My Conversations With Dog

Mad Max R.I.P.

2009-09-13T00:43:00.000-07:00

Mad Max is gone to Live Under the Big Bed. Friday November 21, we woke to a house without Max. Could not find the little guy, who loved to live under the bed(s). An all out search ensued, and Max could not be found anywhere in the house. We looked in the back yard, thinking that somehow the poor little guy was forgotten outside overnight. We could find him nowhere, but the sky was still dark as the day was young.
We looked down the street, we searched the house again, the garage, the closets, under all the beds.
I went back out into the backyard for another search, as the light was improving. I looked into the pool. All I saw was leaves and debris, and a curious shape just before the pool drops off into the deep end. All nerves, I went to get the net. I nudged the leaves, hoping they would all disperse, but no.
Poor Max had fallen in the pool at some point, and his cold little body was lying at the bottom of the pool.
I pushed his body toward the shallow end with the pole, and went inside to let my wife and daughter know. At that point, all hell broke loose as our grief and shock realized that Max was not under the bed, but was truly gone.

He was not a young dog. He was very old, and in very bad health. But he was always the old soldier, bravely going up and down the stairs ( well, we carried him down most of the time), and for over a year had been disoriented with a brain tumour.
At some point, one of us had let him out, and he had fallen in the pool. It was a horrible accident, but unless you had been there at the exact moment, the result would have been the same. I had saved him about a year earlier in the black of night when he fell in. But this time, this time, there was no one to help. It is hard to know if he stumbled in, or if one of the other pups gave him a nudge in good fun that proved fatal. There is nothing to be gained from any more understanding or information. He lived a long life, was truly loved, and when the time came, this was how his life ended.
I will always miss my Max. The crazy little schnauzer with the big heart.

Another Breed

2008-07-13T11:22:00.000-07:00

Two years ago my father died, and two months later my father-in-law died. It was like losing two Dads.

I had grown very close to my father-in-law, having lived in the same house with him for about 9 months as cancer slowly took his life.

A few years before that, he and his wife took in Max, who is pictured here. Max had come from an abusive relationship. He was almost autistic; very stiff in his musculature, he did not like to be touched, and did not respond to the usual games. He liked to bite strangers, including two Jehovah's Witnesses, a paperboy, and my brother-in-law. He would jump up as he barked, and bounding across the lawn, he looked a miniature guard dog as he tore to the perimeter, ensuring that noone came into the yard. We had to hold him back when we brought friends to the house.

Slowly, over the last three years, and especially since the loss of his master, Max has become more lovable, more socialized, and a beloved part of our family.

In the past three years, he has endured about 7 operations. Three years ago, a tumor was removed from his hind leg. Six months ago, we removed it again. Yesterday, we had to remove it for the third time.

This was a decision not taken lightly, as the cancer has burrowed into the surrounding tissue, very close to the femoral artery. The vet was worried about potential blood loss, as he was operating. We did not know this prior to the operation, only that the anaethesia could prove difficult for his lungs. Unfortunately, the tumour had grown to such proportions that we were also worried it would rupture.
Max is about 14 years old, we think. We don't really know. In many ways, he would suggest a younger dog, but the math seems most probable that he is about that age. He also has cancer in brain, causing him to circle sometimes, or lose his balance and fall over. He "shakes" it off, and carries on. Our vet is amazed at Max's ability to withstand pain. What would put any of us over, is not ever acknowledged. He is like an old soldier, another breed, a member of the generation that we are all losing now, like my dad and father-in-law. A tougher class.

I salute this little schnauzer for his bravery and his heroism as he battles this enemy from within. He is an inspiration to us all.

In Your Face!

2008-05-03T11:55:00.000-07:00

Ankles rankle and stockings dangle

Don't tempt me with treats

I'll rip off your face, Mister

Short guy complex? Its rather simple,

I'm in your face or

on your ankles.

Simple leverage.

Down to my level.

Lap dog? Get a grip.

Maisy's Faves and Raves

2008-04-12T16:17:00.000-07:00

Likes: Bones bigger than my head;

canoodling with the Golden Doodle next door; unconventional sex with a standard poodle; end tables, carpets, underwear; eating out of Toodles bowl; harassing Max under the bed.

Dislikes: concrete cinder blocks that now block me from my Doodle paramour; other dogs who steal my bones; bitter apple spray.

Favourite saying: I don't have a short dog complex; you just don't understand, do you? Listen, I'll take you on...anyone of youse. I'm Maisy McQueen of Scott's. How dare you?

The One Eyed Dog

2008-04-11T21:15:00.000-07:00

She's a bird dog. A poodle. Standard, but not ordinary. Superhuman, except she is a canine. On a scale of ten. Search and Destroy. Don't be fooled by her docile nature. She is a monster.

People who start to resemble their pets

2008-03-29T22:57:00.000-07:00

We knew it would happen.

One day we would start to resemble our pets. The changes started slowly. Our feet pads started to darken, and the toenails became more narrow, almost clawlike. The dewclaw on our heel was somewhat shocking at first. It really made a mess of my Ralph Lauren socks.
Later the body hair became more prevalent, and the tail- well it was cute at first, and don't let them tell you it doesn't have its benefits, but a desk job is hell for someone with a tail.
At least our noses are wet, and they continue to feed us regularly. I can get used to this lifestyle. Bones R Us. Running in the yard. Humping the occasional leg. You get the picture. Down. Down.... What are they talking about? So I get a little excited at times.
Ok I admit it. I did chew my brother in laws watch strap, but you know, time really flies when you're living a dog's life. I will pause now for reflections. I said reflections, not genuflections. Leg lifting is not reflections. OK I'll go lie in the corner. Gee, some people.

Pinky and the Brain

2008-03-25T22:42:00.000-07:00

" What are we going to do today Brain?

Same thing we do everyday Pinky. Try to take over the world. "

Left to their own devices....more carnage, mayhem, chewed heart monitors, underwear, gloves (where do they find these things???).

It appears they work together. The little girl is the Brains of the outfit, the brass for sure. When they have their morning mayhem (post breakfast) its one big black blur. A ball of confusion and terror, and terrier, and oodles of poodle. The carpet liberally sprinkled with bones, the bodies are buried in the backyard.

Cupboards, doors- that's childs play. Minor obstacles on the course to many courses. She dances on her hind legs while the muscle paws her way to puppy paradise.

What should we do tonight Brain?

Same thing we do everynight Pinky. Try to take over the world.

Room by room.

Look into my eyes...you're getting sleepy..very sleepy

2008-03-25T00:06:00.000-07:00

Hypnotized by the searching eyes

that implore me and say

I want I want you know what I want

Give it me Give it me Give it me now

Oh, I can wait. I can wait all day

because I have nothing to do,

So take your time, we're not going anywhere. What are you doing?

Not the dry. Not the dry, dummy.

The canned. You know We want the canned.

The canned. Smells like a hot dog pate.

Smoked lips and eyeliner.

Ok. It's not as bad as catfood. The poodle will eat anything. She loves a hot lunch, even from her own body.

Why just yesterday she followed me and picked it up as soon as I dropped it. Poodles, pretty sick. That's why God makes them so beautiful. So you don't become thoroughly disgusted. Drop it like its hot. Its the shizzle sandwich for the Toodle poodle. Me, I'll wait for the canned. Now look into my eyes and see my pain. I'll wait you out, old man.

I'll wait you out.

The World is My Chew Toy

2008-03-23T11:46:00.000-07:00

The World is full of smells

that must be smelled

The old one barks at the world- that is his job

He loves his work

The new girl wants something, but what?

Something now!

Her hunger is discovery of a world that is new and smells

"It's always oral with you"

"The World is my chew toy"

"Must search and destroy"

Under where?

Under there....She's eating underwear.

for Toodles

Originally posted on condensed milt in December 2007.

Petey - the original bedbiter

2008-03-23T11:31:00.000-07:00

Petey was found by the side of the road in a basket with his brother and sister. Another sibling had escaped the basket, and met their fate on the road. When we got him, he was 3 months old, and looked like a little fox. He kept growing longer and longer, but never taller. In the end, he was almost 60 lbs and about 15 inches high and more than 3 feet long.

Actually I never measured him, so this is probably a bit of an exaggeration. Before we got Petey (named by my 3 year old daughter- at the time, she named everything Petey) the only dog I had had growing up was a wire haired dachshund named Schmooskin, or Schmoose for short.

As I do not remember walking her or picking up her poop, can I really say I "had" her?

Petey and I had a complicated relationship; he was stubborn beyond belief; everything became a test of will. I had the idea that I needed to assert who was the alpha dog, and poor Petey and I battled through the short life he had.

Petey died of a heart attack in 2005; I survived my heart attack in 2007. There is no sense in going through the what ifs. Love them while they're here; they would do nothing less for us.

Profiles in Courage

2008-03-23T11:24:00.000-07:00

My dog Max is a survivor. Here he is cuddled up on my daughter's bed with Toodles, our 6 month old black standard poodle puppy. Max is a schnauzer, and he looks like Tramp from the movie Lady and the Tramp.
We 'inherited" Max from my father in law; he came with the house.
Max had been a rescue dog, rescue from an abusive owner from when he was a puppy. They cut out his vocal chords to stop him from barking. It didn't work; he just barks with attitude.
In the old days, he would bark all day. Barking at the world, that's his job, we would joke. A few years ago, Max had a tumour on his rear leg that needed removal. A year ago, his buddy, my father in law died; Max waited for him at the top of the stairs for weeks.
This last year Max was my best buddy as we both recovered from our various injuries. Max had pulled his claw out from his paw, and licked at it until one vet decided to operate and remove the claw. Unfortunately it just got worse, and we went back to the country vet we love and he had to take off part of the paw. As the months went on, the paw still did not heal. We took him to a third vet for a consultation; they said it was probably cancer, and recommended a biopsy and removal of most of the paw. We went back to the country vet, who carved a bit more off the paw, and sent that out for tests. He said, it is probably nothing to worry about.
Well, the tests came back and it was cancerous. So more of the paw was removed.
About that time, we noticed a large lump on his rear leg ( where the first operation had taken place). We took him back to the vet, and they removed the lump.
People wonder why some people spend so much money on their animals. Well, they really become a part of the family. Max survived his paw injury, and his leg cancer, and both have healed nicely.
One day, I noticed him struggling to get up. He wobbled, and was walking in circles. His head was tilted, and he would not eat. Then he fell over and started convulsing. I took him back to the vet. We forcefed him some cat food, and he seemed to improve. We took him home and gave him raw meat for a while, which he loved. This happened a few more times, until we took him back to the vet, and he sadly informed us that Max had not had a stroke; he probably had a tumour on his brain, that pressed at different times, causing the strange behaviour and actions.
He said to take him home and love him, that's all you can do.
Now I carry him down the stairs, as he can't navigate that himself. The other night I carried him down the stairs and put him down so that he could do his business. Toodles, the poodle pup followed after him. It was pitch black out in the backyard, and I turned to go back up the stairs when I heard a splash.
Max had fallen in our pool. The water was ice cold, and he was in the deep end. I ran to his side and could see him flailing in the water, trying to right himself. I reached in and was able to grab his tail. I then grabbed a leg, and pulled him out of the water. Needless to say, he was in major shock, and struggled for a moment to get rid of the water in his body. As he wobbled, I scooped him up and held him close. My wife and daughter ran to get towels, and my wife held him and dried him, with a heating pad and towels that we kept warming up in the dryer. My daughter went on yahoo to ask her cyber community for their help ( she does this for most things). I called the country vet, who asked about the conditions, and then advised we give him brandy and water, keep him warm and dry. We did this, and after a short time, Max was ok again.
Today he is back on the job, sleeping on the job, as that is his job (when he isn't barking at the world). He inspires me with his survival skills, and his courage in pushing on.

First published on condensedmilt.blogspot.com (now http://www.densemilt.com/)

Miss Maisy McQueen

2008-03-23T09:16:00.000-07:00

Such a formal name for a little ball of piss and vinegar. She's a ratter, for sure.

Squeezed under the fence yesterday to have time with a towering apricot labradoodle.

She held her own, as I "rescued" her, and once the fence was shored up with what bits of wood and jetsam I could find in the yard, she pushed her nose through the fence at the giant paramour, and rolled on to her back, saying I'm here, you're there, now live with it.

They tell me she is Scotty/Corgi, which explains the ratter penchant for squeezing under and into places she should not go.

She also loves to nip and yap, for that is the only word for her expressive vocalizations.

But she can also be the most sweet and lovable little lapdog of luxury.