two dolla

dirty ol’ scab

I took Riley to the vet on Friday. He’s had some weird scab on the inside of his right thigh since sometime before Memorial Day and it hasn’t shown any sign of clearing up at all. I’m pretty sure if anyone – human or otherwise – has a scab that sits around for that long, they should probably get it looked into. And, plus, he’s a spoiled little puppy and say things like, “Hey, this scab hurts, woman!”

His favorite doctor was there and looked him over. She tried to scrape some of the scab off onto a slide, so she could check things out under the microscope. Turns out, she could only get blood and that wasn’t too helpful in determining what was going on just by magnifying it eleventy billioin times. Since he’s a boxer and boxers are prone to neat things like mast cell tumors, she wanted me to be aware. And, yes, when someone says “tumors” and “Riley” in the same sentence, it kinda makes me throw up. It could also end up being just some inflammation of allergies, etc.

The doctor gave us some super strength ointment of some sort and some instructions to come back in two weeks if things haven’t gotten any better. After just a few days of using the medicine, the spot’s starting to decrease in size and look a whole hell of a lot less menacing. I’m not considering him out of the woods just yet, but at least it’s a good sign.

the big 3

Riley turned three yesterday. My baby puppy is so big now.

I worry about him getting old. I worry enough now when he’s just a little boy and weird things happen, but I know once he starts getting up there, every little thing he does will scare the crap out of me.

A couple of weeks ago, I left for work and he was just fine. When I came home around 6:30, he was covered in marble-sized bumps from head to toe. They were all over his hips, his legs, his belly, and even on his head. If you’ve never seen me freak out about something, this would have been a prime opportunity. I called half the people in my phone book, because I had no idea what to do. He had a ton of energy, he was eating and drinking, and he wasn’t even scratching at them.

Amelia was on her way over, and by the time she got here, I was in full on freak out mode. She looked him over and then decided to Google “dog, hives” and found this picture. That’s exactly what he looked like. Upon her suggestion, I gave him some Benadryl and an hour later, most of the hives were gone. By the next morning when he went to the vet for a comprehensive exam, they were completely gone. And I was officially over my current Riley Freak Out. They only happen about once a month nowadays. Much better from the weekly ones when I first got him.

And right now, he just made his way from my bed to the couch, where he’s adjusting himself just perfectly so he can lay in front of the window and still use a pillow.  I can’t imagine not having this silly ol’ dog around.

my bum dog

Riley’s on Purina’s PetChart today. It’s kinda the cutest thing ever.

And, really, that is all.

he’s always up to no good

Riley has a new best friend, I’m pretty sure. His name’s Kentucky, and he’s pretty much the second most adorable boxer in the entire world. And tonight, Riley and Kentucky discovered something they have in common: running through a swamp as the sun sets. Post-dog park tonight required a bath, which turned into a shower, because he was that caked in mud and quite possibly poop, because that swamp smells like a damn sewer.

Riley’s always been super lazy at the dog park. We’ll go and he’ll spend his time there just sniffing everything. He’s not really a fan of the running or playing or doing anything else that normal dogs do. The last two times we’ve went, I’ve given him dinner before we go and holy crap, it’s like a whole different dog!

Tonight, he skipped over peeing on all the other dogs, and just humped the standard poodle. Then, of course, he stood perfectly still while the Blue Heeler Mix humped him at least a dozen times. I finally had to put an end to all the humping when he kept trying to chew his ding-ding off every time he got more than just a little excited.

Goofy ol’ dog.

paragraphs about everything

Don’t forget to sign up for Revolution Money Exchange, if you want $25 in your bank account in 2-3 business days. Here’s the original post I made. Jenni sent me some money the other day for some baseball tickets I picked up and it worked like a charm.

Rick’s going to be here next week for some work training. I’m really excited about that. We’ve already planned three nights of things to do, including a baseball game, a trip to Dave and Buster’s, and some pub trivia. We’ll see how long it takes him to get tired of us. And then I’m even more excited that Brooke, Ella, and baby Alex will be here next weekend. I haven’t even met Alex yet.

I had two more interviews today: one with a CEO/President who asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. It was embarrassing, but I didn’t have an answer. I could give her an idea that I wanted to be in a company that made me feel good (I used better words; don’t worry), but I couldn’t really say – I wanna be ______. It was weird!

The other interview I had today was over the phone, it lasted eight minutes, and it was the most awkward thing ever. It was a “final round” interview and if the hiring decision is made off of that phone call, I can pretty much kiss that one goodbye. I’m waiting to hear back from Recruiter #2, so we can talk about it, but after that phone interview, I’m not counting on much.

There’s a trip to the dog park on the schedule for tonight. Riley’s getting better at playing with dogs. He’s never been mean or violent towards any of them; he’d just rather walk around playing by himself. It probably comes from spending the first nine months of life around his brother who always chewed his face off. Plus, it’s 75 degrees right now; if I didn’t take him, I’d feel bad!

next i’ll teach him to answer it

You can file this under TMI if you want, but that’s not gonna stop me from writing it. You should know that by now.

Just now, I’m minding my own business, doing some Sudoku¹ . And I hear my cell phone ringing. I’m clearly in no place to answer it and they created voicemail for a reason, so I don’t get too worked up about it. Except you know who does? My fat ol’ dog.

I hear him jump off the bed, plodding into the living room to see why the hell he was still hearing Kanye West singing about “that that don’t kill me can only make me stronger”. Once he realizes I’m nowhere near my phone, he takes off on a tear to try and locate me, because OHMIGOD this could be his big shot! His agent could be calling, and I’m not answering!

He finds me, trying to figure out why there are three nines in one box, and alternates between ramming his head into my leg and running back and forth between the hallway and the bathroom. I mean, Sudoku lounge. I finally, um, solve my puzzle and by the time I do, it’s too late. The call’s gone to voicemail and Riley looks at me very disapprovingly before he curls up on the couch and goes back to sleep.

¹:This is code for pooping.

my awesome vet (this got long)

When Riley and I moved into our last apartment, we had to switch vets. I was a little worried, mainly because I didn’t know anyone in Eagan that could recommend one and I knew I needed one close by, based solely on the fact that I was (and still am) a paranoid pet owner. Riley’s passion for eating things he’s not supposed to also was in the back of my mind, too. I ended up going to the Banfield clinic (yes, the one that’s inside PetSmart) and meeting the doctor that Riley will always always go to because she and her entire staff are so fantastic.

Riley’d been a Banfield boy from the day I got him. Another doctor had removed his manhood and everything went just fine, but the only person at this particular clinic Riley and I both enjoyed was the main doctor. At a vet’s office, you to work with more than just the main doctor, though. The bitchy receptionist and the vet techs that wouldn’t even get down on the floor and introduce themselves before shoving a thermometer up my dog’s unexpecting ass made it slightly intolerable. In other words, I didn’t really feel enough loyalty to them to drive across three suburbs once Riley and I moved in together.

Now, everyone there knows Riley, possibly because we’re there so much. Every time we’re there, though, I never feel like I’m being rushed in and rushed out so they can see as many animals as possible. Once we get into the waiting room, a vet tech usually comes in and looks him over, and we talk about why we’re there. The whole time we’re having this conversation any one of the techs will be down on the ground letting Riley climb all over them.

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my exciting friday

I got a letter today from my new apartment’s management company saying I owed them 80 cents. I found it a big peculiar, but decided not to get mad about it until I’d actually talked to them about it. I left a voicemail maybe around 2 pm today. I just got a phone call back from them about two minutes ago, and the lady apologized about four times.

Dear old apartment complex,

This is how you do things.

Love Hate,

Wendy

Someone in this apartment (not me) gets to go to the doctor tomorrow because his right ear smells like someone shoveled in about eight pounds of rancid yeast. I was going to try a home cure that I’ve heard about from reliable sources, but I just want to make 100% sure that it is actually a yeast infection instead of a bacterial infection. And if it does happen to be a yeast infection, I’m going to be the tiniest bit furious at the groomer, because that’s the only place humanly possible that he could get his ears in water. Unless he’s bathing himself in the tub while I’m out interviewing and drinking heavily… and I guess that’s probably likely.

It just means I’ll start bathing himself (this does not sound fun), and brushing his teeth, and somehow figuring out how to cut these beautiful nails of his, which may be a challenge since his nails are about as strong as the wall.

he’s a little emo sometimes

You know how they say animals don’t do things just to get back at you? I call bullshit on that.

Riley had to stay in my parents garage while I was visiting. While there, he trashed the place. He knocked over ladders, plastic boxers, and almost entirely cleaned off my dad’s workbench. He doesn’t do this kind of thing at home. He’s just fine when he’s by himself. He also resorted to taking care of his bodily business all over the garage, too. Just about every morning, there’d be a pile of poop and a puddle or two of pee. Trust me when I say my dog is more than potty-trained. This puppy of mine pees on command. I’m under the assumption that he was pissed and I can’t say I blame him.

And now we’ve been back for a few days, and he’s back to his lifestyle of sleeping on couches and watching TV all day, while never being more than three feet from me.

But he has a new hobby and it’s called shitting in the house. I’ve found no less than four piles of dog shit since we’ve been back. I thought maybe he was getting a bug of some kind, because it’s not like he’s even telling me he has to go outside. But since the poop is (hey, how about some poop details?) solid and looks completely normal (I inspect all of his poop, because I’m paranoid and am always scared there’s going to be something like blood or worms or bodily organs coming out onto the ground.), that’s not my biggest concern anymore.

We just went outside and he took care of both kinds of business. Then, we came inside, I fed him, and wouldn’t you know it, he walks over by the couch and just craps a bit more. Right the fuck in front of me. I busted him for it, so he stopped and then ran off. I went to go get him, and he tried to test my strength by refusing to walk the whole way over to his magical pile of dookie. I just make him look at it (I know, it probably doesn’t work that way, but I’m not going to put my dog’s nose that’s on me all the time in some shit.) and then he runs away – embarrassed, scared, I don’t know.

Now I have this grown dog, who’s old enough to pick out which collar he wants to wear, and old enough to bring his dog dish to me when it’s empty, randomly pooping on my floor.

The only conclusion I can draw out of this whole pooping saga is that he’s still mad that he had to be a junkyard dog for a couple of weeks and couldn’t stretch out on the couch when he was ready for a nap. Because otherwise, nothing else makes sense.

for sale: one dog complete with ear infection

If ever there was a time Riley was going to eat my face off while I sleep, tonight would be the night.

I put taking Riley off to the vet for a couple of weeks. I was hoping his ear issues, mainly the fact that he scratches them so much he winds up with cuts behind his ears, would clear up on their own. They didn’t, so at the risk of sounding like I suffer from Munchausen syndrome, I called this morning to let them know I thought he had an ear infection. They knew who I was before I ever gave them Riley’s name and we wound up with a 4pm appointment.

One hour and $179 later (YEAH, I KNOW. MERRY CHRISTMAS, RILEY.), he has two different medication to treat the two different kinds of infections he has in both ears – yeast and bacteria. I shoved his oral medication down the back of his throat, which he hates quite a lot. And then it came time to clean out his ears with some "Medically Formulated Ear Cleanser" (which cost $30 for an 8 ounce bottle). I got three drops in his ear before he took off running across through my apartment, rubbing his ear on anything he could. More cleaning solution wound up on my pants then in my dog’s infected ear. Now he won’t come within 3 feet of me, so getting this in his ear could be interesting.

And when that’s done? I get to wait an hour and put some topical ointment inside his ear, too.

Edit: I just went to go find him and he’s hiding between the opposite side of my bed that we use and the wall. Albeit he’s sleeping, but this is a place where I’ve never seen him sleep before.