Daddy Hannibal Update

Just a quick update to let you all know that my dad Hannibal made it through his surgery and is doing well!  Of course he's supposed to be resting now, but like the fine Airedale that he is, he's already trying to chase cats and use those big, brown eyes to manipulate everyone in sight.  I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that he's made it through such a dangerous situation (stomach torsion is no joke, and it's usually fatal).

I am proud to be from such fine stock.  I can see such a family resemblance!

Big kisses to you Dad - LOVE YOU!

Love,

Bogart

Hannibal's Hope

This is Hannibal, Bogart's father.He is still in very serious condition with stomach torsion, but is defying the odds as only an Airedale can! I am so happy to know Bogart's family, they are great people, and every bit counts for them!  Click on the photo to go to Hannibal's Hope, their GoFundMe page, and if you can, contribute a little to his care! 

http://www.gofundme.com/uvjvfh9

Love,

Bogart

Spring Cleaning

Grrr.  That dreaded time that rolls around every year when the weather starts to get warmer, and the grass starts to get greener.  HAIRECUT TIME.

For many years I was handstripped by mama and dad – always retaining a bit of my signature scruff, but less, and shorter fuzz.  In the last few years both mama and I ain’t got no time for that, so first comes just a bit o’ rippin’, then it’s mostly a scissor cut.  Because I hate the damn expensive fancy clippers that she bought.  Too damn loud.  And scary.  And EVIL.  So in order to give me a good, old groom she has to bust out the safety scissors (so I don’t get poked!) and snip away.

Yes, this takes a long time.  Yes, she has the grooves in her thumbs to prove that she does it.  But if it’s the only way, then damnit we will do it.

Except that I’m not a fan of the long, full groom.  You have to ease me into it by doing one area of my body at a time (occasionally two, but lets not get crazy).  Sometimes we start at the head, other times we start at the butt (so that the world won’t easily notice that I only have a partial hairedo, or think that I look a little nutso).  This years festivities began at the head because apparently I had a few beard-dreadlocks that needed attention.  So be it.

I figured I’d give her around 10 minutes or so to clip away furiously until I got really annoyed.  Which generally means that one side gets a little more attention than the other.  Mama says that now I don’t have so much of the mad-scientist look that I was working hard all winter.  Only she would notice that one side isn’t quite as chopped as the other, and that my ears always look a little funky, but still the end result is still pretty handsome so I approve.

Next up will be my ruff – that full scruff of fuzz extending from my head to my shoulders which makes me look like I don’t have a neck.

Love,

Bogart

One Year On

Who would have thunk it?  One year ago I was rushed into emergency surgery because I had a big, honking tumor attached to my spleen (and taking up way more space than anything else in my abdominal cavity).  Big decisions had to be made.  At 5AM, mama and I had to rush out into the Philadelphia darkness, find an agreeable cab driver who would take us across the river, as well as remember to grab the credit cards and phone and haul ass to the emergency clinic.  The wonderful folks at Penn Vet laid it all out - exactly what was going on, and what would have to happen, right away, to save my fuzzy butt.

And so off into emergency surgery I went.  That pesky 10-pound (!) tumor had to go, along with my spleen.  No way to know if it was cancerous or not until it was removed.  And while they were investigating they noticed something wonky around my prostate and the boys.  So, sadly, the boys also had to go (I am still a man, damnit).  A whole lotta surgery in a short period of time.

For me it was all mostly a blur, until mama showed up that first night with my chicken soup.  I wasn't able to really tell her how much that meant to me (other than some serious leaning and face kissing because hey, I was still seriously doped up), but damn it was good to have home cooking.

I was able to go home 2 days later to begin the healing process and the horrible waiting period to find out if I would be dealing with cancer or not.  Because Penn Vet is a teaching facility, we had agreed to be part of a study of a new drug that would have hopefully helped both me and other dogs with cancer, so I did get one dose.  And then we waited.  And I hauled my butt up and down the stairs everyday for my walkies and my "business" (the King of Terriers does NOT poop or pee in the apartment).  They said I might not be able to do stairs (they were wrong).  They said I might not pee or poop for a few days (they were wrong).  They said I wouldn't have much of an appetite (oh boy were they wrong).  It was really hard for mama.  You could see how much she wanted me to feel better.  Even the kitties seemed to be pulling for me.

And then the call finally came.  The gigantic tumor was NOT cancerous!  I had beaten the odds!  And then another piece of news.  My boys WERE cancerous, but luckily they were removed and that usually takes care of that.  HOLY CRAPAMOLE

Friends from all over the world helped us with their love, thoughts, and donations.  If any of you are reading this right now, you need to know how much you saved all of our lives and our sanity.  Getting me (us!) through this was a definite group effort.

And now, one year later, I stand before you a big, honking Dale with a little extra padding and a lotta extra love.  And appreciation.  And gratitude.  And AIRETITUDE.

Love,

Bogart

At the vet... again

While I am not exactly a fan of the vet (yes, I am the dog who needs to be muzzled just for the vet to get a feel anywhere on my entire body because DON'T TOUCH ME DAMNIT) I have been spending a good amount of time (and mama's money) with the fine folks at the Penn Vet emergency room.

Some weird thing has happened twice now where I just kind of stop, sit, and stare. The last time the thought it might be neurological (checked out just fine), orthopedic (checked out just fine - but damn, do those orthopedic doctors give you a workout), and last night, they thought it might be food bloat. So I spent the night there watching them watch me. I got fluids and lots of attention, but ultimately also didn't get a diagnosis. It's very frustrating for mama who of course wants an answer as to what's going on, and who has a sneaky suspicion that these episodes may be caused by my errant "street eating" which she tries to thwart at every opportunity. I of course have the advantage in that my face is much closer to the ground and all of the yumminess and she's too damn tall and it's hard to bend that far that fast. To her credit she's gotten better at distracting me, but both of these "events" happened within a day of my snatching something probably extra disgusting, so with no better theory, that's what she's going with.

Anyone else have these kind of episodes? It has been pointed out to me (and not that delicately, by the way) that I am a tad overweight and could lose a couple (and we are now doing the mama-and-me-lets-eat-less-crap-on-a-daily-basis-and-go-on-longer-walks regimen), but otherwise all of my tests always come back big, honkin' healthy. Especially for a dog who had a big chunk of tumor, my spleen, and damnit my balls removed last year.

Slowly feeling better today after a kind of restless night (mama was thrilled at my every-30 minute request to go outside, but damn all of those fluids they gave me had to go somewhere!) and had a good walkie. That's a good sign for me.

Love,
Bogart

Chillin on a Chilly Saturday

Damn, it's cold outside. Not too cold for a fine, refreshing, LONG walkie this morning, but even I noticed that it was a bit chilly by the time I dragged mama back home. Time for some fine reclining, Airedale-style.

Love,
Bogart

Auld Lang Sticks

Out with the old, in with the new (sticks, that is).

I've spent the last few months collecting all of these tasty sticks, and alas with no fireplace or other repository for them I found myself collecting them in a big pile just outside of my door.  Which must go.

Ah well, cleaning out 2014 (which was a pretty tough year) to make way for 2015 (which had better be a fantastic year).

Happy 2015, all!

Love,

Bogart

Hello 2015

Well, hello 2015.  Looking forward to a year full of HEALTH (no more times at the emergency vet!), WEALTH (more money for cookies), and HAPPINESS (more time running in the park, exploring, and eating crap I'm not not supposed to off of the street with mama!).

Love,

Bogart

Throwback Thursday

 Ah, so many years ago, when I was a wee lad, mama bundled me up and took me to Petco to have my photo taken with Santa. This was my first year of life, I was only a few months old, and yet the promise of treats was too great a temptation to resist. And so we arrived at Petco with several other doggies and their owners, waiting for the grand arrival of Petco Santa. Would he arrive in a sleigh with eight mighty reindeer? This was LA, he could have arrived in a stretch limo with an entourage. We all waited, and waited, and waited. No Santa (there was a rumor that he was drunk - at 10AM on Sunday when he was supposed to be Santa-ing). The poor employees watched us waiting, many dogs in their Xmas finery, for our chance to tell Santa what we wanted for Xmas while simultaneously trying not to puke in his lap or scratch his eyes out. I'd like to think that they took pity on us, but the truth was probably more like their manager picking on the employee with the least seniority (otherwise known as "the new guy"), handing him a full Santa outfit-in-a-bag, and anointing him Santa. Out he strode, from the employee-only back room, the cheap polyester chafing his crotch and scratching his face (I know this because he kept saying it over and over). There would be only one shot, one chance to catch the gravity of the moment, and all the finery of the holiday season.

And BAM.  Nailed it.  SUPERMODEL.

Love,

Bogart

Baking for Bogie (Woo-Hoo, RECIPES!)

Sometimes mama gets it SO DAMN RIGHT.

Normally I wouldn't let her anywhere near the stove, she's just not terribly domestically-inclined, and has a bad habit of setting off smoke alarms with her, ahem, "cooking".  Apparently, she bought "ingredients" to make some cookies for me awhile ago, and they have been taunting her ever since.  Now "ingredients" to her are usually a mishmash of things that make no sense together, don't taste good together, and get thrown away in disgust after sitting for an inordinate amount of time in the refrigerator taking up valuable real estate that could be filled with normal, good-tasting food that someone else made.  BUT TODAY WAS DIFFERENT, today she decided that SHE HAD HAD ENOUGH.

And so 'a baking she went.  Brought out all of her "ingredients" and hoped for the best.  Today's cookies brought to you mostly by the fine ingredients courtesy of Trader Joe's, with a quick run to the ShopRite as well.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it (and make these delicious cookies) is:  Bob's Red Mill Oat Flour (approx 1 cup), TJ's quick-cook oatmeal (approx. .5 cup), TJ's flaxseed with blueberry (approx. 1 heaping tablespoon), 1 jar of Gerber Chicken baby food, and enough rice milk to make a thick dough.  Don't sweat the exact ratios, if mama can do it, ANYONE CAN.  Roll it out thinly (it should be tough but sticky), cut into amusing shapes.  Heat the oven to 325, cook 'em for about 10-15 minutes, then let 'em sit in the oven as it cools down.  Then you should put on any and all protective gear that you own, especially for your hands and arms, because this is what you will see coming at you:

Yes, mama made one Airedale-shaped one for me.  She just happens to have an Airedale-shaped cookie cutter (she just happens to have Airedale-shaped everything, oh and cat-shaped everything too).  Don't judge us.

Once the initial excitement is over (and you have counted all of your fingers to be sure that you still have 10 - or however many you had when this all started), then the little hearts can come out.

I watched mama the entire time - these were EASY to make.  Yes, she did set off the smoke alarm twice (but that's normal around here whenever she is near the stove so I wouldn't hold it against her).  But they are DELICIOUS and have no crap in them.  It wasn't easy for either of us to stop feeding them to me.  I am a picky gourmand, and usually would sniff at a new treat before showing it the tail.  BUT NOT THESE.  Did I get a few too many?  Yup.  Did mama cry a little knowing that she had actually made my cookies and that I loved 'em?  Sure.  Did we remember to put them into a glass container with a top so that they will stay fresh until I get a chance to eat them all?  You betcha.

Love,

Bogart