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

I'm a Maniac

THIS is what happens when you take one mama with some knitting skills and too much time on her hands, and one Airedale with shaved legs from the vet.

Yep, I know that I look a little "Flashdance". What can I say. At least she didn't knit me a headband to match.

Love,
Bogart

Poodle Legs

Having to go to the hospital stinks. Especially when something out of the ordinary happens.

Tuesday night, mama came home to see me unable to walk.  I tried to run to see her at the door, but couldn't really stand.  It was really scary for both of us!!!  So immediately we went off to see the fine folks at Penn Veterinary Hospital's emergency clinic to see what was up.

Right now they think I may have had a seizure or a vascular event.  We're waiting to find out more, but luckily since then I haven't had any issues.

Except for one.  I DIDN'T SIGN ON FOR THIS NEW HAIRE-DO.

Now, no disrespect to poodles everywhere, but damn I'm an Airedale Terrier and a proud one at that.  We're just not supposed to have breaks in the manly fuzz like this.

It's OK.  You don't have to pretend.  I know it looks silly.

I mean, you don't have to spare my feelings or anything, give it to me straight.

Yep.  It just ain't right.  Now mama has been thinking of ways to do a little creative cover-up until I have some time to grow some of it back.

So far she's thought about cutting up some old socks...

And someone else suggested those stretchy, 70s-era wrist sweatbands (of course I would need a matching headband).

I'm not really a fan of any of these, but then again, I don't want to freeze my tootsies off either, especially during those chilly morning walkies.  We shall see.

OK, all of you back there in the peanut gallery, let he who has never had a bad haircut or funky perm throw the first stone...

Oh, I'm so not a fan.

 

Love,

Bogart

Every Little Things... Gonna Be Alright

A great way to start off a brisk Sunday is to head to the park, find some sticks, then watch as some treats magically fall from mama's bag.

I'm sorry that I haven't written regularly in awhile, a lot has been going on. Without opposable thumbs, there isn't much I can do other than chastise mama for her laziness. But not too much, I don't want to stop that treat train.

Love,
Bogart

Gonna Party Like it's My Birthday

BECAUSE IT IS

It's been a crazy year for me, especially with my crappy spleen issues, but happy to say that today I am 9!

Love,

Bogart