Ho Ho Ho!

I know all of us in our house will have at least one bittersweet moment remembering our old dog today. She used to really enjoy Christmas. We always wrapped up a dog biscuit for her, because she did not enjoy dog toys. Weird dog.

She would take it, tear into it, tail wagging furiously and chomp up the biscuit like it was the best food in the world. Funny, because on an ordinary day, a dog biscuit got a very lukewarm reaction at best. She never bothered any other gifts, and until it was actually time to unwrap hers, she ignored them.

But after that, she was willing to help everyone open theirs. It was fun to watch. She'd growl, grasp the paper with her teeth and whip her head back and forth. And on to the next present. Which caused the same reaction. It never failed to crack everyone up. We really enjoyed it. :)

Her other endearing Christmas trait was to get her butt into nearly every photograph we took. Seriously. It was annoying at the same time that it was funny. We had to shove her around frequently during the photo ops that the holiday provided.

So, in the spirit of sharing and remembrance, I would like to give you this small token to enjoy.

Merry Christmas!

Saying nothing important but still filling up a page....

Ever hear, 'don't just talk, say something.' ??

I guess I didn't ever actually get that memo.
:)


Missing my dog.
Cleaning up dog hair etc.
Weird to see her food dish on the counter in the laundry room, empty.
Water dish gone.

I found a dog hair on my jacket this morning and it made me cry.

But then I thought about how bewildered she was with the seizures and the pain. And I still know it was the right thing to do.

I just.. miss her.
~~~~~~

Work is so much fun. Being there and always wanting to present the same face to the kids has been helpful for me and my emotional state this week for sure.

~~~~~~

Had my first evaluation using the new rubric on Wednesday.
I mentioned it here before. Brashley* got a few of the other site directors upset and worried over it, but I still don't understand the big deal.

Is it difficult? No. It's merely a more objective way of actually SEEING us at work. I was evaluated on how well I listened to the kids, how I handled activity transitions etc.

What's funny is, I had no idea why Georgia* was there. (yeah, color me stupid, but it's been a hell of a week and I'm mentally and emotionally drained and it didn't even occur to me that I was being observed.)

I figured she was there for something else, not sure what, and that after I got done with the activity we were doing, she'd let me know. She was just sitting at the table, writing.

Until she handed me the paper to sign off, I had no clue.

It went fine. I didn't see anything negative on it. She had some positive things to say, too.

Thing is, I am not going to change how I'm doing things unless I'm told that I'm handling something incorrectly. So she watched me do the job I'm being paid to do, found that I was doing okay, and then left.

Meanwhile, the kids created some amazing projects, which I will show you tomorrow. Back in June I found some bird houses at JoAnn for a buck each, bought 30 of them, gave them to kids and said, "Create."

And they did.

Then they made birds from Model Magic. (I love that stuff.)

I took a bunch of photos.

On Thursday, they evidently hadn't had enough sculpting, so we hauled out the dough again and they made some other things. Photos of those to follow, too.

So that's how things are going.

Oh... and on Thursday morning I had a dental cleaning. If you've been reading here awhile, you know I have had a pretty serious dental phobia (with good reason) for many years.

And I've finally reached the point in my relationship with my dentist and his staff that not only did I sleep all night on Wednesday with no fear of the upcoming exam, but I went, had the cleaning, and did fine without having to take anything for the anxiety. I had almost NO anxiety at all, really.

yay, me

Our Good Dog

We took Maggie to the vet on Monday morning at 10.

They were kind to her and to us. There was a big blanket on the floor for her, and the vet got right down there on the floor with her and patted her and talked to her and was very, very nice.

It really was just her going to sleep. As painless as possible under the circumstances. She was able to walk into the office on her own although she was slow and listing badly.

We're okay with the decision, she was in really bad shape on Sunday night and into Monday morning. We got about four hours of sleep, she was crying in her sleep and when she was awake, she was trying to get up. It was awfully hard to see, and awful for her, too.

So instead of trying to tell you all about her all over again, I am grabbing a couple old posts and pasting them in here.

We'll miss her, but we're glad we had her so long.

She was really a good girl.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I went to pat Maggie on Friday and got a good look in her face. Her eyes are awfully cloudy. It's not a wonder she can get a little lost and confused when she's wandering around the house.

A couple weeks ago she got stuck under the kitchen table and I had to pull chairs out and physically guide her out from under there. She was confused and embarrassed. Fortunately, she's really old and forgets her embarrassment. :)

She's going to be 15 on her next birthday. Best guess is sometime in June.

We've said NO MORE DOGS when she is gone, and although my resolve is strong (hurts too much to lose them) I don't know if we'll be able to stick to it. Because having a dog to love is a good thing, too.

When we got her, she was about six months old. Still a puppy, all clumsy big feet and energetic, bumbling and silly.

Visited the local animal shelter on a Saturday morning and were home by noon with a new dog. Lyssa was three and a half years old, Matt nine and a half. Maggie and Lyssa were the same height when standing face to face, and we had two incidents of the dog nipping her. Both were handled by taking her down to the floor and letting her know who was dominant, and that her behavior wouldn't be tolerated. After the 2nd nip, I planned to take her back to the shelter on Monday. Obviously we didn't want a dog that was going to bite the kids.

The thing was, it wasn't an attack, it was a nip. Just a way for her to see who was the top dog. And after we showed her twice, we didn't have to show her again. So she stayed.

She was a strange dog, really. Not doggish at all. Didn't know how to play, as in chasing a ball or tugging on a sock or rope. She hadn't bonded with people at all. Did not pay attention when we talked to her. Didn't come when we called her. Didn't know how to sit or lie down on command. Unless her first language wasn't English, who knows?

It didn't take long for her to become attached and doglike, though. We took her in after about 18 days to be spayed, and she cried all the way back into the veterinary office as they pulled her by the leash. She was completely devastated that we were leaving her there. Poor baby. And even with the effects of the anesthesia and other drugs, she was ecstatic when we came to get her.

Then, she puked bright yellow stuff all over the house until the medications wore off. Payback.

She never peed in the house, though. She was housebroken. So whoever had her before us at least managed that. We figured out a few things about where she had come from, too.

There were other animals that she had to compete with for food. She would go to eat, and see one of her legs out of the corner of her eye and whip her head around and bite at herself, thinking it was another dog. Or cat. I dunno. So we taught her gradually to relax by taking her food while she was eating. Can't have a dog that will attack you over food, ya know? Now you can take something out of her mouth and she will let you without protest.

When our doorbell or a doorbell on television rang, she started barking like a maniac, but she quit doing it in a couple months, not sure why.

Before we got the sectional sofa, her view of the glass on the sliding door in the back was unobstructed, and when she saw her reflection, she barked in a challenging way, hackles up, stiff-legged.

She'd also been allowed to sleep on a bed, because she stood next to ours and whined, wagging her tail hopefully every time we got into it. We didn't allow her on the bed, and she finally settled on sleeping right next to Eric's side of the bed. She still sleeps there on a big rug, and has her own pillow. She puts her head on it. Sort of cute, really.

We have a theory that she was taken out somewhere by car and kicked out/abandoned. It's just a theory, but every time we've taken her in the car, she has become agitated and sets up this high-pitched keening that makes holes in the glass. It's horrendous. And she will do it up to five hours. That's the longest we've ever taken her on a journey, so heck, who knows, maybe she'd do it for nine or ten hours if we were crazy enough to take her anywhere.

She doesn't go with us anymore. She hurts all over (arthritis) and can't get into the car. If we lift her, it hurts her. And she struggles to get away, too.

So she hangs out here at home. When any member of the family comes home, she gets up from wherever she is and walks to the door, wagging her tail like crazy. She still hollers when Eric comes home (he is GOD to her) and until he's greeted her properly, she won't settle down. It's aggravating and endearing at the same time.

Like the annual portrait of dog butt at Christmas.

More about Maggie

She's really funny at times.

Back in the days when teenage Matt needed to get out of bed and didn't have an alarm clock or a clue, I used to send Maggie to get him. I'd take her to his bedroom door, and encourage her to nose it open. He was always glad to see her (probably a lot happier to see her than he would have been to see me) and she felt very proud when she had accomplished her task because we all made a big deal of her. It turned out to be an easy thing to teach her. After the third or fourth time, all I had to do was tell her, "Go get Matt." and she'd run to his door, tail whipping madly, and just shove it open.

But how do you get her to stop?

Short answer? You don't.

Long answer?

Because of whatever cosmic forces direct us (let's call them CF), we ended up with a dog who is just like we are.

CF decided to give us a dog who stresses and obsesses. A creature of habit. Another person in the house who has to have things a certain way. A family member who worries. Incessantly. At this point, I am inordinately pleased that at least she doesn't hoard clutter.

Now, when she thinks it's time for Matt to get up, she goes to get him. She shoves on his door until it opens. Or, if he remembers to actually close it until it latches, she shoves, gets disgusted when it won't open and snorts as she walks away, only to try again in a few minutes. Over and over. And over.

If Eric isn't home, she worries. She paces the floor. Click click click with the toenails. Back and forth between the bedroom and the living room. Click click click. It makes me insane when I'm trying to nap. I have to put her out of the bedroom and put in my earplugs.

If the whole family isn't home, she worries, too. She just doesn't pace as much. In the afternoons, when three of the four of us are out and about, she sits by the door and whines to go out. Then, she whines to come back in. Then, she whines to go out again. Drives Lyssa insane.

Because she's getting old, we have had some crap incidents. She used to have no problem knowing not to poo on the porch, but for some reason (our theory is just that she's old and decrepit and doesn't want to walk so far) she thinks the bricks are a good place to dump occasionally.

And there are some indoor control issues now, too. It's like she wants to get outside... but doesn't quite make it before dropping a bomb. Or two. So far, the only one I stepped on was small, mostly dry, and I was wearing shoes. Still grossed me out to have to grab a paper towel and pick it up. Eww.

That was a lot easier than what Eric had to go through when he stepped in a big wet one next to the bed. First thing in the morning.

Nice wake up call.
"Good morning, Master. I have left a lovely crap next to the bed for you."

I was glad to escape to work at six AM that day. The smell of dog shit was overpowering.

Maggie obsesses over food. She loves it. Whatever we're having is what she wants. She does get some table scraps, but not until we're done eating. Or until we get around to feeding her.

She gets an aspirin in her meals. She can't take Rimadyl, the go-to arthritis drug for dogs because it's toxic to Labs, and as near as we can tell, she's at least half Lab. Baby aspirin made her barf. So we put Bufferin in her food twice a day.

I can hear those of you who either don't have a dog, or have a normal dog, saying, why don't you just put it on the back of her tongue and massage her throat until she swallows?

Hollow laugh.

Let's just say her will to spit it out and not let us win is much stronger than our desire to stand there and make such a puny and feeble attempt to get her to take a damn pill.

We used to put it in a raw hamburger ball. Made four or five of the same size, and tossed them to her to catch. But she figured it out. And started very carefully chewing up the balls of hamburger, then unceremoniously spitting the aspirin out on the floor. Then it became impossible to get her to eat hamburger at all. Think about it. How many self-respecting dogs do you know that won't eat raw meat? Or cheese. We did the same thing with cheese, but she caught on even faster.

Bitch.

So whatever food we heat up for her to eat gets an aspirin dissolved in it. I don't think it makes her food taste particularly good, but if she wants to eat (and believe me, she does) she will eventually consume the aspirin.

Maggie snorts a lot. If we send her out of the room when we are trying to cook, or because she's simply underfoot, she makes a disgusted sound. And does it several times as she goes to her designated 'dogs OUT' spot.

If she doesn't like being told to move or go outside or be nudged out of the way, she does the whole disgusted snort thing.

She pants. If she's hungry and we're eating, she pants. Like she's just roasting... too hot for words. If the leftovers have not yet been put away and are left out on the top of the stove, she will pace back and forth, panting until the possibility that that food is for HER is past. Panting and obsessing go hand in hand for her. Or paw in paw.

She lies next to Eric's end of the couch and plays a game with him. You know the Snoopy dance cartoons you've seen? Nose in the air, ecstatic unashamed joyous dancing? Well, she does that with her face. She looks up and strrretches her neck at him. And he goes to grab her face and kiss her on the nose and she whips her head around to escape. And then she'll stretch up again. Just asking him to play with her.

She sneezes. When we come home from wherever we've been, she is excited to greet us. And sneezes repeatedly. If she's lying down and suddenly needs to sneeze, she draws her lips waaaay back and looks so funny.
:D

Then, she will sneeze four or five times and bash her nose into the floor with each one. It has to hurt, but she just does it again and again. We can't help laughing. It really is funny.

She no longer wrestles, but she and Eric used to really get into it. She barked and growled and spun in circles. Ran in crazy patterns through the living room, toenails shredding the carpet. (I've mentioned before that we bought this house solely because the carpet was already dirt colored... so the carpet damage doesn't really worry me at all.)

Again, we're waiting until we no longer have a dog to replace furniture and flooring.

She's affectionate. She likes to greet us with exuberance, then walk up and jam her nose between our knees and gently wag her tail while we scritch her and make a big deal out of her. Tell her what a good girl she really is. After that, she usually requires a little nap. Because she's old.

So the older she gets and the more she slows down, the more I keep hoping that we won't have to make a decision to have her euthanized. That one morning we will just wake up and find that she died in her sleep. Not that I want her to go, but I know it's going to happen someday. And it would be an easier thing for me than to have to make that sort of choice for her.

Wow, I said a lot about my dog. I could write another three posts about her, I think, but won't subject you to it.

I bet you can understand why we all love her, though.

Round and Round again...

Sunday morning the dog is... well, back to being doggish. Still pretty lame. Moving slow. But happy to greet her family members as we wander out of our respective sleeping caves into the communal areas. Tail wagging. Still very NOT normal.

But Eric says he's not ready to make that decision while she still is capable of being happy and, well, herself.
I can't make that decision alone, of course, and I really don't want to.

But thanks for all the good wishes and advice. I wish it weren't so difficult.

Annnnd. Sunday night.
Lying down in bedroom. Another round of emptying her entire body. Shaking. Panting. Completely out of it. It's 8:30 now. I have a feeling it will be a long night.

We will be taking her in tomorrow. Which is today as you read this. If she survives all night.

This is so hard.
:(

Dog

I had a discussion with Eric on Saturday about the dog. It's really time to have her put down. But he said he just can't put her in the car (Hey! Great! A car ride! Where we goin'??? WHAT??? You drove me over here to KILL ME????) and do that.

He may not have to. He loaded up some of this and that and decided to go camp overnight out toward Estacada somewhere. Completely out of cell phone range. Of course. I know this because I tried to call him about an hour ago. 3 times.

As I write this, it's Saturday evening about 8:45. Maggie is lying on the floor next to my bed. She landed there about a quarter to 8. Shitting. Now it's been cleaned up. She's on a rug. But she can't get up. She's panting. Shaking occasionally. Out of it.

Matt has to leave for work a little before midnight. Leaving me with no vehicle. So I called Tami and told her what is going on. Hoping I don't have to call her at 3 AM to have them take her and me to the veterinary hospital down in the middle of Portland. She said "Of course, anything we can do for you." What a gift to have a friend like that!

Eric won't be home until Sunday sometime. Not sure what time. Part of me wants her to hang on so he can say goodbye and agree that it's time. Part of me wants her to get it over with. So I don't have to do it.

::sigh::

This is why I won't have another dog. It hurts too much to lose them.
They love unconditionally, they're nicer people than most people, and they never lie to you, have any ulterior motive in being nice, and they're always happy to see you, even if you wake them up in the middle of the night.

Edited to add:
About 7:45 this evening, when it all started happening, after failing to get Eric on his weekend warrior cell phone, I sent out with all my might to him, "COME HOME."

And he had his sleeping bag all rolled out. Boots off. And just got this.. feeling. Was on the road by 8. And home about 9 PM.

The dog has been cleaned up. Was able to get up on her own, but could not get up the steps from outside when we got her out there. Eric and Matt used a towel as a sling and helped her up the steps.

She is resting, seemingly comfortable.

Eric isn't able to make that decision still. And I can't do it alone. We have to be in agreement.

But he heard me call him. At the time I called.
::goosebumps:::

What a crappy post!

Poor old dog is senile, I swear.
We put her outside, where she stayed for about 15 minutes, then she asked to come back in. So we let her in, and she promptly crapped on the carpet in the living room.

WHY did we get dog again?

So I cleaned up shit. Then we put her back outside and went to get haircuts. Lyssa and I both ended up with trims, although I hadn't planned on getting mine done. But 'my' stylist was in, so I went ahead with it. Needed a cut anyway. I'm pretty happy with it, although Eric thinks it's a little short in the back.

I have a lot to say, but it's late enough that I'd rather not bother to write it because it will be written poorly. So I will try tomorrow.

2.5 days until Bobapalooza 2011.
House is still a mess.

Send help.

More about Maggie

She's really funny at times.

Back in the days when teenage Matt needed to get out of bed and didn't have an alarm clock or a clue, I used to send Maggie to get him. I'd take her to his bedroom door, and encourage her to nose it open. He was always glad to see her (probably a lot happier to see her than he would have been to see me) and she felt very proud when she had accomplished her task because we all made a big deal of her. It turned out to be an easy thing to teach her. After the third or fourth time, all I had to do was tell her, "Go get Matt." and she'd run to his door, tail whipping madly, and just shove it open.

But how do you get her to stop?

Short answer? You don't.

Long answer?

Because of whatever cosmic forces direct us (let's call them CF), we ended up with a dog who is just like we are.

CF decided to give us a dog who stresses and obsesses. A creature of habit. Another person in the house who has to have things a certain way. A family member who worries. Incessantly. At this point, I am inordinately pleased that at least she doesn't hoard clutter.

Now, when she thinks it's time for Matt to get up, she goes to get him. She shoves on his door until it opens. Or, if he remembers to actually close it until it latches, she shoves, gets disgusted when it won't open and snorts as she walks away, only to try again in a few minutes. Over and over. And over.

If Eric isn't home, she worries. She paces the floor. Click click click with the toenails. Back and forth between the bedroom and the living room. Click click click. It makes me insane when I'm trying to nap. I have to put her out of the bedroom and put in my earplugs.

If the whole family isn't home, she worries, too. She just doesn't pace as much. In the afternoons, when three of the four of us are out and about, she sits by the door and whines to go out. Then, she whines to come back in. Then, she whines to go out again. Drives Lyssa insane.

Because she's getting old, we have had some crap incidents. She used to have no problem knowing not to poo on the porch, but for some reason (our theory is just that she's old and decrepit and doesn't want to walk so far) she thinks the bricks are a good place to dump occasionally.

And there are some indoor control issues now, too. It's like she wants to get outside... but doesn't quite make it before dropping a bomb. Or two. So far, the only one I stepped on was small, mostly dry, and I was wearing shoes. Still grossed me out to have to grab a paper towel and pick it up. Eww.

That was a lot easier than what Eric had to go through when he stepped in a big wet one next to the bed. First thing in the morning.

Nice wake up call.
"Good morning, Master. I have left a lovely crap next to the bed for you."

I was glad to escape to work at six AM that day. The smell of dog shit was overpowering.

Maggie obsesses over food. She loves it. Whatever we're having is what she wants. She does get some table scraps, but not until we're done eating. Or until we get around to feeding her.

She gets an aspirin in her meals. She can't take Rimadyl, the go-to arthritis drug for dogs because it's toxic to Labs, and as near as we can tell, she's at least half Lab. Baby aspirin made her barf. So we put Bufferin in her food twice a day.

I can hear those of you who either don't have a dog, or have a normal dog, saying, why don't you just put it on the back of her tongue and massage her throat until she swallows?

Hollow laugh.

Let's just say her will to spit it out and not let us win is much stronger than our desire to stand there and make such a puny and feeble attempt to get her to take a damn pill.

We used to put it in a raw hamburger ball. Made four or five of the same size, and tossed them to her to catch. But she figured it out. And started very carefully chewing up the balls of hamburger, then unceremoniously spitting the aspirin out on the floor. Then it became impossible to get her to eat hamburger at all. Think about it. How many self-respecting dogs do you know that won't eat raw meat? Or cheese. We did the same thing with cheese, but she caught on even faster.

Bitch.

So whatever food we heat up for her to eat gets an aspirin dissolved in it. I don't think it makes her food taste particularly good, but if she wants to eat (and believe me, she does) she will eventually consume the aspirin.

Maggie snorts a lot. If we send her out of the room when we are trying to cook, or because she's simply underfoot, she makes a disgusted sound. And does it several times as she goes to her designated 'dogs OUT' spot.

If she doesn't like being told to move or go outside or be nudged out of the way, she does the whole disgusted snort thing.

She pants. If she's hungry and we're eating, she pants. Like she's just roasting... too hot for words. If the leftovers have not yet been put away and are left out on the top of the stove, she will pace back and forth, panting until the possibility that that food is for HER is past. Panting and obsessing go hand in hand for her. Or paw in paw.

She lies next to Eric's end of the couch and plays a game with him. You know the Snoopy dance cartoons you've seen? Nose in the air, ecstatic unashamed joyous dancing? Well, she does that with her face. She looks up and strrretches her neck at him. And he goes to grab her face and kiss her on the nose and she whips her head around to escape. And then she'll stretch up again. Just asking him to play with her.

She sneezes. When we come home from wherever we've been, she is excited to greet us. And sneezes repeatedly. If she's lying down and suddenly needs to sneeze, she draws her lips waaaay back and looks so funny.
:D

Then, she will sneeze four or five times and bash her nose into the floor with each one. It has to hurt, but she just does it again and again. We can't help laughing. It really is funny.

She no longer wrestles, but she and Eric used to really get into it. She barked and growled and spun in circles. Ran in crazy patterns through the living room, toenails shredding the carpet. (I've mentioned before that we bought this house solely because the carpet was already dirt colored... so the carpet damage doesn't really worry me at all.)

Again, we're waiting until we no longer have a dog to replace furniture and flooring.

She's affectionate. She likes to greet us with exuberance, then walk up and jam her nose between our knees and gently wag her tail while we scritch her and make a big deal out of her. Tell her what a good girl she really is. After that, she usually requires a little nap. Because she's old.

So the older she gets and the more she slows down, the more I keep hoping that we won't have to make a decision to have her euthanized. That one morning we will just wake up and find that she died in her sleep. Not that I want her to go, but I know it's going to happen someday. And it would be an easier thing for me than to have to make that sort of choice for her.

Wow, I said a lot about my dog. I could write another three posts about her, I think, but won't subject you to it.

I bet you can understand why we all love her, though.

Old dog

I went to pat Maggie on Friday and got a good look in her face. Her eyes are awfully cloudy. It's not a wonder she can get a little lost and confused when she's wandering around the house.

A couple weeks ago she got stuck under the kitchen table and I had to pull chairs out and physically guide her out from under there. She was confused and embarrassed. Fortunately, she's really old and forgets her embarrassment. :)

She's going to be 15 on her next birthday. Best guess is sometime in June.

We've said NO MORE DOGS when she is gone, and although my resolve is strong (hurts too much to lose them) I don't know if we'll be able to stick to it. Because having a dog to love is a good thing, too.

When we got her, she was about six months old. Still a puppy, all clumsy big feet and energetic, bumbling and silly.

Visited the local animal shelter on a Saturday morning and were home by noon with a new dog. Lyssa was three and a half years old, Matt nine and a half. Maggie and Lyssa were the same height when standing face to face, and we had two incidents of the dog nipping her. Both were handled by taking her down to the floor and letting her know who was dominant, and that her behavior wouldn't be tolerated. After the 2nd nip, I planned to take her back to the shelter on Monday. Obviously we didn't want a dog that was going to bite the kids.

The thing was, it wasn't an attack, it was a nip. Just a way for her to see who was the top dog. And after we showed her twice, we didn't have to show her again. So she stayed.

She was a strange dog, really. Not doggish at all. Didn't know how to play, as in chasing a ball or tugging on a sock or rope. She hadn't bonded with people at all. Did not pay attention when we talked to her. Didn't come when we called her. Didn't know how to sit or lie down on command. Unless her first language wasn't English, who knows?

It didn't take long for her to become attached and doglike, though. We took her in after about 18 days to be spayed, and she cried all the way back into the veterinary office as they pulled her by the leash. She was completely devastated that we were leaving her there. Poor baby. And even with the effects of the anesthesia and other drugs, she was ecstatic when we came to get her.

Then, she puked bright yellow stuff all over the house until the medications wore off. Payback.

She never peed in the house, though. She was housebroken. So whoever had her before us at least managed that. We figured out a few things about where she had come from, too.

There were other animals that she had to compete with for food. She would go to eat, and see one of her legs out of the corner of her eye and whip her head around and bite at herself, thinking it was another dog. Or cat. I dunno. So we taught her gradually to relax by taking her food while she was eating. Can't have a dog that will attack you over food, ya know? Now you can take something out of her mouth and she will let you without protest.

When our doorbell or a doorbell on television rang, she started barking like a maniac, but she quit doing it in a couple months, not sure why.

Before we got the sectional sofa, her view of the glass on the sliding door in the back was unobstructed, and when she saw her reflection, she barked in a challenging way, hackles up, stiff-legged.

She'd also been allowed to sleep on a bed, because she stood next to ours and whined, wagging her tail hopefully every time we got into it. We didn't allow her on the bed, and she finally settled on sleeping right next to Eric's side of the bed. She still sleeps there on a big rug, and has her own pillow. She puts her head on it. Sort of cute, really.

We have a theory that she was taken out somewhere by car and kicked out/abandoned. It's just a theory, but every time we've taken her in the car, she has become agitated and sets up this high-pitched keening that makes holes in the glass. It's horrendous. And she will do it up to five hours. That's the longest we've ever taken her on a journey, so heck, who knows, maybe she'd do it for nine or ten hours if we were crazy enough to take her anywhere.

She doesn't go with us anymore. She hurts all over (arthritis) and can't get into the car. If we lift her, it hurts her. And she struggles to get away, too.

So she hangs out here at home. When any member of the family comes home, she gets up from wherever she is and walks to the door, wagging her tail like crazy. She still hollers when Eric comes home (he is GOD to her) and until he's greeted her properly, she won't settle down. It's aggravating and endearing at the same time.

Like the annual portrait of dog butt at Christmas.
Okay, I will write more about her tomorrow. Or later. Or something. I have been sick for two damn weeks and have the opportunity to go to bed now. It would be stupid to waste that extra sleep.

Aw shit.

The dog hath shitted upon the floor IN THE HOUSE twice this week.*

This is not making her very popular.
We aren't disciplining her for it though, she really can't help it, I don't think.

The Monday incident was a small trail of poos on the way to the back door, ha ha back door, ah ha ha ha .. I think they just sort of... fell out of her. Oops.

Then, Tuesday morning, she crapped next to the bed.
Just one turd.
That Eric stepped in.
Barefoot.
Strangely, no one was happy about it.

Eric was sleeping and I was getting ready for work. I don't know if she tried to wake him up to ask to go outside, or if she just stood up and it fell out.

It was lovely to finish getting ready for work as the smell of dog crap filled the air in our little house.

Pretty cold outside as I was leaving, but the fresh air out there was nicer than the warm air in the house.

The shit is worrying me a bit, of course.
I don't want to have to make a decision to end the dog's life.

I will not have a dog who has to have diapers changed, however. Just... won't. In fact, if I ever get to the point of needing diapers, I hope someone will put me out of my misery.

Maggie is 14.5 years old, will be 15 in June, and I know that time is approaching. But I was sort of hoping that we'd wake up some morning and find that she died in her sleep. Not that I'm hoping she will die, but when she does, I don't want to be the one who made the decision, ya know?

We adopted a puppy a few months after we got married, and had him for five years. He was hit by a car. And I said I will never have another dog.

But then we had children. Matt wanted a dog soooo bad. So did Lyssa, in her 3 year old way.

Visited the local animal shelter one Saturday morning and ended up with another damn dog.

I love my dog, but it's just so hard to lose them. I do not want another one. Eric says he doesn't either. We'll see if we both can stick to that decision.



*And yes, I am aware of rules for grammar. I also like to disregard them. Dial 1-800-waa-aaah if you have a problem with it.

And not for nothin', but when I wrote the first line of this post, I had a sudden bathroom trip.

Left the first line up and crutched off to the throne.

Matt visited my computer while I was in the bathroom, adding this to the first sentence of my post:


Yea, and the lord spake, saying to her, "Thou shalt not shitteth upon my floor, for they who shitteth are among the last to be forgiven." So sayeth the lord.

Plenty of time...

I had to get up early on Saturday. I wasn't supposed to have to get up, but yeah.

Eric had to work.. and was going to let me sleep.

But Maggie?
She didn't want anyone to sleep in.
Bitch.

Worst part? After I got up and started doing all the things I needed to do, she went back to sleep.
Bitch.

So I got up and showered and got decent and did a run to the grocery store. I was in and out of there by 10.

After returning home with my scaled down version of a weekly shopping trip (old lady scooter carts don't hold as many groceries) I caught up on a few blogs.

And as I sat here, I realized I was really sleepy... so I took a nap. A long nap. I felt so good when I woke up!
Then, I played with my computer and ended up here:
Photos: Feminine twist on classic menswear at Fashion Week | KATU.com - Portland News, Sports, Traffic Weather and Breaking News - Portland, Oregon - Portland, Oregon | Entertainment News

Feminine? Really?
I didn't see anyone or anything here that called up the word feminine, but whatever. ::Shrug::

I wasn't able to look at all the photos (if you can, let me know... it just got too painful after about 40 of 'em) but every one I saw made me laugh. The hat was featured in several of the outfits. It looks like some sort of animal curled up on their heads.
Do people actually wear these things? Like, in public?

Speaking of heads. Depending on how far you get into the 'fashion show', you may see several women with what I call the turd roll hair styles.

I did need the comic relief.
Wow.

So here's what I'm up to...

Wednesday was my mom's birthday. I gave her a call to find out how her day was, and she once again offered to come stay with me to help out while the family is gone.

I really don't need any help, I'm getting along just fine, but I thought it was sweet.

The kids called her Wednesday evening to wish her a happy birthday, knowing they'd be gone on Thursday.

I slept really well my first night all alone.

Well, once I decided to lie down and close my eyes, that is. It wasn't quite 2AM, so not too bad.

In the past, I have actually stayed up until it started to get light outside before I was able to relax enough to fall asleep.

I slept like a brick for the amount of time I was able to sleep, but the family called me at 7AM to tell me they'd arrived safely in Louisiana. A relief.

I heard tales of the airport in Houston, details about lightning storms they saw from the plane (On the way to the airport, Matt regaled us with stories of how safe airplanes are compared to in the past. He was trying to be comforting. I'm sure I don't have to tell you it didn't help much for him to tell me about past airplane crashes.)

Granny (she wants to be called Granny) picked them up at the airport in Lafayette. Their luggage arrived with them. A plus.

Eric called me a bit later in the morning just to chat, forgetting the time difference and once again waking me up.
But it was okay.
Good to hear his voice.


I'm...
doing laundry
dishes
leaving the bathroom door open while I pee and shower
and leaving my throne upon the toilet..
wandering around half dressed 
spoiling my dog (she's doing very well today... so well that she's able to pace the floor and obsess about where her man is. And pace some more. And whine. And pace. And obsess.)
reading email
chatting with Tami via IM
just... doing a whole lot of nothing.

It's relaxing, actually.

I'm liking it. At least during the day. Something about the sunshine and daylight keeps me from feeling lonely.

It's gonna be different when it gets dark outside, but I'll manage.

The family surprised Bob at work, he did not know they were coming. Steph, (the aforementioned Granny) got him outside on the pretense that the car was making a funny noise. So he came out to check. He walked right past Eric and the kids, they were sitting at a picnic table near the parking lot.

He looked at them and didn't actually see them, Eric said.

So Matt walked over and said, "Excuse me sir, can I help you with your car?"

:)

Everyone really loved surprising him, I could tell from the phone conversation.

Matt said Grandpa was just overwhelmed. Shocked. Tearful.

I am sorry I didn't get to see it, but Lyssa filmed it with her camera, so I'll get at least an idea of it when she gets home.

I know my kids will always remember it. Making memories with their dad... midnight adventures in travel, big airports.

I'm so glad they got to go.

Bob's wife had already arranged his vacation time with his job, so he is off work for the whole time Eric and the kids will be there.

She's throwing him a surprise birthday party this weekend, and to get him out from underfoot, suggested to him that he take Eric and the kids to the lake house they have in Mississippi. So they'll be there until Friday afternoon, fishing, boating, hanging out. I really hope they have a good time. And that Lyssa takes a lot of pictures. Eric took the good camera, but he's not a very enthusiastic photographer, and often comes home without taking any pictures at all.

I visited the local Borders and hung out in the coffee shop to meet the nurse case manager that's been assigned to my claim by the insurer. Decided I'd rather meet her on neutral territory than here at my house.

She was nice enough, but as far as I can tell, there was no reason for her to meet me in person. We didn't discuss anything we couldn't have handled on the telephone or via email, but whatever.
::Shrug::


Maggie is almost back to her old self. She waited an awfully long time to go outside Thursday morning, but didn't have any trouble navigating through the kitchen, and is eating like she's supposed to, so I think that this particular crisis is over. Did I mention that she's once again able to obsess and pace the floor? And whine? And worry about where her man is?

I rarely shop retail. If I need something to wear, I usually go to Goodwill first.

But once in awhile I find something I want that can only be purchased new. So I wandered over to Amazon and ordered this .
No, I do not need it.
I just want it.
Bought one for Lyssa for Christmas and have been wishing for one ever since.

While I was surfing around, I also found some Pac man pajama pants and decided I needed those, too.

Who says you need to get out to go shopping?
;)

Oh... one more thing. Wednesday afternoon I got my cell phone out, curious if I had a particular phone number programmed in.

And I found several new numbers.
One for Harry Dick. One for Billy Big Dick. One for Ben Dover.

Evidently they all live together, or at least share a telephone, because their phone numbers are all (696)969- 6969.

Note to self: Make husband take his own cell phone when he goes out.

A better dog

Well, after a really rocky start to the day, Maggie's a little better this evening. She did not get up and go outside to pee until after NOON on Tuesday.

Matt, who helped her get outside and off the patio, said that if you'd parked a gallon bucket behind her, she would have filled it.

You'd think an old dog like Maggie would have the typical old lady plumbing, but evidently hers is of superior manufacture. Certainly better than mine!
:)

As I write this about 7:40 in the evening, she is eating her dinner, has been outside in the last few minutes and is able to walk MUCH better around the house.

A relief for us all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had physical therapy this afternoon.

Heat and massage and manipulation and exercises and walking and crutching.
Made me tired.

Shawn is happy with my progress. I am able to stand on my sliced and diced leg (putting 100% of my weight on it) and it doesn't hurt to do so. The scar tissue is breaking up the way it's supposed to (there's only one small area that's still attached on the inside) and my flexibility and range of motion are improving all the time.

I was in a hurry to get to the bathroom this afternoon and actually sat on the regular toilet seat, although I'm not quite ready to give up the throne just yet. Still easier not to have to get way down and way back up.

And I feel so... regal sitting up there. All I need is a scepter and a crown. Oh, and some people to bow to me.

I can climb in and out of the bathtub to shower almost like a regular person now, although it's still a little slow for me to get decent. I am moving very deliberately so that I don't trip or stumble. Would not be a good thing.

As long as I can walk by the time school starts in September, I am happy.

So glad to finally have the surgeries behind me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I'm really happy with the fact that my dog is doing so much better this evening, and hope she continues to improve. I'm never going to be ready to give her up, but giving her up just before my whole family leaves would be really shitty timing.

Casa Mental is quite boring this evening, y'all. Sorry.

My poor dog

Poor Maggie is doing the whole vestibular disturbance thing again. You can look it up on Google and learn a little about it, but basically she gets confused on her way through the kitchen, loses her balance, goes all stiff-legged, and eventually turns around and goes back to lie down next to the bed instead of going outside as she had planned to do.

This morning she did it like three times, and Lyssa decided to help her get the rest of the way through the kitchen. It didn't go so well and the dog ended up falling on the floor in the kitchen with her legs all splayed out. She laid there, crying a bit and trying to get up.

Lyssa could not lift her up, and I had her go get Matt out of bed to help. With the aid of a bath towel made into a sling, he got Maggie outside.

She's pretty stiff and sore tonight, and not getting around all that well, but is able to walk. We're keeping her dosed up on aspirin, which seems to help her with her arthritis in general, so hopefully she will be better Tuesday morning.

In all my contingency planning, I did not ponder what might happen if something goes wrong with my dog while everyone is gone.

She is 14 years old. Things do happen.

We were talking this evening that we certainly don't want her to die, but that if she's going to, we'd really prefer not to have to make that choice for her. It would be better if she just went to sleep at night and did not wake up in the morning.

This is why I did not want to get a dog all those years ago, and why I don't ever want to get another one when she is gone. Too hard to lose them.

Convalescing and Chickenfarts

Maggie is a very loyal dog. She's been a good (if slightly flatulent) friend to the family for the 12+years since she came to live with us.

She's spent most of the week at my side in the bedroom. When I get up and crutch around her, she watches me most carefully.

I prefer to believe it's because she's concerned about my safety, and not because she's heard the old joke so many times that she's taken it to heart.
Oh.
What old joke, you ask?
This old joke.

Q. How do you know you're fat?
A. You know you're fat when you step on your dog's tail and it dies.

I mentioned a case of Maggie chickenfarts in a post a month or so ago, and in case you've been wondering, she really doesn't smell a lot better in June than she did in May.

(I know the majority of you have spent an inordinate amount of time wondering about that very thing. My god. Have you nothing better to do?)

What's funny is, she used to fart and jump up and leave the vicinity. Because of the way she's been disoriented the last month or so, she no longer jumps up and pretends she has urgent business at the other end of the house because she gets lost on her way through the kitchen in eight out of 10 attempts.

Instead, she looks innocently at me, usually thumping her tail agreeably on the floor... but from the appreciative way she's sniffing the air you'd think someone had sprayed Essence de Roast Beef in a big cloud around her.

I know it's disgusting, but she likes it.

(In a related story, when my baby brother Steve was about four years old, he asked me, "Why do other people's farts stink and mine smell good?")

Sorry, Maggie. That isn't roast beef you're smellin'.

If I say something to her... ohmygod what is that SMELL?? She gets all offended and snorts at me and gets up and leaves the room for a moment. She wanders as far as her water bowl (I was just getting up to get a drink anyway) and comes back into the bedroom and flops down next to the bed again.

She is VERY insulted when I light a match to mask the odor.

In case you were worrying about the potential hazard of a methane explosion, I think the danger of blowing us all up is fairly small.

However, on occasion the smell coming from the dog is so obnoxious and so offensive that I sometimes wait a minute before striking a spark... just in case.

The cause of the disoriented wacky thing that she's been doing for a few weeks may have been figured out, though. One of my friends from the homeschool chat asked if I'd researched Vestibular Disease in dogs.

I hadn't.

But it sounds like that's what's going on with her. And that there's not a whole lot we can do at this point.

In knee news, I took off the bandages last night, all the way down to the incisions. Two tiny little slices that probably won't even leave a scar, not that it matters. I will wear a bandage and padding while I'm sleeping, I think, but I'm doing great.

I can walk some without crutches, too, but I'm taking it easy and slow.

What a week

What a week.
And it’s only Wednesday night.

I’m using my WORD program to write this post because Firefox isn’t working well on my bedroom computer, and for some reason, AOHell keeps booting me off after about three minutes each time.
Usually I can stay online through AOL. Who knows why it isn’t working right for me this evening. I certainly don’t. But... hey kids! Do you know what time it is?That’s right! It’s half past give a shit!!

Monday, Lyssa volunteered for the last time this school year in the classroom across the street. They were very nice to her over there, and at the volunteer’s luncheon last Tuesday, they presented her with a certificate and a class hug in front of the whole luncheon.

She really liked her time working with the kids, and will be applying for a job with the company where I work for fall. I don’t know if she will get the job, but if I have any influence, she sure will.

Monday afternoon, our lives were without Sunshine. Every year, she is paid by our company to work at the school’s field day. It’s good PR and she likes doing it.

This means she arrives at her usual 6:15 AM and stays until the festivities are over at 2:15, then goes home for some well-deserved rest.

Toward the end of the afternoon, she ran into the building to get a drink of water, and when she was running back out onto the field, she tripped and seriously twisted her ankle.

So I worked for her Tuesday morning. I woke up at 4:30 or so, needing to go to the bathroom. At that point I knew it was stupid to try to get back to sleep, so I just got up.

After my shift, I came home, had a little brunch, and the kids and I took Maggie to the vet at 9:45.

The county we live in requires dogs to be licensed but before we could do that, we had to get her re-vaccinated. Now if we had been smart enough to adopt a dog say from, hmm, Grant county, then Multnomah county would not know we have a dog and wouldn’t extort money from us every so often just for her to live here. (It’s a fucking dog tax. And that sucks.) But we adopted Maggie from the animal shelter down the road and they know where we live.
Assholes.

I’m still glad we got her, but really. She’s 13. She lives in a house. She sleeps in a house. She is never in contact with any other animals. WTF does she need a rabies shot for?

Okay, granted, last week she tried to run after a squirrel. But he took about four steps and turned around and laughed at her. He knew he could come and dance on her head and she wouldn’t catch him.

Taking her in a vehicle is very traumatic for her, too. The vet tech actually came out to our car and vaccinated her so that we didn’t have to bring her into the building, adding more trauma to her life in the process. I plan to write them a note this week.

She doesn’t seem to be doing real well now, though. A couple days before the shot, she was doing this really weird thing. She walks fine until she gets next to the kitchen table, then slows waaaay down. She seems almost disoriented for a minute, then starts to get back up to normal speed by the time she reaches her customary stop in the living room.

Tonight (Wednesday) she got into this weird, disoriented going in circles thing in the kitchen by the table and we couldn’t get her to stop. Eric came in and rubbed her sides and head and got her attention and she managed to make it into the living room. My guess is that she’s having small strokes, because she’s been acting funny for a few weeks. She’s... just not herself. I don’t know how to explain it, really.

My feeling over the last couple weeks has been that her time with us is limited, which makes me really sad. Now that her behavior is changing a bit, I’m very concerned. I’m afraid we’ll have to have her put down, and it breaks my heart.
::sigh::

Worked for Sunshine again Wednesday morning. Woke up at 4:30 again.
Shit.
After the shift ended, I drove over to have the MRI.
They contacted me on Tuesday afternoon to go over what I needed to know, and told me to bring a CD of my choice to listen to.

I arrived early, and they got me in early. I did not have to remove a single article of clothing!

The technician helped me get comfortable on the table, then crammed in a few pillows and assorted foam wedges around the edges to make me able to hold my position without effort.

Without effort? Ha. Ever tried to hold still for 35 to 40 minutes? Especially with a part that constantly needs to be moved because it hurts and you can’t find a comfortable position for it?
Ugh.

However. I listened to the CD I brought along (it’s one of my own concoctions) and I was able to mostly relax. I actually almost fell asleep for a moment or two, which is amazing considering how LOUD that machine is.

That turned out to be the only relaxing part of the day. I stopped at Goodwill on my way home and picked up a big-assed container of Legos for only $6.99. I will take them to summer program, and leave them for the site director at that site in the fall. I want the kids to have fun, you see.

After about 45 minutes at home, it was time to head back out the door to work. The kids get out at 1 on Wednesdays, and since we had no Sunshine, I needed to be first in.

Wednesday was the last day of school.
In my five years of working there, this was by far the most hectic afternoon I’ve ever had. I won’t even attempt to describe the noise and activity level to you.

Add in trying to gather things to take along to summer program, Marilyn’s* wet pants, Cindy’s* hurt toe (the big heavy door at the end of the cafeteria tore into the side of her toenail on the big toe), Mr. Bossy dropping the "f" bomb, (over a toy car) the birthday girl Tracy* handing out cookies, the phone ringing, parents coming to pick up kids, me limping on a by then VERY sore knee, and the squabbling between the boys who ALWAYS find something to argue about... well, it was sort of a busy afternoon.

Then, I had to stay after work for about 20 minutes to put things away in the back room, and to wait for a guy from one of our other sites to bring the leftover snacks for summer. I put on a CD that I wouldn’t be allowed to listen to if there were children present (nothing bad, just Queen.)

But our company ::gag:: ‘proudly listens only to Disney-approved music’. That means that pop tarts like Hannah Montana are good fare, but that songs like the original Macarena aren’t. We have to listen to a remade version from Radio Disney.

IT’S THE SAME DAMN SONG!!!!(When I made the limbo CD, I put original versions of the songs I used on it. I’m guessing no one will ever know.)
Well, except you guys. And you’ll never tell, right?

You know, I’m just too tired to edit or fix all this. I hope you didn’t read all the way to the end hoping for enlightenment or anything.

This is the first post of two for today.The tirade against the ‘anti-homeschooler’ continues. Scroll on down.

Our Weekend is (finally!) Over..

And I finally have a few minutes to write about it.

On Saturday, my hubby and son drove to the local Home Depot and bought wood. They spent the rest of that day out on the back porch in the wind and the cold cutting boards, sanding, drilling and assembling kits for FIFTEEN bird houses. One for every girl in my Girl Scout troop. Our geriatric old dog, who loves my hubby more than even FOOD insisted on spending the day lying on the porch at his feet. On Sunday, hubby got up and after a late breakfast, (like noon?) went back outside in the cold and continued the work, accompanied by our old dog, Maggie . Remember her?


When Eric came in from finishing the cutting, I informed him that the kitchen sink was backed up. Oh joy. He worked on it a bit Sunday evening, but could not find the clog.

When we woke up yesterday morning, we discovered that after spending the weekend on the cold concrete, our poor old dog could not stand up. She used her front legs to try getting up, but all that did was drag her hips across the floor. Eric had to lift her to her feet and help her go outside. I would have called the vet, but we already know she is arthritic and getting older. I can't afford more tests to tell me so, and if there's something seriously wrong with her, we won't be able to afford treatment anyway. Because of her half-lab heritage, she can't take certain drugs, and is unable to tolerate aspirin. It makes her barf. The Synovi G-3 made her incontinent, which didn't make her happy, and caused some interesting moments for us, too. (Ever step in dog pee on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night?) I did some internet research, and we ended up giving her Orudis, which is ketoprofen. Terrible for her liver, which already has impaired function, but we were desperate. We put her in the living room next to the wood stove to keep her warm.

Hubby went in to work for a bit to get everyone lined up with jobs etc, then came home and loaded all the birdhouse stuff in the car, drove us to pick up our extra scout, and then came to our Girl Scout meeting to help the girls build their projects. It was wildly successful.

When we came home, the dog was at the door to greet us. The Orudis worked. YAY!

Eric drove to the rental yard and rented a big scary looking power tool to open up the drain, took it back to the rental yard, then came home and cleaned up the mess. It would have been a financial disaster for us to have to hire a plumber.
::shudder::

So. Eric did the carpentry work.
He showed what kind of father he is by coming to his daughter's Girl Scout meeting to help everyone with their projects.
Then, he came home and did plumbing. Spent at least another hour under the house working on it before he had it all done.

Guess how many times he moaned, groaned, whined or complained through all this.

Zero.

That's the kind of man I married.

More from Christmas

Maggie loves to help open packages. It's really funny, but she gets ALL excited. Acts like a puppy. Runs around barking and helps everyone rip into their packages. We wrapped a couple bones for her this year, and she loved opening her own. I have a couple more dog butt pics, but I figure you've already got the one I posted yesterday imprinted forever in your psyche.

Again, you're welcome.

Wink Wink part deux

Last year, I talked about how Maggie gets her butt in all the pictures.

This year was no different. But I figured why should I have all the fun looking at the pictures? Why not share them with the world?
You're welcome.

Yellowjackets!

While Lyssa and I were sleeping, Matt decided to chop some kindling so he could have a fire going for us when we got out of bed.
He very considerately took the hatchet and the wood to the other side of our campsite, rather than chopping directly outside the tent and making noise. He had chopped just a couple pieces when a yellowjacket came buzzing around him. He waved it away, but it kept coming back and attacking his coat and his head. Evidently the vibration of the wood chopping had pissed them off and disturbed them in their nest. It took quite a bit of time for them to settle down. Even longer for ME to settle down. I HATE those things. They're mean and always looking for a fight. They sting AND they bite. They'll land on you and start chewing on whatever part you're exposing... or chew through your coat if they can. We were lucky. None of the people in our little party were stung, but one nasty tempered mean S.O.B. stung poor Maggie on the top of her head. She had a big old lump above her left eye all day, and it caused her whole face to swell a bit. She's fine now. Sitting here mooching Matt's breakfast.

My Dog is Leaking

For obvious reasons, this isn't a good thing. She lives in the house with us. Sleeps by our bed.
Follows us around wherever we go. She's a member of the family, and we love her. We discovered the leakage last night, and all sorts of things went through my mind. shit. we can't afford a dog medical bill... what if she needs surgery? oh no... what if she has some horrible disease and I have to decide whether to prolong her life or not? When we lived in California, we knew a person who had a little yap dog. Said yap dog wore diapers. He had no arthritis or any other disease, he was just old and peed himself. His owner changed his diapers three times a day, and wiped his little butt, too. Ugh. Well, I was disgusted and amused over the whole diaper thing. I said to my mother in law, "I will NEVER put a diaper on my dog. If they're so old they can't control their bladder, then it's time to let them go." I may be changing my tune here... because I am not willing to just let her go over a little pee. Not sure what the cause is, but she sees the vet in about an hour. According to the link at the top, it's not uncommon for dogs, especially spayed females, to suffer from incontinence. Off to put blankets in the back of the car. Did I mention that my dryer isn't working this week? More laundry. Oh boy.