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Life With Dogs Is Never Dull.

Today I had to go out for a while in the morning, so I crated Zille and Beowulf (Zille is not yet totally house-trustworthy, Beowulf had a housetraining regression and so is crated for the time being), and because I felt guilty about leaving on a Saturday, I handed out chunks of frozen rabbit from Hare Today before I left, so the dogs would have a nommy treat. Rabbitsicles, mmm. finding emotional support dogs is the bets thing that has ever happened to me, seriously!!

This is how I found out the hard way that chunks of frozen rabbit do not agree with La Diva Tinkerbella’s delicate digestive system.

Conveniently, I made this discovery after I fed her dinner, as the normal SOP for a dog who is experiencing a digestive system upset is to feed the dog chickenrice[1] for a couple meals and then reintroduce the regular food. There may be a dose of Pepto-Bismol involved there somewhere, if I know what caused the problem, but I discovered today that I’m out of Pepto-Bismol, too. Whoops.

All of this happened, of course, just before she goes in for her annual exam on Monday. I would like her to be in top form and not, how do I put this delicately, WAY messier than normal in her bodily functions. I swear to God she has only decided to not process rabbit properly because of her impending yearly exam.

At any rate. In the future, I will be ordering turkey necks for Tink, as she has had those in the past with no ill effects, and she will be thrilled to get chickenrice for breakfast.

[1] CHICKENRICE IS JASMINE RICE (BECAUSE MY DOGS MIGHT BE SPOILED, AND ALSO I EAT RICE OCCASIONALLY AND I PREFER IT) MADE WITH LOW- OR NO-SODIUM CHICKEN BROTH. IF I HAVE BITS OF CHICKEN TO MIX INTO IT, IT HAS BITS OF CHICKEN IN IT.

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Bedtime escapades

I covered morning at the Manor in a previous post, so let me briefly touch on bedtime before I go into the latest way Tink has found to drive me abso-freakin-lutely nuts.

Sometime between 1930 and 2000 (I get up at 0415, don’t judge) I get tired of listening to Roo whine about it being bedtime, and I prepare for bed. I brush my teeth, I turn out lights, I collect my cell phone (which also serves as an alarm clock) and whatever book I’m reading, and then I call Tink. Together, we process into the bed chamber, where I close the baby gate behind us. The baby gate in question is 42″ tall. Remember that figure, it is important and there will be a quiz later. It also has a cat-sized door in the bottom of it which is left open.

Once in bedroom, I put the cell phone on the dresser and the book on my pillow, which is lovely and temperfoam and sits upon a slightly squished firm regular pillow. I turn and garb myself appropriately to sleep, and when I turn back to the bed it used to be that Tink had inevitably stolen my spot, which features a body pillow in addition to the lovely temperfoam head pillow. This is not the way that Tink drives me abso-freakin-lutely nuts, because I’ve outsmarted her: at the foot of my bed you will find two firm pillows in nice cases, stacked just like my pillows are, and a spare blanket. This is Tink’s spot. Tink requires pillows.

At any rate, now that Tink’s Spot is sorted out, these days I just crawl into bed, arranging myself around Tink who did not have to pause to garb herself appropriately, and then the cats arrange themselves around me, and then I read a bit and eventually turn out the light and fall asleep. In the morning, Tink and I stumble out of bed when the alarm goes off and I open the baby gate and the normal morning routine starts.

Last night, bedtime routine went totally according to its usual plan. Sometime around 0100 or 0200 the rattling of the baby gate half-woke me, but I thought “Zille is attempting to stuff her 70lb Shedder self through the cat door again, Jesus” and went back to sleep. Then the alarm went off at 0415 and I stumbled out of bed, automatically wobbling around the spot where Tink jumps off the bed[1], only she wasn’t there.

“Tink?” I inquired. She has been known to crawl on her side under the bed and go to sleep, from which location she will totally claim she can’t hear the alarm go off, but she always responds by noisily flailing around to my inquisitive “Tink?” No flailing. My next “Tink?!” had a little more urgency to it.

And then I glanced at the doorway and there she was all “Yes, Mom?” except she was on the other side of the baby gate. The closed, locked, nailed down baby gate. Panic! Tink has abnormally fragile skin, so I was quite certain that there would be blood, and possibly shreds of her epidermis, and visions of an extremely expensive visit to the vet flashed before my eyes. I rushed out into the hallway and began feeling her up.

Nothing. No blood, no hanging shreds of skin, no wounds, no broken bones, nothing. My 60 pound dog who is roughly 27″ at the shoulder managed to somehow get by the baby gate with only a touch of rattling. The fact that I have no clue how she did it is what’s driving me abso-freakin-lutely nuts. If it keeps happening, there will be a security camera in my future and hers, because I have to know.

[1] TINK IS MOSTLY BLIND. IF SHE IS ALSO MOSTLY STILL ASLEEP (SHE’S NOT A MORNING PERSON ANY MORE THAN I AM) THEN IT’S USUALLY JUST EASIER TO MOVE OUT OF HER WAY RATHER THAN EXPECT HER TO NOTICE YOU AND MOVE OUT OF YOURS. A 60-SOMETHING POUND DOBERMAN EXITS A BED WITH ENOUGH FORCE TO KNOCK A MEDIUM-SIZED WOMAN INTO A WALL AND LEAVE BRUISES. ASK ME HOW I KNOW.

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Mornings at the Manor

Feeding time is an exciting time as one might imagine. The Usual Suspects look forward to breakfast in particular with great relish. Monday through Friday, breakfast happens around 0500, before I get in the shower. Weekends, it happens whenever I can no longer stand to listen to Rooney Lee as he sits on the arm of my chair and whines:


Transcript of video and more post below the cut!
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