Oh my... lots of cobwebs in here... looks like the place hasn't been visited in a while. Turns out that isn't entirely true. It just hasn't been visited by me. While I wasn't paying attention, there have been over 3300 visits to my little site. Some by accident, I'm sure. Having the words penis extension and viagra in one of the posts probably drew a few unwitting web surfers... But here I am again, adding a post for difficult reasons. Lola is still with us, but she's having leg issues again. This led me back to the "what is the cost -vs- what is reasonable" treatment argument.
As readers are well aware, we have lost two of our furry friends to cancer. Osteosarcoma to be specific. I hate typing that word, let alone talking about it. We have chosen the "leave-it-be and limit the discomfort" brand of pet care. Mags only lasted a few months... Cocoa over six. Quality of life, lots of love and unlimited cookies were the drugs of choice.
Others choose a different route. Amputation, chemotherapy and even homeopathic remedies are options. Whatever we chose to do, it has to make sense for both the pet and owner. What are the treatment options? What are the costs in money, time and discomfort? Who are you doing this for? The animal? Or you? Admitting to ourselves that we are keeping an elderly, sick pet around for selfish reasons is difficult. We love them, right? They're family, right? We would do anything for family. Sometimes letting go is the best, most loving thing we can do.
So we'll get Lola to the Vet... X-rays, examination and maybe (if we're lucky) a prescription for anti-inflammatory drugs and pain killers. if not, we'll ask about all of the medical/surgical options and weigh the costs versus the benefits. If it turns out that another surgery is required, she's only seven, so surgery it will be. The kind of surgery and who will do it is in the "to be determined" category. At her age, the $3500 titanium knee option probably isn't in the cards, but there are other kinds of surgery that are less expensive and maybe 80% as effective.
First things first, let's see what is actually wrong. Then we have decisions to make. We'll make the one we think is best, but the fact is, we have to consider cost. It's not being cold or heartless, just realistic.
That's my message, really. What is both responsible to our four-legged friend, and what is prudent. Being a grownup is hard... I hate being a grownup...
... figured I would give an update. The left knee is definitely torn, but it appears to be a partial tear with arthritis that makes it more uncomfortable for her. So anti-inflammatory drugs and pain killers it is. We (Lola's parents and the Vet) decided that surgery wasn't in the cards. She can walk and trot, so we aren't putting her under the knife. Most of the swelling is gone, and she seems comfortable, so she (and we) dodged a bullet.
Now, about that damned ear infection... (don't ask...)
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
OK...but why a make a Bullmastiff???
I think I covered this many moons ago...but you're probably aware of the 60% Mastiff, 40% extinct Bulldog makeup of the Bullmastiff. Mastiff for size and strength, Bulldog for courage and tenacity. The big, silent stalker that the Gamekeeper required to protect the Master's game.
But what game? Where? When? What's all that about, anyway?
In a way, that's a funny question. Not so much funny...haha...more ironic in a personal sense.
I'm a Bullmastiff guy. My wife and I are Bullmastiff people.
My brother and sister-in-law are Greyhound folks. He writes about them here:
www.blocksporthounds.com
As it turns out...Bullies exist because of Greyhounds. Not entirely of course, but in large measure because poachers (anyone hunting on Noble land was considered a poacher) used Greyhounds to course game. Bullmastiffs were breed to course poachers! So in a very real way, Greyhounds begot Bullmastiffs. My brother's dogs gave us ours. Thanks, Bro.
Basically it worked like this: In Medieval times there existed in England a set laws known as the Forest Laws. Basically, it stated that the Land Owner (always a nobleman, peasants owned nothing but the most basic possessions) owned not only the land, but everything on it. Every tree, every rock and all of the animals living on the land. That meant the hungry peasant couldn't shoot, trap or hunt in any way small game to feed his family without the landowners consent.
Enter the Greyhound. Fast, tenacious hunters. Great at coursing and catching small game. There is a reason Racing Greyhounds chase a "rabbit" at the track. It's what they did, and still do. The Nobles tried to enforce the Forest Laws, the poachers tried to evade them. This literally went on for hundreds of years. It wasn't until the middle 1800's that the Laws in England finally caught up to the massive changes in British culture. It was at this time that the Forest Laws were finally replaced with a set of laws known as The Game Act. The Game Act basically stated that anyone caught hunting on protected land was merely trespassing, as opposed to stealing property. The Game Act also established hunting seasons, licensing and enforcement of hunting laws. THAT is where Greyhounds beget Bullmastiffs. The enforcers of the new laws under the game act, the Gamekeeper found that poachers (anyone hunting out of season or without a licence) tended to hunt at night or in the late evenings and early mornings. He needed help to find, and catch poachers in these low visibility conditions. He needed a dog that could stalk and CAPTURE poachers. Unfortunately, there was no suitable dog. The Gamekeepers decided to build one. A dog large enough to subdue an armed poacher. Tenacious enough to want to. Fast enough in short bursts to catch someone running for their life. The Gamekeepers developed such a dog...the Bullmastiff.
So my brother's dog, the greyhound, used by peasants and poachers to illegally catch game necessitated the advent of a new dog to protect the game from unlawful hunting. Neat, huh? Well it is if you like Bullys and Sight Hounds.
Well, that's my story...and I'm sticking to it...
Thanks again for reading...
But what game? Where? When? What's all that about, anyway?
In a way, that's a funny question. Not so much funny...haha...more ironic in a personal sense.
I'm a Bullmastiff guy. My wife and I are Bullmastiff people.
My brother and sister-in-law are Greyhound folks. He writes about them here:
www.blocksporthounds.com
As it turns out...Bullies exist because of Greyhounds. Not entirely of course, but in large measure because poachers (anyone hunting on Noble land was considered a poacher) used Greyhounds to course game. Bullmastiffs were breed to course poachers! So in a very real way, Greyhounds begot Bullmastiffs. My brother's dogs gave us ours. Thanks, Bro.
Basically it worked like this: In Medieval times there existed in England a set laws known as the Forest Laws. Basically, it stated that the Land Owner (always a nobleman, peasants owned nothing but the most basic possessions) owned not only the land, but everything on it. Every tree, every rock and all of the animals living on the land. That meant the hungry peasant couldn't shoot, trap or hunt in any way small game to feed his family without the landowners consent.
Enter the Greyhound. Fast, tenacious hunters. Great at coursing and catching small game. There is a reason Racing Greyhounds chase a "rabbit" at the track. It's what they did, and still do. The Nobles tried to enforce the Forest Laws, the poachers tried to evade them. This literally went on for hundreds of years. It wasn't until the middle 1800's that the Laws in England finally caught up to the massive changes in British culture. It was at this time that the Forest Laws were finally replaced with a set of laws known as The Game Act. The Game Act basically stated that anyone caught hunting on protected land was merely trespassing, as opposed to stealing property. The Game Act also established hunting seasons, licensing and enforcement of hunting laws. THAT is where Greyhounds beget Bullmastiffs. The enforcers of the new laws under the game act, the Gamekeeper found that poachers (anyone hunting out of season or without a licence) tended to hunt at night or in the late evenings and early mornings. He needed help to find, and catch poachers in these low visibility conditions. He needed a dog that could stalk and CAPTURE poachers. Unfortunately, there was no suitable dog. The Gamekeepers decided to build one. A dog large enough to subdue an armed poacher. Tenacious enough to want to. Fast enough in short bursts to catch someone running for their life. The Gamekeepers developed such a dog...the Bullmastiff.
So my brother's dog, the greyhound, used by peasants and poachers to illegally catch game necessitated the advent of a new dog to protect the game from unlawful hunting. Neat, huh? Well it is if you like Bullys and Sight Hounds.
Well, that's my story...and I'm sticking to it...
Thanks again for reading...
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Lola at Easter
Sorry...tried to put a link here and failed miserably...
I may have to go the "photobucket" route...
Stupid technology.
I may have to go the "photobucket" route...
Stupid technology.
Gimme Shelter
We recently received pictures from Lola's foster mom of a new set of puppies and their recently rescued momma. The Momma was a surrender, and she was ready to POP. Thankfully, Bullmastiff Rescue of Michigan was ready to step in and it looks like the mom and pups will be OK.
I have made no bones (sorry for the pun, couldn't resist) about how I feel about Breed Rescue and the good people who make it all work. These folks are wonderful and make little lives like Lola's possible. I would be remiss if I didn't mention another group that does some of the same stuff, but in a more public way...your local animal shelter.
Most of us have read the horror-stories about botched euthenisations and starving animals, but I really believe that most County shelters and the staff that runs them have the best interest of the animals at heart. To that end, I ask that you consider lending a helping hand if you can. These are times that produce more strays, not less. More need for volunteers and donations. More basically, of everything.
A quick scan of the phone book should give you a contact number. Ask what they may need and what you can do to help. Do the dogs need walks? Baths? Play-time? Could they use dry food? Mats or blankets? Toys? Collars or leashes?
I know that some of the money for your pets' license goes toward funding the shelter, and maybe a bit of your property taxes as well, but every little bit helps. It could give a dog or cat the little extra time it needs for someone to come in and give it a forever home...
Thanks again for following along...
A safe and happy 4th to you and your pets.
Gregg
I have made no bones (sorry for the pun, couldn't resist) about how I feel about Breed Rescue and the good people who make it all work. These folks are wonderful and make little lives like Lola's possible. I would be remiss if I didn't mention another group that does some of the same stuff, but in a more public way...your local animal shelter.
Most of us have read the horror-stories about botched euthenisations and starving animals, but I really believe that most County shelters and the staff that runs them have the best interest of the animals at heart. To that end, I ask that you consider lending a helping hand if you can. These are times that produce more strays, not less. More need for volunteers and donations. More basically, of everything.
A quick scan of the phone book should give you a contact number. Ask what they may need and what you can do to help. Do the dogs need walks? Baths? Play-time? Could they use dry food? Mats or blankets? Toys? Collars or leashes?
I know that some of the money for your pets' license goes toward funding the shelter, and maybe a bit of your property taxes as well, but every little bit helps. It could give a dog or cat the little extra time it needs for someone to come in and give it a forever home...
Thanks again for following along...
A safe and happy 4th to you and your pets.
Gregg
Friday, June 5, 2009
Where did our puppy go...?
We were looking at Lola the other day and it occurred to us that she was losing her puppy face. You know, that cute little fuzzy face with the eyes that didn't quite focus just so. She's losing that face. She has a big-dog face now. Not quite a "I've been around the block a few times" face, but definitely not a pup any more.
It's funny, but we couldn't wait for her to grow up. To stop pooping in the house. To learn her place and where she sits in the pack. To understand commands. To be a dog. Now here we are, lamenting the loss of her "puppy-ness". Weird. She was a cute little thing. She's still cute, but in a different way. I'm glad we took pictures.
Speaking of which, we'll eventually have to figure out how to post a few of the better ones. Maybe a chronological group of head shots. Definitely a few of her and Cocoa. The first one will have to be "baby in a basket". Hard to believe that was only in November...
Oh...she might have proven the theory of learning by osmosis. She never saw Cocoa "hunkering", but it seems Lola will be our second to exhibit this most peculiar trait. She hasn't flung herself at the ground yet, but she gets that little butt down to the ground and off she goes in crazy circles.
Rylee would have stared in amazement. Mags would have walked away in a huff, thinking "waisted motion if you aren't chasing a cat". Cocoa, I'm sure, would have been proud.
It's funny, but we couldn't wait for her to grow up. To stop pooping in the house. To learn her place and where she sits in the pack. To understand commands. To be a dog. Now here we are, lamenting the loss of her "puppy-ness". Weird. She was a cute little thing. She's still cute, but in a different way. I'm glad we took pictures.
Speaking of which, we'll eventually have to figure out how to post a few of the better ones. Maybe a chronological group of head shots. Definitely a few of her and Cocoa. The first one will have to be "baby in a basket". Hard to believe that was only in November...
Oh...she might have proven the theory of learning by osmosis. She never saw Cocoa "hunkering", but it seems Lola will be our second to exhibit this most peculiar trait. She hasn't flung herself at the ground yet, but she gets that little butt down to the ground and off she goes in crazy circles.
Rylee would have stared in amazement. Mags would have walked away in a huff, thinking "waisted motion if you aren't chasing a cat". Cocoa, I'm sure, would have been proud.
Monday, May 18, 2009
What happened to Winter?
What's up with the weather? It seems like it was just a few weeks ago that it was November 12th and we had our first snow. And wasn't it just April 6th...our last snow? If my math is right, that's almost five months of winter here in Northeast Ohio. If that wasn't the longest Winter in Cleveland history, it has to be in the top three. Where's all this global warming we keep hearing about? Oh ya, it's called SUMMER!
Anyway, the warm weather is finally here (OK, so it frosted last night, sue me). With warm weather comes increased activity levels and increased demands on our pooches (and us). Remember, our dogs can't pick up the tin cup and bang the crate bars. They need us to remember to keep the water bowl full. Treats are great...belly rubs are wonderful...nothing beats a good scratch behind the ears...except a nice clean drink of H2O.
Let's get out there folks. Off to the beach. Over to the Dog Park. It's frisbee season at the playground, so get out there and have fun with Mans-best-friend. After that game of catch or that jog through the Metro Park and you're enjoying a cold beverage (I'm not implying anything here), don't forget to give you four-legged friend his or her big gulp too!
Now...where did I stash those shorts and sandels back before that last ice age????
Anyway, the warm weather is finally here (OK, so it frosted last night, sue me). With warm weather comes increased activity levels and increased demands on our pooches (and us). Remember, our dogs can't pick up the tin cup and bang the crate bars. They need us to remember to keep the water bowl full. Treats are great...belly rubs are wonderful...nothing beats a good scratch behind the ears...except a nice clean drink of H2O.
Let's get out there folks. Off to the beach. Over to the Dog Park. It's frisbee season at the playground, so get out there and have fun with Mans-best-friend. After that game of catch or that jog through the Metro Park and you're enjoying a cold beverage (I'm not implying anything here), don't forget to give you four-legged friend his or her big gulp too!
Now...where did I stash those shorts and sandels back before that last ice age????
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
PAUL NEWMAN DIED...
THE DAY PAUL NEWMAN DIED
As most of you know, veteran stage and screen star (and notable racecar driver) Paul Newman passed away. His life and times were well reported, as they should have been. By all accounts Mr. Newman was a good man, husband and citizen. He stayed out of trouble, stayed married to the same woman and created charities that bear his name. Something else happened that day...I just thought it was important that you know...
You're an 18 or 19 year old kid. You're critically wounded, and dying in the jungle in the Ia Drang Valley. It's November-14-1965, LZ Xray, Vietnam .
Your infantry unit is outnumbered 8 to 1, and the enemy fire is so intense, from 100 or 200 yards away, that your own Infantry Commander has ordered the MediVac helicopters to stop coming in . You're lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns, and you know you're not getting out.
Your family is half-way around the world, 12,000 miles away, and you'll never see them again. As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day. Then, over the machine gun noise, you faintly hear the sound of a helicopter, and you look up to see an un-armed Huey.
But it doesn't seem real, because no Medi-Vac markings are on it. Ed Freeman is coming for you. He's not Medi-Vac, so it's not his job, but he's flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire, after the Medi-Vacs were ordered not to come. He's coming anyway. And he drops it in, and sits there in the machine gun fire, as they load 2 or 3 of you on board. Then he flies you up and out through the gunfire to the doctors and nurses...and he kept coming back.
13 more times. He took about 30 of you and your buddies out, guys who would never have gotten out. Medal of Honor Recipient Ed Freeman died on a Wednesday, at the age of 80, in Boise, ID. (Oh ya, Paul Newman died that day too. I guess you knew that. He got a lot more press than Ed Freeman.)
With everything that is happening in the world, and the superficial nature of our news media, I just wanted a few more people to know about the Ed Freemans of the world...
As most of you know, veteran stage and screen star (and notable racecar driver) Paul Newman passed away. His life and times were well reported, as they should have been. By all accounts Mr. Newman was a good man, husband and citizen. He stayed out of trouble, stayed married to the same woman and created charities that bear his name. Something else happened that day...I just thought it was important that you know...
You're an 18 or 19 year old kid. You're critically wounded, and dying in the jungle in the Ia Drang Valley. It's November-14-1965, LZ Xray, Vietnam .
Your infantry unit is outnumbered 8 to 1, and the enemy fire is so intense, from 100 or 200 yards away, that your own Infantry Commander has ordered the MediVac helicopters to stop coming in . You're lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns, and you know you're not getting out.
Your family is half-way around the world, 12,000 miles away, and you'll never see them again. As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day. Then, over the machine gun noise, you faintly hear the sound of a helicopter, and you look up to see an un-armed Huey.
But it doesn't seem real, because no Medi-Vac markings are on it. Ed Freeman is coming for you. He's not Medi-Vac, so it's not his job, but he's flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire, after the Medi-Vacs were ordered not to come. He's coming anyway. And he drops it in, and sits there in the machine gun fire, as they load 2 or 3 of you on board. Then he flies you up and out through the gunfire to the doctors and nurses...and he kept coming back.
13 more times. He took about 30 of you and your buddies out, guys who would never have gotten out. Medal of Honor Recipient Ed Freeman died on a Wednesday, at the age of 80, in Boise, ID. (Oh ya, Paul Newman died that day too. I guess you knew that. He got a lot more press than Ed Freeman.)
With everything that is happening in the world, and the superficial nature of our news media, I just wanted a few more people to know about the Ed Freemans of the world...
Monday, April 20, 2009
Tassel and Morterboard
Great news...our little Lola is smart! (that may be tha last time you ever read those words).
Lola graduated from Gestapo School.
Sit. Stay. Heel. Leave it! Good girl.
It looks like Lola will be going on to intermediate obedience. We would like to get her the Canine Good Citizen confirmation. Who knows, maybe she can become our second "working" dog. Lola is affectionate and very "kissy". She seems to love strangers and certainly likes being the center-of-attention.
First things first, she needs to pass second grade. Then I guess we'll see how she does. We don't want to force her into any situation she isn't ready for. If she ends up just hanging around the house making goober bombs, that's OK with us. Every house needs a 100 pound lapdog, or not.
Thanks to Barb at Happy Tails, Lola is a more confident, better socialized and hopefully happier pup. Lola is smart...who knew?
Lola graduated from Gestapo School.
Sit. Stay. Heel. Leave it! Good girl.
It looks like Lola will be going on to intermediate obedience. We would like to get her the Canine Good Citizen confirmation. Who knows, maybe she can become our second "working" dog. Lola is affectionate and very "kissy". She seems to love strangers and certainly likes being the center-of-attention.
First things first, she needs to pass second grade. Then I guess we'll see how she does. We don't want to force her into any situation she isn't ready for. If she ends up just hanging around the house making goober bombs, that's OK with us. Every house needs a 100 pound lapdog, or not.
Thanks to Barb at Happy Tails, Lola is a more confident, better socialized and hopefully happier pup. Lola is smart...who knew?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
The loss of a friend...
Feel free to skip this one if you want. There is pain here. Chances are you've felt it. Knife to the belly pain. Can't breath pain. Curl-up in a little ball pain. I hate this part.
We lost Cocoa. Cancer took her. Rotten son-of-a-bitch. I hate that word. Cancer.
Why do we feel this much pain for a dog? Seriously. It's a dog. Four legs, a bottomless pit for a stomach. Slobber. With Bullys, lots of slobber. Think of the expense. We pay to get them. We pay to feed them. Vet bills. Chew toys. Crates. Blankets. Leashes. Every year another licence. What do we get? What do they give us?
Everything.
Everything they've got. The food, the toys, the walks...it's all gravy to them. They get us. It's all they want. They get food, toys and walks. We get everything they have. That's why it hurts. That's the knife in the gut. That's why it hurts. Everything...man.
My brother once told me..." better to take them one day too early than one day too late".
Intellectually I understood what it meant. One day early means no suffering. One day late...
Intellectual understanding does not mean emotional rationality. We waited a day too long with Mags. She was our first loss. We didn't KNOW. She was hurting and she needed us to make it stop. Sorry Mags. We didn't know. It kills me to say this, but I waited one day too long with Rylee as well. Not because I didn't care. I couldn't separate myself. It was my call and I blew it. Rylee was so full of love I know she forgave me. I didn't deserve it.
Hopefully we got it right with Cocoa. Letting her go was our last act of love. She was a really sweet and gentle dog. She deserved to go out with dignety. I hope we gave her that. If ever a dog deserved a graceful exit, it was Cocoa. Goodbye Cokie.
Owning a pet is a responsibility unlike anything I have done before. We aren't parents, so these really are our "kids". They live such relatively short lives that it is important that we get it all right. Cradle to grave. Their end should be just as important to us as the beginning and the middle. I'm not preaching, honest. Imploring is more like it. It was a hard lesson to learn. Dear friends suffered. Not because we didn't care, but because we did. We will lose other canine friends. I hope we can give them all the exit they deserve.
Did we do Ok, Cocoa? I hope so...
We lost Cocoa. Cancer took her. Rotten son-of-a-bitch. I hate that word. Cancer.
Why do we feel this much pain for a dog? Seriously. It's a dog. Four legs, a bottomless pit for a stomach. Slobber. With Bullys, lots of slobber. Think of the expense. We pay to get them. We pay to feed them. Vet bills. Chew toys. Crates. Blankets. Leashes. Every year another licence. What do we get? What do they give us?
Everything.
Everything they've got. The food, the toys, the walks...it's all gravy to them. They get us. It's all they want. They get food, toys and walks. We get everything they have. That's why it hurts. That's the knife in the gut. That's why it hurts. Everything...man.
My brother once told me..." better to take them one day too early than one day too late".
Intellectually I understood what it meant. One day early means no suffering. One day late...
Intellectual understanding does not mean emotional rationality. We waited a day too long with Mags. She was our first loss. We didn't KNOW. She was hurting and she needed us to make it stop. Sorry Mags. We didn't know. It kills me to say this, but I waited one day too long with Rylee as well. Not because I didn't care. I couldn't separate myself. It was my call and I blew it. Rylee was so full of love I know she forgave me. I didn't deserve it.
Hopefully we got it right with Cocoa. Letting her go was our last act of love. She was a really sweet and gentle dog. She deserved to go out with dignety. I hope we gave her that. If ever a dog deserved a graceful exit, it was Cocoa. Goodbye Cokie.
Owning a pet is a responsibility unlike anything I have done before. We aren't parents, so these really are our "kids". They live such relatively short lives that it is important that we get it all right. Cradle to grave. Their end should be just as important to us as the beginning and the middle. I'm not preaching, honest. Imploring is more like it. It was a hard lesson to learn. Dear friends suffered. Not because we didn't care, but because we did. We will lose other canine friends. I hope we can give them all the exit they deserve.
Did we do Ok, Cocoa? I hope so...
Friday, March 27, 2009
Gestapo School 4.0 and the dirty-trick
I can't believe it's been seven weeks between posts.
Slacker.
The time between early February and late March has not been idle time. Work has been a bear...but I won't bore you. Winter has been interminable...but again, I won't bore you. Lola has been a blur. She is in constant motion. Not always with a purpose, but certainly with gusto. She may not know what she's doing, but she does it full-tilt. To steal a phrase...she may be lost, but she's makin' good time!
Lola has completed her 5th week of obedience training. She's really doing quite well. Now that the thermometer is reading consistently above freezing, she (and we) can spend some quality time outside. She seems to pick things up pretty quickly. Her mental train leave the tracks quite a bit, but she responds to corrections pretty well. That is, after she was introduced the Mr. Pinch Collar in week two. Don't start! Pinch collars are not cruel. We don't sharpen the prongs on the grinding wheel. Pinch collars work. Period. If you are a staunch anti-pinch collar type, let me ask one simple question...What do mother dogs do to unruly pups? She nips them. Not a bite. Not a flesh-ripping attack. A simple nip tells the pup that it did something Mom did not like. It usually doesn't take more than a nip or two. The same holds true of the pinch collar. A few quick tugs and a "yip" or two usually send the message that "Mom" or "Dad" at the end of the leash was not happy.
Back to little Lola. She has grown a bit. She was 56 pounds last Saturday, probably a few pounds heavier this week. We received a couple of pictures of her brother (now living happily in Indiana). He is a BIG boy...75 pounds worth. At eight weeks he was smaller than Lola, not any more!
Today is a really important day in young Lola's life. She gets spayed today (the "dirty trick). Ready for the "preachy" part? Here goes...get your pet dog or cat spayed or neutered. Sooner rather than later. Remember, Lola was rescued. How irresponsible would it be for us as rescue owners to allow for the chance of even more unwanted puppies to come into a world with too many already? Is it uncomfortable for your dog? Yes. Is it messy and a chore for you? Yes. Is it the responsible thing to do? Absolutely. And your dog will forgive you. They always do. As for Neutering...we've never had a boy dog, so that hasn't been an issue, but it has to be easier and much less invasive than spaying. If the "emasculation" issue is the problem, grow up. Go back to post #1 and read the "dog as Viagra" section again. If you think you are tougher, cooler or sexier because your dog has a full ball-sack, you are a sad excuse for a man to start with. Well...I certainly feel better, how 'bout you?!
I have no intention of waiting seven more weeks before a I post again, so hopefully someone is still out there reading this stuff. If not, it still relieves some of the pressure in this over-stuffed melon of mine. Face it, I'm a gas-bag.
Thanks for staying with me...more soon.
Slacker.
The time between early February and late March has not been idle time. Work has been a bear...but I won't bore you. Winter has been interminable...but again, I won't bore you. Lola has been a blur. She is in constant motion. Not always with a purpose, but certainly with gusto. She may not know what she's doing, but she does it full-tilt. To steal a phrase...she may be lost, but she's makin' good time!
Lola has completed her 5th week of obedience training. She's really doing quite well. Now that the thermometer is reading consistently above freezing, she (and we) can spend some quality time outside. She seems to pick things up pretty quickly. Her mental train leave the tracks quite a bit, but she responds to corrections pretty well. That is, after she was introduced the Mr. Pinch Collar in week two. Don't start! Pinch collars are not cruel. We don't sharpen the prongs on the grinding wheel. Pinch collars work. Period. If you are a staunch anti-pinch collar type, let me ask one simple question...What do mother dogs do to unruly pups? She nips them. Not a bite. Not a flesh-ripping attack. A simple nip tells the pup that it did something Mom did not like. It usually doesn't take more than a nip or two. The same holds true of the pinch collar. A few quick tugs and a "yip" or two usually send the message that "Mom" or "Dad" at the end of the leash was not happy.
Back to little Lola. She has grown a bit. She was 56 pounds last Saturday, probably a few pounds heavier this week. We received a couple of pictures of her brother (now living happily in Indiana). He is a BIG boy...75 pounds worth. At eight weeks he was smaller than Lola, not any more!
Today is a really important day in young Lola's life. She gets spayed today (the "dirty trick). Ready for the "preachy" part? Here goes...get your pet dog or cat spayed or neutered. Sooner rather than later. Remember, Lola was rescued. How irresponsible would it be for us as rescue owners to allow for the chance of even more unwanted puppies to come into a world with too many already? Is it uncomfortable for your dog? Yes. Is it messy and a chore for you? Yes. Is it the responsible thing to do? Absolutely. And your dog will forgive you. They always do. As for Neutering...we've never had a boy dog, so that hasn't been an issue, but it has to be easier and much less invasive than spaying. If the "emasculation" issue is the problem, grow up. Go back to post #1 and read the "dog as Viagra" section again. If you think you are tougher, cooler or sexier because your dog has a full ball-sack, you are a sad excuse for a man to start with. Well...I certainly feel better, how 'bout you?!
I have no intention of waiting seven more weeks before a I post again, so hopefully someone is still out there reading this stuff. If not, it still relieves some of the pressure in this over-stuffed melon of mine. Face it, I'm a gas-bag.
Thanks for staying with me...more soon.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Puppy File...Lola gets a crash helmet?
Our little Lola is growing like the proverbial weed. 40+ pounds now. She has not grasped the concept that leaping into our laps at near-sonic speeds will cause air to escape violently from our lungs. Come to think of it, she hasn't grasped most concepts regarding velocity and solid matter. You know, small things like...there is a back to the crate...the couch doesn't move, not even for a determined Bullmastiff puppy...and the back door doesn't open simply because you ram you head against it.
Oh well, I guess even Einstein wasn't a genius at 17 weeks...
Little does she know that obedience training starts in two weeks! Gestapo school! Woo-Hoo. Sit! Stay! Happy come! All of our girls have been through the same course. We're well known there. The bad part of that is, if our dogs screw-up, we get called-out by the instructor...Gregg! What is Lola doing?!?! Uh, lazy sit? Why is Lola doing lazy sit? Uh, because I'm an idiot?
Actually, obedience is a good refresher for us as well as a great early socializing exercise for Lola. A socialized puppy is a happy puppy, or some such rot. Despite the fact that the Bullmastiff breed is a friendly lot, we absolutely believe our dogs were better for the experience of obedience school. Besides, if you ever want to participate in therapy or some other working endeavor, basic obedience is going to be a prerequisite. Who knows, maybe Lola will be our first Canine Good Citizen. HaHaHa...I crack myself up.
Oh ya, the crash helmet reference.
Bullys are, according to the AKC Standard, supposed to have "tulip" ears. Basically, V-shaped ears that lie flat to the head. Lola does not have tulip ears. Hers look more like fuzzy rotini. She's cute as a bug in her pictures, but those ears. We're talking Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer nose ears. (that doesn't make complete sense to me, and I wrote it) She'll probably get picked-on by the other dogs in obedience school. Hey, look at the weird kid! Check out those ears! Maybe she'll get to go to the land of misfit toys. I always wanted a Charlie-in-the-Box. Hmm, Rudy turned out OK, right?
So, what is the answer for fuzzy rotini? Tape. Wide, sticky tape. We're talking NFL Football player sprained ankle tape. Fold it this way. Fold it that way. Keep it flat. That should do it. Man, those things flap around like Dumbo's ears. She needs a chin strap. More tape. Cut it here, fold it there, attach it to her ears. Nope, too long. She needs a chin strap, not a face mask. Shorten it up, a little adjustment. Presto! Instant wrestling headgear. She hates it. If she had a sense of self (and a mirror) she would be horrified. It's a good thing puppies don't tease each other.
So that's it then. Another installment of the Lola file. We'll see how the training goes. Don't forget poop bags. Nothing worse than stopping class to go look for paper towels. Poor thing, she has no idea what she's in for...
Oh well, I guess even Einstein wasn't a genius at 17 weeks...
Little does she know that obedience training starts in two weeks! Gestapo school! Woo-Hoo. Sit! Stay! Happy come! All of our girls have been through the same course. We're well known there. The bad part of that is, if our dogs screw-up, we get called-out by the instructor...Gregg! What is Lola doing?!?! Uh, lazy sit? Why is Lola doing lazy sit? Uh, because I'm an idiot?
Actually, obedience is a good refresher for us as well as a great early socializing exercise for Lola. A socialized puppy is a happy puppy, or some such rot. Despite the fact that the Bullmastiff breed is a friendly lot, we absolutely believe our dogs were better for the experience of obedience school. Besides, if you ever want to participate in therapy or some other working endeavor, basic obedience is going to be a prerequisite. Who knows, maybe Lola will be our first Canine Good Citizen. HaHaHa...I crack myself up.
Oh ya, the crash helmet reference.
Bullys are, according to the AKC Standard, supposed to have "tulip" ears. Basically, V-shaped ears that lie flat to the head. Lola does not have tulip ears. Hers look more like fuzzy rotini. She's cute as a bug in her pictures, but those ears. We're talking Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer nose ears. (that doesn't make complete sense to me, and I wrote it) She'll probably get picked-on by the other dogs in obedience school. Hey, look at the weird kid! Check out those ears! Maybe she'll get to go to the land of misfit toys. I always wanted a Charlie-in-the-Box. Hmm, Rudy turned out OK, right?
So, what is the answer for fuzzy rotini? Tape. Wide, sticky tape. We're talking NFL Football player sprained ankle tape. Fold it this way. Fold it that way. Keep it flat. That should do it. Man, those things flap around like Dumbo's ears. She needs a chin strap. More tape. Cut it here, fold it there, attach it to her ears. Nope, too long. She needs a chin strap, not a face mask. Shorten it up, a little adjustment. Presto! Instant wrestling headgear. She hates it. If she had a sense of self (and a mirror) she would be horrified. It's a good thing puppies don't tease each other.
So that's it then. Another installment of the Lola file. We'll see how the training goes. Don't forget poop bags. Nothing worse than stopping class to go look for paper towels. Poor thing, she has no idea what she's in for...
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Your Vet, your dogs second best friend.
Are you on a first-name basis with your dogs Doctor? We are. I don't know that our dogs have been sick or hurt more than others, more unlucky perhaps. My point is, we have a relationship with our Vet(s). They know us, we know them. More importantly, our Vet knows our dogs and the dogs trust the Vet.
Why do I think this is important? Because our Vets know at what level they can speak to us and know that we will understand what they are trying to tell us. Veterinarians are Doctors. That means they speak "doctor" English, not "people" English. If I don't understand something the Vet is explaining, I may not make the proper decision for my pet. Our Vets know they can speak to us a certain way and we will not have any confusion. That knowledge of each other and the comfort level that knowledge creates makes the decision making process clearer. Maybe not easier, but one based on understanding the issues the dog is facing.
It's so nice knowing that our girls go into the Vets' office with tails wagging, as opposed to pulling the lead in the opposite direction! We absolutely trust our Vets. We know that they will make decisions and provide care that is thorough and compassionate. I don't believe that our dogs get better care because we have a relationship with our Vet. I do believe that we understand the care they get better. Knowledge is power. I believe that we are empowered to provide the best possible care for our pets because we don't have any ambiguity about what is wrong. We agonize over the health of our girls, buy we don't lose sleep wondering if we are doing all we can for them.
We would never leave our own Doctor's office not knowing exactly what is wrong with our health. We don't want to leave the Vet wondering about one of our dogs. I would never take a prescribed medication not understanding what it is for and how often I should take it. My dogs deserve the same consideration.
If you don't already have a "first name" relationship with your Vet, please try to build one. It will be the best medicine you can give your dog.
Why do I think this is important? Because our Vets know at what level they can speak to us and know that we will understand what they are trying to tell us. Veterinarians are Doctors. That means they speak "doctor" English, not "people" English. If I don't understand something the Vet is explaining, I may not make the proper decision for my pet. Our Vets know they can speak to us a certain way and we will not have any confusion. That knowledge of each other and the comfort level that knowledge creates makes the decision making process clearer. Maybe not easier, but one based on understanding the issues the dog is facing.
It's so nice knowing that our girls go into the Vets' office with tails wagging, as opposed to pulling the lead in the opposite direction! We absolutely trust our Vets. We know that they will make decisions and provide care that is thorough and compassionate. I don't believe that our dogs get better care because we have a relationship with our Vet. I do believe that we understand the care they get better. Knowledge is power. I believe that we are empowered to provide the best possible care for our pets because we don't have any ambiguity about what is wrong. We agonize over the health of our girls, buy we don't lose sleep wondering if we are doing all we can for them.
We would never leave our own Doctor's office not knowing exactly what is wrong with our health. We don't want to leave the Vet wondering about one of our dogs. I would never take a prescribed medication not understanding what it is for and how often I should take it. My dogs deserve the same consideration.
If you don't already have a "first name" relationship with your Vet, please try to build one. It will be the best medicine you can give your dog.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The puppy file...or...What Lola wants, Lola gets.
As I've mentioned previously, we have had three Bullys. They were seven months, six months and two years old respectively when we got them. Full-sized dogs. Fully formed canine units. 70, 80, 90 pounds of hugable, lovable dog. Naturally, we decided to get a puppy.
What were we thinking?
We work. We've never raised a puppy before. Why didn't someone warn us?!?!
Ronald Reagan once described the Government as being like a baby's alimentary canal:
A happy appetite at one end, and no responsibility at the other.
This would also describe a puppy. Man, does it ever. Lola has proven to be the worlds most efficient processor of food into poop that man has ever envisioned. Is it even possible for more poop to come out than food went in? Can she actually multiply food into exponentially more poop? It seems she can.
OK, let's back up. How did we get here? The story goes something like this:
Again with the two-dog household. Long before we found out that Cocoa was sick, we had started thinking about adding to the pack. There was no rush, no panic decisions to be made. Cocoa was young and healthy and we had time. So much for the best laid plans of mice and men...
After we found out about Cocoa, we decided that later became now. Our initial experience with rescue had been completely positive so it was time to start making calls. I can't say this often enough or loudly enough...the volunteers associated with ABA Rescue are TOPS. We had concurrent conversations going with Ohio and Michigan rescue volunteers. The folks in Ohio had a beautiful adult girl looking for a forever home. The people in Michigan had a rescued mom and two little pups. We e-mailed. We looked at pictures. We watched video. We were completely torn. In the end, we thought that a puppy would be good for us. A new experience.
We made arrangements to drive up to Detroit to see the pups. The little boy pup had been spoken-for, but the little girl was still available. Lucky us, we like the girls. The Momma was skinny and weakened by her experience, but what a face. She was on her way to her forever home but what a good job she had done keeping her two little ones alive and healthy. The little boy was going to his new home too. He was a little small, always following big sister, but I think he's going to be just fine. So...about this little girl puppy...what a face. Too cute to leave behind. Into the basket she went...off to someplace called Ohio.
So, Bully number four is part of the pack. Lola. Lola-granola. L-O-L-A...(this is the Internet, you can't hear me sing. Be thankful...)
Lola was 16 pounds and change when we picked her up from her foster home. A little ball of clumsy feet, soft fur and sharp teeth. Note to self...don't get fingers between chew-toy and puppy teeth. Those aren't teeth, they're fish hooks set in little pink gums. Who thought that was a good idea?
Sixteen pounds didn't last long. She puts on weight like a College Freshman at a beer and pizza party. Eight weeks = 16 pounds. Twelve weeks = 30 pounds. If she doubles her weight every four weeks we are in serious trouble. The dog that ate Cleveland...coming to a theater near you.
We are really glad that the pup is getting to spend time with Cocoa. What a good Mom she would have made. The pup is relentless, Cocoa is patient. The puppy attacks, Cocoa defends. This would go on indefinitely if the puppy wouldn't periodically fall asleep. Thank goodness for naps. Puppies, it seems, take lots of naps. I really like naps. Mine and the puppies! She's really cute, especially when she's sleeping. She's awake????? Quickly, to the back door! Doh! Too late. Puppy pee on the floor. Note to self #2...Get off of the cough MUCH quicker next time.
New rule: if the Puppy (1) wakes up, (2) stops playing, (3) stops eating, (4) wanders anywhere near the back door it's time to go out. NOW. Not five seconds from now...now. The pup drinks about 4 ounces of water at a time. The puppy has a three-ounce bladder. The odds are she has to go out side. All the time. No one warned us. Thanks.
Puppy poop smells really bad. No, seriously. Nothing else smells like that. Is it toxic? Does the E.P.A. know about this stuff? Do the Russians know about this stuff. The heck with Nukes. Make a bomb out of puppy poop. Now THAT would be a weapon of mass destruction! Puppies poop with no warning. Zero. "Look at the cute puppy playing". "Awe, isn't she cute...what the hell is that?" "Oh my Gawd". Puppies should come with Haz-Mat suits. Nuff said.
Lola is 13 weeks old now. She's about 35 pounds and I swear you can actually watch her grow. It's like something from a Sci-Fi movie. One minute her head is taller than her butt, the next her butt is taller than her head. Five weeks ago she fit in a small basket with room to spare. Now she stretches-out on the love seat and she forces you to the floor. This is almost going too quickly. Not the pooping part, but the rest of it. My recommendation to you if you get a puppy...take lots of pictures. Our little girl is growing up...
More about Lola in a few weeks...
What were we thinking?
We work. We've never raised a puppy before. Why didn't someone warn us?!?!
Ronald Reagan once described the Government as being like a baby's alimentary canal:
A happy appetite at one end, and no responsibility at the other.
This would also describe a puppy. Man, does it ever. Lola has proven to be the worlds most efficient processor of food into poop that man has ever envisioned. Is it even possible for more poop to come out than food went in? Can she actually multiply food into exponentially more poop? It seems she can.
OK, let's back up. How did we get here? The story goes something like this:
Again with the two-dog household. Long before we found out that Cocoa was sick, we had started thinking about adding to the pack. There was no rush, no panic decisions to be made. Cocoa was young and healthy and we had time. So much for the best laid plans of mice and men...
After we found out about Cocoa, we decided that later became now. Our initial experience with rescue had been completely positive so it was time to start making calls. I can't say this often enough or loudly enough...the volunteers associated with ABA Rescue are TOPS. We had concurrent conversations going with Ohio and Michigan rescue volunteers. The folks in Ohio had a beautiful adult girl looking for a forever home. The people in Michigan had a rescued mom and two little pups. We e-mailed. We looked at pictures. We watched video. We were completely torn. In the end, we thought that a puppy would be good for us. A new experience.
We made arrangements to drive up to Detroit to see the pups. The little boy pup had been spoken-for, but the little girl was still available. Lucky us, we like the girls. The Momma was skinny and weakened by her experience, but what a face. She was on her way to her forever home but what a good job she had done keeping her two little ones alive and healthy. The little boy was going to his new home too. He was a little small, always following big sister, but I think he's going to be just fine. So...about this little girl puppy...what a face. Too cute to leave behind. Into the basket she went...off to someplace called Ohio.
So, Bully number four is part of the pack. Lola. Lola-granola. L-O-L-A...(this is the Internet, you can't hear me sing. Be thankful...)
Lola was 16 pounds and change when we picked her up from her foster home. A little ball of clumsy feet, soft fur and sharp teeth. Note to self...don't get fingers between chew-toy and puppy teeth. Those aren't teeth, they're fish hooks set in little pink gums. Who thought that was a good idea?
Sixteen pounds didn't last long. She puts on weight like a College Freshman at a beer and pizza party. Eight weeks = 16 pounds. Twelve weeks = 30 pounds. If she doubles her weight every four weeks we are in serious trouble. The dog that ate Cleveland...coming to a theater near you.
We are really glad that the pup is getting to spend time with Cocoa. What a good Mom she would have made. The pup is relentless, Cocoa is patient. The puppy attacks, Cocoa defends. This would go on indefinitely if the puppy wouldn't periodically fall asleep. Thank goodness for naps. Puppies, it seems, take lots of naps. I really like naps. Mine and the puppies! She's really cute, especially when she's sleeping. She's awake????? Quickly, to the back door! Doh! Too late. Puppy pee on the floor. Note to self #2...Get off of the cough MUCH quicker next time.
New rule: if the Puppy (1) wakes up, (2) stops playing, (3) stops eating, (4) wanders anywhere near the back door it's time to go out. NOW. Not five seconds from now...now. The pup drinks about 4 ounces of water at a time. The puppy has a three-ounce bladder. The odds are she has to go out side. All the time. No one warned us. Thanks.
Puppy poop smells really bad. No, seriously. Nothing else smells like that. Is it toxic? Does the E.P.A. know about this stuff? Do the Russians know about this stuff. The heck with Nukes. Make a bomb out of puppy poop. Now THAT would be a weapon of mass destruction! Puppies poop with no warning. Zero. "Look at the cute puppy playing". "Awe, isn't she cute...what the hell is that?" "Oh my Gawd". Puppies should come with Haz-Mat suits. Nuff said.
Lola is 13 weeks old now. She's about 35 pounds and I swear you can actually watch her grow. It's like something from a Sci-Fi movie. One minute her head is taller than her butt, the next her butt is taller than her head. Five weeks ago she fit in a small basket with room to spare. Now she stretches-out on the love seat and she forces you to the floor. This is almost going too quickly. Not the pooping part, but the rest of it. My recommendation to you if you get a puppy...take lots of pictures. Our little girl is growing up...
More about Lola in a few weeks...
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Our pups...the Good, the Bad and the Rescue
Since I've already introduced Rylee in a previous post, I may as well share a little more information on the "family". We are on our fourth Bully, but I will use this column to tell you about the first three...
I need to give a little background information about the situation that my wife and I grew-up in and how that shaped our view of the animal world. We are both German born children of American GI dads and German moms. Being of Central-European families, our moms were...how shall we say it?
Well, they were neat-freaks. Dogs were dirty, smelly beasts. Definitely not fit for a properly cared for home. Needless to say, neither of us had any pets growing up. Nope, not so much as a Goldfish. So...now we're adults (chronologically at least) and out on our own. The problem? We were renters. Translate: no dogs. So we compensated. Four Hamsters. Two Tarantulas. A Turtle. A Rat (Edgar was the best!). A Rabbit. We were the neighborhood petting zoo. The kids on the street loved us. What all of these furry, scaly, crawly creatures taught us was pet responsibility. Food, water, medicine, clean bedding, exercise, the whole shootin' match. Then...WE BOUGHT A HOUSE. Nothing can stop us now.
I will take a moment to admit that we are probably exceptions here, but we did two YEARS of research on dog breeds to find out what we wanted. We talked to breeders. We went to dog shows. We read books. We made check-lists. Then we went to the Crown Classic dog show at the IX-Center in Cleveland and found ourselves surrounded by 30-plus Bullmastiffs and that was it. Done deal. That is also where we met the woman who we would get our first two dogs from. That leads me to Rylee.
Our breeder had kept Rylee from a recent litter with the intention of showing her. Unfortunately, Rylee grew too fast and too tall and she didn't fit the Standard. Bad for the breeder, good for us. We got Rylee when she was 7 months old. All 25 inches tall and 95 pounds of her. She was beautiful. Fawn coat; big blocky head; thick, gummy lips. What a honey. As I noted in the previous post, she was special. Absolutely gentle. Rylee matured into a 130 pound plush toy. Man, she had a beautiful head. Old Boxcar head. Lots of Mastiff in that girl. Rylee loved everybody and as far as I could tell, everybody loved her. The only negative with Ryl's was her Vet bill portfolio. She was the "what can go wrong with a Bully" poster child. ACL tear? Check. Bladder infections? Check. Skin issues? Got it. She was quite popular at our local Animal Hospital. You know what? We didn't care. She was worth every penny and more. Every dog has a personality quirk. Rylee's was house plants. She loved house plants. Never met one she couldn't destroy. We had a six-foot tall fern in the living room in a 5 gallon pot. Had. She destroyed the pot. She shredded the fern. She spread 5 gallons of potting soil on the living room carpet. When I walked in the front door, she was PROUD! Look what I did, Dad. The vacuum cleaner never did work well after that...
Eighteen months after getting Rylee, we got her niece. If you need any proof that being a blood relation has no bearing on personality types, all you needed to do was meet Mags. Magee (pronounced: Maggie) was the anti-Rylee. She was ALPHA. Big-time. She was stubborn. She was a malcontent. She was obstinate. We loved her. She was Ying to Rylee's Yang. Frick and Frack. Magpie was a red-fawn, short, wide and full of Bulldog. Except her head. She had a little head. Or maybe it was that wide body. Did I mention she had a prey-drive? The neighborhood cats would point at Rylee and giggle. Those cats looked at Mags and shook. We never had cat poop in the flower beds while Magee was around. It didn't take long for the word to spread that Mags was not to be messed with. The yard was hers. Cats, squirrels, birds, didn't matter. They were intruders and she would not be intruded upon. Oh, that little wide dog was fast. Spooky fast. Remember Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins? Short legs, thick chest, ran like the wind. That was Mags. My favorite Magee story? I was digging old bushes out of the front landscaping. I had clipped Magpie to the wrought iron railing concreted into the front steps by a 20 foot cable. She laid on the stoop watching me work. Our old neighbor Carl was walking his Lasa and stopped to chat. The little Lasa yapped and barked at Mags until she just couldn't stand it. She shot off of the steps and when she got to the end of the cable? She yanked the whole wrought iron railing out of the concrete! That little Lasa lost a year off her life, easy. If a dogs face can make the "oh crap" look, Zoe made that look. Classic.
Unfortunately, we lost Mags way too early. She came up lame one day and we took her to the Vet. One word you never want to hear: Osteosarcoma
Mags had cancer. We always thought she was too tough to get sick. So much for that idea. We only had Magee for seven years, but they were really good years. Miss you Mudpie...
We had made the decision shortly after getting Magee that we would always be a two-dog household. The idea was that when we lost Rylee, Mags would be 8 or 9 and we would bring in a pupil for her to train. Things didn't work out as planned. We lost Mags too soon but good-old Rylee stuck around for almost twelve years. Go figure. So...what to do? We spoke to our breeder, we looked on the net, then we started thinking about rescue. All of the obvious questions came up. Would we find the "right" dog? Would we get one with "issues". After a call from one of our contacts in the Ohio Bully community we took a drive to meet a two year old girl named Cocoa. What a cutey. Dark brindle, long and tall like Rylee. A little reserved maybe, but so sweet. We said yes. The first few days were typically transitional. Rylee had the "who the heck is this" look. Cocoa had the "where the heck am I" look. Pretty soon though we all settled into a nice little order. Neither Rylee or Cocoa were possessive or territorial, so we didn't have to deal with any "alpha" issues. Shortly after the adoption my wife took Cocoa to Pennsylvania for the Bullmastiff Specialty. She got her little rescue medal and got to parade around the show ring. Turns out, she's a bit of a ham. Even though she was our third Bully, and we had been "Bully People" for almost ten years by then, Cocoa gave us a first. Ever heard of hunkering? Neither had we. If you have not witnessed this phenomenon, it is something to see. Cocoa would haul-ass around the yard with her fanny tucked low to the ground. Full blast around in big circles, then suddenly she would throw herself at the ground! Thud. Roll, roll...bite the grass, kick, roll, bite the grass. Holy Crap! What was THAT all about. We had never seen anything remotely like that. Great, our dog is demented. That performance would be repeated many times over the next few years, it never failed to bring a grin.
Then...she came up lame.
Oh man. Maybe she tweaked her knee. lets not overreact. We gave it a day to see if she would shake it off. The next day she was still limping. Off the see Dr. Mark. Hmmm. not sure about this x-ray. Time to get another opinion. Off to North Ridgeville to see the Specialist. Oh no, not again. Osteo...come on...this isn't fair.
We consulted with our local Vet. We consulted with the Specialist. We searched the net and spoke with friends and family. In the end, we decided to let her be. We could have taken the leg and done Chemo. The quality of life question was our primary concern. How would she fair as an amputee? We decided, not well. So Cocoa is going to live out whatever natural life she has and it is our responsibility to make that time as pain free and comfortable as possible. Thank you's to everyone who has expressed your concern and condolences. Cocoa just had a check-up. The cancer has spread a little. Slower than expected, but still spreading. Her chest is clear. She plays (hard) with the new pup. She pulls like a freight train and best of all, eats like a Viking. How much time do we have with her? We don't know, but she will be loved, and we will be loved back. Best deal we'll ever make...
I need to give a little background information about the situation that my wife and I grew-up in and how that shaped our view of the animal world. We are both German born children of American GI dads and German moms. Being of Central-European families, our moms were...how shall we say it?
Well, they were neat-freaks. Dogs were dirty, smelly beasts. Definitely not fit for a properly cared for home. Needless to say, neither of us had any pets growing up. Nope, not so much as a Goldfish. So...now we're adults (chronologically at least) and out on our own. The problem? We were renters. Translate: no dogs. So we compensated. Four Hamsters. Two Tarantulas. A Turtle. A Rat (Edgar was the best!). A Rabbit. We were the neighborhood petting zoo. The kids on the street loved us. What all of these furry, scaly, crawly creatures taught us was pet responsibility. Food, water, medicine, clean bedding, exercise, the whole shootin' match. Then...WE BOUGHT A HOUSE. Nothing can stop us now.
I will take a moment to admit that we are probably exceptions here, but we did two YEARS of research on dog breeds to find out what we wanted. We talked to breeders. We went to dog shows. We read books. We made check-lists. Then we went to the Crown Classic dog show at the IX-Center in Cleveland and found ourselves surrounded by 30-plus Bullmastiffs and that was it. Done deal. That is also where we met the woman who we would get our first two dogs from. That leads me to Rylee.
Our breeder had kept Rylee from a recent litter with the intention of showing her. Unfortunately, Rylee grew too fast and too tall and she didn't fit the Standard. Bad for the breeder, good for us. We got Rylee when she was 7 months old. All 25 inches tall and 95 pounds of her. She was beautiful. Fawn coat; big blocky head; thick, gummy lips. What a honey. As I noted in the previous post, she was special. Absolutely gentle. Rylee matured into a 130 pound plush toy. Man, she had a beautiful head. Old Boxcar head. Lots of Mastiff in that girl. Rylee loved everybody and as far as I could tell, everybody loved her. The only negative with Ryl's was her Vet bill portfolio. She was the "what can go wrong with a Bully" poster child. ACL tear? Check. Bladder infections? Check. Skin issues? Got it. She was quite popular at our local Animal Hospital. You know what? We didn't care. She was worth every penny and more. Every dog has a personality quirk. Rylee's was house plants. She loved house plants. Never met one she couldn't destroy. We had a six-foot tall fern in the living room in a 5 gallon pot. Had. She destroyed the pot. She shredded the fern. She spread 5 gallons of potting soil on the living room carpet. When I walked in the front door, she was PROUD! Look what I did, Dad. The vacuum cleaner never did work well after that...
Eighteen months after getting Rylee, we got her niece. If you need any proof that being a blood relation has no bearing on personality types, all you needed to do was meet Mags. Magee (pronounced: Maggie) was the anti-Rylee. She was ALPHA. Big-time. She was stubborn. She was a malcontent. She was obstinate. We loved her. She was Ying to Rylee's Yang. Frick and Frack. Magpie was a red-fawn, short, wide and full of Bulldog. Except her head. She had a little head. Or maybe it was that wide body. Did I mention she had a prey-drive? The neighborhood cats would point at Rylee and giggle. Those cats looked at Mags and shook. We never had cat poop in the flower beds while Magee was around. It didn't take long for the word to spread that Mags was not to be messed with. The yard was hers. Cats, squirrels, birds, didn't matter. They were intruders and she would not be intruded upon. Oh, that little wide dog was fast. Spooky fast. Remember Kirby Puckett of the Minnesota Twins? Short legs, thick chest, ran like the wind. That was Mags. My favorite Magee story? I was digging old bushes out of the front landscaping. I had clipped Magpie to the wrought iron railing concreted into the front steps by a 20 foot cable. She laid on the stoop watching me work. Our old neighbor Carl was walking his Lasa and stopped to chat. The little Lasa yapped and barked at Mags until she just couldn't stand it. She shot off of the steps and when she got to the end of the cable? She yanked the whole wrought iron railing out of the concrete! That little Lasa lost a year off her life, easy. If a dogs face can make the "oh crap" look, Zoe made that look. Classic.
Unfortunately, we lost Mags way too early. She came up lame one day and we took her to the Vet. One word you never want to hear: Osteosarcoma
Mags had cancer. We always thought she was too tough to get sick. So much for that idea. We only had Magee for seven years, but they were really good years. Miss you Mudpie...
We had made the decision shortly after getting Magee that we would always be a two-dog household. The idea was that when we lost Rylee, Mags would be 8 or 9 and we would bring in a pupil for her to train. Things didn't work out as planned. We lost Mags too soon but good-old Rylee stuck around for almost twelve years. Go figure. So...what to do? We spoke to our breeder, we looked on the net, then we started thinking about rescue. All of the obvious questions came up. Would we find the "right" dog? Would we get one with "issues". After a call from one of our contacts in the Ohio Bully community we took a drive to meet a two year old girl named Cocoa. What a cutey. Dark brindle, long and tall like Rylee. A little reserved maybe, but so sweet. We said yes. The first few days were typically transitional. Rylee had the "who the heck is this" look. Cocoa had the "where the heck am I" look. Pretty soon though we all settled into a nice little order. Neither Rylee or Cocoa were possessive or territorial, so we didn't have to deal with any "alpha" issues. Shortly after the adoption my wife took Cocoa to Pennsylvania for the Bullmastiff Specialty. She got her little rescue medal and got to parade around the show ring. Turns out, she's a bit of a ham. Even though she was our third Bully, and we had been "Bully People" for almost ten years by then, Cocoa gave us a first. Ever heard of hunkering? Neither had we. If you have not witnessed this phenomenon, it is something to see. Cocoa would haul-ass around the yard with her fanny tucked low to the ground. Full blast around in big circles, then suddenly she would throw herself at the ground! Thud. Roll, roll...bite the grass, kick, roll, bite the grass. Holy Crap! What was THAT all about. We had never seen anything remotely like that. Great, our dog is demented. That performance would be repeated many times over the next few years, it never failed to bring a grin.
Then...she came up lame.
Oh man. Maybe she tweaked her knee. lets not overreact. We gave it a day to see if she would shake it off. The next day she was still limping. Off the see Dr. Mark. Hmmm. not sure about this x-ray. Time to get another opinion. Off to North Ridgeville to see the Specialist. Oh no, not again. Osteo...come on...this isn't fair.
We consulted with our local Vet. We consulted with the Specialist. We searched the net and spoke with friends and family. In the end, we decided to let her be. We could have taken the leg and done Chemo. The quality of life question was our primary concern. How would she fair as an amputee? We decided, not well. So Cocoa is going to live out whatever natural life she has and it is our responsibility to make that time as pain free and comfortable as possible. Thank you's to everyone who has expressed your concern and condolences. Cocoa just had a check-up. The cancer has spread a little. Slower than expected, but still spreading. Her chest is clear. She plays (hard) with the new pup. She pulls like a freight train and best of all, eats like a Viking. How much time do we have with her? We don't know, but she will be loved, and we will be loved back. Best deal we'll ever make...
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Volunteerism...or...what can I do?
I'm going to gaze into my Crystal Ball and anticipate your question....
Hmmmmmmm...
"what can I do?...what can I do?"
That's the question, right? You've got this great dog, and you'd like to do something meaningful. But what? How do you share this wonderful companion? Where do you go? Who do you talk to?
May I offer an off-the-wall answer?
Ask your dog, they'll know.
Well, I don't mean ask like the dog-whisperer. But your dog can help you answer the question. We had a similar situation with our first Bullmastiff, Rylee. Rylee was a special girl. Of course she would have been special to us even if she would have been just a big, happy pet. And she was all of that, but she proved to be much more. I would like to share a story I wrote many years ago about how Rylee helped us figure out the answer to our dilemma. We are fortunate to have a wonderful residence facility for children and adults with Developmental Disabilities. My wife happened upon a story in the local paper about this facility and how they were considering a therapy animal program, but didn't have a resource to turn to. Almost on a whim we called the Center. I wrote the following article for their News Letter as a result of our visit:
(I have taken the liberty of omitting certain names)
"The Decision to Contribute"
We would like to start off by saying that the decision to find an outlet for sharing Rylee with others wasn't really ours. It didn't take days of brainstorming to come to the conclusion that we needed to get Rylee out into the world. As much as we would like to get that kind of credit, someone else came to that conclusion for us. In this case, that someone was Rylee. Yes, we know that Rylee is a dog. Referring to her as a "someone" makes more sense once you've met her. Thinking of her as a person becomes very easy once you've experienced her "person"-ality. If there is an animal anywhere with more of it than Rylee, that animals owner needs to contact the Center as soon as possible!
Rylee came into our lives on January 16th, 1995. She was eight months old, and weighed in at a healthy 95 pounds. Big, goofy and incredibly lovable were the most accurate words to describe her. Despite her size she always seemed to know how big she was, but more importantly, how small other things were in relation to her. One thing we don't want you to do, is think that as Rylee's owners we were looking for something special from her. Neither of us had had any real experience with dogs as children, and all she was going to be to us was our DOG. It just became too obvious for even us to miss, that Rylee was somehow special.
Like most people, we had heard of Guide Dogs and other types of assistance dogs. The idea that jumped out at us was that of joining a visiting therapy group. The problem was, who did we contact? What is required of both dog and owner? Our dilemma was solved when my wife read an advertisement for a start-up program at the Center. This was something we hoped would be the perfect marriage, an ideal dog and an existing group of people she could help. Thanks to the outstanding staff at the Center, we were not disappointed. If we had any doubts about whether we were doing the right thing, those bouts were wiped away the first time Rylee paid a visit. She was given the official tour of the office and proceeded to show everyone there that she was the dog for the job. The icing on the cake came when we had a chance to put our grand idea to the test. We were told that one of the residents was in the office and they asked if it would be OK to make an introduction. The residents name is Jack, and he is the unofficial "postman" for the Center. Jack was asked if he liked dogs, to which he answered yes. That's when Rylee met her first client, and as it turned out, her next friend. Judging by the number of moist hankies that this introduction produced, we knew that this was it. No more trying to figure out how to get Rylee out to the world, she was home.
We never planned on being a test-case or to be pioneers. It just so happened that the right situation and the right dog met at the right time. And as much as we think of Rylee as being the perfect dog for this type of program, we know that there is room for more. Hopefully, other owners with the perfect dog will allow their pet to make the same decision that ours made for us.
How can we be sure that Rylee made the right call?
Faces.
Hers and those of the people she makes friends with on each visit to the Center.
Rylee made twice-weekly visits to the Center. Each visit provided opportunities for Rylee to work her magic. It was incredible. Faces twisted by years of pain or isolation suddenly smiled. Idle hands reached out to her. Fingers fiddled with her hair and ears. Clumsy hands groped her head and legs. She loved it. Sometimes it was hard to watch, but I'm so glad we did it.
Rylee's been gone for three years now, but those evenings at the Center will always be part of her legacy. Do you have a Rylee? My guess is you probably do.
"What can I do?...what can I do?"
Look around. Make a few calls. Better yet, ask your dog.
Hmmmmmmm...
"what can I do?...what can I do?"
That's the question, right? You've got this great dog, and you'd like to do something meaningful. But what? How do you share this wonderful companion? Where do you go? Who do you talk to?
May I offer an off-the-wall answer?
Ask your dog, they'll know.
Well, I don't mean ask like the dog-whisperer. But your dog can help you answer the question. We had a similar situation with our first Bullmastiff, Rylee. Rylee was a special girl. Of course she would have been special to us even if she would have been just a big, happy pet. And she was all of that, but she proved to be much more. I would like to share a story I wrote many years ago about how Rylee helped us figure out the answer to our dilemma. We are fortunate to have a wonderful residence facility for children and adults with Developmental Disabilities. My wife happened upon a story in the local paper about this facility and how they were considering a therapy animal program, but didn't have a resource to turn to. Almost on a whim we called the Center. I wrote the following article for their News Letter as a result of our visit:
(I have taken the liberty of omitting certain names)
"The Decision to Contribute"
We would like to start off by saying that the decision to find an outlet for sharing Rylee with others wasn't really ours. It didn't take days of brainstorming to come to the conclusion that we needed to get Rylee out into the world. As much as we would like to get that kind of credit, someone else came to that conclusion for us. In this case, that someone was Rylee. Yes, we know that Rylee is a dog. Referring to her as a "someone" makes more sense once you've met her. Thinking of her as a person becomes very easy once you've experienced her "person"-ality. If there is an animal anywhere with more of it than Rylee, that animals owner needs to contact the Center as soon as possible!
Rylee came into our lives on January 16th, 1995. She was eight months old, and weighed in at a healthy 95 pounds. Big, goofy and incredibly lovable were the most accurate words to describe her. Despite her size she always seemed to know how big she was, but more importantly, how small other things were in relation to her. One thing we don't want you to do, is think that as Rylee's owners we were looking for something special from her. Neither of us had had any real experience with dogs as children, and all she was going to be to us was our DOG. It just became too obvious for even us to miss, that Rylee was somehow special.
Like most people, we had heard of Guide Dogs and other types of assistance dogs. The idea that jumped out at us was that of joining a visiting therapy group. The problem was, who did we contact? What is required of both dog and owner? Our dilemma was solved when my wife read an advertisement for a start-up program at the Center. This was something we hoped would be the perfect marriage, an ideal dog and an existing group of people she could help. Thanks to the outstanding staff at the Center, we were not disappointed. If we had any doubts about whether we were doing the right thing, those bouts were wiped away the first time Rylee paid a visit. She was given the official tour of the office and proceeded to show everyone there that she was the dog for the job. The icing on the cake came when we had a chance to put our grand idea to the test. We were told that one of the residents was in the office and they asked if it would be OK to make an introduction. The residents name is Jack, and he is the unofficial "postman" for the Center. Jack was asked if he liked dogs, to which he answered yes. That's when Rylee met her first client, and as it turned out, her next friend. Judging by the number of moist hankies that this introduction produced, we knew that this was it. No more trying to figure out how to get Rylee out to the world, she was home.
We never planned on being a test-case or to be pioneers. It just so happened that the right situation and the right dog met at the right time. And as much as we think of Rylee as being the perfect dog for this type of program, we know that there is room for more. Hopefully, other owners with the perfect dog will allow their pet to make the same decision that ours made for us.
How can we be sure that Rylee made the right call?
Faces.
Hers and those of the people she makes friends with on each visit to the Center.
Rylee made twice-weekly visits to the Center. Each visit provided opportunities for Rylee to work her magic. It was incredible. Faces twisted by years of pain or isolation suddenly smiled. Idle hands reached out to her. Fingers fiddled with her hair and ears. Clumsy hands groped her head and legs. She loved it. Sometimes it was hard to watch, but I'm so glad we did it.
Rylee's been gone for three years now, but those evenings at the Center will always be part of her legacy. Do you have a Rylee? My guess is you probably do.
"What can I do?...what can I do?"
Look around. Make a few calls. Better yet, ask your dog.
Monday, December 22, 2008
What a Bullmastiff isn't...the little penis file
Big, strong, powerful and visually intimidating...the Bullmastiff. What an incredible specimen. Fearless, loyal and proud. Man, I'm gunna git me one of them dogs!
If you're looking for a 100+ pound, aggressive, mean-spirited penis extension, please stop reading.
This is not the 4-legged Viagra you are looking for...Wait a second. I take that back. DON"T stop reading. As a matter of fact, I want you to stay. Seriously, pull up a chair. I NEED you to read this. If you absolutely have to have "that" kind of dog, please do not consider this breed. You will only be disappointed. Disappointed dog owners create abandoned dogs. Let me explain why this is not your dog...
(Experienced Bully owners can take a mental nap here, this will be old news for you, but please stick around...)
The Bullmastiff looks the way it does because someone wanted a dog that could do a certain kind of work. You see, the Bully is a manufactured breed. Roughly 60% Mastiff and 40% Bulldog, it was created to do a job. The Mastiff provided strength and size, the Bulldog provided tenacity. By the way, the Bulldog in question is not the Winston Churchill bulldog we know today. It was instead a dog of medium size with speed and agility.
This cross-bred dog, the Bullmastiff, was created as a defense against poachers on large estates. Gentleman land owners in 19th Century England didn't like losing prize deer to poachers on their land. The Bully worked with the Gamekeeper to patrol silently, at night, to stalk and apprehend poachers. You see, Bullys don't bite. The idea was to knock the poacher down and HOLD him until the gamekeeper could catch-up...
The Bully did his work well. It wasn't until later that we saw how well the Bullmastiff worked with us that we developed the companion relationship we have with the breed today. You see, the breed wasn't developed to fight. There is a reason why none of the dogs rescued from Michael Vick's farm were Bullmastiffs. Quite simply, they're lovers, not fighters. Despite being a world-class moron, even Vick knew this wasn't "that" dog.
Big, wet, sloppy kisses. Those are the Bullmastiff's stock-in-trade. Warm hearts and cold noses. You want a fighter? Keep lookin' pal. This aint yer dog.
If you're looking for a 100+ pound, aggressive, mean-spirited penis extension, please stop reading.
This is not the 4-legged Viagra you are looking for...Wait a second. I take that back. DON"T stop reading. As a matter of fact, I want you to stay. Seriously, pull up a chair. I NEED you to read this. If you absolutely have to have "that" kind of dog, please do not consider this breed. You will only be disappointed. Disappointed dog owners create abandoned dogs. Let me explain why this is not your dog...
(Experienced Bully owners can take a mental nap here, this will be old news for you, but please stick around...)
The Bullmastiff looks the way it does because someone wanted a dog that could do a certain kind of work. You see, the Bully is a manufactured breed. Roughly 60% Mastiff and 40% Bulldog, it was created to do a job. The Mastiff provided strength and size, the Bulldog provided tenacity. By the way, the Bulldog in question is not the Winston Churchill bulldog we know today. It was instead a dog of medium size with speed and agility.
This cross-bred dog, the Bullmastiff, was created as a defense against poachers on large estates. Gentleman land owners in 19th Century England didn't like losing prize deer to poachers on their land. The Bully worked with the Gamekeeper to patrol silently, at night, to stalk and apprehend poachers. You see, Bullys don't bite. The idea was to knock the poacher down and HOLD him until the gamekeeper could catch-up...
The Bully did his work well. It wasn't until later that we saw how well the Bullmastiff worked with us that we developed the companion relationship we have with the breed today. You see, the breed wasn't developed to fight. There is a reason why none of the dogs rescued from Michael Vick's farm were Bullmastiffs. Quite simply, they're lovers, not fighters. Despite being a world-class moron, even Vick knew this wasn't "that" dog.
Big, wet, sloppy kisses. Those are the Bullmastiff's stock-in-trade. Warm hearts and cold noses. You want a fighter? Keep lookin' pal. This aint yer dog.
Welcome to the Nightdogblog...
Confused? Basically, this will be about and for the Bullmastiff dog breed.
This is a first for me...so this will morph as I go...
Hopefully, I'll hit something you'll find interesting. Whether it's about my Bullys, the breed in general, what it's not or some other related (or not) topic.
If you know and love the breed, feel free to contact me. If you have something to contribute, even better.
I've been involved with the breed for almost 15 years, so I have quite a few things to say. Will you want to listen? No clue. Will I continue to post? Absolutely. Sorry my intro wasn't longer, but I have a "first column" that I want to get right, so bear with me...
Regards,
Gregg
Confused? Basically, this will be about and for the Bullmastiff dog breed.
This is a first for me...so this will morph as I go...
Hopefully, I'll hit something you'll find interesting. Whether it's about my Bullys, the breed in general, what it's not or some other related (or not) topic.
If you know and love the breed, feel free to contact me. If you have something to contribute, even better.
I've been involved with the breed for almost 15 years, so I have quite a few things to say. Will you want to listen? No clue. Will I continue to post? Absolutely. Sorry my intro wasn't longer, but I have a "first column" that I want to get right, so bear with me...
Regards,
Gregg
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