So, here’s the thing. I kiss my doggies. I hug and pet them and whisper things to them and ask them questions. I rub their tummies and tickle their bellies and kiss their ears. They love it and I love it. I do it all the time and it often involves me rolling around with them.
My lovely hubby has told me time and time again that I should keep my distance a little bit and that shoving my face into their fur is not a good idea. But, what does he know, right?
Well, this morning I woke up with one eye open and the other closed. I have an eye infection.
My husband heard from a friend about the benefits of feeding your dogs raw food. Now, while I am skeptical and don’t like change, my hubby embraces it. It didn’t take a lot for said hubby to decide that we were failing our dogs in the food department and that change was needed as soon as possible.
Now, you don’t just give your dog raw food or mix it in with kibble; there’s a process. First, you have your dog fast for about 8 to 12 hours to have all the cooked kibble leave their system. Then you have to figure out how much raw food to feed them; that involves a special calculator that’s online. Then, you need a fancy a scale to weigh the appropriate amount. Finally, there’s a lot of careful washing of utensils, bowls and counters afterwards because raw dog food sometimes comes with things like e-coli and other things that don’t hurt our doggie friends but certainly aren’t welcomed guests for humans or their digestive systems.
River sniffed the new concoction for about half a second and dove right in. Ocean, on the other hand, took one look at the stuff and turned her nose at it.
But we were ready for her pickiness. The raw-food dealer had talked to us about this. “If they don’t go for it at first, just grill it a bit,” she had assured us. “They’ll love it.”
So, we started cooking.
The stench this raw food produced when heated defies description. It was an acrid, horrific stink that seemed to go straight into my throat and stay there. I shoved the stir spoon at my hubby and ran for the washroom.
Later, after the windows were opened, fans were left on and we had febrezed the house from top to bottom, we placed a new offering in front of Ocean.
Her dogginess gave the stinking mess a remarkably human-like disgusted look before leaving the kitchen. River perked up, ready to inhale whatever was not nailed to the ground.
Through the remaining waves of stink, I saw my hubby’s crestfallen expression and tried to help him. Ocean has always been his dog and he took this rejection hard. “She’s might not be hungry,” I tried. “Let’s try her tomorrow.”
When Ocean refused her breakfast the next day and started acting lethargic, we decided enough was enough. Out came the computers and we were off to try and find a new food for our delicate girl. Next thing I knew, we had two large bags of special kibble for picky eaters.
So, tonight, River enjoyed his raw food meal while Ocean had a plate of special kibble picked just for her.
Not so long ago, our air conditioner decided to stop working. It was an ancient machine that had seen many seasons so it’s demise wasn’t unexpected. Of course, our luck being what it was, this happened at the worst possible time.
It was the day that the painters were here to paint; the day that the contractor was here to figure out how to pave our driveway and the day that Mother Nature decided to give us a massive heat wave.
It was burning hot outside and it was sweltering inside.Of course, I did what I do in situations like this and panicked. I called every air-conditioning business in town. Within minutes, everyone in the vicinity had heard about our furnace-like house and there was a guy on the way with the largest air-conditioner available for human use.
He sweated his way up the driveway laughing at the heat and removed a step on our wooden stairway to access our old machine and remove it. While he was busy working and our painters were sweating their way through the job, I moved our dogs out to the shade to keep them a little cooler than inside the oven-like house.
And that’s when it happened.
I knew there was a step missing on those stairs. I knew it. Yet I stepped on the missing step as though I could walk on air…and fell down like a sack of potatoes. The paint was horrific, the blood was awful and the bruising that ensued covers one complete leg and the other hip and stops people metres away. Still, I could have broken a bone or gotten impaled; I got off lucky.
It was at that exact moment that our two fluff-balls of dogs discovered I had yet to close the gate to the backyard and off they went. Curly tails into the wind, they ran away, delighted at their newly-found freedom.
I should have stopped and given them a chance to figure out where their next meal was coming from, but never let it be said that I miss an opportunity to panic. Off I went, blood running down a leg, limping like an injured flamingo, running after them.
Don’t worry, gentle reader, the dogs are back unharmed. As soon as the air conditioner started working, they reappeared to lay down on the air vents. I gave them a serious talking to that went mostly in one ear and out the other. Filthy, tired and hot, they still looked much better than their bruised, sore owner.