MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I know, I know - I should know better, but I forgot to put the gate up, so the dog got into the presents. He unwrapped and chewed apart a compact that Gilly chose for me. What a mess - there was mirror everywhere.

If you're still doing some last minute shopping and are in the market for a dog, I know of one who's available cheap...

Best wishes to all for a very Merry Christmas (yes, even you Jetty).

Money, money, money...

I'll admit that we went into all of this doggie nonsense knowing it wasn't going be to be an inexpensive proposition; but even so, Jetty is seriously pushing my limits. Just off the top of my head, here are some of the costs we've incurred since we made the decision to get a dog:

• The initial outlay to obtain the dog from the breeder.
• This was quickly followed by a steep initial vet bill to cover the first visit which ensured he was healthy and provided his first series of shots.
• Then there was the cost of neutering, which we felt was not optional because puppy support payments are out-of-the-park expensive these days.
• Add to that the food, toys, collars, leashes, licensing, and regularly scheduled vet visits, and you're quickly rethinking your decision to get a dog.

If you have a dog like ours, who is a total klutz, then you have to add in a lot of additional, unplanned vet expenses. Paying for those and the oh-so-necessary monthly pet insurance premiums is the icing on the cake. Well, I thought it was until today. I came home to find that Jetty had been counter surfing again. Last week he scored a stick of butter which made him repeatedly and violently ill, but apparently that was no deterrent. Today he scored two $5 bills from the kitchen counter. Oh yes, not only does the dog cost us hundreds, if not thousands, per year in maintenance, but now he feels it necessary to use money as a chew toy. Honestly, I don't think the phrase "eating us out of house and home" was meant to be literal.

Last week I offered him up "Free to a Good Home". This week I'm rethinking the good part.

ACCK!!

My dog is now tall enough to reach the kitchen counter.

That is all.

Puppy Love

On our walk last night, Jetty fell in love. We don't know her name because she was on the other side of the street, but he was immediately taken with her striking blonde, labradoodle-ish beauty. It's fair to say he was gawking as he trailed along, looking nowhere but behind him, eyes only for this new object of his affection. If he could wolf-whistle, I have no doubt that he would have. She seemed equally interested, walking away with many longing backward glances. That is, she was interested right up until the time he walked smack into a tree. Oh yes, way to be cool and impress the ladies, Jet.

I felt like I was watching a cartoon. You could almost see the thought bubbles popping up out the dogs' heads (in Jet's case, it would say D'oh...) He tried to maintain his composure by giving himself a quick shake and acting like - "Yup, I totally meant to do that", but it was too late. Blondie stalked off with nary a backward glance.

Poor boy. For anyone out there mending a broken heart, Jetty assures me that liver treats are an ideal tonic.

Alas, poor Jetty

Or poor Mummy, depending on your point of view.

Sigh. Another day, another visit to the vet. Out for a nice, long walk this morning when Jetty suddenly lost the ability to bear weight on his hind leg. We were equi-distant from home and the vet, so I called home for some reinforcements (i.e. the car, since he's now 60 pounds and I can't carry him). After some confusion (the troops thought I was at a different park than I was, and freaked when they couldn't find us), we hustled the Jetster to the vet and managed to sneak him in for an appointment, despite the fact that "they don't do walk-ins".

Once again his inability to speak hindered the diagnosis. I suspected he had a bee sting on his paw, but when it was shaved down, the vet couldn't find any evidence of a stinger. She thinks he twisted his knee, as the ligaments are loose in that leg. Poor boy is on bed rest for two days, and if it's not better in a couple of hours, I'm to head back and pick up a prescription for an anti-inflammatory. Perfect, just enough time to have a shower and grab something to eat, neither of which I'd done before leaving the house hours ago!

Jetty, it's a good thing you're cute, because, thanks to you, I'm slowly but surely going broke, $75 at a time.

I kissed a toad, and I think I liked it

Well, truth be told, Jetty kissed the toad, and I don't think he liked it at all.

So far, August has involved a lot more vet interaction than either my bank account or I like. Two weeks ago we noticed that Jetster's chest was bleeding from a puncture wound. I took him to the vet the next day, and she thinks he managed to impale himself on a stick (oh yes, he gets his gracefulness from me). The tissue surrounding the cut was too bruised to allow for stitches, so he was given a prescription for antibiotics, and I was told to clean the cut twice daily and make him wear a t-shirt to prevent dirt from getting into the cut. Generally I don't approve of canine clothing, but he did look awfully cute in his T. Opinions seemed to be evenly split on the t-shirt - poor GB was heckled mercilessly by a car load of teenagers when he took Jetty for his pre-bed spin around the block, but then he ran into a group of runners, and they oohed and aahed over the doggie "P.J.s".

We managed to get vet approval to head up to the cottage, based on our promise that he wouldn't go swimming or get the cut wet. We were enjoying a lovely week (no rain!) up north with my sisters, and the dogs were having a grand time running around, chasing chippies, and getting into mischief. The girls and I were getting ready to head out to the farmers' market when Jetty appeared on the deck, head covered in bubbles. He proceeded to puke repeatedly, all over the deck. Jenn helped me clean up and, assuming he must have stuck his head in a bucket of soapy water, I set off down to the dock to read the riot act to the boys. I told them off for not paying attention to the dogs while they were cleaning the dock furniture. Except then I noticed that there was an absence of buckets, bubbles, or work at the dock; everyone was chilling or swimming, and they had no idea what I was talking about.

Jetty continued throwing up and foaming at the mouth, so GB and I grabbed some towels, threw the poor boy into the car, and headed off to Parry Sound in search of a vet. Just as we were leaving, someone shouted that it was possible he'd eaten a toad, as there had been two on the dock earlier. We pealed into the parking lot of the first vet clinic we found, and rushed inside. They were fantastic. They took our information, called the vet who had just left and asked her to return, and sent us into an exam room right away. I adored the no-nonsense style of the vet. Her first question was "What's with the t-shirt?" I knew then that we were in good hands.

I mentioned to the vet that it was possible he'd eaten a toad, although my CSI-style analysis of his barf hadn't revealed any toads. She said generally a dog picks the toad up, the toad gets scared and releases its toxins, and then the dog releases the toad because the poison tastes so foul. It's too late by then, though, because the toxins are already in the dog's system. Nothing too much to worry about, a big injection of Benadryl in his butt and a long nap restored Jetty to his usual good humour.

Fingers crossed that September is quieter, less expensive, and has much less vet interaction.

PUPPIES!

New puppies! Sailor gave birth to Jet's six new brothers and sisters on August 16. They are Jasper, Rosalie, Bella, Edward, Tia, and Esme (of Twlight fame). Congratulations to Sailor and Echo and to Mike and Cheryl. You all must be very proud, and tired (well, except Echo). Jetty can't wait to meet his new siblings. And the timing is perfect for us. I have not one ounce of yearning for one of these puppies. The past ten days with Jetty have been a little stressful and expensive. It's been his summer of clumsy fun and exploration. More on his recent escapades in a later post, when I have recovered from our trip to the cottage.

Useless and Uselesser

Joining Jetty on his cottage holiday was his cousin Ollie. Usually we refer to them as Dumb and Dumber — well-earned nicknames. However, this week we had to change it up to Useless and Uselesser. After lunch one day we were sitting in the living room, the dogs passed out on the floor, blissfully dreaming of chipmunks, squirrels, and sticks, when Jenn spied a bear out the back window. As we raced to the window, I grabbed my camera and dispatched Graham to the cabin to warn the girls to stay inside. While we watched the bear's progress across the property, something in our tones alerted the dogs that there was excitement afoot, and they woke up from their naps and came to join us. Up until that point, the dogs had been very good about warning us of any impending dangers, such as Grandpa's arrival, which resulted in 10 minutes of fierce barking, the comings and goings of all the neighbours on their docks, and the imminent threat from the chipmunks who live in the front lawn. But bears — not so much. What happened to the theory that bears will stay away because of the smell of dogs, and the other theory that dogs will smell the arrival of a bear and warn it off with their barking? Unfortunately for us, Useless and Uselesser apparently only hunt small game.

Portuguese Water-averse Dog

Hey Cheryl & Mike, according to my calculations you owe us $666.66; with Jet we only got 2/3 of what we anticipated. We took Jetty to the cottage this week and had visions of him swimming merrily around with Gilly and Sarah, chasing sticks, and keeping the loons at bay. Umm, not so much. On the first day, Graham tried to entice him into the shallow part, but he was having none of it. Tactics changed a little bit to include less enticement and more pushing. We determined that he can in fact swim, but he doesn't like to, not even a little bit. The next day, he and cousin Ollie were racing around the dock when Jetty lost his back end and slid straight into the drink. He dunked under, but came up again quickly and, because he was touching with his back legs, wasn't actually in any danger, but he was completely panicked. He tried to scramble up onto the dock but couldn't make it. Gilly and Sarah bravely rescued him by dragging him around the dock to the stairs, incurring some nasty scratches from his frantic claws. He spent the rest of the week studiously avoiding contact with any water that wasn't safely contained in his doggie dish. So, while I freely admit he's a dog, and am even willing to admit there's a possibility that he's Portuguese, there's no way he's a water dog — false advertising! I guess should have expected something like this, given that every time it rains Princess Jet finds a way to skitter, shimmy, or leap around the puddles. What a sissy.

Yuck!

Ok, seriously? Dog barfed in my bed, and when I cleaned it up, it clogged the toilet. Oh yes, you know you're jealous that I'm living the glamourous life...

Mistaken Identity

Soccer Sunday today. Jet kept trying to chase the ball while the girls were warming up, so I took him for a walk until game time. While Coach was warming up the girls, Graham twiddled his thumbs and looked around the park. Poor guy had a panic attack when, whilst scanning the park, he couldn't see me, but could see another woman walking what he thought was Jet. Being a bit of a worrier, he naturally assumed I'd had some sort of accident and that this good Samaritan was trying to find the dog's owner. He went trotting over and said "Uh, that looks like my dog". The woman said "Oh, is your dog Jet? This is his sister Stella." Turns out that with Jetty's new haircut, they look identical. Crisis averted. (Before you get all dewy eyed and think his concern is romantic in the Michelle/Barrack vein, rest assured that Graham is much more pragmatic than that. His main concern would have been - "Who'll do the laundry if something's happened to Diana?")

We first met Stella a couple of weeks ago, also at the soccer park. Carrie came over with her dog to say hello. She asked if Jetty was a Portie and I said "yes", and asked about her dog, who turned out also to be a Portie. She asked which breeder we used and when I told her, she broke out into a big smile and asked "Is this Jet?" Turns out we met almost exactly a year ago at soccer and she had fallen under his spell. I'd given her the breeder's info and the rest is history - her dog Stella and Jetty are brother and sister (same parents, different litter). Basically, it's our fault they have a dog.

Night, Night to My Dreams of Canadian Idol

Poor Gilly was up late last night finishing a project. She couldn't relax enough to sleep, so she asked me to read to her. Jetty and I piled in the bed with her, and I read a chapter, but she still couldn't sleep. Then she asked me to sing her a lullaby. I sang her a little nonsense one that I made up when she was a baby, which usually does the trick. Unfortunately, I had some backup vocals this time. I'd barely begun to sing when Jetty decided to editorialize on my limited vocal abilities with some long, drawn out whines and cries. Then Gilly really couldn't sleep, because she was laughing so hard she almost fell out of bed!

Brave Boy?

So, today we had our annual trip to the vet. Poor Jetty didn't see it coming. We went for a lovely walk first, and he should have been suspicious when we took a totally new route, but he was too distracted by the wonderful smells. He was fairly cool when we arrived, accepting a cookie and hopping on the scale (55 pounds! With a 38 pound Dad and 45 pound Mother, that certainly wasn't in the puppy brochure...).

The German Sheppard in the waiting room was slightly less cool. He crawled right up into his owner's lap. I smiled and made a comment about how all of them hate the vet. She explained that the vet wasn't the problem - it was Jet. Her dog is terrified of black dogs. Hmm, I had to point out to her that her dog is black - does that mean he's scared of himself? Poor fella.

So once the gate to the back part of the clinic was opened, all Jetty's cool deserted him. As we waited in the exam room he kept trying to crawl into my lap. See - the bad habits they pick up instantly, it's the good ones they can't seem to grasp. Once his vet arrived, it was game over - he dove straight under the chair and wouldn't come out. Poor boy, he must have known what he was in for —4 needles and a blood donation so they can do the heartworm test. At north of $325, both Jet and I hope it's the last we see of the vet for another year!

Presidential Puppy?

I understand that Barack Obama has decided to choose a Portuguese Water Dog as the Presidential pooch. Apparently he doesn’t want the bother of a puppy, so he will be choosing a slightly older rescue dog. Might I be so bold as to suggest a very handsome 1 year old Portie named Jet? He’s adorable, can do a sit/stay for a full minute, lies down on command, and gives high fives and tens.

Oh, right, why does he need rescuing? Because he’s in the dog house, again. I’ve told you about the poopsicle obsession already, but since spring is upon us, Jetty has all but given that up. It seems he only likes them when they’re frozen. Now he needs to find another way to indulge his oral fixation. He’s been slowly chewing his way through the house. So far this week we’ve taken away from him: socks, a dime, paper, Gilly’s stuffed bear, a toothbrush, and Kleenex. Last night I heard him banging away at something and decided I better get up to investigate. It turned out that he had ventured into Gilly’s backpack and taken her recorder. He slipped it out of the case, and was happily chomping away on it. He thought it was even better than a Nylabone.

Now, I did take it away from him, although I must confess that I wrestled with the decision. I’m all for free speech, but Jetty is in a difficult spot, because he can’t speak. Was he just looking for something to gnaw on, or was he making an editorial comment on the awful sounds that come out of that instrument? It was a tough call because, frankly, I have to agree. Listening to the recorder is like some sort of punishment. Why children are forced to learn it is beyond me. Is the TDSB trying to foster a hatred of music amongst their students? Will that allow them to justify cutting the music programs in order to balance their budget? Or is it just a way to get back at parents? Who knows. Gillian checked the recorder over this morning, and (sadly) it still makes “music”. Perhaps tonight I’ll accidentally leave her violin case open...

Stiff Competition

There’s a new puppy in town, and he’s fierce competition for Jetty in the cuteness department. Cody is a fourteen-week-old Great Dane and he’s is so unbelievably cute, he resembles a cartoon character. He’s all legs and feet, with soft, velvety fur; it was all I could do not to scoop him up and bring him home. However, he’s going to be HUGE; at his tender age he’s already as tall as Jet. The poor nanny who was walking him looked most alarmed when I kept going on about how big he’s going to be; she’s just a little bit of a thing and has her hands full now. Anyway, welcome to the neighbourhood Cody, Jet would appreciate it if could you please try to look just a little less cute.

We had a great Family Day. We spent it in the country at Wheatley Water Dogs. Jetty played with his Mummy Sailor, sisters Ivory and Ruby (who looks freakishly like Jet), and Bronson, the German Sheppard. They had a ball getting reacquainted and romping in the snow. And when Jet had to do his business, his eyes grew wide with excitement. Cheryl has trained the dogs to go in one particular spot (the Duty Den) so that spring clean up is easier. However, with that many dogs, you can imagine that the Duty Den currently resembles a buffet for puppies who like to eat poop (see previous post). Jetty thought he’d died and gone to the land of plenty. At that point we beat a hasty retreat back to the city.

Poopsicles

Ok, a little background for those of you who don’t know me that well. I’m not really a dog person. I’m a little uptight, and I like things to be just-so, which isn’t the ideal personality for a dog owner. However, over the past 11 months Jetty has wormed his way into my heart, and it’s safe to say that I love him to pieces. This means I’ve been able to overlook some of the attendant grossness that comes with having a dog. You know – the poopy patrols in the garden, the muddy paw prints in the bed, the nose prints on the French doors, etc. Until now...

I can’t believe that I’m even writing this sentence, but here goes – Jetty has begun to eat his own poop. No, sadly that is not a misprint. You heard me correctly. Yikes! I bet Obama would rethink his doggy decision if he knew this little puppy quirk. Anyway, apparently it’s more common than you would think. It even has a name – copro-phagia. At our house, we call it holyfreakingcrapthatisdisgustingdon’tyoudarekissme-phagia.

According to the vet, it doesn’t harm them. But I suppose I looked so horrified by the whole thing that she took pity on me and gave me some medicine to sprinkle on his food. It doesn’t taste bad going down, but apparently it does once it’s been processed, if you catch my drift. Once they try to eat the medicated poop, they lose a taste for it. I was trying to explain this to Gillian, and she just stared at me. With the wisdom of a ten-year-old, she said “Uh, Mummy, he eats poo. How can they make it taste any worse?” She’s got a great point. It’s a pretty steep downward spiral from poop.

Anyway, Happy Valentine’s Day. And, just to be safe, no kisses please.

Happy Birthday Jetty!

Well, today Jetty baby is 1 year old! We had a long talk about how he's a big boy now, and must start acting like it. He has promised to stop his bad-boy biting and to stop growing. I have promised to yell at him less frequently and to drop food more frequently. No cake or candles for him today, although he did manage to get a small piece of bacon from Gilly's breakfast - now he feels his life is complete!

Speaking of Gilly - what's wrong with kids today? Jetty and I picked her up from a playdate yesterday, and she was full of tales about how great the Wii Fit game is. She announced that she thought it was terrific and had come up with a great new game that they should add - dog walking?! WTF??? I just looked at her in complete disbelief. I have an idea - how about you get your butt off the sofa and walk your real dog around the block rather than waiting for Nintendo to create a virtual dog for you to walk around the living room. Grrr, she really didn't get why I was so dumbfounded. I blame it on the blonde hair.

Anyway, Happy Birthday Jetty, and Happy New Year to all !