You know what else comes in twos?
June 1, 2011
Dog vomit. I’m not kidding. Almost every time I’ve cleaned up dog puke, the dog has done it twice, and usually inside a span of a minute or two.
Indy just threw up, and it was entirely bile. Every last ounce was bile, except for an almost-new Heartgard tablet:
Now, to some of you, this post is gross*. For those of you who have pets/kids or have ever gone on a whiskey bender, this is not such a gross post. It’s not like I’m actually posting dog puke photos.
Anyway, here’s the thing about this most recent puking incident: I fed him that tablet with breakfast.
WHERE IS THE REST OF THE FOOD? WHY IS THAT THE ONLY THING LEFT?
And, yes, in case you were wondering, I rinsed it off, broke it in half, and fed him a piece, which he gladly inhaled. He’ll get the second half with dinner tonight.
*UPDATE* – He threw that half up, all broken up and in tiny pieces, on the rug at the front door. <sarcasm>I guess it’s a good thing I stepped on it, barefoot, before Bea came home. </sarcasm>
*I know it’s weird to dust off Ye Olde Blog with a story about dog vomit, but really. What were you expecting? It’s me.
Maximum Capacity
January 5, 2011
Disclaimer: the number in this post isn’t what bothers me. I don’t want to hear bitching about numbers (mine especially or yours), unless you’re unhappy about yours and want to do something about it.
I hopped on the scale recently (something I’ve never owned before, and still rarely step on), the other day, and saw a number that was new to me: 167.5.
This is the most I’ve ever weighed, topping my post-Katrina expansion. And I don’t really care about that, because it’s all relative. I don’t care that I weigh that, I care that my BMI is high. I also care that I wasn’t able to button a pair of pants.
The problem is I have become sedentary. I’m traditionally used to a much more active lifestyle, and that just isn’t happening these days. Between the day job, the design/development LLC that Bea and I formed, the housework, and the less-than-happy knees, I just haven’t been exercising. And I /need/ to. I want to.
I just have to make the time. And I am. My friends Chum Dumpster and Everything Butt Sex have been meeting up at NOMA M-W-F at 6am-ish to run 5k. Chum and EBS are hashers who have been concentrating on the drinking part of hashing over the running part. While they run a slower pace than I do, they’re doing the hard part: getting up and doing it. This is what I need. So, Mondays I plan on bringing one dog, and Friday the other, leaving Wednesdays to myself. The pups need exercise too, especially chubby little Indy.
And as for the knees/etc, I’ve already taken the first step, so to speak: I went to the Louisiana Running Co to get fitted for a new pair of shoes: K-Swiss K-Ona C. They’re meshy on top and drain out of the bottom! THE BOTTOM! I really liked that place, too. Just a two-person startup, and I didn’t feel like I was being “sold to” – he just wanted to help me run how I wanted to (no races / half-marathons / full marathons). I definitely recommend them.
Now, obviously running won’t fix the problem alone. I have plans to mountain bike (at least a few laps at the spillway) every few weeks, and do Wii Fit on an almost daily basis.
There are of course dietary concerns, and all I’m going to say is that I’m already making a concerted effort to eat better, and especially cut out as much high fructose corn syrup / crap foods overall. I also understand that it’s just not practical to go whole-hog on that effort, so it’ll be within reason. The last thing I want to is stress out about what I’m eating. If you are (or if you aren’t) familiar with the next handful of months in NOLA, then you should read Pistolette’s excellent rationalization on eating and goals in NOLA.
And as usual, she has inspired Bea and I with our life this year. We have a list of goals, broken down into months, for the year. We’re gonna get a lot of shit done that we’ve been putting off. We’re tired of a project being 85% done.
Where’s the Oil? Oh, There it is.
September 7, 2010
This past Friday, Bea and I packed up the 4Runner with both the dogs, a bunch of food and booze, and met up with the inlaws in Gulf Shores for a nice relaxing weekend.
And for the most part, it was just that. Here’s Sunday, in photo form:
When we got to the beach, Bosceaux, well, I don’t know what the hell he thought was going on but he barked at the waves while Indy stayed well away from them:
Eventually he got over it, and actually got in, a bit:
But then, we found oil. This is one of the bigger pieces I found, and these tarballs were all over the place:
We found other traces of petroleum byproducts quite easily too:
This only reminded me to keep Boz from drinking the water:
There were a decent amount of people out. All I know is that if those were my kids, they wouldn’t be in the water.
Platforms and barges decorated the horizon:
On the way back, Indy wasn’t walking on his right front paw and Bea decided to carry him. I decided to check his paw, and removed the burr:
Overall though, the weather was beautiful:
Not all the local wildlife was dead though – this crab had a lot of fight in him:
A couple of miles on the beach is a bit of a workout though. Always remember: a tired dog is a good dog:
Indy, the “Heartworm Kid”
July 13, 2010
Last November, my friends Jason and Sarah rescued a starving, dirty, smelly, but utterly lovable from the street and named him “Stinky”. After posting up pictures to his blog, we dropped by Sarah’s house the very next day (Thanksgiving Day) to take a look at him and introduce him to Boz – our dog to which he bore a striking resemblance.
After 3 more days at her house, and then 7 at Zeus’ Place, we brought him home and named him “Indy”, and I got the feeling that I’d have a lot of good memories of this dog. Thankfully, Bosceaux and Indy became fast friends – these photos are from his first or second night with us:
When February rolled around, it was checkup time for Boz, so I brought Indy in too. What we discovered though, was that Indy had a severe case of heart worms, and the treatment wouldn’t be cheap. We decided that he was due this shot after being treated so poorly, and went along with the treatment.
From what I understand, the treatment for heartworms isn’t exactly fun, easy, or painless. The treatment starts with an injection of an arsenic-based drug. Really. When the first step is an arsenic injection, the entire treatment can’t be fun. The problem is, that kills a lot of the heartworms, but since they’re in the heart and the arteries and veins, where do the dead worms go?
If you guessed that the host’s system has to absorb the flood of dead worms, you’re right. I can’t even imagine the strain that puts on a body. And when you add to the already stressed body the fact that when they die, the bacteria inside the worms get released and the immune system has to deal with that, it begins to sound like much less of a party.
Roughly two weeks into the treatment, Indy started coughing very early in the morning, and wouldn’t stop. I got up to check on him, and noticed he was coughing up bright red blood – fresh from the lungs, not the stomach. When he wasn’t coughing blood, he was wheezing.
After a long and expensive weekend at Southern Veterinary Specialists that involved many hours in an oxygen cage and eventually a blood transfusion, I got this photo from Bea:
That photo was taken and he came home the day before the Superbowl – I guess he was our own little good luck charm. A week or two later, Indy was back at the vet for his second – yes, second – heartworm shot, and then back on kennel lockdown for a month to keep his heart rate down. It wasn’t until we got back from our honeymoon that he had served his time and was allowed to play again.
That was a happy day.
Today, I took them both for their regular checkup – Indy’s first since the last heartworm shot. The “Heartworm Kid” came back from the vet with a clean bill of health. No heartworms.
At one point in the animal ICU, we’d given up on him. It was a very difficult decision especially considering that we’d had him for such a short amount of time, but you don’t choose dogs – they choose you. Every day since that impossible morning at the ICU, this little dog has put a smile on my face, and I’m glad we made the hard to decision to save him. Twice.
We’ve designed buttons and magnets to help recoup the cost of the heartworm treatments and the weekend in ICU – so if you want to buy some or just donate, then I thank you for helping to Save Indy!
Dog Fighting
July 3, 2010
Bad luck wind been blowin’ on my back
I was born to bring trouble wherever I’m at
– Danzig, 13
Some days, you look for a fight. Other days, fights look for you.
I took Indy and Bosceaux to the new dog park in City Park today. To make a short story shorter, Indy decided to pick a fight with a Great Dane (a fight Indy was winning, I’d like to point out) and we left early.
Not even five steps outside the dog park, an old drunk guy asks me to swipe my magnetic card to let him in. After living in the Quarter for so long, I instinctively replied with “Sorry man, no can do.”
Apparently, no can do would not do. This old guy lost it, started yelling at me. He had a clear plastic go cup half filled (empty?) with a brown colored liquid – in all likelihood it was booze.
To make a middle-length story short, he yelled things like “faggot queen” at me, then proceded to get in his car and block me in so I couldn’t leave. Well, fuck that shit – I just called the cops – but by the time the City Park Police came by, he was gone. After giving the officer the license plate and a description of the guy, his dog, and his car, he took off and so did I. I did call NOPD first, but since I couldn’t give them an address or street corner, I was S.O.L.
I kept my distance from him at all times though – nothing takes the fun out of a fight as much as having your opponent be a drunk septuagenarian. The whole drive home though, I couldn’t let something go. I kept mulling over what it was he called me, and whether it was better to be a “queen faggot” or “faggot queen.”
I’d rather be the Faggot Queen with a fabulous army.