The Graduate

It has been a little more than a month since we brought our new dog Buddy into our home.   And like anyone bringing a new puppy into their home, we've had quite a ride so far.

My favorite story about Buddy so far goes back to My Lovely Wife, who would always say to our first dog Abby: "Abby, where's your food?!?!".  Abby of course knew where her food was and would run to the small hall closet where it was kept.  There she would wait for My Lovely Wife to walk over to the closet and get her some food, or maybe even a treat.  Out of habit, My Lovely Wife asked Buddy: "Buddy, where's your food?!?!".  Buddy took one look at her and then ran to that small hall closet.  The door just happened to be ajar, so he pushed his nose in and opened it wide.  Then he grabbed the bag of food in his mouth and started dragging the bag along the floor to her.

My Lovely Wife watched this in utter amazement.  At this point we had had Buddy for only four days.  Four days at our place and he is retrieving bags of food.  We had made no attempt whatsoever to train him how to do this.  I was stunned when I heard the story, especially since he had been living chained up outside his whole life before coming to live with us.  It is a good thing that Buddy doesn't have opposable thumbs or I think we'd all be in serious trouble.

Speaking Of Trouble...

One thing about Buddy that we noticed right away was that he loves chasing after bugs.  Dragonflies are great.  Grasshoppers are awesome.  He'll be following along beside us and the next thing we know he is chasing down a bug and eating it up.  We both thought this was pretty entertaining for a couple of days.  That was until I realized that he probably ate bugs to survive at his previous home because he wasn't given enough food to eat.  "Don't worry, Buddy" I told him.  "There will always be lots of food here to eat."  But he still eats bugs anyway.

Speaking of eating, he does this.  A lot.  He is a growing pup, and he's got some lost time to make up for the insufficient amount of food he used to get.  Buddy is putting on over two pounds of solid weight a week.  It seems like every day he looks a little bigger.  Every day he takes up just a bit more space on the floor.  Every day, the old collar of Abby's that he wears seems to fit just a little bit tighter.  To quote the Simpsons - "A dog like that, you've got to feed every day."

World's Largest Paws

He is coming along in so many ways.  He used to have very little confidence: the slightest touch and he would drop to his back with his paws in the air.  Now he'd sit there, get petted, and soak up the adoration.  His training is coming along nicely as long as there aren't a lot of bugs around.  And he is no longer deathly afraid of brooms; one day just after we got him, My Lovely Wife went to sweep the floor and Buddy instantly cowered in the corner.  Obviously, he was taught early on that a broom can be used for more than just cleaning the floor.  I'd like to teach his previous owners the same thing one of these days.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that he was house-broken almost immediately and was sleeping next to our bed after only three weeks.  And that he had free run of most of the house pretty much right off the bat, yet has not chewed any furniture or done any other damage (not counting one unfortunate Ethernet cable).  This despite the fact that he seems to have razor blades for teeth.

Needs A New Seat Belt

About the only thing dragging the little man down has been a bladder infection.  Symptoms of this showed up just a couple days after we got him, and my guess is it was somehow a complication from when he was neutered.  His condition improved almost immediately after being put on antibiotics for a two week run.  Unfortunately, the infection reappeared just a day after the meds finished up, so he went back on a different prescription for a couple weeks.  Those ran out just this past Thursday, and the symptoms reappeared the very next day.  We kind of saw this coming, so we were fortunate that the vet gave us meds for another five days to tide us over the long weekend we are enjoying now.  But we'll need to get Buddy in another appointment first thing next week to to see what the heck is going on there.

I'll tell ya though.  When that plumbing is working right, that dog can take one mean pee.  With Abby, I would count steamboats: "One steamboat, two steamboats...".  Abby would sometimes get to six and rarely to nine.  Buddy knocked out a 20 steamboat pee yesterday.  If I had to take a 20 steamboat pee, well...

It is that camel-like ability that brings another of Buddy's oddities to light.  Every dog I've ever known LOVES to go outside.  Going outside IS THE BEST THING EVER.

Unless you are a dog named Buddy.  Buddy could usually give two shits as to whether he goes outside or not.  The other night we had to actually drag him and his sorry ass off his bed to get him outside to do his business.  And then when he got out there, he had a poo.  And then he had another.  I'll tell ya... if I had two poos in me, I'd be breaking down that damn door to get outside.

And every morning is the same thing.  My lovely wife gets up first and goes to the bathroom.  Then she heads for the door to take the dog out and I get up.  Buddy would much rather sit at the side of the bed and demand my attention while My Lovely Wife waits at the door for him to go outside.

One thing My Lovely Wife was really enjoying was Puppy Club ("The first rule of Puppy Club is that you don't talk about Puppy Club").  Puppy Club is put on by our vet every Thursday.  They give a little talk about some aspect of puppy rearing, and then the rest of the evening is a wild free-for-all where the puppies cut loose and spend the night smelling each other's assess.  What's not to like?

What's not to like is when you can't go anymore.  Last time My Lovely Wife was there, they pointed out that Buddy best-guessed birthday of April 1st makes him six months old now.  That means that Buddy is considered "graduated" from puppy club after only going three times.

This graduation is one of those little markers in the course of owning a dog.  One minute they are nothing but fur and energy, the next minute you are left wondering how so many wonderful years went by so quickly.  Matthew Inman (perhaps the greatest cartoonist of our time) put it this way in this snippet from his incredible comic about dogs.  Click that link - you have to read the whole thing.

Buddy isn't quite the dog we expected him to be, but I think he'll be the dog we need.

You Don't Find The Dog, The Dog Finds You

Followers of my blog will know that we lost our faithful dog, Abby, in early August.  In my last post I talked a bit about our progress in finding another dog to fill the void she left behind, and how the search wasn't going that well.  I left you with this.

The search continues.  We have actually come close once or twice, but no cigar.  We'll have to be patient and wait until the dog that is right for us comes along.  Or, as the fellow we bought Abby from told us: "You don't find the dog.  The dog finds you."

As we searched, we focused on getting a rescue.  We liked the idea of giving a good dog a second chance, and we weren't hung up on the whole purebread thing.

Loved him in "Oh Brother, Where Art Though?"

As I mentioned above, we had a few near misses.  We fell in love with one dog at the local SPCA, only to find out that she had already been adopted out earlier that afternoon.  Strike One.  Later that week, My Lovely Wife dropped by the SPCA one afternoon and saw another great puppy dog with loads of energy that she was very excited about.  It was gone by the time I got there after work.  Strike Two.  Things were not going our way.

We spent a lot of time on Petfinder, a website that collects listings from rescued animals across North America.  They make it easy to find dogs and other pets up for adoption in your area, and it also lets you filter by criteria such as size (I always checked off "Large" and "Extra Large").  Since we weren't having much luck, we started to expand our search a little to dogs we considered as "maybes".  "Nothing ventured, nothing gained", I would say to My Lovely Wife.  Many of the descriptions on Petfinder were pretty terse, and it was very possible that a real gem of a dog could be hidden by a lousy description.

That led us to head out one Friday evening to look at "Sunny", who was being fostered at an acreage not too far from where we live.  Sunny was a good looking dog, make no mistake, but she just didn't have that spark we were looking for that made Abby the incredible dog that she was.  "Sunny" was also more submissive than we'd like and it didn't look like she would grow to the size we were looking for.  At least we tried.

While we chatted with The Nice Lady fostering Sunny, we learned that she was fostering something like 15 other dogs with a comparable number that she called her own.  Many of these were dogs with various difficulties that weren't really adoptable.  The Nice Lady is a real gem, not one of those crazy old ladies you think of that has a house with 100 cats in it.  These dogs lived out on her acreage, had a great big area to run around in, a pond in which to cool off, and lots of trees to grab some shade in.  All the dogs looked happy and healthy.

As we talked, The Nice Lady's husband tried to join us in the backyard with yet another dog trying to break by him and join us.  "Don't let him out", she yelled to him.  "We have enough dogs out here."

The Nice Man tried to push this one energetic puppy back in to the house, but seemed to be fighting a losing battle.  This puppy was strong and would not be denied.  The Nice Lady turned to us and said "That's Buddy.  He's going to be a monster when he grows up."

My Lovely Wife and I looked at each other.  "Could we see Buddy?"

Release The Hound!  The Nice Man let Buddy out and he immediately started running around all over the place.  He seemed to take an immediate liking to My Lovely Wife.  It was apparent that this was one solid puppy dog.

His Legs Are Larger Than Mine

We peppered The Nice Lady with questions about Buddy but she didn't know that much about him yet: the little guy had shown up at her place only the day before.  He wasn't up for adoption yet and so was not yet on Petfinder.  Nobody outside The Nice Lady knew about him yet.  We had tripped over Buddy by accident.

It turns out that this pup didn't have the easiest start in life.  It spent all day chained up in the owner's yard, and didn't get enough food to eat.  But it just so happened that Buddy lived only three doors down from the President of the animal rescue that The Nice Lady was a part of.  She had seen the treatment that Buddy was getting and finally convinced the owner to give him up.  Buddy had caught a break.

The Nice Lady was wonderfully forthright with her concerns about Buddy.  Spending so much of his early life chained up could have affected both his physical and mental development.  She was concerned that his hips hadn't developed properly because of the sway in his arse when he ran.  She also stated that she didn't think he wouldn't grow up to be "a rocket scientist".

More Looks than Brains???

However, "there was something about Buddy".  This was a phrase My Lovely Wife and I would use over and over again in our discussions later.  In our long drive home from the home of The Nice Lady, we didn't talk about Sunny at all.  It was all about Buddy, and how something seemed to click.  I wondered aloud if our dog had found us, rather than us finding our dog.

My Lovely Wife phoned The Nice Lady the next morning (Saturday) to express our interest in Buddy.  Unfortunately, she got the message over the phone that perhaps Buddy might not be the dog for us.  Dogs rescued from the area he was in get off to a tough start, and that can mean that the adopter might not appreciate what they could be getting in to.  Could he have some brain damage or other development disabilities that weren't apparent yet?  She had only had him for a few days and couldn't say for sure, but her first impressions suggested that Buddy could have some challenges ahead of him that we weren't really prepared to take on.  Strike Three.

This really put a damper on our spirits.  It was back to Petfinder but it was without a lot of enthusiasm.  We had considered and looked at a lot of dogs by now, and each time we found one that looked like the one for us, it went for naught.  The search was starting to feel hopeless.  I felt pretty down over the next couple of days.

Monday evening I convinced my wife to phone Buddy's foster mom back to touch base.  Maybe we had gotten the wrong impression?  I'm glad she made that call.  The Nice Lady had nothing but good things to say after getting to know Buddy for just a couple more days.  For one thing, Buddy escaped from the kennel the night we saw him while fifteen other dogs watched.  They found him the next morning curled up on their porch.  They then had to put him back in the kennel to watch him break out again so they could figure out how he was doing it.  Smart?  Check.

Buddy also jumped up behind her one day, knocked her over, and kept right on going.  Strong?  Enthusiastic?  Check.

Buddy was learning fast and doing well.  We were excited by this good news and wanted to take the next step.  In this case, it would be a home visit.  This rescue does its homework and makes sure that every dog they adopt out goes to a home that is safe and will take good care of them.  Our home visit turned out to be the very next day!  It must have gone well, because The Nice Lady asked us then and there if we'd like to write up the papers and put down a deposit.  Yes.  Yes we would.

There was just one more obstacle that Buddy had to get over.  He had a vet appointment scheduled the following week where he would get checked out and get neutered.  That was a long week to wait through.  We were worried that the vet would find problems with Buddy because of the early challenges he faced.  But there were no such problems: his heart was strong, his lungs were clear, and his hips were solid.  He was given a perfect bill of health, minus testicles.

Fast forward to this past Friday evening...

On His Way To His Forever Home

Our home is complete once again.  We know that Buddy will never replace Abby in our hearts.  Not possible, and not expected from him.  What he will do is make a place of his own in there, and for that there is plenty of room.  We look forward to many laughs and many adventures together in the years ahead.  I'll be sure to share a few of them along the way.

Oh hell.  One more picture.

Two Weeks...

I said goodbye to my best friend two weeks ago tonight.  At this time fourteen days ago, My Lovely Wife, Abby, and I were on our way to the Vet clinic on what would be the last truck ride of her life.  Abby had always loved going for a truck ride.  There were cows and horses to be barked at.  That was her job, but she just wasn't up for it that last time.

It has been a tough couple of weeks since.  However, time heals all wounds, and things here at home are getting pretty much back to normal.

I'm lying.

Things here at home are a shadow of what they once were.  For the feeling My Lovely Wife and I get walking around in our yard, we might as well be walking around Chernobyl.

Our legs and arms feel as if great weights are hanging from them as we force ourselves to go outside.  Any joy that we used to have in wandering around outside is gone.  The ever-present companion we had out there is no longer with us.  The deer come and go in our yard without fear of a four legged missile streaking towards them with bad intentions.

The gloom we feel outside is matched only by the cloud that hangs over us inside.  There is no barking whenever the slightest move is made towards the door.  Our house that once felt too small now feels much too large.  Popcorn night isn't popcorn night without Abby running up to get her treat for the evening as well.  The silence is deafening.

Those who have never had a pet might not understand how we would feel this way.  Those who have lost a pet they loved understand completely.  All of our friends have been very supportive as they knew how much Abby meant to us.  One couple very kindly invited us out to their new cabin at the lake last weekend to give us a much needed change of scenery.  We have also gotten many cards and wonderful words of support from our friends.  Some of these friends we have known for many years.  Others are friends that we've made over the net and have never actually met in person.  To all of those who have expressed your sentiments on our loss, please accept my heartfelt thanks with what is probably my favorite picture of The Pup.

A Very Photogenic Pup at That.

Much to our surprise, My Lovely Wife and I started looking for another dog very soon after Abby passed.  What we came to realize quite quickly was that it wasn't so much the physical attributes of the dog that was most important.  What we realized was that our next dog would absolutely have to have that same enthusiasm and zest for life that Abby had.  You see, we got Abby as a young pup from a pet store.  When we asked to see her outside of the box she was being kept in, she made the best of her opportunity and broke free.  She immediately picked a fight with a mop (and won!), and then tore off to chew the tips off the shoelaces of some innocent bystander.  All of this happened within the space of about 20 seconds.  She carried this enthusiam / bat-shit craziness throughout her life.  Where one dog might sniff around on a trail on the scent of another critter, Abby would crash through an impenetrable mass of underbrush to track that critter down.

This is indeed a tall order.  Many dogs don't have the spark Abby did, but it was this element that we'd miss the most if our next dog didn't have it.  We are reminded by everyone we've talked to that "there will never be another Abby", and we are well aware of that.  Abby was indeed one of a kind.

The search continues.  We have actually come close once or twice, but no cigar.  We'll have to be patient and wait until the dog that is right for us comes along.  Or, as the fellow we bought Abby from told us: "You don't find the dog.  The dog finds you."

Here's hoping...

Goodbye to My Best Friend

I type this and my heart is broken: My Lovely Wife and I are mourning the loss of our dear dog, Abby.

I wrote a post back in June about how we had a lump removed her abdomen.  We learned a short time later that this lump was a Mast Cell Tumor.  We had a second surgery done to have more of the tumor cells removed but it wasn't enough.  Another lump started growing back and got quite large after only a couple weeks.  The vet took a needle biopsy and determined that this lump was mostly fat but had some mast cells reorganizing to form another tumor.  He suggested that we consult with an oncologist at the University's Vet College to talk over subsequent courses of action.  That was only two days ago.

Yesterday morning we woke to find that Abby had thrown up downstairs.  She seemed otherwise OK.  She spent the day with me outside, wandering around the yard as I puttered.  Her energy level seemed a little lower than usual, but I was hoping that was just due to the heat.  Yesterday evening, she started pacing around restlessly throughout the house.  Then she threw up again.  We let her outside and she continued getting sick while keeping her distance from us.  Then she just laid down in the grass while clouds of mosquitoes buzzed over her.  Abby looked up at My Lovely Wife while she laid there with a look that said "Help me".  She was dying.

We got her into the truck at 10pm and drove her to the Vet College.  The half hour drive was quiet as My Lovely Wife and I were filled with the dread of what could happen next.  Abby lay there quietly, her head bobbing up and down.

We parked the truck at the front door of the Vet.  What happened next amazed us.  Abby jumped out of the truck and started sniffing around all over the place!  Her ears were up and she had a spring in her step!  It seemed like the sick dog we had just a short time ago was only a bad dream.

We debated what to do next.  Was this just a false alarm???  Maybe it was just something she ate and she was going to be fine?  We decided to have her looked at since we were there.

Sadly, the vet confirmed our fears.  Abby started fading again and the vet discussed our options.  None of them were good.  They brought Abby into a private room where we were able to hold her close and tell her how much we loved her.  We were with her as the vet helped her pass shortly after midnight this morning.

My only solace is that we did what we had to do and that was to put an end to her suffering.  Abby gave us eleven and a half wonderful years, a ripe old age for a dog her size.  And every day in every one of those years, Abby filled our hearts with joy.  Every.  Single.  Day.  When her day finally came, Abby used the last of her energy to trot into that clinic with her head high and ears up.  She epitomized pure grit.  I was so proud of her.

Grit

Throughout her life, I was always struck by Abby's strength, enthusiasm, and character.  She was a gentle giant around small children one minute, and a fierce protector of her owners and her property the next.  I've written about her adventures before, as has My Lovely Wife.  There always seemed to be so much to say.

We woke up this morning to a house that is too empty.  Too quiet.  We are reminded of her everywhere we look.  This morning, there is no one to take for a walk.  There is no one to chase the deer out of the yard.  There is no one to bring our slippers when we come in to the house.

Abby was my first dog.  She taught me the connection a man makes with his dog.  It wasn't something that happened right away for me.  Abby had a bad habit in the first months that we owned her of always jumping up on us.  One time she jumped up at me and I stuck my knee up.  She hit it hard and fell back in pain.  I felt terrible.  I knew then that I loved her, and I grew to love her more each day after that.

Abby was my psychologist.  We would go for long walks and I'd talk to her about things I wouldn't talk to anyone else about.  And I'm sure My Lovely Wife did the same.  Abby didn't understand, but it always seemed like she did.  That was all that mattered.

Abby was my companion.  We would get asked where Abby would stay, meaning if she was an "inside dog" or an "outside dog".  We simply answered that Abby was where we were.  She was at our side inside and out, day in and day out.

Abby was my bodyguard.  We would go for walks around the acreage and Abby would at times cut right in front of us and just stand there with her body physically blocking the path.  If we would try to walk around her, she would do it again until we turned around.  Now and then we'd catch a glimpse of coyotes or some other nasty critter on the path ahead.  We soon learned to put our trust in her and her nose for our own safety.

The Big Dog, On Patrol

Most of all, Abby was my best friend.  I would arrive home after work and My Lovely Wife would "release the hound", who would come running up to me with all the enthusiasm that only a dog separated all day from its owner can bring.  That would always and instantly melt away the earlier shit of the day and make me feel human again.  I am forever indebted to her for this alone.

Goodbye Abby.  You were the best dog we could have dared to hope for.  We were truly lucky to have had you in our lives.  I have shed many tears over you as I have written this and I will shed many more today and in the days to come.  We love you.  We miss you.  Rest easy, Pup.

Abby    January 2001 - August 2012

No Chalk at Your Gym? No Problem.

I am now in the dying days of two weeks off. I asked Google to define "vacation" for me. Here is what it came up with.

va·ca·tion/vāˈkāSHən/

Noun:

An extended period of recreation, esp. one spent away from home or in traveling.

Bullshit. Here is my definition.

va·ca·tion/vāˈkāSHən/

Noun:

Two weeks of ass-busting work, devoid of anything enjoyable. Makes one want to return to work immediately.

Living out on The Ponderosa means that there is a lot of jobs that need to get done every summer, and many of these jobs get penciled in to my yearly summer "vacation" starting in late July.  One of these jobs is grooming the trails that meander through the bush on our property.  Armed with only a whipper-snipper, coveralls, and gloves, this monster job takes days to do.  Let things get too out of control and the trails become filled with wild chokecherry suckers, tall grass, and weeds of all descriptions.  Apparently, one weed new on the scene happens to be poison ivy.  It happens that I am pretty much hyper-allergic to poison ivy given a nasty, nasty encounter from years ago.  Only a minuscule amount will trigger blisters on my arms, and somehow a minuscule amount got past my coveralls and gloves and on to my skin near my wrists.

Not Me, But You Get The Idea

The weather turned to crap one day and gave me an all-to-rare respite from my yardly duties.  I decided to get some deadlifting in.  There was only one problem.  I had long thought that I had the grip strength of a Japanese schoolgirl, and I had long been using 1-Ton Hooks to beef up my grip.  Otherwise, any weight over three-hundred pounds would tend to slip out of my hands.

Used by Weak People Like Me

Now picture these tightly wrapped around a wrist with several poison ivy blisters on it.  Better yet, don't picture it.  It gets ugly pretty fast.

It was time to use all the power of my brain and find a way around this.  Normal people use chalk on their hands to dry them so that sweat doesn't cause the bar to slip from their grip.  But chalk is not allowed in my basement gym, because that shit gets everywhere.

So I decided to try wrapping the bar with a very light resistance band that had broken in half some time ago.  They are made of some kind of latex rubber, I think, that is very, very grippy.  I had used these broken bands before wrapped around my chinup bar to help me grip the bar for that exercise.  Don't start thinking that these bands are the really thick, really expensive EliteFTS bands that can hold hundreds of pounds.  Think more like stuff not much thicker than dishwashing gloves.  Here is what I've got...

... and here is what it looks like wrapped on one side of my bar.

I use an over-under grip and wrap the band in the opposite direction on the other side of the bar.  Note also how I start wrapping the band just after the knurling starts.  This lets me center my hold on the bar much better than if the knurling is totally covered.  Normally I grip the bar an inch or less outside from where the knurling starts.

So how does this work?  Exactly how well will have to wait for another post.  But let me say generally that it works exceptionally well.  What I thought was poor grip strength was really a combination of two issues:

• no chalk that in turn makes the bar slippery from sweat.  The grippy nature of the latex rubber solves this completely.  The weight on the bar just seems to amplify the sticky grip that the rubber provides.
• nasty cross-hatching on my cheap bar that tends to tear my hands up.  The rubber effectively pads the bar enough to keep the hold comfortable, even under very heavy loads.

I immediately noticed that I was able to lift heavier loads with this setup than when I used the lifting hooks.  Not quite sure why this is.  Maybe because a freer grip on the bar makes it easier to get my position exactly right when setting up.  Maybe because the hooks added thickness to the bar that made the general lift heavier.  Whatever the reason, I was suddenly making an extra 50 pounds when deadlifting off of blocks, and it felt awesome  to make these lifts without hooks or straps.  I'll never go back to the hooks: there is just no need to anymore.  My grip is no longer the limiting factor in my deadlift.

This is a nice solution for anybody looking for a substitute for chalk when lifting heavy stuff.  The bands are cheap, reusable, clean, take up zero space, and would be allowed in any gym.  Best of all, it is your grip doing all the work.  You get the full benefit of the exercise without the shame of using a crutch.

Now go be like Konstantinovs and make it look easy.

More Beast Than Man

A Vote for Abby is a Vote for Awesomeness

I know that I have not posted in ages.  As in past years, summer tends to consume me and I am outside busting ass on the Ponderosa instead of sitting in front of my laptop writing.  However, it is time to take a break from ass-busting to let you know of a little something The Pup is involved with.  My Lovely Wife has entered Abby into a contest to appear in a calendar, and Abby is one of six finalists to appear on the cover!

Awesomeness

Here are a few words My Lovely Wife wrote to go with our entry.

This is our dog, Abby. She is a 11.5 year old Chesapeake Bay Retriever/German Shepherd cross. Her favorite thing is to retrieve sticks thrown into the river and you can see how happy this makes her! Abby is currently recovering from her second surgery in two weeks to remove a Mast Cell Carcinoma. We are hoping all the nasty cells have been removed and once her staples are removed next week, she can once again enjoy her summer with swims in the river. We love her dearly and cherish everyday with her. Thank you for voting for our sweet girl.

I took this picture a couple of years ago and think it does a great job of capturing Abby's spirit and energy.  If you think so too, head on over to Facebook and like her picture.  Your vote could help put Abby over the top!

The calendar is a fundraiser for The Konan Koalition.  As it says on their website

The Konan Koalition has two goals:

• Mitigate unnecessary pain and suffering in animals that cannot access veterinary treatment because of financial constraints facing their owners

• Assist pet owners in making animal care decisions based upon the needs of the animal rather than financial limitations. Helping pet owners in this way will go a long way to reduce unnecessary euthanasia

A fine cause indeed.

Voting closes July 31st.  So don't delay,  vote for Abby today!

Because Good Things Should Happen To Good Dogs

Things have been pretty stressful out here on The Ponderosa over the last few days.  My Lovely Wife noticed a nasty looking purple growth on the belly of our dear dog Abby on Thursday afternoon.  She made a call in to the vet who had her in for a look the very next morning.  He got her in for surgery the following Monday (today), saying that he would have operated that day on her if he possibly could have.

Now, a nasty looking purple growth is not something you want to see on your dog's belly.  My Lovely Wife and I reasoned that it was probably just a hernia from where she had been spayed.  That or some harmless fat lump.  The vet didn't think so.  It didn't feel like a hernia and it didn't feel like a fat lump.  The purple color was cause for concern.  The vet didn't actually know what it was, but he knew it had to come out.  My Lovely Wife and I did not question this course of action for a second.

We spent the weekend thinking positive thoughts.  Abby was acting her usual self and didn't seem overly sensitive in the area.  We focused on all the things it could be that were not bad rather than the things it could be that were bad.

Abby went in to the vet at 8:00 am this morning. We got a call around 12:30 pm that she was just coming out of the anesthetic.  My Lovely Wife picked her up from the vet around 3:00 pm. This picture was taken around 6:00 pm.  Apparently, it is going to take more than a nectarine-sized growth removed from her belly this morning to keep a good dog like Abby down for long.

Not Every Dog Can Rock A Pink Pressure Bandage Like This

I came home from work today to see My Lovely Wife and Abby waiting outside for me.  The sight of her standing there brought tears to my eyes.  I had been dreading a call from the vet that the news was very bad and there was nothing they could do.  To see Abby standing there almost as if nothing had happened was huge.

We are very relieved and very happy to have Abby back home, but we're not out of the woods yet.  The vet said that he was able to remove all of the growth, but he is uncertain as to what the growth actually was.  He has sent it off for analysis and hopefully we will hear some good news back soon.  All we can do in the meantime is help Abby along with her recovery and keep thinking positive thoughts.

The vet did warn us to feed her sparingly because she wouldn't be able to keep it down.  But they don't know Abby.   After nibbling on some soft food and having a bit of chicken breast, she's just finished chowing down on some of her usual kibble with no evidence of ill effect.  All this while the anesthetic and painkillers continue to course through her veins.  If I were to only look at the front half of her, I wouldn't know that she was on the wrong end of a scalpel only hours before.  Her eyes are clear and her expression is normal.  The only giveaway is the head-bob now and then that suggests that she is actually exhausted.

It is only fair that the growth turns out to be nothing.  Abby deserves a break, because good things should happen to good dogs.

P.S.  Click here for more on Abby's (mis)adventures in the years she's been with us.  You're sure to get a chuckle or two out of it, and I'm sure you'll agree that "The Pup" is indeed awesome.