Sock + Ben = Sad Dog

Ben is recovering after having an adventure with one of Austin's socks this week. Namely, Ben ATE one of Austin's sock, and unlike Tucker's or Molly's socks (which he routinely eat), Austin's socks are large and it got stuck.

But, rest assured, with a one night stay at the vet, the sock passed through our valiant dog without surgery. The vet also took a picture of the amount of grass that Ben threw up after he arrived, apparently it was about 8 cups worth and completely astounding. You gotta give a dog kudos for being able to impress a vet with something like that, because usually they've seen it all.

The minute Ben got into the car on our way home, he grabbed a plastic bag and started eating it.

Will he never learn?

Happy Birthday, Ben!

My baby turned 11 years old today! I'm going to get a lot of flak for calling Ben "my baby" but he really was the original one--before Tucker, Molly, even Austin. To celebrate his birthday from now on, he's going to start turning a year younger so he can be with us at least another decade.

We celebrated by walking to the river on a long explore. Since the river was not frozen, Ben thought it would be a good idea to go swimming (I don't think he's ever not thought it was a good idea to go swimming), though icicles formed on his fur when he got out. He also found a deer jaw bone that he proudly carried back to the house while Tucker and I sang several rousing rounds of Happy Birthday to him.

This next picture is Ben waiting at our driveway. He waits there for me in the mornings when I'm out, and I find it totally endearing to see the yellow statue in the yard break into a trot when he sees us come into view. But in this picture, we're actually all at home and he's still waiting. He doesn't do this too often, but occasionally he sits at the base of the driveway, staring off into space with his soulful eyes, just waiting. At these times I think that he's taken up his station, waiting for his first master, my Uncle Brian, who passed on in 2004.

The smartest thing he's ever done... is just so dumb

Let me tell you about my dear Ben. So many adjectives describe him: faithful, handsome, yellowest of the yellow, passionate [about eating], ready to retrieve [sporadically].... One adjective that really is not where he excels: intelligence.

And so, let's talk about the smartest thing he has ever done.

Yesterday evening a wonderful saint from our church offered to watch Tucker and Molly so I could go to a Christmas party the same night that Austin needed to be at our church's vestry meeting. As our friend was pulling up, we lost electricity (with Tucker in the bath, of course).

Under the cloak of darkness, two frazzled parents failed to see that the playdoh was still on Tucker's table. Keep in mind Tucker hadn't actually been playing with the playdoh, and it wasn't technically even out; it was still safely enclosed in the ziplock bag that it had arrived in (a gift from Tucker's teachers), with two cookie cutters firmly lodged in its center. But it was at canine mouth height.

Fast forward four hours.

Ben's water bowl is strangely empty. He keeps needing to go outside. He drinks compulsively when we put water back into his bowl. And, oh yeah... where is that playdoh? No longer on the table.

Austin and I looked at each other with sinking hearts, hoping to spend the night sleeping in bed instead of either on the couch or at the emergency vet. The last time Ben ate playdoh, he ate only part of a batch, and it was not his finest moment nor our finest night. This time, the missing playdoh amounted to a batch and a half, with two plastic cookie cutters in the middle of it, encased in a plastic bag. The outlook for the night looked dim.

As we trudged up to find our toothbrushes and decide our next move, I saw it. A glorious ripped-open bag of pink glitter playdoh staining the couch in my office. I haven't been so excited to see such a gross mess in a long time. I looked at Ben with admiration and sheer joy at this strange new development in his character: self-control.

Ben has never, ever, ever failed to eat something that he could possibly get down his gullet. Socks. Plastic bags. Corn cobs. Dirt. Trash. Kleenex. Baby bibs. Playdoh. Whatever.

My heart swelled with pride that my 10 year-old dog finally said no, that even in the midst of the kill he could look at a bag of pink glitter playdoh with two plastic cookie cutters and think: maybe it is not in my best interest to eat all of this. It was epic.

Of course, he ate enough to have horrible diarrhea that required three passes at cleaning the kitchen floor this morning to make the area livable again. But at least we all got some sleep (and he didn't die of kidney failure or a digestive obstruction).

Dear Ben

I own the couch, not you. Glad we're clear on that. Now if you could just stop snorting at me when I sit down....

xox Mom

You are grounded

Ben is officially grounded for the next few weeks. We are confining him to the house with only supervised potty breaks and supervised outdoor time.

You may be wondering why he's lost his outside privileges. I have one word for you: dirt. The dog can't stop eating dirt.

Ben has always eaten everything, including occasionally munching on potting soil (always the store-bought kind) from our planters. But recently the combination of digging up the area for a patio behind our house and doing some grading around the foundation to improve drainage has proved too much for him. Ben has developed a taste for plain old red Virginia clay.

It may surprise you, but eating dirt all the time doesn't do good things to Ben's digestive system. Specifically, it does bad things to his digestive system that result in messy floors EVERY SINGLE morning. Yuck.

I hear it takes three weeks to form a new habit--I'm hoping it will only take three weeks of supervised potty breaks to form a new habit of not eating dirt. Silly dog.

P.S. FYI, I'm aware that new tastes for the inedible can be a sign of worms or dietary insufficiency so we're exploring those avenues, too, though with Ben's shiny coat and having never contracted worms in all these years of eating nastiness, I'd be surprised if those were the culprit.

Fruitivore

Tucker is a fruitivore. One of the most common things I hear in the kitchen now is, "Does Tucker want a mango?" (Tucker likes posing rhetorical questions.) One day last week I went to the store solo and bought some mangoes unbeknownst to Tucker. Tucker woke up from his rest time, came downstairs and he was like a bloodhound, he instantly knew there were mangoes in the house, even though they were completely out of sight (waiting to get ripe). We finally convinced him that they were not ripe and that we would have to wait for them to ripen... he ceased and desisted from his militant campaigning for one, but magically sensed the exact day (several days later) when they would be just barely soft enough to be able to convince us to give him one.

Recently Tucker went missing outside for a couple of minutes while Austin was working out. Austin found him behind the garden, picking raspberries on the outside of the garden fence. He has a knack for picking a berry and then holding it up to ask if it's ripe (by then, of course, the only answer we can give is "sure, why don't you eat it?"). Not that Tucker is super concerned with whether something is ripe or not. He definitely would eat all of the (still green) blueberries on the bushes in our garden if given the opportunity.

The lesson behind all this is that it's not possible to grow too much fruit, especially berries. The raspberries are on their way out, but the blackberries are about to start and it looks like it's a bumper crop. Unfortunately, Ben has learned that he has access to some of the berries if he peruses the garden fence near the berry patch... he may not be the smartest dog in the gene pool, but he is very committed to his causes.

Walking the Dog and Other Activities

Ben is such a good sport. (Except when he's gorging himself on old piles of seed for Austin's work and giving himself a bad tummy ache, and giving us BIG messes.) But otherwise, Ben really is a good sport. He lets Tucker walk him, and he doesn't pull on the leash with Tucker. With me, he may go after a good smell with some gusto, but he is really gentle with Tucker. In fact, sometimes Ben listens better than Tucker does, and so if they are going astray I can call Ben and Tucker will come along behind him with the leash. All in all, boy walking dog is pretty cute.


In other activities, we went to a little parade on Saturday. It was truly a tiny parade, but Tucker was absolutely delighted. He got a pencil and a few lollipops (all but one of which we promptly hid), and has been talking about it ever since. There were kids on bikes, a marching band, a fire truck... and that's about it.


Here's a random pic from the other weekend of Tucker serving Austin tea while Austin was trying to nap. He also likes to pick flowers and give them to us--the other day he picked flowers and brought them upstairs and put one on each of our pillows. Awwwww.

Hello, Nalu

For those of you who really like pictures of cute puppies, I highly recommend my brother's new blog, chronicling life with their new golden retriever. Nalu is just about 9 weeks old and absolutely adorable, of course. Plus, Mike and Kat are really good photographers, so it adds to the enjoyment immensely.

Nalu's Hairball Blog:
http://hairballblog.tumblr.com/

More doggy indiscretions

For some obscure reason, I'm very tired tonight. Oh wait, I know why: I spent a good portion of last night up with a dog with severe gastrointestinal distress.

It amazes me that Ben has made to age 10 with the complete lack of sense he exhibits around what he puts in his stomach (I was tempted to say "complete lack of sense around food" but really, the problem is mostly non-food items that end up in his stomach).

The story: Our washing machine was particularly thorough yesterday and in the middle of its spinning cycle the container of doggy supplements that Ben takes for his arthritis that was on top of it fell down onto the floor. Somehow in the process the top of the container got knocked off.

Did I notice? Nope. Did Ben notice? Yep.

I had the sense to investigate his disappearance and halted his binge through the doggy supplement container, but only after he had made it halfway through. That's right: less than 60 of the 120 bits of goodness were left, and it had only been opened a few days ago. Keep in mind the max serving a day for a dog his weight is about 5.

He did fine for a few hours until he started to drink a lot of water. Not a huge surprise because the supplements definitely smell salty (they're more like little doggy cookies than pills), and we had already experienced the playdoh effect first hand (in which he begs for water, we have to ration it every 15 minutes or so to prevent him drinking himself to death, and he pees all night long).

But then, when we were going to bed, he started needing to go outside to be sick and do his business. Urgently. A lot. At this point I googled if it was possible to overdose on those tablets, and one vet said it wasn't, because the animal just pees out the excess. Another vet said you should get them to throw up and then give them activated charcoal to absorb and toxins.

Well, the throwing up part had already been taken care of very thoroughly be Mother Nature so I did the activated charcoal bit (soaked in a little applesauce apparently makes them very pleasing to the doggy palate). Not sure it really mattered, as everything came up again within the hour.

Ben and I had lovely quality time on the couch last night, dozing in between letting him out every 20 minutes or so and getting him more water until the worst had passed. Ah, what good times... and I hope they won't ever be repeated. Please, Ben?

Another storm

Yesterday afternoon, the whole family was outside preparing for yet another snowstorm. I was breaking up ice on the driveway so at least we were starting with a decent base for this new 22-28" accumulation (estimates of which are now increasing!).

Tucker was helping Austin bring kindling and firewood onto the porch to keep our stove going and our kitchen toasty. As he was going up the stairs, carrying a stick we heard him narrating his actions, saying "Here comes a logging truck!" or something to that effect.

Pretty cute.

Ben and Tucker continue to act like siblings. At mealtimes Ben tries to get Tucker's dropped food and will push Tucker's chair around, and Tucker gets really mad and yells for me to make Ben stop. Ben tries to steal toys, mittens, ANYTHING out of Tucker's hand, and Tucker pulls right back. When Ben does have a non-dog item in his mouth, Tucker gets very indignant and insists I right the wrongs of the world.

Today, Ben was having a ball outside (I think he truly loves the snow--he goes out in it every other minute during storms) and turned into a snow wolf, meaning he got really excited and started running around like a crazy dog. He picked up some big sticks and ran around with them, then lay down to eat them more thoroughly. When he was done, Tucker went over to one of the sticks and bent over and tried to eat it too. I wish I could've gotten that on video

Winter in Vermont... I mean, Virginia

We woke up yesterday morning and it was 0 degrees out, and had 10 inches of new snowy powder on the ground. Just so you know, we live in Virginia, not Vermont!!!! ZERO??? Why do you think I moved to Virginia in the first place? Today it was a balmy five degrees when we woke up.

Tucker did pretty well in the snow yesterday, once we figured out how to keep the snow from going in his boots. When Ben goes off romping through the snow, Tucker thinks it looks like so much fun that he tries, too. Unfortunately, deep snow LOOKS like more fun to Tucker than it actually is, and he usually trips and falls into it and then gets upset.

Ben, on the other hand, turned into a snow wolf several times yesterday. If you scroll down you can see him staring at us from inside the garden. Apparently one area of the garden fence has come down, and Ben figured it out and got inside the garden--and then couldn't get out. He waited there for at least 15 minutes until one of us came outside to let him out the garden gate.

Happy Birthday, Ben!

My dashing boy turned ten two days ago, and I forgot to blog about this pivotal milestone in his life. Ben has taken going into the double digits with his typical grace and panache (he is snoring on the couch as I type). He isn't even harboring a grudge about the lack of birthday cake. What a guy.

Here's to at least ten more, old buddy!

Dear Ben

I'm sorry you object to wearing the invisible fence collar, and that you feel it is not enriching your life. However, when you disappear for hours on end and come back with large, grocery-store bought apples in your mouth, I get suspicious that you are not respecting our property boundaries.

Additionally, you are tawny like a deer and I would like you to live through deer season. Please have some sense.

xox Mom

The dog ate the gutter... really

We had some of the gutters on our house replaced today in the hopes of actually being able to keep the water out of our basement, and out of the wall in our bedroom. (They even found and patched a hole in the roof that was so big they could stick their finger through it!)

So, it was one of those necessary but not fun projects. Until Ben decided to have some fun.

Apparently one of the guys was on the roof, and the other guy was holding a downspout when they heard the gutter machine turn on in reverse and start chewing up some of the gutter material they had brought. They turned around and a very surprised Ben was turning tail and running from the machine. It turns out he managed to turn on the gutter machine with his nose! It was not a completely simple switch, so this is quite the accomplishment. The workmen were shocked... in all their years on the job the worst havoc a dog has wreaked (till now) was running away with their hammer.

Thankfully, Ben's antics only ripped up 3' of gutter, and they were able to finish the job today with inches to spare.

Benny, you look dashing

I just finished up a beginning sewing class (thanks, Mom!). I actually already sew and have made lots of different things... but never officially learned, and decided it was time. Time to learn how to sew straight, how to follow patterns, how to do things right. You're only supposed to break the rules after you learn them, which is why my projects sometimes turn out quite wonky: I cut the wrong corners.

It took me two classes to learn the antidote to all my sewing problems: 1) wash the fabric first 2) iron the fabric before beginning and after each step 3) cut things out precisely rather than just ripping the fabric to approximate size 4) make sure you have the right equipment for the job (you really do need different type of feet for your sewing machine for different types of fabrics, and different tasks) 5) pin things to keep them in place. These "little" things really do matter, it turns out.

So, here's a picture of the reversible apron I made, modeled by St. Benedict the Great. Incidentally, I don't think he was thrilled by the apron, but he'll do anything for a belly rub.

The apron actually looks much sillier on me. It has a gathered waist band that accentuates the waist (just the thing a gal is looking for), and besides, who wears an apron these days? Not me... it would take more than an apron to keep my clothes clean around a toddler.

My next projects are to make Ben a new dog bed cover, to tailor a pair of pants, hem a dress... and after that, maybe try something fun?

Playdoh = Playdog?

No. Playdoh does NOT equal a playing dog. We learned this first hand last night when Ben ate some of Tucker's playdoh. It didn't seem like a lot--maybe half a cup? Remember, Ben has eaten lots of terrible things. Playdoh didn't even register on my radar screen as being a problem.

And then he started compulsively drinking water. Playdoh is not toxic, but it is almost pure salt. He went through two full bowls of water, drinking continuously for 10 minutes. We couldn't let him outside because it had just rained and there were puddles everywhere that he was tempted to drain as well.

I always worry about bloat, which can kill a dog in a matter of hours and is often caused by excessive drinking/eating in a short time period. We limited Ben's access to a couple cups of water every 15 minutes or so (which is, of course, still a lot of water). He stared us down between those intervals, begging us to relent and give his parched body just a drop more.

His "parched" body of course needed to pee approximately every three minutes, he had so much water in him. So Austin was up till midnight on doggy duty (well, really, watching Duke get pounded in the round of 16 of the NCAA basketball tournament). And then I came down and slept on the couch so I could ration the water and open the door for Ben's potty breaks.

Thankfully, Ben is none the worse for wear now, and seems to have enjoyed his middle of the night snuggling. I, on the other hand, am a bit tired.

I don't like forwards, but this pic takes the cake...

This is courtesy of a forward from Diana Coleman. I hope one day to take a pic of Tucker and Ben sleeping like this!!

Camo dog

If you look underneath the tree, you can see Ben, skillfully practicing his art of camouflage as he stalks his prey.

Yeah, I'm laughing too. (If you've never met Ben, his most endearing traits are neither his speed nor his stealth.)

But, what he does enjoy doing is finding deer bones and chewing on them to his heart's content in the floodplain, which is what he's doing in the picture.

The vet recently complimented Ben on his clean teeth from all that chewing. The moral of the story: if you want good teeth when you're 9, treat yourself to lots of deer bones.

Entitlement

There has been an erosion of discipline in our household, and I don't mean with Tucker. It's the dog. About six months ago I invited him on the couch in my office. I didn't do it behind Austin's back, as I wasn't trying to hide it, but I definitely didn't mention it first.

It took about a month before he noticed. He even stuck his head in my office once or twice during that period and didn't make any remarks about the dog on the couch. Apparently, he overlooked it, it looked so natural, because when it did register, it turns out he did have opinions.

And I value his opinions. That's why I'm getting him a nice overstuffed chair for when he wants to read in this room, and feels the couch is too dog-contaminated to read on. Because there is nothing (okay, well few things better) than napping with a warm puppy in front of the fire. Snuggling with Ben on the couch is a wonderful luxury for me, and I'm willing to make some sacrifices for that privilege. Sacrifices like having to clean and de-hair the couch every week, and having sheets draped over the couch. Stuff like that.

Of course, Ben is only allowed on one side of the couch, the side with the off-white sheet on it (chosen to color-coordinate with a yellow lab). When he was allowed up on the couch for the first time, the one-side-of-the-couch arrangement was made perfectly clear.

Unfortunately, he prefers the other side of the couch. Is it because it smells more like me? Is it a power trip? Is he pushing the limits and testing boundaries?

Austin has a word for it: entitlement. But cute too.

"Fifteen pacifiers found in dog's stomach"

David just sent me a link to this blog where Lulu the 2 year old dog ate 15 pacifiers before her owners figured out where all their daughter's pacifiers were going.

Have I mentioned that our pacifiers routinely disappear as well? This story makes me nervous. Please, Ben, no more surgery!

http://arbroath.blogspot.com/2009/01/fifteen-pacifiers-found-in-dogs-stomach.html