I'd Lik to Buy a Bowel - The Search for Poo

So after a sleepless night, trying to not hear Georgia's shivering, Joe and I got up and packed Georgia into Joe's car for her second visit with the vet.

As I saw them off I began getting myself ready for work, yet all I could think about was what the vet would say.

At around 10:30 a.m. I received a call from her.

“So we have Georgia here, and I just don’t like the look of that lump, so I think surgery is going to be necessary.”

My heart sank.

But I quickly agreed with her decision, and then proceeded to feel the onslaught of questions hammer into my brain once again.

Finally, at around 7 p.m., we were able to pick her up and take her home, with orders to bring her back again for a fresh round of fluids and treatment.

The night was rough; Georgia barely let us touch her and she seemed completely out of it. I was nervous not just because I feared hurting her, but I also feared that somehow, when she had gone under the knife, her personality would’ve changed.

The next day, after dropping her off again and another long day of anticipation, my fears were happily abated.

The vet led us back to see her and we were greeted with a super excited, tail-wagging dog. We were given some further instructions, a couple of medications, and, the piece de resistance, a plastic cone to keep her from licking herself.

We were also told to be on the lookout for vomiting or constipation, so for the past few days, we have been following and watching Georgia’s bodily functions. Luckily there was no vomit and in fact, her appetite had become ravenous.

The one thing we still hadn’t seen was her poop. I began to get obsessed. Every time Joe took her out, I’d ask if she pooped. I’d constantly watch her to see if she pooped. I was even hoping to come home to the smell of poop, just so I knew that her bowels were working again.

I was beginning to get sincerely crazy when Joe texted me that, hurray, she pooped!

I haven’t seen the evidence myself, though. So, even tonight, I found myself standing in my pajamas and bathrobe, feet in slippers, standing in my yard at 8:30 at night, watching my lamp-shade wearing dog for the slightest squat. Classy, I know.

Still, it really says something about how my priorities have changed, even just at 27.

Meet the Rexs and the Fidos

While watching Joe adorably hammer away at some posts and chicken wire like John Henry's Italian cousin, I suddenly realized how much this new place is already starting to not only look like home, but feel like it too.

It's not just the actual townhouse. It's got to be partly due to how friendly our neighbors are. But then again, I might not have even had the guts to strike up a conversation with them if little Georgia wasn't around. I had no idea how dogs (among fellow dog lovers) really can bring people together.

Joe did a great job already introducing our little bean to anyone who walked by while I was away. So much so in fact, that a few nights ago while taking her out to do her business one last time before bed (at around 10 or 11) two separate people came up to the yard and called out Georgia's name. I was pleased but surprised as well. These people didn't even know who I was, yet they remembered Georgia. I was a tad anxious, still unsure how she reacts to strangers. But fortunately, she just wags her curly-cue tail and flattens her ears to be petted. I would normally think it would just be the novelty of seeing a dog that would bring people forward, but truthfully, I have met all these people's dogs as well: there's Raven, the Boston terrier across the street, Buddy the cavalier spaniel, Cedric the pug, and Cocoa Bean, a border collie mix. And those are just the dogs that have walked by here to stop and say hello. There are tons of dogs (and ironically, hardly any children), but the worst part is while I seem to remember the dogs I can not remember the owners names to save me.

I was especially thrilled to come home from work one day and see Georgia playing with Raven in our yard while Joe and Raven's owner sipped beer on the lawn chairs. For one I was happy to see Joe bonding with a neighbor already but also I hadn't been able to see her really interact with another dog ever, so to see her hopping and chasing Raven, I dunno, made me feel like I was watching a kid walk for the first time. Awww really? Yes really, go ahead and call me obsessed and ridiculous, it's TRUE.

But I don't think I realized how lucky we were to have these kinds of neighbors until some recent drama took place. Now, because the yard is (almost) completely enclosed I felt fine letting her out the door to play without a leash on, figuring she wouldn't try to escape....let me say again, I FELT that she wouldn't escape.

After work one day I called Joe and found out Georgia had gotten out. "What? What do you mean?" I said frantically. "It's ok, a neighbor found her and brought her back," Joe said calmly.

Apparently he had nodded off on the couch and she just slipped right through the small gap between the gate and the gate door. He hadn't even realized she was gone until the neighbor returned her.

A couple of days later, the same neighbor was walking by, said hello to Georgia and informed me that she had been the rescuer. I thanked her profusely and was genuinely touched that a perfect stranger would not only let us know she was loose but actually try and rescue her.

We vowed to make sure we were more cautious with her, hence Joe's chicken wire barricade. But it's still comforting knowing that you have neighbors who care. It's weird having neighbors at all, at least the kind that you actually meet and not duck eye contact with while scurrying into your apartment.

But the dog definitely helps as an ice-breaker, as well as the nice big yard we have now. Anyone who's shown any interest in us has been thoroughly invited to participate in the many barbecues we intend to have. So who knows if they will really like us. Maybe we'll just keep luring them in with our dog and yard. Either way, it feels good to be neighborly.

Georgia's On My Mind

Hey folks, sorry I've been a little m.i.a., but you see, time seems to pass so quickly...especially when you are in LOVE...

Yes, and don't worry, Joe is well aware. In fact, he practically introduced us.

Ok, I'll leave the euphemism behind and just come out with it....

Meet Georgia- or at least for now, Coco. And we met last Sunday on a fateful trip to the SPCA in Baltimore. But that's no way to tell a story, so let me paint the picture of this Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan romantic comedy (but much cuter and with less sappy dialogue).

I've been gunning for a dog for as long as I can remember. We had our family dog, Abby, when I was a kid, and after she passed on and we all left home I was determined to find a connection to another furbuddy. I waited patiently through four years of college and then I was too busy trying to piece a life together for myself afterwards that I knew there was no way I could take on a dog.

Then when Joe and I came together, I reopened the "Dog Files". Joe was definitely the more level-headed one, while I was just like a woman desperate for a child...I took notice of every dog that passed by, watched anything about dogs on TV, even sometimes found myself wandering into PetsMarts to look at the leashes and food bowls. I was a woman possessed. Fortunately Joe kept me sane and grounded. He insisted we wait till we had a yard- a fair compromise.

So a few weeks ago, when we happened to find the townhouse (complete with hard wood, a massive yard, even a Doggy Door!) I took it as a sign. This would be where we'd bring home a wriggly-bundle of joy. We signed the lease, and the search was on.

Now I had been looking at Petfinder for months now, so as soon as Joe said he was ready I passed along any dogs that met our criteria: female, a year old or less, smallish, quiet, and sweet. It wasn't long before I had clogged his email full of dogs but surprisingly few of those dogs were within an hour's drive. But when we found ourselves with nothing to do on a Sunday...in the summer (who has nothing to do on a Sunday in the summer? Especially Joe. Another sign??), we decided to visit the Baltimore SPCA.

We walked into the SPCA, and once we figured out how to make our way to the back, we walked into the kennels. I'm not gonna lie, you need to have some resilience when you walk into those places. As happy as they try to make, you still walk in and feel a little heartbroken and guilty. We walked among all these pit bulls, some looking hopeful and playful, others that looked broken and desperate. I wondered if all places in the country have as much of a surplus of pit bulls as we do here in Baltimore. And really, it is so sad that these dogs get such a bad rep- they're not mean or bad dogs, they just need to be treated well. I briefly considered suggesting we adopt one of those, but their size and energy level would honestly be too much for us.

As I looked around Joe went over to another dog and knelt down. It was this little plucky dog with a curly-ish tail and huge bat ears. She tucked her ears back, licked Joe's hand excitedly and wagged her tail so hard her butt started shaking. I joined him and she also began licking my hand adorably. I tried to remember everything I read about how to choose the right kind of dog, especially a more submissive type. Her ears were back and she seemed to cower a bit. Not terribly, but definitely showing the signs I wanted.

I stood up to look at her file hung outside her cage. Name: Coco. Age: 6 Mos. Breed: Dachshund cross. She was hitting all the right marks. I read her meager background and she had been assessed and dubbed a "Waltzing Matilda". I had no idea what that meant so while Joe kept her company I went to look for a volunteer/employee to ask if we could take her out. While I waited for one to become available I noticed where we had come in there was a sign describing the three levels they use to categorize. Underneath the one titled "Waltzing Matilda" read that the dogs in this category are perfect snuggle-buddies: low energy, yet still playful and sweet. This dog was getting better and better.

Finally we spoke to a woman who got the dog and took her out to meet us. We watched how Coco managed on a leash and then the woman opened the wide fenced area to let her play and get to know us. Every now and then I would get down to see if she would come to me, and happily she did a bit. She let me pet her and get near her, and remained very submissive. Joe tried to see how she'd interact with the ball but for the most part, Coco didn't seem too interested. Then another volunteer brought out another dog and led it to the area directly next to ours. We watched to see how she handled being near other dogs, and again, I was relieved to see her show signs of playfulness and not aggression.

I was getting sold by the minute, and so I began asking the woman what kind of "hold" program they did. I was disappointed when she informed us that they usually only hold a dog for a day (SOMETIMES 48 hours).

"And," she continued, "these little dogs usually go fast. Chances are she won't be here very long."

Joe and I looked at each other. Our current apartment is small as it is, but we still needed to get all the packing done. We didn't think there was any way we could take her yet.

Sadly, we left her there. And I became even sadder when we visited two other shelters and didn't find a dog that even came close to what we needed. Joe tried to keep my spirits up, but all I could think of was that little dog with the curly tail.

I promised I'd stop bringing it up, and on Wednesday when I looked at the SPCA website and didn't see her there, I figured we had missed our chance.

And then, yesterday, for some reason, I checked out the website one more time...and there she was, as happy and funny-looking as she was when we first saw her. I texted Joe immediately and when I got home we discussed that it must be fate.

We agreed that today, after work, we would triumphantly return and take our little lady home.

Of course, this is pending she is still there. So wish us luck!

Black Heart Down

I was driving to work today listening to the radio, as usual, when I was suddenly taken aback by one of the news stories: two 10 year olds were...what, arrested sounds almost too absurd a word to be referring to children, but captured makes it sound like they were thrown into potato sacks...let's just say apprehended, for killing a PUPPY! Apparently these two heathens found nothing better to do than throw rocks and sticks at a puppy that was chained at a country club or golf course, some random place that seemed out of place like a MadLibs noun.

I was so appalled, I felt like gagging. I mean really, how much of a charred briquette is your heart that you would do that to any animal, let alone a little puppy! It angered me terribly, especially since I've been obsessing these past months over the precise details on how to just keep a dog happy, let alone safe. It really disheartened me, but sadly, this kind of thing is not new for this area.

Just a few months ago a dog was set on fire by some other maniac-kids. The dog survived only long enough to lick it's rescuers before finally being put down. Another dog was chained and accosted by bricks by another gang of hell-bound idiots. This dog, I believe, was also rescued but thankfully survived and was adopted to a nice family.

I'm not sure exactly what disturbed me more, the fact that these incidents occurred at all or the fact that they were perpetrated by misguided assholes who were CHILDREN. I'm sure that I'm the only one who feels this way, but I hope these kids get the EXACT punishment that fit the crime. And I don't real care if that makes me sound like a bleeding heart. Dogs learn negative behavior from their owners, plain and simple. Sure, they all have their own personalities, but of all the highly educational dog-training reality shows I have clocked, no expert has ever claimed a dog to be a bad dog; scared, certainly. Aggressive towards food, maybe. But these things always seemed to be linked to their early puppy-hood and how they were handled.

I kept driving thinking about a section from one of David Sedaris' books about his visit with one of his sisters. Sedaris mentioned how his sister had a dog that was like her child, saying, "My little collie gets a flea and I get hysterical." He also described how his sister could pass by a horrible car accident and rather than show concern for the human victims, she would simply reply, "I hope there wasn't a dog in that car."

I think I'm probably the same way. I can't take seeing dogs getting hurt, even if its just in the movies. I cried practically every time that damn Sarah McLaughlin commercial for the ASPCA came on. I guess because I see dogs, and all animals really, as kind of voiceless (duh, right?). But really, we take these animals in to be our comfort, our companions. And when I hear about horrible abuse to an innocent victim it just breaks my heart and makes me want to get a crowbar and kick some ass. Yeah I do feel that same sense of anger at the thought of child abuse too, but let's face it, there's ALOT of people out there trying to prevent that, and they are all definitely heroes. Dogs and other pets should be protected as well. Right? Ok, I'll get off my soap box now.

Sorry this is kinda short one, but I need to kinda skee-daddle. I've got India Palace waiting for me for lunch AND tomorrow I will be at the long anticipated M3 Rock Festival. Oh yes, my hair is standing up already.

See you readers on Monday!