A Foster Story

Adventure in the great outdoors

Chance experienced a first with our family this past weekend - he spent 36 hours roughing it in the great outdoors (well, as rough as it gets being a pampered Pekingese.) Although we've always brought Roxy and Cash along on our camping trips, this would be Chance's first foray into the wilderness, and I was nervous at the idea of exposing this most precious of charges to the harsh realities of the wilds.

The trip did not get off to a good start. We forgot to pack many of the essentials in our haste to get to the site before dark (including toilet paper and pillows) and were bombarded with Chance's cries and flatulence throughout the entire two hour drive. The unpleasant road trip finally concluded with us finding our friends at the bottom of a very steep hill in absolute darkness - exactly what I was hoping to avoid. I'm pretty certain that my less-than-excited demeanor was quite evident despite my best efforts to appear excited about our beach-front real estate. Nevertheless, we began the arduous chore of unpacking the car and getting the dogs settled for a weekend full of fun and adventure.

This camping trip presented another first for Chance - he had yet to be introduced to my friends. They were all familiar with his story and are HUGE fans of the blog of course, but had never actually met the little monster which they had heard so much about. I will admit that I was hesitant to introduce him to a group of strangers considering his recent bout of violent attacks (Jeremy has also fallen victim to his surprisingly sharp snaggle tooth.) I decided to err on the side of caution, and asked my cohorts to be watchful for signs of a pending assault. At first the group heeded my cautionary tales and approached him with apprehension and care. But to my surprise, he was nothing but cordial, a vision of charm and gentlemanly grace. This was a side of him rarely seen by those of us given the pleasure of sharing his home. He relished the snuggles, coos and attention showered on him by my shocked companions - this could not possibly be the same dog who has been running my house with an iron fist (or jaw, depending on how you look at it.)

Chance was mostly well behaved throughout our outdoor excursion, barring one incident with a wayward camper who chose to risk life and limb by waking the Mongolian Monster. To be fair, this woman was met with a sufficient display of warning in the form of vicious snarls and growls (Chance seemed pretty annoyed with her, too) but she persisted in her attempts to win his affections in spite of his being fast asleep. This resulted in a bruised ego, bloody finger and a group of campers kept up all night by the whimperings of a spoiled dog upset to have been disturbed from his slumber.

The rest of the weekend flew by without further incident. Chance joined Roxy and Cash for a swim in the lake and enjoyed a multitude of healthy treats such as leftover hot dog bits and potato chip scraps he picked up off the beach. Always Jeremy's faithful companion, he amazed my friends with his ability to chase after his best bud at top speeds, never letting him out of his sight. All in all, the weekend was a success in spite of the doggie-drama, a flat tire and a poop-filled backseat. Chance managed to ease my trepidation and instill in me the confidence to allow him to roam the wild beaches of Lake Harrison, unrestrained by my fussing and fretting. Stay tuned for his next exhilarating exploit, same dog blog, same dog channel.

Warm days, hot dogs, hotter styles

Despite this recent wave of stifling weather, my dogs have managed to stay cool while looking hot in the Summer's hottest canine fashions. Although Chance must remain collar-less for the time being due to his skin issues, Roxy and Cash still feel the need to beat the heat in style with collars from our favorite doggie designers.

Roxy's favorite hobby of skinny dipping in her private pool hasn't stopped her from sporting this season's hottest look as decided by me, the Cow Print. Here she is pictured in her favorite collar and leash combo, the "Holy Cow" from Jennie B Goode collars. When wearing this fun and flirty number, Roxy oozes confidence and grace without taking herself too seriously. What's black, white, pink and hot all over? Roxy's "Holy Cow" collar, that's what.

Cash is no exception; his rugged good looks and self-assuredness are magnified by this handcrafted, custom, yet-to-be-named collar from our friends at Paco Collars. When they heard that Cash was sick and tired of the clichéd black leather spiked collar, they came to the rescue with this gorgeous one of a kind piece handmade to reflect his personal style. You know you're tough when you're not afraid to be pretty.

As for Chance, we are still searching for the perfect collar to reflect his, well, unique personality (barbwire maybe) so that when his skin clears he'll be just as well dressed as my other hot dogs.

(Blind) love, thy name is Roxy

Many people (dog lovers and non-lovers alike) believe that canines do not have the capacity to fall in love, that what they fall into is pack behaviour. I adamantly disagree with this theory and personally believe that dogs can experience different types of affection such as parental love, sibling love and romantic love. The dogs in my pack are no exception. Despite having an immense dislike for each other in the beginning, Roxy and Cash have developed a friendship that has progressed far beyond typical "pack behaviour" which parallels the bond I share with my own siblings. These two aren't the only victims of my anthropomorphic projections. I have made no attempt to hide the fact that Chance's transmission into my home has been less than smooth, but I've recently come to suspect that his feelings towards his fellow housemates (one of them in particular) have changed.

As with most Sunday mornings, I got up early and took the dogs into the backyard to relax and enjoy the sun this past weekend. Cash and Chance rolled wildly in the grass while Roxy daintily splashed about in her kiddie pool, dipping her face under water searching for a tennis ball to spit into my lap. Upon completion of her aerobic routine, Roxy made her way over to her favorite spot on the deck next to where Chance and I had planted ourselves in the sun. The normal reaction from these two towards each other is usually complete indifference or ravenous outbursts of feigned violence, but on this day I witnessed neither of these. Instead, I perceived a substantial transformation in Chance's energy; rather than cantankerous and cross, he seemed interested and dare I say, taken by her feminine charms.

Unfazed by his sudden attraction, Roxy made her way back into the house to cool down while Chance followed hot on her tail (literally.) She traveled from room to room, desperately seeking refuge from his advances, but despite her best efforts, she could not seem to escape his prodding nose and incessant sniffing that continued throughout the rest of the day. Chance had become enamored with my Roxy! The only problem is she does not share his new-found devotion. You see, Roxy is a lady in every sense of the word; she's polite, manages never to step in poo despite her inability to see, and does not participate in unwelcome flirtations with long haired, bad boy Casanovas. Chance just isn't her type, but I have a feeling that if he works at it, she'll give him a shot. Maybe.

Overmedicated and ill-fated

I, much like my snaggle toothed companion, have a significant aversion to doctor/dentist visits and go to great lengths to avoid them. A routine teeth cleaning once resulted in my biting the dentist, which ultimately led to my expulsion from that particular practice. I now prepare for my nerve-racking appointments with a hearty dose of Atavant and a stiff gin and tonic, which, according to most animal husbandry experts, is not a viable option for Chance. So he will have to continue to work through his veterinary-visit woes. Our most recent trip to the vet was no exception.

The weekend was off to a rocky start with an early morning appointment to have his skin re-examined to try to determine the cause for his itchiness. Chance has suffered from skin issues since we've known him, possibly as a result of a severe food allergy or some other underlying problem. Thus far, we have been unable to get a firm diagnosis except that an overabundance of yeast was what was causing the itchy scabs that seem to have overtaken his glorious coat. We had tried a variety of fixes in the past two months including antifungal baths twice a week along with a prescription oral anti-fungal medication and a topical cream. This combination was successful at first, but after weaning him off of the oral meds, the scabs have returned with a vengeance.

The vet's first impression was that yeast was definitely responsible for his discomfort, and that a combination of antifungals, antibiotics and steroids would be our best option for easing his irritation. She did, however, make it abundantly clear that Chance would never be completely relieved of his itchiness, and would have to remain on some form of medication for the rest of his life. This gloomy diagnosis is one of many unlucky breaks in a string of hard-knocks that Chance has been forced to endure. Poor guy just can't seem to catch a break.

On the way home we stopped off at the drugstore to pick up a daily pill planner which would make administering his cocktail of prescriptions faster and easier for all of us (we made sure to choose one that coordinated with is coat.) This, along with the other items in our doggie medicine cabinet (medicated shampoos, special brushes, creams, hypoallergenic foods) will hopefully help in prolonging his time with us and decreasing his chronic discomfort.

One unpleasant consequence for me is that Chance doesn't enjoy taking his meds, so we are forced to hide them in soft, meaty treats. This wouldn't be an issue except that he is lacking in the manners department and has "accidentally" nipped me on several occasions. Despite our continued efforts to work on his etiquette, these unintentional "love bites" have progressed into full on attacks, one of which resulted in spilt blood and hurt feelings. Although he and I have been on shaky ground since Monday, he is using his canine charms to slowly work his way back into my good graces. I just can't stay mad at my Mongolian Monster.

Surrendering to the "Senior Sevens"

I know, I know, a non-Chance related post, but I need to occasionally use this venue to brag about my other monsters too!

This past weekend we celebrated Cash's 7^th birthday, time has gone so fast with him. It seems like just yesterday I was standing at the bottom of my stairs looking up at the giant goofball excitedly awaiting an introduction to his new family. Dog years are not fair; he went from a mid-life crisis at six (approximately 49 in dog years) to an official senior at seven (56 in dog years) all in one short year. Despite being the youngest of my brood by human standards, it is hard to believe he is now the oldest in doggie years (Roxy is 51 and Chance is 52). Although his exuberance and eternal puppy-dom contradict these hard facts, I am slowly beginning to see the signs of aging in his distinguished visage; a slight peppering of gray where his signature white stripe resides, an easy calm in those mischievous eyes I have come to regard as my favorite feature. What is there left for a mom to do but to enjoy the quiet serenity that seems to have crept into my Cash's heart.

Separation and other anxieties

During my youth, I was a "career babysitter"; this meant that I was the go-to girl when anyone within my family's enormous social circle needed someone to watch their kids. This part-time gig allowed me the "pleasure" of being exposed to all sorts of kid/parent dynamics. My least favorite of all these relationships had to be the "clinger", the kid who couldn't bear to be apart from their mom/dad despite my being the best babysitter of all time. These kids would scream, cry and cling to their parent's neatly pressed evening wear in their feeble attempts to dissuade them from leaving. In all of my Saturday-night sittings, I never once witnessed a successful campaign, so I was the one left behind to soothe the inconsolable child. (Is it any wonder I hate kids?)

One thing I did manage to take from these experiences was that I felt bad for these temporary orphans, and that I was glad not to be the one who would be paying their therapy bills in the future. Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging these parents, but I've come to know firsthand the effects that being separated from a loved one can have. Despite my best efforts, I have somehow morphed into one of these "neglectful" mothers I was so quick to judge as a pre-teen. Chance is suffering from a severe case of separation anxiety.

How could we have gone this long without noticing, you might ask. Well, Jeremy was on holidays for the first two weeks after we brought Chance home, so the majority of his days were spent snuggled up to his best pal. We did think that he was unusually well adjusted considering the ordeal he had just endured, but we chalked it up to good luck for doing a good deed. It wasn't until after Jeremy returned to work that we realized Chance has some serious abandonment issues.

It started with his daily trips to the backyard to pee with the rest of the pack. As soon as we turned away from him he would start to quietly whimper until one of us brought him back inside. At first, we blamed the wet grass and terrible weather, even going as far as holding an umbrella over him while he went. But as the weather improved, we noticed his crying fits worsened significantly and began to develop into something more than just your typical faithful dog behaviour. As things have progressed he has become more and more obsessive. He follows us wherever we go and whines incessantly if we venture too close to the front door. It has escalated to the point that unless we are within arm's reach, he throws a major tantrum and has even succumbed to bouts of diarrhea!

While some misguided souls may consider this flattering, it is NOT! When you hear an infant screaming relentlessly for no apparent reason, do you think "Well geeze, that baby really does love its mommy/daddy!" Probably not, you're most likely saying to yourself "someone shut that kid up" and I refuse to reach that point with my dog. My heart breaks for Chance; I know that a dog's understanding of chronological progression is inferior to ours. Every time I leave, Chance thinks it's forever, he has no way of knowing when or if I'll return. This lack of control over his own destiny must be torture, but what can I do to relieve his pain and suffering? In the past I have used Bach Flower's Rescue Remedy to help alleviate anxiety and fear in my dogs, but I think I'm going to need a full arsenal of resources to combat this level of unease. Is there anyone out there who knows how to cure his broken heart?

Christmas in July

This morning I woke up in an unusually fantastic mood, do you want to know why? Because when I walked into my kitchen, I didn't slip in pee, I didn't have to wash the dogs' bedding, mop the floors, or hose Chance down before I left for the day. How, pray tell, did I manage this miraculous feat? Belly bands, my friends, belly bands.

One of the fabulous perks of being a dog owner here at Modern Dog is that people want to send you their products to try. (It also doesn't hurt to have a world famous, adorably difficult special needs dog who loooooves to receive gifts!) I don't want to seem ungrateful, so I will gladly try anything.

In the weeks since we've begun fostering Chance, a plethora of companies have offered to send products to help improve Chance's - and my - quality of life. Of course there was the wheelchair which I will be forever grateful to Dewey's Wheelchair's for Dogs for, a fur-bulous carrier from Harry & Sophie, and last, but most definitely not least, belly bands from Oscar Newman. As I have alluded to in previous posts, not all diapers are created equal, and even the good ones cause chaffing. But not belly bands, they offer the ultimate in comfort and leak protection, providing a soft and stylish barrier between Chance's accidents and my carpets!

It seems that with every tote full of goodies I bring home, Chance becomes more and more accustomed to this lavish lifestyle. As his desire for extravagant gifts increases, I realize that it's never too soon to begin compiling his Christmas Wish list. Here are his most sought after items:

1. A dirty sock - Though some would consider this the simplest of all his desires, it is also the biggest and least likely to happen. Mom refuses to let doggies play with socks; they are too easily swallowed and not so easily digested.

2. His own room - Okay, maybe this is the least likely to happen.

3. A soaker tub - After a long, arduous day at the Modern Dog office, all Chance wants is to take a bath. But, to his dismay, he has to share our human tub with his two other siblings. This does not please him.

4. A personal masseuse/stylist - There's nothing Chance loves more than a gentle brushing after his bath, if only Mom was up to date on the hottest Pekingese hair trends...

5. An escalator - Despite being amazingly capable in spite of his disability, Chance still has trouble hauling himself up onto our deck from the grass in the back yard. If only Dad was more mechanically inclined.

I think we're going to have to change the name of this blog to "Spending a fortune on Chance; A bankruptcy story." Sounds promising, doesn't it?

If these carpets could talk...

In honour of  "Take your dog to work" day, I decided to bring all three of my kiddies to the Modern Dog office with me. It seemed like such a good idea last night, but, in retrospect, it was not. As I sit here at my desk surrounded by ruined toys, cotton innards and wet carpets (that's an upset water bowl, not a gigantic lapse in house-training), I wonder who was it that convinced us all that bringing your pets to work was supposed to decrease your stress? More than likely, it reduces your coworkers' stress because they are so busy enjoying your furrry companions' antics that they become infinitely relaxed. I see now that I've been misled.