The Effing Dog

Lucy continues to perform acts that would astound Houdini on a regular basis. Last Saturday I thought it was all over - she'd run away on Friday, and my sister realized that her name tag had fallen off her collar. I thought, darn, even though she had the worst behavioral issues ever, she was a sweet dog. And I figured she'd find her way back.

Sunday passes, no Lucy. I call the pound. She's not there.

Monday I don't call the pound because it's the worst day of my life (ok, not the WORST, I have fantastic friends who made it bearable - thanks Molly and Tina), so I don't feel like playing "Where's Lucy?". Yes, bad pet owner. That night I have a terrible nightmare about her dragging herself back to the house from 295, hind legs mutilated from being hit by a car. I wake up and throw up. My dreams have been insane lately.

Needless to say, I called the pound the minute they opened on Tuesday. They say they don't have her. Again I describe her in explicit detail. The receptionist doesn't care. I explain she's microchipped and ask if they check that. Oh, sure they do, but she doesn't take my microchip number when I ask if she wants it. I say she's got a bright pink, sparkly collar. She puts me on hold five seconds then picks back up - nope, she doesn't think she's there.

On a whim I call again Tuesday afternoon, and this time actually get an animal control officer. She goes back, says she doesn't see the dog I describe. I ask if I can submit a picture and report, because no one has asked me to do that when I've called. She's shocked, takes more info, and then mentions... (drumroll...) there's a part of the website hidden in there that shows photos of all the strays. I follow the 30 links to get there and, first dog on the page? Yep, Lucy. In a pink collar. With her microchip number beside her name. Seriously.

So I drive out to far Hanover to pick her up. She reaks and the conditions are appalling. Concrete floors, no beds, no food and water bowls in the cages. I know they get fed and the county does the best it can - but they view it, quite obviously, as a short stop between return to the owner, release to a rescue group or euthanisation. I walk in holding back tears and identify Lucy. Forty dollars and an hour later she's on her way home with me, once again cowering and submissive peeing all over my car. She was terrified, and I felt HORRIBLE for her.

When I got her home she started to pee everywhere again. The dog pees on my floor about 5 times a day on average. She's also eaten the edge of my remaining untouched couch. (Carly ate the other one). And she wouldn't come to me. I'd call, she'd go the opposite direction. Just like when I got her. I spent extra time yesterday with her all day, trying to re-establish trust and retrain what I'd taught her. Her response? Pee, cower, run against her leash so hard she escaped my grip twice in the back yard. I finally caught her 20 minutes after the first escape attempt and 10 minutes after the second (she hadn't gotten out of the yard yet).

This morning I'm exhausted. Total insomnia all night, for the third night in a row. I just can't sleep at night, but that's another story entirely. Sadie gets up at 5:10 and I give her breakfast, set her on the couch in front of the TV and go back to bed with the alarm set for 20 minutes. Bad parent.

Twenty minutes later I wake up, and Lucy is gone from her crate. A quick search and I ask Sadie where she is. Sadie has let her outside. And she's nowhere to be found. And guess what's on the porch? Her name tag. WTF. How does the dog manage to get it's name tag off? This time I used pliers to make sure the new ring holding it on was tighter than the last.

I. Officially. Give. Up. On. The. Dog.

Worst. Dog. Ever.

I don't know what decision process I used when I decided that we should have a new animal in our house. After all, we have a plethora of fish and a Pitbull-German Shepherd mix that take up a large portion of our tiny Cape Cod. But Carly (the German PitHerd) was so sad after Darla passed, I just felt bad. She moped. She quit playing. She hated going outside alone. And so I looked. And looked. And looked for the right dog. As I looked I came to realize why I couldn't find the right dog. None of them were Darla. And man, I missed Darla. She was such a great dog. I loved how her tail was always wagging, up until the very end. I loved how she loved everyone. I loved her love grunts, her playful spirit, her gentle ways with the girls. She was the best dog ever, and I finally realized I'd never find a replacement for that.

So, I finally caved when I came across a hound rescue. She had long ears and sad eyes, much like Darla, but the semblance stopped there. This new dog was timid, submissive, clearly had been abused and/or neglected and was big and skinny. I liked her ok, but frankly, wasn't sold when I met her. We came home and talked about it, and Sadie wasn't sold either. But for some reason, we ended up going back the next day to get her.

Since coming home we discovered that the new dog, which we named Lucy after a Beatles song (the stars were shining when we met her), is in fact an American Foxhound. Apparently a full breed. Which means she'll be big, she isn't a house dog and she's hard to train. In fact, here's the description I found on a breed site.

This breed can be difficult to housebreak. Be aware, the American Foxhound will take off after an interesting scent if they get a chance. They like to bay and have a melodious bark, so much so, in fact, that its tones have been used in popular songs. Foxhounds don't always make good house pets, due to their history as outdoor pack kennel hounds. If you are looking for a pet, whom you are not going to take hunting, try show lines rather than field types. 

Of course I had no idea she was a Foxhound. In fact, I didn't know what a Foxhound was, to be honest. I only read this after two weeks of absolute hell with the new dog. She pees indoors at least 3 times a day. She escapes and runs for miles every chance she gets. She can jump a 6' privacy fence. She eats and drinks nonstop. She will not come when called. In fact, she runs in the opposite direction as fast as she can - and she is F.A.S.T. I resorted to buying an aerial run line for her to keep her in the yard. She resorted in chewing through her harness and escaping, chewing through the metal wire braided tether and escaping, or baying at the top of her lungs until my neighbors were yelling at her and I was ready to beat her to death. Not that I'd really hurt her. But the thought definitely crossed my mind more than once this past month.

Just what I needed during this time of financial stress, emotional upheaval and change. A stupid dog that doesn't listen and destroys my home. She's about to push me over the edge. So much so that I ended up calling the SPCA to see if I could surrender her or get some help with doggie rehab. They gave me great literature and guidance, and dropped the bomb - they think she is a feral dog. Her submissive behavior, fear of men, lack of social skills with humans and overall bad behavior are all signs of a dog that has not been raised by humans. Coupled with her breed's lack of "home manners" it's the perfect storm for a bad dog outcome. Awesome.

So I have a feral hound that is going to be twice the size of what I had thought I was getting. She's younger than we thought (5 months or so), which is good - because she may be trainable, but bad because we aren't even CLOSE to the conclusion of the chewing stage. Today, for example, it was one of my favorite childhood stuffed animals the girls left out, one slipper, a hat and a glove. Oh, and another gigantic hole in her doggie bed. She rivals John Grogan's infamous Marley.

I'm giving this animal two weeks, using the SPCA guidelines and assistance for training. She's being crated whenever she's in the house and not under my direct attention. She's being walked on a leash about eight times a day. I'm running her with Carly 2-3 times a day. We're going through a million treats as we work on the simple commands, "come," "sit" and "go to your crate." She's taking hours of my day that I didn't have to begin with.

But, I did discover she gives love grunts (gives an ooooumph when you hug her and leans into you). And she's extremely gentle and loves children. She loves to cuddle. Much like my dear departed Darla. It's the only reason she's getting another chance.

GOOD Morning!

I awoke at 5:00 this morning to the girls fighting. I rolled out of bed, covered in sweat (I'm still recovering from bronchitis, which hit late last week). Came downstairs to discover Darla had eaten off half of the fur on her tail, leaving a nasty patch of red skin showing. The girls had destroyed what little I'd kept up over the weekend. And Sadie was hot. Great. She'd been sick early last week, got better within 24 hours, but then had been fighting something since Friday, so I sat her down, got her some food and drink and turned on the TV. Then I noticed Katie was hot too. Looks like there will be no school today.

I got both situated in front of the television and sat down to survey the damage. I discovered Carly had broken one of her nails, in HALF. It was dangling and bloody. Oh joy.

Katie got on my computer to check in on Webkinz, but quickly closed it and looked at me. Uh oh. Pale face, dark sunken eyes. Checked her fever 102. Checked Sadie's - 101. And mine? A mere 99.8 today.

So, I'm trying to decide now who should go to the doctor and who shouldn't. So far, since 5:00 a.m. I've changed two beds, bathed one child and one dog, tried to perform minor surgery on the other dog (unsuccessful), and started the sterilization process, which includes thus far two loads of laundry, a load of dishes, Lysol mass attack and vacuuming. Any one care to join in on my fun?

The only person I know who's having less fun than me today is Amanda, who's headed back to the clinker for more chemo. Please send positive mojo/energy/prayers her way - that they find the right cocktail to get her into remission this time around, minus the massive mouth sores. Hang in there, 'Manda!

Random Stuff falling from my Brain onto the Computer Screen

Warning - there is no cohesion to this entry whatsoever. This is what happens when one is overworked, sleep deprived and exhausted to top it off.

So, what did you think of the final presidential debate? All in all I thought McCain looked like the guy I actually would have voted for last election cycle. I was happy to see him back at his best. And tonight reconfirmed how much fun it is to be an independent. Although I had pretty much made up my mind months ago, I am able to see pros and cons of each candidate. At the end of the debate, I've finally made up my mind for sure ,though I'd been leaning that way quite a while. I'm going with the guy that I can see making educated, sound decisions that consider the population at large, that I believe will be the best leader both abroad and at home. Guess who that is? There, I did it. I spilled my political beans. I'm voting Obama.
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The school is finally open. Ms. Amy, our school teacher, is awesome - Sadie has thoroughly enjoyed her first two days of "skooooohl." She's learning (though she doesn't know it) about spacial relationships, simple math skills and language. Plus she's doing fun crafts and such. She's taking some nice naps, eating like a little piggy and generally a happy camper. She just needed a constant availability of new things to see and do, apparently, to forgo the tantrums. She does miss her Grandma, though!

So yeah, the school is done. A few pickity pics are included for your viewing pleasure. Pretty, no?! Sadie's favorite area thus far seems to be practical life and botany/animal science/geography. Katie's loving math and language, and has been having fun doing phonetic excercises with the movable alphabet. I need to get out and get more photos of the sensorial area and practical life - tres cool!


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Though I seem to be the only human truly affected, my fluffy feline best friend has gone missing. It's been over a week and two trips to the pound, but still no Buster. The people at the pound told me yesterday that there's been a rash of rabid racoons in our area, which has me fearing the worst. Especially since the day before he disappeared I noted racoon prints on my car hood. I miss his furry highness knocking me over in the mornings as he begged for breakfast, purring his loud, uneven purr and licking my toes with his sandpaper tounge. Well, I don't miss the toe licking, but I'd take it every day for hours on end if he'd just come home. There I go getting all teary about it again. I miss my kitty!!! He is (I refuse to think he's otherwise) the best cat ever. Ask anyone who's met him.

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Check out Sadie's latest trick:



Endless dinner time fun. That's "burp" in case you didn't figure it out. A mother couldn't be more proud.

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And, to conclude this random mess of a blog entry, some long overdue pics of pretties!

Life with Carly Sparkles

Don't let this photo of a sweetly sleeping dog fool you. She is NOT that way often.

Carly Sparkles's schizophrenia has added to the mayhem that is the Thies household. Here are just a few of the personalities that she has displayed thus far...

Carly the Wanderer. Yes, the pup has total wanderlust. Her yearnings to travel has taken her to every neighbor in our vicinity, despite fences up to six feet high. She digs, climbs and squirms her way into other yards to socialize. She's a conscious traveler, though, and often brings us unique gifts from her explorations, including clothing items, trash, other dogs' toys, and a series of antlers that are currently strewn about our yard (last count, 7 pair). The other day a neighbor from behind our house dropped by to see if we had any of his children's shoes. Alas, we did. Two, actually, one for each of his children. When I mentioned antlers, he admitted that these, too, had come from his yard. Surprisingly, he did not want these trophies back.

Carly the Destroyer. Given the mix of breed, I'm surprised, honestly, that there hasn't been more damage. Mostly, she prefers to chew shoes, diapers (when she can find them) and underwear. However, we've caught her with glass, aluminum siding and, once, chewing on a wrought iron chair.

The real destruction comes from her digging. Through teamwork she's created a six-foot wide hole to gain access under our neighbor's privacy fence to visit his very lonely and neglected black lab mix. Really, in her digging, she's trying to do a good deed, I am convinced. The neighbor is not so appreciative, and on his side has laid down bricks, 2 x 4s and other items to prohibit her entry, and his dog's escape. Carly responds by simply digging deeper or moving down a few inches and starting again. The neighbor will soon run out of bricks.

Carly the Killer. She has a taste for rodents, with a particular palate for squirrels. Once she acquires one, she uses it first as a squeak toy, gently squeezing it in her jaws to get the squeaks she so loves to hear until all the air is out. Then she moves to the tail and uses it to toss her new "toy" in to the air. I have tried to save a few, but often find them in a pretty sad state once wrangled from her, so return them to her so she finishes them off quickly. Her hobby has forced us to create a squirrel cemetery in the bamboo patch behind our home. The first few got crosses on their graves, but Katie quickly grew tired of naming them and making gravestones, so now it's unmarked.

She also goes after moles by "flushing" them out of their holes. She'll hear one in the ground, gauge where it's exit is, then start on the opposite side by digging a hole. She digs until the blind little creature is forced out of its hole, at which she grabs it and begins the squeak toy game. Jason is dismayed by the giant holes pocking our yard, but I'm secretly happy. I hate those critters, and I think Carly's pretty ingenious in her tracking methods. Besides, our yard is now blissfully free of unwanted critters.

Carly the Lover. Carly is quite fond of her people and lets us know every waking moment. She has a tongue that is longer than she is, and loves to lick you when you are not aware she's within radius, eliciting "ewwwws" from the younger inhabitants of our home. She's extremely tolerant of Sadie's constant need to stick her fingers down her throat, pull her tail and give her kisses on her nose, and loves to sleep with Katie when allowed. She especially adores poor old Darla, and puts her paws over the senior dog's shoulders to hug her. Which Darla hates, and responds with by nipping at Carly. Carly is either too stupid or too loving to care, and will return the hate with more love, in the form of inner ear licks. Darla is especially fond of this, and a barking match will shortly ensue. Every once in a while, though, I find the two cuddled up side by side or playing in the yard, and I think that even Darla's come around to the newest addition to our home.

Carly the Protector. Perhaps my favorite part of our newest pet is the fear she elicits in others. Though we know her to be sweet and loving, if people catch wind she's got some pit in her, they instantly fear her. A few weeks ago a woman in PetSmart told me how proud she was to pet Carly - that she'd never been brave enough to pet a "killer" breed before. I just sighed. This being said, Carly can put up a good front when necessary. Recently, an unfriendly dog was barking menacingly and came running at us as we passed its yard on our nightly constitutional. Carly stopped dead in her tracks and began to growl in this eery, scary, deep voice I'd never heard escape her muzzle... and it made my hair stand on end and stopped the dog dead in its tracks. Another woman was walking some furry, yippy little rat on a leash (decked out in some hideous fake fur coat), heading our way at that precise moment. Hearing the growl, she turned on her heal, briskly switched to the other side of the street and high tailed it out of there.

'Atta girl, Carly. I guess you're a keeper.

Carly Sparkles

This is what happens when you let a five year old name the new puppy: Carly Sparkles... the pitbull.

I knew that this puppy would likely be a challenge. I imagined that she would teeth more than the average pooch out there, and destroy more based on her jaw muscles alone. What I didn't realize is that pitbull puppies are much like sharks... with thousands of teeth that are constantly falling out and growing in. Daily she chews at least one toy, a sock, a hairband, sunglasses, moulding off the doorways, etc. One may say to me "well, you adopted a pitbull puppy, what did you expect?" And alas, I have no cute response to this. Darla did her fair share as a pup - ruining the carpet in our brand-new condo, eating pens and spewing ink daily - but Carly Sparkles takes it to a whole new level. Honestly, I often wonder if she's pissed off about her name.

The best part about Carly's name is that Carly means little and strong. Which Carly was (now forgoing little for more of the strong side of things). What I didn't know is where Katie came up with the name from. I found out at a preschool function recently, when I introduced myself as "Katie's Mom" to a woman standing beside me. "Oh. I'm Carly's mom," she said, and my heart skipped a beat. She quickly followed up with, "I heard you named your new puppy Carly, too." Lovely conversation starter. I wanted to wring Katie's neck. I blundered on about what a beautiful name it was, and that I had no idea where Katie had come up with the name. She looked less than impressed. I left with an awkward "nice to meet you" and haven't spoken with her since.

Back to Carly Sparkles. If anyone knows of a good trainer in Richmond, send me their way. I had thought I was the mac-momma with animals, but Carly's teaching me a few lessons.

Speaking of Macs (total stretch there, I know), my three month old MacBook Pro 15" notebook is TOAST. Done. Mac said I could replace the screen for $1200 through them. As if. They also said that the only way it could have cracked is through blunt trauma to the screen. Not true. Close it when its hot. That will do it. Others have reported this problem, though not often. I suspect that, as this new MacBook was just released this summer, that we will see lots of these stories in coming months.

The interesting thing is that I got back home, and using the half of my screen on the laptop which still works, did a quick google. Turns out there are lots of people who can fix it for less. MacService.com was the one I chose - $495.

I have this to say about Mac. I've been a total, devoted disciple of your products for over a decade. This is the way you treat your customers? Blindly rob them for a repair that costs, AT MOST, 1/4 of your quote, after they sink thousands into one of your new products? That is not the way to gain new customer loyalty, or to retain long-time customers. I will not be buying a new Mac for many years to come. I may even stop sniggering at the Mac vs. PC commercials I've so loved. It's that upsetting.

So in love

Our new puppy arrived last night... all head and paws. She's clearly a German Shepherd/Pitbull mix, with possibly some Lab thrown in for good measure. She's so cute we can hardly stand it.

We still haven't settled on the right name yet - though I'm probably going to try to convince Jason to let Katie have her way and go with "Sparkles". Both of us hate the name, but Katie loves it, and has taken to calling her that already. What can you do.

As mentioned in a previous blog, the puppy was rescued from a dumpster, where she was placed in a airtight tote in 100+º weather to die. Three did die, though four survived - she is one of them.

When Katie saw her at the fair, apparently it was love at first sight. To be honest, I had my eyes on another pup, and didn't even notice this one. On our drive home that night, Katie talked about the puppy with the "curly tail" (I hadn't noticed her tail) and how much she loved her. The next day she told me that she and the puppy were meant to be together, because the puppy had come to her and told her when she met her at the fair. The next day she was in tears, because I had a short temper (possibly from hearing about the puppy nonstop) and told her that we didn't even know which one had a curly tail, and we weren't sure if we'd be able to get that one. Finally, we got the interview (from AARF, the rescue league that saved this little girl's life), and were asked which puppy we wanted. I told them the one with the curly tail. And now she's here!

Last night Katie told me that it was the happiest day of her life. She said, "Mommy, my puppy and I were meant to be together. I love her so much!" And today's quote took the cake. She was on the floor, cuddling with the puppy when she looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said "Mommy, I'm so in love with my new puppy!"

Be careful at the fair...

For the first time in well over a decade, I headed out to the fair... this time with the family in tow. The Virginia State Fair is held only minutes from our house, so I figured it was worth checking out. We had a great time - Katie rode every ride that she could manage to convince the carnie's to let her on; Jason had funnel cake, which is one of his favorite things in the world; Sadie jammed to the loud music and lights on the midway, amusing passersby with her astounding dance skills.

We saw it all while we were there - the biggest pumpkin ever. Some fancy eggplant from NoVa. A giant bin of corn to play in. A winning kumquat. Prize winning bulls. World's smallest woman. More mullets than I even realized existed. Then we hit the Young McDonald's area. That is where we got into trouble.

Our state fair adventure ended with:
- A sleeping baby in a stroller. For the first time ever. She never sleeps in her stroller. Ever. Apparently she needs massive stimulation for 4-5 hours straight to do the trick.
- A light saber that is constantly left on, changing colors and blinding me.
- An empty wallet and heartburn due to bad fair food.
- The little girl in this photo

Yes - she's ours!! We'd been watching for puppies for a while. I made the mistake of looking online recently, and found that a litter of lab/pit mix puppies had been abandoned in a Richmond area dumpster 7 weeks ago, locked in a plastic tote in 105 degree weather. Three had died, four survived, and are now up for adoption. And they were at the state fair. We saw them there, and that's where our biggest splurge was made. We had to apply for adoption of one. HAD to.

This little gal will be joining our family early next week!! I'm not sure how Darla (our 10 year old hound/cocker mix) will take it, or if the cat will tolerate her, but we'll see. Wish us luck! And be careful if you're going to the Va Fair this weekend. Those puppy dog eyes will get you.

Another one bites the dust

On Wednesday, Katie's final guppy died. We started with five, and they had passed one by one, until this one was left. Of course he was the ugliest, most beat-up looking one of them all. He was called SpongeBob (by her because he was yellow/orange, by me because, even for a fish, he was pretty stupid). Katie was broken hearted. It took me off gaurd, because she's never cried over a fish, frog or snail before. And we've had quite a few.

We said our goodbyes, declared Wednesday a day of morning for him and sent SpongeBob via the porcelain express to fish heaven. Every hour or two after that Katie informed me that she really, really missed her fish. And that Gary, the snail, was lonely. Each time I'd confirm that it was OK to feel sad, and said that, when she felt like it, we could go get a new one. She said, "Maybe someday, Mommy. But right now I'm too sad." Well, someday arrived on Friday.

Friday morning arrived and Katie informed me she was ready for a new finned friend. At PetSmart she found a Betta that had escaped from it's little cubby into the big fish tank. She loved him, and wouldn't even consider another. He did still have color to him (as opposed to most who looked pretty white) and seemed active, so I finally caved.

Katie was thrilled over her new fish. She made phone calls. She made plans for show and tell. She told everyone she saw. That night the fish had kisses showered upon him (blown through the glass). I was told that in the morning, I would learn of the fish's new name.

Morning came, and the fish was not only alive (I breathed a huge sigh of relief), but had been named... Hokie Swimmy. Swimmy is her last name (don't try to tell Katie it's a male). Day 2 came and went, and the fish had a steady stream of conversation coming its way. In fact, that may be why the next day, she found him, laying on the bottom, belly up. Ahhh, Hokie Swimmy. Such a short life in our home.

Hokie Swimmy was the "bestest fish that was most ever loved ever." Yes, she was a "very, very special buddy." Thus, when the funeral arrangements were being planned, it was decided that the toilet just did not provide the appropriate reverence required for this mournful event. A coffin was thus fashioned from a toilet paper tube, and decorated with a snail (so he'd never forget Gary), a happy face (for fish heaven) and a butterfly. A tombstone was also crafted with his name and a heart. The burial took place behind the play area, under an oak tree, and Katie dug the grave herself. She wanted him near her swing, so she could always remember what a good fish he was. She said goodbye, then sat down in the grass and had another good cry. Sadly, I found myself tearing up just a little to see such a display of affection for a $3.42 fish.

So, we're off to Petsmart again tomorrow. I hope I can convince her to get a few goldfish. They're easier to replace without her knowledge.