Month: May 2012

If you’re new, the Tulip Chronicles start here.

Day 1

Tulip whines to go out at 3:30am. At 6:00, she turns her nose away from her breakfast and yorks twice on the door mat.

While I’m at work, she escapes from her kennel, natch, but she’s real sheepish—she won’t even look at me when I let her outside. She didn’t act guilty the other times she’s gotten out of the kennel…? I go back inside and find a red, gelatinous poop on the floor of the spare bedroom. I email the foster organization to see if I should take her to the vet.

Day 2

The org emails me back to say they’re sending me some medicine and I should let them know if it gets worse.

Day 3

Tulip upchucks on my bedroom floor at 3:30am. I can’t get back to sleep. I’m getting a tiny peep into what it’s like to have an infant.

The medicine arrives, or I should say, the medicines arrive—three of them: an antibiotic, an anti-diarrheal, and one for upset tummy. I shoot the pink liquid down her throat. She’s not super-stoked about that. But I give her the other ones smeared in peanut butter. Those go down easier.

We walk in circles. I give treats for sitting. She really does not want to sit unless she’s pretty goddamn positive I’m about to give her a treat.

Day 4

Tulip asks to go out at 4:00am. I sort of go back to sleep after.

When I arise at 6:00, I discover that my tell-tale “you’re about to get a cold” sore throat has revved itself up in the night. When Amy doesn’t get enough sleep, Amy gets a cold. Every goddamn time. Boo. I’m irritable. I don’t want to go to work. I can’t go to the gym. And I may have to cancel the date I have scheduled for tomorrow night.

After work, it seems Tulip is responding to the medicine! Her poops are of a reasonable viscosity.

We don’t walk in circles. I’m too goddamn tired.

Please, oh please, let her sleep through the night.

Day 5

She doesn’t sleep through the night. But she does escape her crate during the day and sleep all day in my bed again.

I’m officially sick. I cancel my date.

Day 6

I do a dog shuffle at 6:00 (everybody outside and back in, in turns) and go back to bed until 9:30. Tulip’s been in the crate all night, so I leave her loose in the spare bedroom. She craps on the floor during that time. Totally worth it. I needed the sleep.

Even though it’s sunny and Saturday, Tulip and I are lounging on the couch in the late afternoon watching Game of Thrones. Out of nowhere, she starts uh-ggging. I pitch her off the couch, but I know we’re not going to make it outside. Gaaaak, right on the floor.

Man. I thought the meds were working. Poor little Tulip. I wonder at what point I give up on the meds and take her to the vet.

Day 7

Tulip won’t eat her breakfast; she won’t even lick up the peanut butter I’ve smothered her pills in.

Enough. I email the organization. They say to take her to the vet. If it’s open tomorrow (holiday), I’ll go; if not, Tuesday.

In the evening, she snarfs down her supper with gusto…?

Ever since I started the training classes three weeks ago, I’ve felt tremendously guilty because my dogs have gotten only tiny walks. I realize that it’s because the longer the walk, the more every muscle in my back is pulled tight as a drum at the end. Walks used to be pleasant: 53 minutes, nearly every day, during which I could zone out and not think about anything in particular. But now they’re different. First, summer has come to Durham, and even meandering causes floods of perspiration. And second, I have to make corrections every ten to thirty seconds, and it’s wearing on me.

I vow to take them on the short loop, about 25 minutes, every day, regardless of the heat and the stress. We do the first real walk in a long time. It’s hot (at 9:30pm) and stressful.

But the dogs are really happy.

The Foster Chronicles: Tulip, Week 11

If you’re new, here’s the beginning of the Tulip chronicles.

Day 1

Circles. Not sitting.

Day 2

CIRCLES. NOT SITTING.

Day 3

Redford must have a bellyache because he asks to go out five times in the night. Which means I’m up ten times, letting him out and letting him in.

I come home after work intending to walk in circles but instead lie down on my bed for two hours. It’s the Wednesday of EOGs, after all.

When I check on Tulip outside, she has barfed a huge pile of dog food and dirt (she’s taken to eating the soil out of my potted plants) onto the deck. She won’t eat her supper. Her stomach is gurgling and sloshing.

Day 4

The plague has entered its second day. I go out to the yard and find it punctuated with runny piles of mess. Neither Tulip nor Redford have any interest in their breakfast. Violet remains unafflicted.

Nelly comes over. Her situation has changed again, and adoption of Tulip is once again a possibility. Despite her gastrointestinal woes, Tulip luxuriates all over our guest. I show Nelly how we walk in circles. Tulip even sits once or twice! (But that may just be because she’s exhausted from the scourge.)

Tulip eats her supper begrudgingly, Redford only when I pull apart pieces of poached chicken and stir them into his food.

Day 5

The plague has lifted! Everybody’s back on his or her food! Yay! No vet trips!

I go out to see the Durham Bulls game in the evening. When I come home, I walk into my dark house and sense that something is off. To the best of my ability, I’ll recreate Tulip’s diary from the hours I was gone.

6:15 Aw for god dog dog! In the kennel again?

6:20 Amy secured the front wall of the kennel, but what if I yank on the back wall? Victory! I’m free! I can do anything! I’ll look out the living room window! and sniff in the kitchen! and run around the house all by myself!

Or.

Or.

Or this bed looks nice with all these pillows. K, I’m good.

10:45 Hark! Amy returns from her excursion.

Later, when I get in bed, she tries to climb up there with me. When I push her off, she’s like, “No, really, it’s OK. I was up here earlier, and it was totally fine.”

Day 6

The plague has not lifted. Tulip blargs her dog-food-and-dirt special onto my bedroom floor.

Guess who greets me at the door when I get home from the Carolina Phoenix game. I’ve got to invest in a new crate.

Day 7

Tulip hurls twice on the deck, but then she eats her breakfast. Hm.

In the evening, we head out for session 2 of Feisty Fido class. Tulip’s nervous tooting problem is exacerbated by this week’s bubble guts. The drive is unpleasant.

Though the first session was held in the parking lot of a vet’s office, the rest are to be at a lake in Raleigh “for real life effect”, according to the literature. More interactions, more chances for correction and learning, I suppose.

I park in the wrong parking lot, and by the time I figure it out, I’m 15 minutes late. I drive to the right one and ask various strangers if they’ve seen a dog training class. They all indicate the direction the pack had gone. A boy says, “It’s gonna take you a while to catch up to them though.” We walk fast. Tulip stays right at my heel. A while later, a dude says, “If you run, you might catch ’em.” So I run. Probably a mile, all told. Neither Tulip nor I are built for speed, and it appears she enjoys running about as much as I do; she drags behind me the whole time.

We finally come upon the pack because they’re working on a stay drill. I’m pouring sweat. Tulip’s tired, but she’s also EXCITED about the other doggies. She stays pretty well, but when the group turns to walk back to the parking lot, she’s too keyed up. I have to walk her in circles a bunch of times and do 87,000 tugs on her leash.

New lessons: (1) The trainer tells me to tug toward myself (essentially bumping her into my leg), not back, which is what I had been doing. And (2) I ask him about the sitting problem, that she’ll sit with the treat inside but not on the leash outside. “So take some treats outside. I’m not against cheating to win,” he replies. “Just make sure you wean her off the treats as soon as it’s nailed down.”

Only two noxious farts on the drive home. She must’ve worked most of it out during the run.

The Foster Chronicles: Tulip, Week 10