Art imitates life?

Or is it the other way around?

This photo shows a friend's black Lab, Spencer, resting beneath an art print that looks suspiciously like him. Or he looks like it.

Like the dog in the print, Spencer prefers to rest on his mom's bed, but when Mom's in the living room, he has to make do with the sofa. Tough life, huh?

My 2nd best boy

Jack was very, very shy when he first arrived. It was pretty clear that he had had no safe or friendly interactions with humans. It was hard for me to hold back because I just wanted to hug and kiss and pet him, but I managed to restrain myself. In the past 2 months, he's gotten more comfortable with us. When I put out my hand, he wouldn't cringe but would carefully sniff my fingertips. A few days ago he was in the yard when I got home, galloped up to me to say hello, and actually nudged my hand, as if to say, "Pet me!" So I did. Since then, he's been eager for any attention or petting we can offer. He was so miserable when he got here, and so happy now, it does my heart good.

Here's a photo of him taken yesterday. Except for the white spots, he looks like a black Lab, doesn't he? His coat is thicker, his eyes are clearer, and although he's still pretty stinky (like most dogs, he loves rolling in dead things), he has won my heart.

Now that Georgie is in heaven, I think it's safe to say that Jack is my best boy. Well, 2nd best boy. Babe is still my #1 boy:

And Polly is my best girl. Followed closely by Patch and Meg. Sadie still falls into the Devil's Spawn category.

 

Missing Georgie

In some ways, Georgie’s departure has been the hardest on Polly, who was his little buddy since the day she arrived here. (Well, not the very same day, because Georgie hated her guts for the first 24 hours.) They slept cuddled up in the same crate every night, even when Georgie’s incontinence made a  mess  in the crate. Polly has been barking  - first pitifully, then impatiently, then furiously— until I get up to let her out of solitary confinement in the morning. 

So I retrieved her beloved stuffed squirrel from the closet (kept safe from the plundering Dunderheads) so she would have some comfort at night. Unfortunately, pulling the squirrel out of the crate (before the Dunderheads come inside) has proven too  difficult for Mr. P. and his bad back, so I found a largish stuffed horse at Walmart  to fill the role of  bedmate. The horse is easier for Mr. P. to grab, but Polly wasn’t too sure she liked him at first. I allowed Polly into the master bedroom (usually off-limits to all dogs), sat down on the floor with her, and made the horse gallop around Polly so she would understand that it’s a plaything. Polly’s no Rhodes Scholar (bred for beauty, not brains), but she immediately grabbed the horse (which is almost as big as she is) and set about the important work of breaking his neck (over and over again), and now she’s content to share her crate with him at night. He’s not Georgie (for one thing, he doesn’t poop in the crate), but he’s company for her. On a side note, I’m not sure why a toy company thought to make a stuffed horse and how it ended up in the Union City Walmart. I have to wonder if Polly’s new horsey is a Tennessee Walking Horse, in which case he needs to start a diet and exercise program, pronto!

 

Gone home

Well, Georgie went home for good at around 10:15 this morning. I took him to the vet and she said that she could try to treat the inflammation in his throat, but she'd have to sedate him and that alone was risky. So I said goodbye to him, told him he'd be with his Grammy McMillan again very soon and that she'd be so happy to see him. I couldn't bear to watch him euthanized so Dr. Betsy took him to a back room. About 5 minutes later, she came back and said that when she was done, she put a scope down his throat and saw a large mass growing in his trachea. She might have been able to remove it, but again, that would have been risky.

So I brought him home in a shipping carton and Mr. P. is now burying him in our pet cemetery and near his Grammy McMillan's grave.

I was so glad that Dr. Betsy was the vet on call because she is so kind. When we had to have one of our cats euthanized, Dr. Davis asked me why I was crying.

Here's a photo of Georgie in his youth.

 

Goodbye, little man.

Skooching

This photo shows my little old man Georgie sunning himself on the deck a few days ago. I wish I could show this to Mom because his backside is doing what she used to call "skooching."

I'm not sure why Georgie wasn't eating the turd in the upper left hand corner of the picture.

Little old man

Georgie is senior dog here in more ways than one. He's 13 years old and has been with us the longest. His vision and hearing aren't great, and he's lost a lot of the time. During the night he started wheezing very heavily, and I'm worried about lung problems or congestive heart failure. He's in his cage and I can hear him wheezing all over the house. I don't know what to do. Place an emergency call to the animal hospital? Wait until tomorrow (Monday) morning? I can't bear for him to suffer. I can't bear the thought of losing my little old man.

Small but mighty

My friend Tanya's little kitty Fiona is spending the weekend avoiding the dogs at her house, including some guests who are Labradoodles. She has found the perfect spot to monitor and taunt them: the little door to the basement (where her kitty litter box is located).

Fi is small but mighty, and a thousand times smarter than any dog.