Posted in Musings and Mutterings

Puppy Monster Strikes Back

On Friday, I had my puppy monster (aka Elsa) fixed. She wasn’t really broken, but I wanted to make sure she didn’t make any more monsters. Kinda like the gremlins. I didn’t want to get her wet, or feed her after midnight (though, technically, it’s ALWAYS after midnight) and have many more little monsters running around. Given that her momma produced litters of 12 monsters, that’s just too many.

Since my male dog wasn’t broken either, I decided to get him taken care of at the same time. While he’s been peacefully convalescing (and secretly freaking out over his cone-of-shame), she’s been out of her mind CRAZY.

It’s as though the removal of her uterus kicked off a hyperactive button or something. She’s run up and down the stairs at breakneck speeds, chased the cat up onto the furniture, and bolted from a dead stop to chase what seems to be NOTHING. Maybe it’s the pain meds. She ain’t feelin’ no pain, apparently.

Last night I got her out of her crate after I’d been out for a few hours. She bolted out the back door, saw the kitten-monster behind me and launched herself back into the house to give chase. The only thing was, she hadn’t factored that her Elizabethan collar (and she) wouldn’t pass through my legs. So, she slammed head-on into my knees. I squealed and looked down to see her shaking off her impact and her E-collar in shards at my feet! Instantly, she dropped down and inspected her incision, licking and pulling at her stitches. Panicking at the thought of her ripping out her stitches on a Sunday evening and having to visit an emergency vet, we grabbed some tape and tried to fix her collar. This was the result.

While fairly ¬†functional, emphasis on the fun, we didn’t think it would hold up. It also had a jagged edge that would poke her if she ran into anything else. So, a quick search on YouTube and we found that we could fashion a cervical collar out of a towel. Geez! Why didn’t I do this before I paid the 23.00 for the stupid plastic cone-of-shame! It was perfect.

That’s kitten-monster in the background, btw.

I thought our Elizabethan collar drama was done and all would be well, except this morning I let the puppy monster out of her cage for her morning potty break. Thank goodness we’d made the cervical collar because she barreled headlong into the screen door and ripped right through it!


And then this afternoon, I ended up taking Sammy to the vet because he was refusing to eat or drink. He’s perfectly fine, except he was having some neurosis about his cone-of-shame, so the vet told me to take it off and fashion another cervical collar for him, which meant another $23.00 that was unnecessary.

Lesson learned. Always search YouTube first. :0)

Posted in Musings and Mutterings

On Being a Puppy Monster Momma

I’m not sure what came over me.

Maybe it’s the realization that I’m in my 50’s and I’ve got babies on the brain. Or maybe more accurately, the lack of babies (#4, chill- this ain’t about you, it’s about me).

In May, I adopted a small bundle of 6 week old fur that is Bindi. She’s a kitten, and full of spit and vinegar. Cattitude a mile wide, but sweet with a loud motorboat purr. She’s full of energy, and has taken awhile to integrate with Scout and Sally – the two resident kitties.

I should have realized that the level of activity and supervision a kitten needs isn’t quite the same as a puppies, but nonetheless, in July I got Elsa the Puppy Monster.

I call her a puppy monster, but really she’s a very good girl. Just more work than I remembered Sam being. I guess with Sammy being 3 years old, I’d kinda forgotten the housebreaking, chew-breaking, cat-chasing that went on. With Bindi, I only had to wait a few months before I could stop worrying about my curtains and furniture being destroyed, but with the addition of Elsa, it’s more like a year or two before I feel fairly safe.

However, as with any baby, she’s cute. And that’s what saves her when I find her pulling my curtains off the rod.

Or, she’s eating a pillow.

Or, peeing on the floor.

Or, gleefully chasing a cat.