I am so traumatized tonight I cannot bring myself to muster up the energy to find a picture to post. Work was so-so. Nothing there. I did have that wonderful check-up after lunch today that women get where they smash your breasts between plates of cold steel. Yep. It could have started then, I suppose.
I come home and again, not much to harp about.
The new boxer was playing with the puppies. The puppies are getting a bit bigger and want to uh...want to err... show the boxer who is the alpha dog, I guess is the best way to describe it. Well, Chong does since he matures a week or two quicker than Cheech. Chong has been going to town since we got the boxer and he is leaving poor Cheech's head alone. Cheech is relieved, I suppose.
The boxer barely gives Chong a second glance while he humps away. He probably adds to the horseplay with flipping him around from time to time.
I scooted Chong off of the poor boxer's leg for the umpteenth time and Chong kept crying. I thought he got stuck between the chair and the fan and he yelped. He kept twisting around trying to lick himself.
I looked closer. "What is the matter with you?" I asked him. He twisted again and yelped. I got a closer look. Oh, good grief. He was uh... it was err... well, it was out there and it wasn't going back in.
I have to admit, I really didn't know what to do for him. Should I blow on it? Oh good grief, Peruby! But really? What do you do? I picked him up and took him to the bathroom and shut the door for some privacy. The other dogs were not helping us.
I ran warm water in the bathroom sink and sat him down in it trying to get him to relax. He seemed to really like this feeling and did not squirm. We sat there until the water got cold. It didn't help. I wrapped him in two big fluffy towels and turned to Google. It even has a name.
Some of the sites said to rub Vaseline on his extrusion. I called my vet. She was gone but the receptionist was there. She asked the other lady and she said to rub Vaseline on it.
Back to the bathroom. I got my old jar of Vaseline out and picked up a good glob. Was thing going to hurt? I looked at Chong. "Sorry" I said. I dabbed some here, some there. Nothing. Oh, how about the base? I applied some to the base. It was all red and looked like it was bleeding. Zip. In it went like a flash. Wow! It works! I was so relieved. Maybe not as much as Chong, but I was relieved. I called the vet back (it took all of 45 seconds) and thanked them and told them it worked.
I wrapped him back up in the warm towels and held him while I sat on the couch. He slipped off into dreamland all warm and snug. After about 15 minutes he wanted his brother, they snuggled, I covered them and they went back to sleep.
Oh, you think that was it? Ha, ha!
My daughter came home. I reminded her it was the last day of August and to get the $2 off per gallon of gasoline from our grocery store points, we needed to go today. She drove her car, I drove mine. Her boyfriend mows our grass and he said we should take both our gas cans and fill them. I thought that was a good idea, so I grabbed our good plastic container and an older one that I had not used in ages. It didn't have a lid, but a long spout.
We filled my daughter's car up. The attendant told me I couldn't fill two cars up. Only one. I didn't mind. I said "Sorry. I didn't know." She was very nice about it. "Can I fill my gas cans up?" She said sure. I filled them. I put them in the back hatch of my car and drove off. The first turn I heard a thump. I immediately pulled over and opened the hatch. Gas was pouring out of that old gas container all over the back of my trunk. I could smell it everywhere. I picked it up and cursed under my breath. Great! Just Great!
I got home and my garage door would not open. I began banging it on my steering wheel, enraged by the gas fumes consuming me. The little insides of the opener slipped out and I didn't notice the garage door open. I put the opener back together and pushed the button. The door began closing. Ack! I screamed. I pushed and pushed, but the stupid door would not open back up. The gasoline fumes were really starting to get to me now! I became livid.
I shut off the car. Got my keys to open the side door to the garage so I could open the door for my car with the opener attached to the wall. It opened. I pulled my car in and opened my door. It crashed against something metal and I didn't care what it was. I began slamming my car door against the metal again and again and again. I was full of rage. I hate this smell!
Finally, I stopped. I picked up the metal (old bars from one of my daughter's old boyfriend's trampolines) and almost flung it against my car. My senses were beginning to get the better of me and I tossed them off to the side. I grabbed those gas cans and sat them off to the side.
I reached in and tried to pull the carpet away from the back of the hatch but it was all connected. I ran inside and knocked poor Sable over (she is always laying in front of the door). She almost fell down the basement steps. I grabbed a bucket of warm soapy water and some rags. And then I saw it.
Folks, the honeymoon is over.
There between the kitchen and the dining room were shreds of my carpet. Bare wood peeked up from the corner door frame. The rage boiled back up again. "Who did this?!" I screamed. Dogs ran every which way to get away from me. I stomped my foot. "Who did this?!" The smell from the gasoline was making me act like I was on some kind of bad drug trip.
I grabbed the bucket of sudsy water and flew outside to try and wash out the gasoline smell from my car. The fumes were overwhelming. I washed the carpet. I pulled out the chintzy piece of plywood that separates the carpet from the spare donut tire. I washed and I washed, but that gasoline smell consumed me.
I was in such a rage. I threw the rags, I threw the bucket. Soap was everywhere. I left the hatch open so that the car could air out. I turned out all the lights, closed all the garage doors and calmly now, walked back into the house. I had to calm down.
The dogs were excited. They were hungry. The needed to go outside. Somehow I kept it all together. I took them outside. The new boxer did nothing. I brought them all back in. I fed them. I watered them. I cleaned up the shredded carpet. I did not cry. I am not a crier.
I took the boxer out for a second time by himself. I walked him around the block. Twice. I needed the cool evening air to clear my head. My foot was killing me. I was glad it was dark so the neighbors could not see me limping. He still did nothing. We went back inside. I cleaned up the puppy pee pads and put new ones down. I sprayed Febreeze.
My head is swimming. I am drinking cool ice water. I cannot get rid of the gasoline smell to save my life. I put my clothes into the dirty clothes basket and took it down to the basement. I washed my hands and arms about seven times. It remains with me. All the dogs are sleeping. The cats are hiding. There are two cats that I have not seen since the day after we brought the boxer in.
I think I now know why he was abandoned. The separation anxiety can be a killer. I went through it with Sable. I'll get medicine if those nice folks don't want to take him. He will grow out of it I suppose.
Well, my head is still swimming and I think I will call it a day before the headache has a chance to hit me.
I ran warm water in the bathroom sink and sat him down in it trying to get him to relax. He seemed to really like this feeling and did not squirm. We sat there until the water got cold. It didn't help. I wrapped him in two big fluffy towels and turned to Google. It even has a name.
Some of the sites said to rub Vaseline on his extrusion. I called my vet. She was gone but the receptionist was there. She asked the other lady and she said to rub Vaseline on it.
Back to the bathroom. I got my old jar of Vaseline out and picked up a good glob. Was thing going to hurt? I looked at Chong. "Sorry" I said. I dabbed some here, some there. Nothing. Oh, how about the base? I applied some to the base. It was all red and looked like it was bleeding. Zip. In it went like a flash. Wow! It works! I was so relieved. Maybe not as much as Chong, but I was relieved. I called the vet back (it took all of 45 seconds) and thanked them and told them it worked.
I wrapped him back up in the warm towels and held him while I sat on the couch. He slipped off into dreamland all warm and snug. After about 15 minutes he wanted his brother, they snuggled, I covered them and they went back to sleep.
Oh, you think that was it? Ha, ha!
My daughter came home. I reminded her it was the last day of August and to get the $2 off per gallon of gasoline from our grocery store points, we needed to go today. She drove her car, I drove mine. Her boyfriend mows our grass and he said we should take both our gas cans and fill them. I thought that was a good idea, so I grabbed our good plastic container and an older one that I had not used in ages. It didn't have a lid, but a long spout.
We filled my daughter's car up. The attendant told me I couldn't fill two cars up. Only one. I didn't mind. I said "Sorry. I didn't know." She was very nice about it. "Can I fill my gas cans up?" She said sure. I filled them. I put them in the back hatch of my car and drove off. The first turn I heard a thump. I immediately pulled over and opened the hatch. Gas was pouring out of that old gas container all over the back of my trunk. I could smell it everywhere. I picked it up and cursed under my breath. Great! Just Great!
I got home and my garage door would not open. I began banging it on my steering wheel, enraged by the gas fumes consuming me. The little insides of the opener slipped out and I didn't notice the garage door open. I put the opener back together and pushed the button. The door began closing. Ack! I screamed. I pushed and pushed, but the stupid door would not open back up. The gasoline fumes were really starting to get to me now! I became livid.
I shut off the car. Got my keys to open the side door to the garage so I could open the door for my car with the opener attached to the wall. It opened. I pulled my car in and opened my door. It crashed against something metal and I didn't care what it was. I began slamming my car door against the metal again and again and again. I was full of rage. I hate this smell!
Finally, I stopped. I picked up the metal (old bars from one of my daughter's old boyfriend's trampolines) and almost flung it against my car. My senses were beginning to get the better of me and I tossed them off to the side. I grabbed those gas cans and sat them off to the side.
I reached in and tried to pull the carpet away from the back of the hatch but it was all connected. I ran inside and knocked poor Sable over (she is always laying in front of the door). She almost fell down the basement steps. I grabbed a bucket of warm soapy water and some rags. And then I saw it.
Folks, the honeymoon is over.
There between the kitchen and the dining room were shreds of my carpet. Bare wood peeked up from the corner door frame. The rage boiled back up again. "Who did this?!" I screamed. Dogs ran every which way to get away from me. I stomped my foot. "Who did this?!" The smell from the gasoline was making me act like I was on some kind of bad drug trip.
I grabbed the bucket of sudsy water and flew outside to try and wash out the gasoline smell from my car. The fumes were overwhelming. I washed the carpet. I pulled out the chintzy piece of plywood that separates the carpet from the spare donut tire. I washed and I washed, but that gasoline smell consumed me.
I was in such a rage. I threw the rags, I threw the bucket. Soap was everywhere. I left the hatch open so that the car could air out. I turned out all the lights, closed all the garage doors and calmly now, walked back into the house. I had to calm down.
The dogs were excited. They were hungry. The needed to go outside. Somehow I kept it all together. I took them outside. The new boxer did nothing. I brought them all back in. I fed them. I watered them. I cleaned up the shredded carpet. I did not cry. I am not a crier.
I took the boxer out for a second time by himself. I walked him around the block. Twice. I needed the cool evening air to clear my head. My foot was killing me. I was glad it was dark so the neighbors could not see me limping. He still did nothing. We went back inside. I cleaned up the puppy pee pads and put new ones down. I sprayed Febreeze.
My head is swimming. I am drinking cool ice water. I cannot get rid of the gasoline smell to save my life. I put my clothes into the dirty clothes basket and took it down to the basement. I washed my hands and arms about seven times. It remains with me. All the dogs are sleeping. The cats are hiding. There are two cats that I have not seen since the day after we brought the boxer in.
I think I now know why he was abandoned. The separation anxiety can be a killer. I went through it with Sable. I'll get medicine if those nice folks don't want to take him. He will grow out of it I suppose.
Well, my head is still swimming and I think I will call it a day before the headache has a chance to hit me.
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