Guess Brody isn’t the only one with a thing against library books:

From Kristen Smithberg Beckman over on Facebook. It was too good not to share!

If you’re bored on the weekend, check out the Saturday Blog Hop- all pet blogs, all weekend! This is my first time checking it out and it looks like fun!

When I’m at work, I try to be sympathetic to the fact that I am consistently doing things to pets who have no idea why this stranger is poking and prodding at them. They’re no dummies. By about the 16 week point they get the wary look of an animal thoroughly expecting to have their temperature taken.

Unless you’re one of those extremely conscientious owners who takes their pet into the vet for kisses and treats for no reason whatsoever, pets learn very quickly that when they come to the clinic, nothing good happens. There will be some sort of probe or medicine or shot, and all they want is to get the heck back out to the parking lot.

Getting older stinks. With age comes certain medically related indignities that have, if nothing else, made me much more understanding towards what our poor veterinary clients go through. Living beings are like some amazingly intricate Italian racecars, one of those ones that seems to break down more and more and get increasingly expensive to fix each time. As phenomenal and complex as a living breathing body may be, each one of those stupid little parts can fail in a fascinatingly vast myriad of ways.

I let some stranger draw on my eyeballs with a Sharpie before slicing the fronts open with a laser and burning them up. Another one stuck probes in my gums before going at my teeth with a loud drill. And don’t even get me started on what happens when you have a child. You have very little pride left after that. What vestiges remain are stripped bare, so I am told, when you have to start with the mammograms and colonoscopies.

We tolerate these things with varying degrees of resignation, or sometimes valium, because we know we must. Unless you’re in a pediatrician’s office, you’re unlikely to see the nurse wrestling a patient down so the doctor can peek in someone’s ears. We deal not because we don’t mind, but because we have to in order to stay healthy. It is the price we pay for awareness of our mortality.

Dogs and cats, however, have no such societal expectations. If you’re trying to assess the extent of a dog’s enlarged prostate and he’s not feeling a prostate exam that morning, he will let you know. Mightily. If you’re dealing with a sore cat with FLUTD who needs a cystocentesis urine sample collection, he might understandably not be thrilled at having a needle put into his sore bladder and perhaps he might try to kill the person doing it. That is survival instinct. I get it.

I really get it.

As I was at the doctor’s this morning, I found myself staring at the ceiling while the doctor, blissfully numbed to the routine nature of the examination, prattled on about the cost of veterinary care for his cat. I briefly wondered what he would do if I suddenly tried to kick him in the teeth, which is what my instinct was telling me to do. I didn’t, but it might make him more appreciative of what we contend with to earn those dollars he was so loath to part with.

When I was at Blog Paws in Columbus, I attended a panel featuring Edie Jarolim of Will My Dog Hate Me. An accomplished travel writer already, Edie was indoctrinated rather late in life compared to the rest of us crazies in the world of dog obsession. She made up for it admirably, though.

Am I Boring My Dog is the happy result of what was clearly some pretty thorough crash-course research into dog ownership, a soup-to-nuts guide to pretty much everything you need to know when bringing a furball into your life.

I’ve read lots of dog guides in my time, and I’ll be the first to admit I rarely make it past the first three pages of most of them, overcome by the mealy platitudes and not so subtle condescension making it apparent the author is targeting it towards someone who shouldn’t be trusted with a box of cereal, never mind a living creature.

This isn’t that kind of book. It’s a how-to that is actually fun to read, imbued with wit and cleverly broken up into 99 bite-sized chunks that are easy to digest, well organized, and well thought out.

The advice she offers is solid, specific enough to be helpful to novice owners and broad enough to have something of use to just about any dog fancier. This is a book I would give to a friend with a new dog, not only because I liked it but in the hopes it’s expansive enough to keep them from pestering me with questions. (Just kidding, mom.)

If you’re not in the market for a new book, you should still watch the trailer since it will make you smile on a Thursday morning. This Frankie character is seriously cute.

Click here to view the embedded video.

I will argue one sentence in the book, because this is my blog and I can: in her section on what to look for in a veterinary clinic, which is otherwise well done, she asserts that any reputable vet will allow you into the back on a moment’s notice for a tour without having to run into the back to hide the evidence make sure all is well.

I wanted to address that not to quibble with Edie but because it’s a request we get not infrequently, and I think it’s a good thing to want a tour. I consider myself reputable, yet I still go into the back to get the all clear first- not because I’m worried the staff is swinging kittens by the tails or anything, but because I need to make sure it’s safe for you and the pets I am responsible for.

1. We could be taking x-rays and expose you to radiation.

2. Kekoa could be waiting on the other side of the door, ready to bolt in search of me.

3. My RVT could be in the middle of multiple tooth extractions, which even in the best of circumstances are bloody events that could be disconcerting to the uninitiated (which is exactly what was going on a few weeks ago when they tried to bring a YMCA summer camp through the back.)

4. We could have a fractious cat that we were finally able to coax out of the cage, and, having gotten the entire clinic to be silent, are taking advantage of the 5 second window of cooperation to get a blood sample before she tries to gouge our eyeballs out.

These are all regular occurrences in the clinic. So while I can’t endorse that one sentence, the other myriad thousands are solid. Edie, you’re welcome to come and not bore me any time. Just as long as you are OK with hanging out in the lobby for just a second first. And bring Frankie.

Last week, I mentioned that I had to do a euthanasia where the owner chose not to be present, and it was a little emotionally challenging for me. I was more upset about the day than the fact that the owners left, and I mentioned it only to illustrate that I needed to lean on my techs to help me out with the part that I normally do without a problem (comforting the pet.)

I didn’t mean to set that up as a “oh no these irresponsible owners how could they” sort of thing, but it certainly opened up the discussion of what is and is not considered standard in that sort of situation.

The vast majority of owners choose to remain with their pets when they are euthanized. I do my very best to make the situation a calm and peaceful experience, and by and large it is. Sure people cry, but only twice have I seen someone truly freak out and start screaming. Not the pet, mind you- they were in a happy place by that point and beyond caring- but owners throwing themselves over the pet, yelling at me to stop (too late), that sort of thing.

People always worry that they are going to be that person, but you’re probably not. If you’re like most people, you’re probably going to cry a little, say goodbye to your pet, then go home and lose it.

I get that we, as a society, are not very good when it comes to this whole death and dying thing. People get really weird about it. Some people just cannot handle being there, and I am OK with that. My feeling is, well, we take pets in the back and give them injections without their owners present all the time. The pet is unaware of their mortality, or that this shot is any different from the vaccine or pre-anesthetic sedative.

We, as a staff, are efficient, respectful, and kind when we do euthanasias without the owners present. No pet has to wait, sick and alone in a cage while we do other things. We all get together as a group, and do what we need to do. One of my techs has a drawer of catnip she sprinkles on the blanket for the kitties; the dogs get pets and hugs and reassurance. It’s not ideal, but it is the best we can do.

I used to be a little more critical of people who chose not to be present with their pets at a euthanasia, but that was before I had to euthanize Charlie.

Many years ago, back near the start of my career, Charlie presented to my clinic for vaccines. The doctor who was working that day noted that Charlie, an adorable 2 month old kitten, had a little bit of a fever. “It’s probably nothing,” he told the owner, “but let’s wait a few days and try again.”

Several days later, Charlie came back- still with a fever, and no longer wanting to eat. I looked at his distended belly and frowned. “Where did you adopt him from?”

“The shelter,” replied the owner, as I withdrew several cc’s of straw colored fluid from his abdomen.

She looked at me in disbelief as I spoke to her about FIP, the poor prognosis, the fact that there was no way to have predicted Charlie would have this disease. She just stared as I watched her heart break behind her eyes.

“OK,” she finally replied in a near whisper. “I need to go home and talk to my husband.”

Two days later, Charlie’s dad arrived with Charlie for euthanasia. By this point Charlie was very ill. “Where is his wife?” I asked. The receptionist shook her head. “She didn’t come. He doesn’t want to be there for the euthanasia either.”

I went into the room to make sure Charlie’s dad understood what we were going to be doing. “Are you sure,” I asked as delicately as I could, “that you don’t want to be there with Charlie when we euthanize him?”

He sighed. Then he shook his head, and, staring at the floor between his feet, this is what he told me:

“Last year, our two year old son died of leukemia. My wife was by his side every day for two months. We were both with him when he died.

“Last month, I adopted this kitten for my wife to try and cheer her up a little bit. I just- I just can’t believe this is happening, again. It’s just so cruel.

“I want to be there, but- I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

So. Now I am standing there, with tears running down my face and a giant HEEL sign on my head, trying to reassure this person and telling him to please not worry, that I will take good care of Charlie. He nodded imperceptibly, with the stoic veneer of someone trying as mightily as they can to contain the unwanted intrusion of a memory I just cannot fathom having, and he left.

I don’t know why the universe works the way it does sometimes.

But yes, if someone tells me they can’t be there with their pet, I remember that day, how this passage often brings up memories and emotions that perhaps they are just not capable of facing there, with me next to them. I gather my technicians, and we hold the pet and let them know no matter what, they were loved.

It’s hard to tell from the gloomy grey skies outside, but theoretically, it’s the height of summer. That means grilling corn, runny popsicles, and coming up with ways to help the fur-bearing house dwellers beat the heat.

Linda over at the 7MSN Ranch sent me a link to her blog post detailing a way to make a homemade version of Frosty Paws, which I have shamelessly replicated here. Even if you don’t want to make Frosty Paws, you should go check her blog out. It is awesome. It has a lot more types of animals than we do here, including but not limited to pigs, coyotes, and chickens. It kind of makes me want to go to New Mexico, like, right now.

Anyway- Frosty Paws! Have you ever tried these “ice cream” cups for dogs? The dogs sure love them, but I personally think they’re kind of gross. Yes, I tried them once. Not so great.

You can make a much yummier version yourself at home, and it’ll be cheaper too.

Here’s the ingredients:

Yogurt, peanut butter, a banana, something to put them in.  (For the exact proportions, check out the link at the 7MSN ranch.)

Put in blender. Blend.

Put in cups. Stick in freezer. Doesn’t get much easier than that, huh? This is my kind of recipe.

In retrospect, I wish I had purchased cooler Dixie Cups instead of these ones that look like they belong in a dentist’s office bathroom. Oh well. I didn’t realize at the time I bought them that they would be photographed and featured prominently in a blog post.

If you also suffer from ugly Dixie cups, you could add a festive berry for garnish.

The resulting peanut butter banana smoothie is kid-tested and dog approved.

It is difficult to explain to a dog why they have to wait for something yummy to freeze.

When they are ready, and you are ready, just make sure you head outside. It can get messy.

I actually have video of the dogs going for the treats, but I had to put the camera down since Brody did the Tootsie Roll treatment: 2 licks, then grab the whole cup and inhale it like a cork straight into the back of his throat.

So yes, they liked them- but next time I need a bigger, and sturdier, cup.

As you may have heard, this weekend marked the annual Comic-Con. What this means in practice is that over 100,000 of the world’s hardiest hardcore nerds descend upon our fair city, bringing with them their finest Storm Trooper costumes and zombie paraphernalia.

Each year my husband, a lifelong attendee, takes this opportunity to bring out his dusty boxes of comics from his youth to flip through them and figure out if any of them are worth anything. They never are.

In honor of this festive event, I am unveiling the very first Brody graphic novel: Introducing…

Special News Alert from the Pawcurious News Desk:

I don’t know if you all saw this on Facebook- it kind of slid quietly in there on the Be the Change for Pets page- but the Hartz company is donating a pallet of treats to the first 65 shelters to respond. That is SIXTY FIVE pallets of food. Something like 45,000 pounds.

Shipping is free. Responding is free. All you need to do is get your local shelter in contact with them. There are still plenty of spots left!

Here is the text from the Facebook post:

Bosco and I would love to help. To make it even easier for folks to participate, Hartz would like to donate a pallet (about 1,000 units/ 700 lbs) of our yummy natural meat treats which are packed with glucosamine and chondroitin (great for older dogs and larger breeds) to your local shelter. We’ll even deliver the pallet for you.

We do however, humbly request that you show up to have your picture taken with the product when it arrives at your local shelter and post it on this page.

Want to participate?
Step 1) contact your local shelter to see if they would be willing to take 1,000 units of meat treats
Step 2) If they are willing to take the product , email me their contact information at jdombkowski@hartz.com
Step 3) Post your pic to Be the Change for Pets!

The offer is limited to the first 65 shelters.

Let’s do it! That is a LOT of happy homeless pups!

I admit things have been a little, well, extraordinarily depressing around here the past few days. It’s the nature of life with animals. But with lows come highs, so let’s end the week on a good note, ok?

This is Napoleon. Cute, isn’t he?

He was discovered cowering under a porch of a house in Tijuana, Mexico. The homeowners contacted their friend, a veterinarian, who got him out and realized he did not have the use of his back legs.

Tijuana does not have an animal shelter. In most circumstances, a dog like this would be left to fend for himself. The idea of rescue and rehabilitation is often a pipe dream in a situation like this.

How easy it would be to say oh well. He is a sweet dog. Perhaps he should be put out of his misery. It would be a kindness.

Fortunately for Napoleon, the veterinarian in question volunteers with the Humane Society of Tijuana, and they have proven themselves on multiple occasions to be undaunted by poor odds. He is sweet, they said, and he deserves a chance at life as much as any other pooch.

“None of us could picture Napoleon being ready to go,” says the Friends of HSTJ blog. “In spite of his injury, he is a happy dog who just wants to explore and conquer the world!” Well of course! He’s a corgi!

Another veterinarian volunteer, my friend Dr. Sarah, put out the idea of a cart for him. The support was unanimous, and the fundraising began. Last weekend, Napoleon got his sweet custom wheels.

Dr. Sarah said I could share this on the condition that I specify she was not responsible for the music selection.

It’s not that bad, Sarah. It kind of reminds me of the Academy Awards. Best save of the year? You. Way to be the change.

His journey isn’t over- Napoleon still needs his forever home, one that is willing and able to take on the challenges of a dog with a permanent neurologic condition. But considering how far he’s come, I am confident he will find that home soon.

I appreciate all the thoughtful comments yesterday, and especially I appreciate everyone who sent me a picture of their beloved pets to be included in yesterday’s video. It was wonderful to see how many people knew what this day would mean, because you all have had this kind of day too.

Yesterday was shaping up to be the same type of day I have been (thankfully) having for quite a while lately: simple and uneventful.

And then.

Then, my routine cat spay turned out to be pregnant. She was very early- there was no way to have known until I was actually in the abdomen, and she couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks along. That was fortunate, but still, it’s not an easy thing to do and it kind of made us sad. She was only 8 months old and semi-feral. It was the right thing to do.

Then, I met with a client whose 14 year old cat was nearing the end. He’s not quite there yet, but it could have gone either way. It was a melancholy conversation.

Then, I met with another client whose 13 year old dog was at her end. She was ready and so were the owners. They couldn’t bear to stay, so as the receptionist was escorting them out I fulfilled my promise to get this over with as quickly as possible. I haven’t had to do a euthanasia for some time, and it made me a little sad to have to do it on this of all days.

I went into the room, where the dog waited as she was unable to walk on her own. Her head was raised, wondering where she was, all alone, if only for a few seconds. That got me.

I brought my techs in to hold her head and give her hugs, and talk to her as by this point I was a little choked up and not able to comfort her myself. She left, peacefully and surrounded by loving if unfamiliar hands.

THEN I went into my next room. It was this fellow on the left:

I took this picture the last time he was in our clinic, struck by his resemblance to Emmett (on the right.) Of all days for him to make a reappearance.

AND THEN, after fixing up his issues and getting him ready to go, the owner of course remembered me and my love of Goldens and how much her Golden and my Emmett could be related and made polite conversation:

“And how is your beautiful Golden?”

“Oh, dead,” I said, only not quite in those words. Then I went in the back and teared up.

Then I brought Brody out to meet him. It was a little surreal to see him nosing up to an elder statesman who bore such a resemblance to the dog I was coincidentally mourning that day, but it was a comfort all the same. I was reminded of what I wrote the day before: Things are as they should be.

Then I went in the back again, looked up at the sky, and muttered, “I get it dude. Now GO AWAY because I still have to work.”

As I was driving home yesterday, I was thinking about Emmett and how much has changed in the past year. One year ago, I said goodbye. One year ago, I sat 10 feet from where I am now with my head on his neck for the last time, while he sighed into my hands, too tired to even roll over for a belly rub. It was a bad day.

I was thinking about how, after he died, our house was the cleanest it had been in years. The tumbleweeds were gone- the ever present little hair balls that found their way into corners no matter how much we brushed or vacuumed. I would look around the tidy floors, and tear up because I missed those tumbleweeds.

And now we have them again, and I have Brody and Koa. I could play the whatif game inside my head all day- whatif Emmett didn’t die? Where would Brody be today? Would Koa still be in rescue? And then I remember, what might have happened, or could have happened, is all irrelevant. All that matters is what did happen.

The tumbleweeds are back, and yes they are different, but they are here, and I am happy.

As I sat at a stoplight mulling this over, a little puff of something- I don’t know what it was exactly, a small white feather or puff of fur- blew in through the open window, and danced in front of my face for a second or two. I grabbed for it, but it had already caught the eddy of wind and blew out the other side of the car. I am probably overthinking things to say that a wayward feather blowing into the car somehow represented an extremely profound moment, but it did.

Yes, it’s going to be a hard day today, but it is OK. Things are as they are supposed to be.

A little while back, I asked on Facebook if anyone would like to contribute a photo of a pet who has passed for a little project I was doing to mark this day. This is it. I hope I have honored them well.

Click here to view the embedded video.