined in hot pursuit. Bruce, my older and much better behaved dog, jogged in the general direction of the fuss but didn’t put much effort into the endeavor. I cursed under my breath and got in my workout. *Chasing this dog is far more beneficial and cheaper than any gym membership, I highly recommend a neurotic, hyper, idiot dog to anyone looking to get in shape.

At the bottom of the hill, I was surprised to find him still hanging around. Usually, when he chases a deer he disappears for an hour at a time five or ten minutes.  But there he was, barking at something in the wreckage of trees near the creek. A few summers ago, we got hit by a pretty severe storm that left a pile of massive Oaks--their roots still holding mounds of dirt--scattered about on the hillside, tangled and stacked and providing excellent hiding places for small animals.

Mason hopped up on a fallen tree. That’s odd I thought, as though this dog ever does anything that could be considered normal. But then he crossed to another tree and began climbing like a Billy Goat towards what I then saw was a black cat at the top of the tree.

My first thought was Does this stuff happen to anyone else?

At around twenty or thirty feet up in the entanglement of trees, he looked up towards the black cat and then down at me.  His little way of saying, Ruh-Roh!

On the right we have a rudimentary scale, showing how he measures on the 1 to Crazytrain chart. As you can see he's at the top of his class... 

I didn’t bring my phone so there are no pictures of my afflicted dog actually in the tree.  You’ll just have to take my word for it. 

I stood with my hand on my hip, looking at my idiot dog stuck in a tree. I think Bruce even rolled his eyes.

There were no options here. I was going up. I balanced myself, walking along the beam of a tree trunk leading to the nest of dead trees while shaking my head and wondering if I could actually explain breaking a leg getting my dog out of a tree. I began my ascent, having to swing like Tarzan to the next tree. I swung around and hoisted myself upright, straddling the trunk and shimmying towards my dog. Who was stuck. In a tree.

He looked happy to see me but I think his main concern was still that pesky cat. As I neared him, I held out my hand, still unsure how we were going to do this. Mason was a little spooked at this point, panting wildly and circling his perch. Come on boy. Come on Mason. Come down from the tree...

At last he took a cautious step towards me.  He stuck out a paw, tapping and testing before strenuously gripping the bark of the tree.  Baby steps down the tree with the dog.  I held his neck as we began our descent, me testing limbs for support and Mason inching towards me. Finally, as we neared a height that might only sprain instead of break or maim, I scooped him up and set him down on the first tree laying on the ground. He hopped away, shook off the fear and then without thanks to the guy who just went up there and got him down, commenced to bark at the cat.

Click! I clasped the leash around his scrawny little neck and then looked up and wished the cat good luck. (He was gone when we returned so I think he made it.  Besides, he was laughing at us anyway).

I tugged on Mason's leash, looking around to see if anyone had witnessed the daring display of idiocracy that had just taken place, and then pulled my dog along the trail and I walked him in the dark, like a normal dog.

An Ode To A Dog...

*Our dog Mason gets all the attention around here, so I wrote a little something about my buddy Bruce..

I have this dog Bruce. Got him for free when he was a puppy. The lady at the pound guessed him to be three months old at the time. She liked to scratch his chin. He was her favorite. She loved his gentle copper eyes, and her tone flexed when she urged me to bring him back to her if things didn't work out. It’s been almost seven years now, and although his breath sometimes smells like fish, I think it's working out...

He’s a bit slower these days. He tires easier. Some days he has trouble with his hips. The vet recommended glucose pills, like the ones old people take. He prefers them wrapped in a heavy coat of peanut butter. 

Old Bruce naps more than he used to nap, he snores a little louder and has grown a bit softer along the way. But those eyes are the same. Completely honest.  

He was jealous when I met a girl. But her nails were long and she had a dog who became his best friend. The girl moved in and I quickly slid into second place on Bruce's list of likable humans. Everyone was happy for a while. Then the girl's dog got sick and Bruce lost a friend. .

He moped around the house until we got a new dog. The new dog is a maniac. Sometimes I think Bruce prefers the moping.

Now there’s a baby, too. Let's see, a girl, a baby, a dog, a cat. Bruce and I have come a long way. The house is hectic, the walks are shorter. Everyone’s time has been cut and managed. I hold the baby and Bruce watches. So much has changed in the past seven years. But we're still together. 

Sometimes, late in the night or early in the morning, I stumble upon old Brucie and rouse him from a good snore. He looks up to me with those gentle eyes. Eyes that make you forget he ever tried to bite the mailman or shook mud onto a grandma’s dress. I scratch his chin. He begs forgiveness and begs me to love him. Or maybe it's just a treat he wants. 

Either way, he's pretty great. 

Law & Order

An unthinkable crime occurred right under my nose yesterday as a routine thursday evening took a near deadly turn. Changing the bedding in my son's crib, I relocated Morris the Moose from his secure location inside the crib to a temporary holding location, the less secure laundry basket.

In a house full of animals, their stuffed counterparts have to be accounted for at all times because they can vanish, only to be found minutes later on the floor with their limbs scattered and insides strewn. It's ugly and it's terrifying. My job is to prevent it from happening.

Finishing up with the bedding, a foreboding silence fell over the room.  I turned, spinning in fear as I realized what had transpired. I looked under the crib, hoping the moose had taken refuge in the safe confines of darkness.  Nothing, my heart sank as I found only tufts of fur and dust. I had to find the moose.

The stealth nature of the crime took a combination of skill and experience that only a hardened criminal could pull off. Light on his paws and having a rap sheet is as long as his roaming range, my initial inkling was Mason. AKA Blue Eyes, AKA The Pest, AKA Needlenose. I cringed as images of his past victims flashed through my mind. 

*Warning, the images below are graphic by nature and not suitable for young children

DUNG DUNG...

 

The animals above never had a chance. They are brutal reminders of what can happen when one becomes careless. My son is far too young to cope with such loss at this impressionable young age, and I owed it to him to find that moose...

Stepping out of the room, I came face to face with Ole blue eyes in the shadows of the hallway. With his ears up and head cocked, Morris dangled by an ear from the clutches of ivory teeth. My gut had been right, he’s always had a taste for stuffing, ever since that incident with the pillow as a puppy.  The showdown lasted only mere seconds before I made my move.

I charged after him. He bolted down the hallway into the kitchen, my wife and child turning at the sound of the commotion as I gave chase, He's got the moose, Mason's got the moose!! Mason is as quick as they come and I was no match for his speed. We hurled through the living room, over the couch, and back down the hall, his tail swishing as I caught the glimmer of a tear in the Moose's eye.  It may have been drool, it's tough to say...

Determined to outsmart the family pet, I waited around the corner, peeking to see the moose still hanging from Mason's chops. His paws clicked on the floor as he paced like a wolf in the forest. And then, in a desperate act to save the moose from a certain and torturous death, I lunged, grabbing Mason by his scrawny head and wrestling the moose from his jaws. 

Looking over poor Morris, his ear has a few bites missing but he's expected to make a full recovery. I set him back in the safety of the crib, turning off the light and wiping my brow. Another day, another life saved. Until next time blue eyes...

Busted

Helping Out

Mason, our two year old husky is no longer the baby in the house, but he has taken to his new position as helper with all things baby related.  Here's a quick video of him lending a snout as my wife tries to figure out this whole breast pump apparatus thing.