If you’re new, here‘s the beginning of the Tulip chronicles.
Tulip is back on her food. I consider canceling tomorrow’s vet appointment, but I know the moment I do, she’ll vomit in my shoes so I keep it.
A professional photographer who volunteers with the organization comes and does a shoot with Tulip for an hour.
Tulip and I go to my sister’s house for a cookout. She really is a perfect family dog. Or a perfect single-dog family dog. She loves chasing the ball. She’s gentle with the children. She’s interested in your supper but backs off when you tell her no. And she hoovers up all the chips and corn and whatnot that three kids drop on the kitchen floor. Like a Roomba that loves you.
I break my one-day-old promise to walk every day, but Tulip got the romp at my sister’s, and Redford, Violet, and I go to Auntie Erika’s house for a run-around-the-yard playdate for the doggies/So You Think You Can Dance-on-the-DVR playdate for the hoomins, so everybody’s happy.
Tulip and I go to the vet. They determine her to be normal in every way, but I couldn’t get a stool sample beforehand and they can’t get one either so they send me home with a cup with a spork attached to its lid.
I intend to go to the gym. Instead I settle on the couch for the World’s Least Satisfactory Nap. When I arise, I feed the dogs and then follow Tulip around the yard, cup in hand. She delivers, and I get to collect the sample, which I must store in my fridge overnight. Gross.
Violet and Redford have a fast and furious playdate with Buffy(!!) and her sister-dog Stella. It’s wonderful. I walk Tulip five blocks to and from my neighbor’s house—I’m feeding her kittehs while she’s away. We have to stop and walk in circles eight or nine times because she’s fired up about some other dogs being out there. I do not introduce Tulip to the kittehs. I don’t know what would happen, and I’m not interested in telling my neighbor that my foster dog hoovered up her cats. “Like a Roomba? That loves you?” No.
Tulip won’t eat her breakfast. Wah!
She has a super-runny poop in the afternoon, so I collect that one too and take both over to the vet. She finally eats her breakfast at 4:15pm.
The pics from Monday’s shoot get posted on Facebook!
Tulip and I walk to feed the kittehs in the nighttime. Poor Redford and Violet. No walk. I’m a bad parent.
The vet calls to tell me Tulip has hookworm and whipworm. He recommends two deworming treatments two weeks apart. CCB says they have tons of dewormer and will put some in the mail tomorrow.
I finally make good on my promise to walk Redford and Violet. Tulip got a big visit at Auntie Wa’s house, so she stays home.
The house smells funky when I get home from work. I go to the spare bedroom to find that Tulip has escaped her crate and pooped a tiny, bloody poop on the floor. Really? Those three tablespoons stank up the whole joint? I gather lysol wipes and paper towels, clean it up, and turn around to find a giant cowpie of a mess tucked between the sofa and the closet door. Oh. Thur’s yer trouble.
Later, I come home from my date to find it has happened again. I can’t blame her for escaping. If I were about to crap my pants, I wouldn’t want to sit around in it either. And this way, I only have to clean up the floor, not the floor, the crate, and the dog. But I vow to buy a new crate in the morning.
I hereby kindly request that the universe give Tulip a fucking break. She’s had her share of hardship, and probably some other dog’s too. Leave her be.
Please let the deworming medication show up tomorrow.
I volunteer at the Walk for the Animals at the ass-crack of dawn. When I return, Tulip has freed herself from her prison once again and left three piles of scarlet gelatin in the bedroom.
The dewormer arrives. Whew.
Tulip has a spring in her step that I haven’t seen in a long time. Knock wood.
Feisty Fido class is good but hard. My Fido is so feisty. At one point, the trainer says, “Honey, you’re gonna be walkin’ in circles for months.”