an attempt at optimism

I've been trying to come up with something upbeat, happy, or just plain witty to post. It's been a challenge. I could gush about my husband, who is hands down the best thing that's happened to me since potty training. But it's hard to do that and not just get braggadocious.

At the risk of being a total weinie, here's my happy post:

To you, this may just look like evidence that our animals do in fact rule our household.
To me, there are five distinct things about this picture that make me happy:
1. My animals. (2/3 of them at least). I love them more than I think I probably should.
2. My animals getting along. Not just cohabitating, but actually seeking each other out.
3. No flash used in this picture, folks. That's actual sunshine coming through the windows. Isn't it glorious?
4. It's a picture of my favorite pastime - sleep. Not just sleep, but napping. Talk about glorious.
5. My husband-of-the-year snapped this picture while he was home cleaning the house. That includes dusting and laundry. Who could ask for more?

Anterior Uveitis

Dodger's eyes swelled shut last night. Now he can barely keep them open in a lit room. The doctor diagnosed him with with Anterior Uveitis. It's fairly common, hard to prevent and can have any one of the following causes:

• Metabolic
• Neoplastic
• Immune mediated
• infectious
• traumatic
• miscellaneous

He falls under the miscellaneous category.
So... basically they just medicate him for all of the above, hope for the best, and see what happens.

Bottom line? We just paid for a diagnosis of "swollen eyelids."

I shoulda been a vet.

I can do it

Here's a secret: I'm intimidated by dog trainers.

Here's a brief description of my stereotypes of dog trainers:

• They like their dog better than you
• They're not afraid to tell you so
• If your dog isn't obedient, it's your fault
• the fact that the world doesn't accept dogs everywhere is your fault because of that one time when you didn't have a plastic bag and had to leave the turd in the park
• They're blunt
• They're kind of rude
• They're loud
• (They're really beautiful people who just may not approach human relationships the same way you do.)
• They're more disciplined than me
• They're not scared of saying no - to you or the dog
• They're in the same category of my brain as 'drill sergeant."

So when Keith announced his intention of volunteering at church tonight instead of going to Dodger's first day of school, I panicked a bit.

When I was almost 12 years old, I was bit in the face by my dog. He was a Christmas present for me - I had been begging for him since I was six. My parents rescued him from a home where he was abused. They knew only that he had been "picked on." He bit me on Valentine's Day. I had a half day of school that day and my dad, who worked third shift, was napping while I was watching TV. The dog was asleep in the bathroom. I crawled across the living room floor to sneek up on the 2 year old sleeping cocker spaniel. I spooked him. He reacted. I went immediately into shock. No tears, no pain, and I believed, no lower lip.

I took the handtowel and held it to my face. I woke up my dad. He laid me down on the bed and took off the towel. Then he turned white. Then he called my mom. Then he took me to the emergency room. Then they called a plastic surgeon. Then my mom arrived. Then she said, "He won't be there when you get home - be ready for that." And then I cried. Then she promised to wait to decide what to do with him.

3 layers of stitches later, we left the hospital. The dog was in the basement. He stayed there until I got my stitches out a week later. Then we went to the doggy psychologist. Then we went to the vet to have him neutered. And then we went to obedience school. See, the psychologist said that when my mom called, he had "no hope" for the animal. Cockers are biters and biters never learn. But he spent over an hour with our dog and was convinced he was a sweet animal who was (I'll never forget this word) "redeemable."

I'm old enough now that I can imagine the hell my parents caught for their decision to work with him instead of killing him. But back then, all I knew was that it was important for me to redeem him and to do that, I had to go to obedience class.

I was scared to death. Had a stomach ache every Thursday for 9 weeks. At the end of it, I had a best friend. He died the summer I graduated from high school. We had a good run. I don't regret it at all. I respect my parents for it. My mom told me just recently she learned about courage from me in that season. It was a significant benchmark that I have long since forgotten.

But it came back. Last week's informational meeting with Dodger's teacher brought me right back to that gym 15 years ago. My blood pressure rose a bit. I sat up straight. I scoped everyone out, looking for someone else who was maybe a little bit nervous. I got nothing.

That's because it shouldn't be a big deal. We decided to go to obedience class now not because our dog is out of control, but because we want to meet people in Holland. We don't go to church here or school here and we both work in the same office. And there were a few young couples in the calss who looked as cool as us. This will be fun.

I just needed to tell myself that.

The proverbial worm

He might be dang cute, but this frickin' dog has an affinity for cat cookies.
Whether he finds them in the yard, on a walk, or in our cat box, he's often hiding a "special treat" in his mouth. At home, he gets the tell-tale sandy lips. On walks, he's pretty good about "drop it." But in the yard, I've pulled more than one stinky tootsie roll out of the dog's mouth.

TMI?

It's my blog. I can.

Here's where I was going with this...
Just one sentence.
Wisdom gained by spending the whole day at home with the "kids."

The only thing worse than finding poop in the cat box is finding half a poop in the cat box.

The End.

First Hair Cut

I hope I'm this camera-happy when I have a human child...
But c'mon - check out that 'stach!

He'll never be a man

I sure am glad you only neuter a dog once in a lifetime.
Dodger is about as pathetic as I've ever seen.
Most of his baby teeth fell out this week.
And he had the "snip" today.
His brain is totally awake, but he doesn't totally have all of his hind end feeling back. He's kind of like Bambi on ice tonight.
And the poor little guy is big into hygiene, but licking isn't allowed.
Thus the cone.
Two weeks in this thing.
So sad.

Brotha

Our neighbors across the street bought Dodger's biological brother.
This is gonna be fun.
More updates to follow by my slacker self.

I have an announcement to make

The Hogan family just got cuter.

Meet Dodger.

He's an 8 week old Goldendoodle. His mom's a golden retriever, his dad a poodle. He's supposed to grow up with the retriever temperament and the hypoallergenic hair of a poodle. In other words, he's supposed to be the perfect dog. So far, so good.


We got him last Thursday. Keith saw an ad in the Sunday classifieds for doodle puppies at a quarter of the price we've seen them everywhere else. They're a fairly new "designer breed", so I've been reluctant to really fall for the doodle idea because of the cost. Besides, there are tons of homeless dogs, right? Not so fast... we've been getting screwed by rescue facilities. They just don't do customer service. We were shopping on Petfinder and finding all kinds of dogs. We applied, never heard back, and the dog cost as much as these puppies.

So we drove 2 hours north with cash in hand. I was convinced we were headed to a puppy mill - that our evening would end with no puppy, a broken heart, and a trip to the "authorities" to report the racket.
Instead we ended up in an Amish community.
That's right - not only is Dodger from a farm in the sticks, he doesn't even really speak English.
It was great - their animals were clean, healthy and beautiful. And I don't mind at all handing money over to a family with nine kids.

Here's a recap of his first few days:
He slept most of the way home - it was another 2 hours back.

Once we got him home we gave him a bath. We didn't bargain for more than one critter.

On Friday he met "Grandma Johnson" and she turned him to mush.

He kind of looks like his "uncle Sammy"

On Saturday he slept through his entire Vet appointment. Even when they took his temperature from you know where.

On Sunday, he spent all day at my parents while Keith and I worked the CRC 150 anniversary at the Van Andel. Don't we look cool?

And the cats? He's just getting to know them. Phoebe couldn't care less, unless he's running and then she gets scared. Charlie's still not talking to us.


He promises to be a fun addition to our little family.
And I promise to you that this blog will not turn into a pet blog.
At least not in its entirety.

Pictures of the house soon!