Breanna!

Breanna joined our family on October 2.  We met her the Sunday before but needed a little time to get the house puppy ready, so we endured five very long days of anticipation--waiting for her to come home, after meeting and falling in love with her.  She's about four and a half months old and weighs around 13 pounds.  She's part worm, I think, as she only stops wiggling when she's sleeping.  Her mom was a white pitbull (maybe pit/boxer mix?), and we're pretty confident that her dad was a German Shorthaired Pointer.

Puppies are new territory for us.  We typically adopt senior dogs, as that's my real passion. I love the seniors and can't abide the thought of these poor older animals being dumped in their golden years.  We will continue to adopt seniors going forward. This was a one-time deviation. :)  L & Mark have been campaigning for a puppy for years.  They love the older dogs, too, but craved the energy and exuberance of a puppy.  We've had a lot of losses lately (as you tend to when you adopt senior/special needs animals), and our remaining three dogs are all over ten, so the idea of adopting a dog we wouldn't be losing in the next couple of years held some appeal.  I could use a little break from terminal illness and death.  M & I are also at an age where we're still young enough (theoretically, anyway) to keep up with a puppy, but probably wouldn't be up for doing so as we get older and don't have any kids at home.  All of those factors, coincided with a special needs puppy.  I wouldn't take a healthy puppy, because they are easy to place, but a disabled puppy is not so easy, so that seemed quite fortuitous. M was still in England for our initial meeting, but we knew they would love each other and had no concerns there.

Breanna's foster mom brought her, and things went well, except for Froggie's strange inappropriate social skills.  He demands that other animals play with him by barking relentless at them, and if they continue to ignore him, he charges them and smashes his flat little face into their flank.  It's rather odd. He doesn't mean any harm, but it can be obnoxious and off putting to other animals.  It was so obnoxious, I had to repeatedly send L to take him upstairs, so we could talk without his constant interruption. I was anticipating some major work on getting Froggie to socialize in a less offensive way and also anticipating some jealousy issues, since Froggie still thinks he's my conjoined twin.

L & I went to pick her up from her foster home in Rockford the following Friday, with M still in England.  She was snuggled up in her blanket in L's lap, when about seven minutes into the car ride, her nervous puppy diarrhea hit.  It was a very long, smell, messy ride home.  We arrived home, with all three of us covered in shit and stench. We got cleaned up, did laundry, and gave Brea a bath.  As soon as she dried, we took the pack for a nice long walk.

After we returned from the walk, the Froggie issue resolved itself perfectly.  He decided that he would be her playmate, best friend, and protector from that point forward.  He doesn't mind sharing me or his toys with her, so there have been no jealousy issues to navigate. They are the cutest bonded pair!  They play and wrestle endlessly, they snuggle up to sleep, and I have to be somewhat alert, because he takes his job of protecting her seriously, and I've seen him get snappish with strangers who try to touch her.  We're working on that.  I love how they love each other, though. They are the oddest pair.  She is quickly getting bigger, so I worry a little bit about my tiny old man, as she continues to play roughly with him.  She gets along with all of the other dogs in our family and extended family, but Froggie is clearly "hers".  The other dogs are not nearly as playful or tolerant of her roughhousing, so she doesn't find them nearly as interesting.

We're in the midst of potty training, and while she's definitely progressing, we have a long way to go.  One of the big unknown factors is how much bladder/sphincter control she will ultimately have, as her back end didn't form properly.  She's missing some bones and muscle function back there, but we don't yet know the full extent.  She wears diapers in the house, and we do positive reinforcement only.  I am planning to add bells and try bell training, so she can ask to go out, but we have some concerns that any bells we put up for the dogs will end up being used as cat toys.  We'll see how that goes...

Breanna's foster mom runs the rescue organization, Mending Hearts, and she chose the name, because it meant "strong", and little Brea has already overcome quite a bit of adversity and progressed beyond expectations.  Foster mom was advised that Brea should be euthanized. It's not a name we would have chosen, but she came with it, and it works.  She knows her name and comes when called (usually--she's in the Terrible Two phase right now), but she most often gets called Brea.  We seem to end up with nicknames for all of our animals.

She's curious, energetic, happy, fun, and a little bit naught--all of the things a puppy should be.  It's been fun watching her grow and mature just in the 2.5 weeks we've had her.  She's learned so much, so quickly, and it's really intriguing to watch her little brain develop. I will be glad/relieved when she gets past the stage of trying to chew and eat absolutely anything that fits into her mouth.  She loves to play outside but can't be left unattended for even a minute. I have removed rocks, sticks, wood chips, various plant stems and pieces, countless leaves, poop, and other questionable objects from her mouth, all picked up while I was standing right next to her.  She's quick and curious, and requires constant attention.

She's 4.5 months old now, and as soon as she gets a little bigger and stronger, we'll have to take her in to get spayed.  I'm pretty sure that's an overnight recovery, so I'm already dreading having to leave my baby.

I can't help but think about how much Damon would have loved her.  He would have adored playing with her and Froggie! They would have been the cutest group of best friends.  I wish she could have known him.


I finally caught up on grading, which is why I'm finally able to blog.  It's been a very busy semester, and I have hard time allowing myself to blog (or do anything else online) when I know I have a queue of student assignments waiting for grades.  I have a batch of group projects and presentations that still need to be graded, but those just came in today, so as long as I get those done by the weekend (which I will), they can wait a bit.  I'm going to try to get my midterm grades entered tonight (two whole days early!), instead of two hours before the deadline.

3 Down; 1 To Go

So my husband is in England for another week.  He has already been gone for three weeks. He's working as an intern at Great Dixter gardens, in southern England. I don't normally share on social media when he (or we) are gone, because it's just not smart.  He was gone quite a lot this summer, but I don't generally like to mention it for security reasons.  I've asked him more times than I can count if he would refrain from posting on social media until he returns.  As he prefers to live update his friends and strangers to every detail of his travel on multiple forms of social media rather than waiting until he returns, there's really no point in me not mentioning it here.  I'm not thrilled with his decision to make this trip (he is very aware of this), but he chose to do it, and I have no choice but to accept it.

Needless to say, since my life is over scheduled already, inheriting his chore load makes life nearly unmanageable.  It's quite stressful to say the least.  I'm incredibly grateful to my parents, who have filled in and helped with L's school transportation and other instances where I simply cannot be in two places at one time.  As my body is a giant asshole, it has decided that now is the perfect time to crap out on me and start failing and having issues.  This has slowed me down quite a bit, I know that my stress levels are high and my quality sleep is really low, and that tends to exacerbate any existing conditions.  It's very frustrating that it's doing this when I can least handle it!  It's really my own fault, I guess, because if I could learn to keep my stress levels lower, I probably wouldn't be struggling with health issues.  I am not good at lowering stress.  I've tried biofeedback of various types and meditation and failed miserably at both.  I am the worst meditater in the world and have just given up on trying.  Sleep and meditation continue to elude me--I repeatedly fail to do either effectively.

On the up side, the girls and I have enjoyed lots of spicy food in his absence.  We all love hot chilies, but he can't handle that much spice, so I normally cook to his tolerance level.  His trip coincided with peak Habanero and Scotch Bonnnet season, and I had a bumper crop in the garden this year, so I've been making everything better by adding roasted Habaneros/Scotch Bonnets to our food.  It adds such a rich, smokey flavor.  I processed a ton of them this weekend, cleaning, roasting, dicing, and freezing, so I have a good supply to get me through the winter.  I'm hoping to harvest another big batch next weekend and make some salsa.

Jezebel and I just returned from the vet, where we had to schedule yet another mass removal (Friday).  She is the queen of weird growths on her body and has had several removed.  So far, they haven't been malignant, but each time I find a new growth, it's terrifying, and I can't sleep until I get results. This one is weird, according to the vet.  He's not sure what to make of it, but is leaning towards a gut feeling that it's benign.  I'll take that, as I really need the comfort right now.  Poor Jezi will have stitches again!  **Update:  I started this post over a week ago.  Jezi had her mass removed and it was weird but benign.  So relieved!

Froggie has a suspicious small lump near where his last malignant tumor was removed, but aspiration revealed no cancer cells.  We're watching it carefully, and I'm trying not to obsess about it, but I admit that I'm still quite afraid it's an early malignancy, and there aren't enough cancer cells to show up yet.

Our new puppy will be moving in with us this Friday.  I'm really excited but a little nervous, too.  It's been a long time since I've had a puppy.  Jez was a little over six months old when we adopted her, and she's over ten now.  This pup is only 3.5 months old.  She is full of energy and as sweet as could be.  My family has wanted to adopt a puppy for some time now, but I really feel strongly about adopting senior animals, who are much harder to place than puppies.  This little girl has some special needs and would not be very easy to place, so she seemed to be a good compromise.  The family gets the puppy they wanted, but I don't feel guilty for taking an easy-to-place animal.  Another huge benefit is to Jezebel, who has never had pups but has always been an incredibly maternal, nurturing dog. She cares for all of the animals in our house (real and stuffed) with such tenderness, that I've often felt bad that she didn't get to be a mom.  I think the puppy will make her very happy, and the puppy, being so young and abandoned by her dog mom, will be glad to have another dog mommy to snuggle with.  Breanna is a pit mix, just like Jezebel.

We met Breanna (her foster mom named her) yesterday, and have been missing her since she left.  We will pick her up Friday night and bring her home for good.  Between now and then, I have to get the house put back together (from some construction/repair projects that are wrapping up), puppy-proof for her safety, and work on making some modifications so she can get around easier.  Her back legs didn't form properly, nor did her sphincter muscle, so she has some problems with her back end and mobility.  She is able to walk and run (though it's a decidedly unique gait), but is more prone to slipping, falling, and having her legs give out.  I need to configure the house so she can tear around like a little maniac (she was awesomely high energy yesterday, running around and exploring) without worrying about her injuring herself.

We will have to potty train her, though she may still have issues due to her deformity.  I've ordered some washable diapers for her.  I hope she is able to not have to wear them for long, or at least not full time, but I don't know how that will play out in the future.  We will figure it out together.  It will be quite an adventure, and Friday feels way too far away.

Goodbye big-big boy

On the way home from Manitowoc Humane Society

I don't want to write this post.  I've been avoiding it all week.  It needs to be done. It's been a rather rough two weeks.  School started a week and a half ago (on a Weds.), and I was a sleepless mess after having to say goodbye to our Damon on Tuesday night.  It was fast and rather shocking.  Of course he was old and had several chronic health issues, but he was a normal fairly healthy old guy Sunday afternoon.  He was his normal giant-puppy self on our walk and fine after our return.  Around bedtime, he was upstairs drinking, and he stiffened and started to fall over. I was able to catch him and lay him down gently, while screaming his name and rubbing his face and neck. It was terrifying.  I thought he was dying. After a few seconds, which seemed much longer, he "came back" and seemed a little confused but normal.  We weren't sure what had happened or what to do.  We decided to watch him carefully after convincing ourselves that he just got overheated on the walk, it was hot and humid upstairs, and he probably just had a head rush.

We didn't really sleep that night, but he seemed okay--just tired.  Monday morning went well, so we were pretty encouraged that it was a one-time thing. Then it happened again Monday afternoon. We scheduled a vet appointment immediately and took him in. This time it was a little worse--he was out a little longer, and wasn't able to get up as quickly. We got bad news at the vet.  He had a small tumor on his heart that started bleeding.  The fluid/blood around the heart wasn't allowing it to have an effective ejection fraction, causing syncopy.  The tumor couldn't be removed, and there was no way to fix the heart, so his doctor put him on a beta blocker to try to help with the fast, irregular heartbeats in hopes of minimizing the syncopy.  He wasn't in pain or feeling unwell, so though it was devastating news, we thought we'd have weeks to months left with him at that point.

Adoption day - still on the way home

We left quite heartbroken but looking forward to really enjoying the time we had left with him.  Things got quite bad after that though.  By Monday night, he was having episodes almost every time he would stand up and move around for more than a few minutes.  He still wanted to go for his nightly walk and continue to enjoy his normal activities, but we had to follow him around and watch for the eyes to roll back so we could catch him to prevent any falls/injuries.  We realized then that his remaining time would almost certainly be a lot shorter than we had expected. At that point, we started full-out spoiling him. Everyone hung out with him, playing, massaging him, giving him his favorite treats (he got to eat a whole cantaloupe--his favorite food in the world, along with every other food he loved), throughout the night.  He did better through the night, and I kind of convinced myself that things were improving. In reality, it was because everyone he cared about was around him, and all the things he liked to do/eat were right there, so he didn't try to get up or move.  As long as he remained relatively inactive, he felt great.

Tuesday was rough. He was determined to conduct life as usual, but was progressively getting worse and was unable to get up and do anything on his own without passing out. We called the vet, begging for hope that it might get better or improve---perhaps we could up the beta blockers? Anything? Anything at all to buy some time? We brought him in to check, just to confirm that things were indeed worse and that nothing in the world would improve things for him.  By this time, his heart was working really hard, causing him to pant and become low on oxygen at times.  There's no way we could justify dragging this out until he felt miserable.  He was just starting to get uncomfortable physically, but his mind was still active, alert, energetic and puppy-like.  He couldn't accept that his body wasn't allowing him to jump up and greet everyone who entered the room.  It was time to let him go.

We had prepared for that likelihood when we brought him in, so the family had already said their goodbyes--we spent almost 24 hour wonderful hours with him, and we had packed a bag of his favorite treats and brought his cushy bed along.  I almost lost my courage, because he rallied when we brought him in.  For the first time since Monday morning, he was up, active, jumping around, and didn't pass out.  He didn't drop once from the time we told him he was going to the vet til the time we got into the room for the exam.  I again convinced myself that he improved and things had miraculously resolved themselves.  His heart exam indicated otherwise, though.  It was a lot worse than it had been the day before.  The tumor was leaking aggressively, and the fluid was really putting pressure on the heart.  He LOVED going to the vet, and it was probably just adrenaline and excitement and luck that allowed him to make that trip without dropping. The vet was very honest about his condition and reiterated that this would only continue to get worse, and it was time. He was totally right.  As hard as it was to let him go when he was still so happy and seemed a little better, it was infinitely better than waiting until he felt in utter misery and completely lost his dignity (he truly would rather die than potty in the house--he was such a good boy!).

He has THREE toys in his mouth!

He was quite cute, holding court in his room at the vet's office.  He loved the staff there, and they all came in to visit him and give him some love (and treats).  He lay in the middle of the room on his cushion, with his giant happy tail thumping, as his family snuggled with him and all of his Mt. Zion Clinic friends gave him attention and goodies.  He loved to show off by catching treats in the air, and had a great time consuming and entire package of Tofurky slices and various other treats.  We got quite a laugh out of the massive quantities of food he managed to consume.  It was quite impressive.  He ate until the happy drugs kicked in and he couldn't manage chewing any more.  We switched back to doggy massages then.  I know hearing is the last sense to go, so I whispered in his ear that we would go on "Damy-walks" and "Damy-swim".  Yes, I lied, but I'm okay with that.  He was a brilliant dog with a phenomenal understanding of human language. He knew the meaning of those words and phrases, and I wanted his last thoughts to be of his favorite things.  I think from Damon's perspective, his last 48 hours were pretty awesome.


We had a little over a year with our big boy.  It wasn't nearly long enough!  He was such a smart, fun dog.  He came with so many quirks, which I will never know the source of, and was fairly high maintenance.  He was totally worth it, though.  He was so kind and gentle--there was not a single moment he showed any signs of being crabby, aggressive, impatient.  He was happy and sweet to every single creature he encountered.  He was playful and had a zest for life, refusing to slow down even when his arthritic body had to be in pain.  He enriched every moment of every day that we got to spend with him.  He made us laugh every single day of his life.  He brought warmth and affection into all of our lives, every single day that we had him.  The dogs and cats in the house universally loved him, leaned on him, lay across him, and groomed him.  He's left a huge, gaping hole in our family, and we will feel that pain and emptiness for a long time.  Every member of this family is better as a result of loving Damon.

I know I've shared some of these pictures before, but they are among my favorites, and are how I want to remember him.

So... my normal semester-starting excitement was dulled a little by the emotional and physical exhaustion of the previous couple of days and the loss.  I was sleep deprived and struggling to keep it together.  I refuse to cry in front of a class--especially the first class!  I have another great group of students, some of whom I'm excited to see again, and some of whom I'm looking forward to getting to know.  

It's a little somber on campus this semester, with the current political climate and bloody budget cuts, our campus feels somewhat like a war zone.  We've lost some really good, really vital "soldiers", and there are many more on the chopping block.  Those are haven't yet lost their jobs are exhausted from picking up the slack (the work still needs to be done, though there are so many fewer bodies to do it) and looking fairly shell-shocked from losing so many compatriots.  It's quite devastating.  We were already a skeleton staff operating on a shoe-string budget, and now we've lost staff and money.  We are a small, tired, somewhat discouraged team, but we will stick together, prop each other up, and keep going.  We have to.  What we do is far too important to let some education-hating, oligarchs destroy it.  That's exactly their goal.  Affordable education for the non-elite is a terrible threat to their long-term vision, and as much as they are determined to permanently destroy us, I speak for the majority of us on our campus when I say we are willing to die keeping our institute the same high-quality educational opportunity that is has always been.

My last day of summer :(

Though I thought I was done with the high school web development curriculum, I was not, and I've been working on that and trying to catch up in the garden, before returning to work this coming week.  The course was supposed to be a one-semester course, but it was erroneously published as a year-long course.  By the time we noticed it, students had already planned schedules around the class.  So...I'm adding some material to the end to extend the course.  We'll get to cover some fun topics I didn't think we would have time for (objects and cookies, along with others), and I'm enjoying that. I would liked to have had the time to do something fun though.  I like to name my summers.  Previous summers include "Summer of the broken wrist", "Summer of the heart crap", "Summer of Dej & Laree's drug exploration".  This summer gets to be called "Summer of drudgery".

I had a long, productive cooking day, getting ready for the work week. The first couple of weeks are always so difficult, intense, and hard to get back into the swing of things, that I try to have as much done ahead as I can to take a little stress off.  I still need to make a batch of hummus, but I  have everything done, cleaned up and put away, and I'm having a hard time convincing myself to get back in the kitchen.  The hummus may have to wait until Tuesday.  So far I've made:

• Dal
• Roasted Red Pepper Sauce - I've never tried this before. I'm serving with pasta and
• Roasted broccoli (harvested from our garden today), cauliflower, and eggplant (also from our garden)
• Stewed seitan and potatoes in miso gravy served over
• Quinoa
• Peeled and prepped 2 bulbs of garlic (I use a lot of garlic)
• Chocolate "ice cream" (and chopped and froze another big bunch of bananas for the next batch of ice cream)
• A giant fruit salad, because we go through buckets of fresh fruit

It's going to be a really rough week for Froggie, who still can't stand to be separated from me.  I've barely left the house this summer, and suddenly this week, Luce and I will both be gone for long periods of time.  Frog and I are both going to have withdrawal!

Froggie loves the idea of going for walks with us, but struggles, and I have to carry him for at least half the walk.  Pugs have issues with breathing and overheat easily, and he's an old man with much shorter legs than anyone else. He loves to look around and be carried while we walk.  We walk four or five (we watch Sophie--Dej's dog a lot) dogs, and carrying one isn't particularly easy. I gave in and got a doggie backpack carrier for him.  He loved it! He relaxed against me, looked around, and was a very happy boy. His face said, "What took you so long to figure this out."  He gets a ridiculous amount of exercise following me around the house everywhere. I walk fast, so he runs, and I go up and down the steps dozens of times a day. I'm not worried about his exercise level, so the backpack seems to be a good solution for us for now.

I'm not totally certain what my schedule will be yet.  I know my class times, but Luce will be starting at the high school on our campus, and I will have to arrange my schedule around her transportation needs.  We don't yet know her schedule.  The school runs like a college, rather than a high school, so they don't need to be there all day every day.  We won't have her class schedule until next week (I hope!), and then I can set my office hours and set my daily schedule.  I don't like not knowing.  I'm going to try to be home as much as I can for Froggie and may have to get someone to come sit with him on my longer days.

Max and Elvis moved into their third new "nesting box" this morning.  I'm pretty sure they have decided that the eggs will come if they just find the right box.  Poor little guys!

A squirrel, a bat, and a cat

I should not be blogging today, but since I've fallen behind again and didn't get to it yesterday, here we go.  I'm in a heinous mood, sitting right on the fence of explosive rage for many reasons and no reason.  I have days like this, and as much as I wish I could just banish my shit mood, I haven't yet been able to do so.  I think perhaps if I could get an intense workout in, it may help.  Also spending a few hours working hard in the garden helps, but neither of those fit in my schedule until later today.  I may sneak in a workout after lunch to see if that helps, but I'm having some severe pain issues today and haven't yet been able to control it. I don't like blogging in this state of mind, because I tend to be very negative, and nobody enjoys that.  I'm also (perpetually) behind on my prep work and should be doing that, but I'm hoping to blog while my migraine meds kick in, and then maybe I can focus on my prep a little better.

I've had a few animal-rescue encounters in the last week.

Monday night my friend called as she had a baby squirrel on the ground--a victim of the sudden wind storm.  The baby was too young and weak to make it back up to the nest (about 40 feet up in a maple tree), so we took her to Madison. I'm still kicking myself for not getting a picture--she was so precious, but it was kind of a crazy night.

Last night I got a call to go catch a bat that had gotten stuck in Dej & Russ' basement.  The little bugger wedged himself firmly between the stair runner and the basement wall and floor--right in a corner that was almost impossible to reach.  It took us nearly an hour to get him out. We tried for quite a while to "encourage" him to move out on his own, but it became apparent that he would die there before he would move. Then we moved to the wedging myself under the stairs and trying to pull him out without hurting his tiny little self.  I wracked up my shoulder pretty badly in the process, as there was a large piece of plywood there that I was wedged under that kept jacking into my shoulder bone. The adrenaline kept me going last night, but I'm really paying the price today.  Finally, I was able to grab him and get him out.

We took him outside and let him chill out on a big rock under their lilac tree for a bit, hoping he would perk up and fly off.  We played brown bat recordings on our phones, and he perked up and looked around, calling back.  I felt so bad for the little guy, looking for his family!  He did try to fly a few times but couldn't pull it off, so we knew he needed help. Russ took him to Four Lakes Wildlife Rehab, but they don't do bats there.  They gave him emergency fluids and fed him, as he was quite weak and young. I think he got stuck in the basement without much food, got scared, hid, and became dehydrated and weak. He is going to Ken, the bat rehab guy, today.  I hope he can be released back on their property, so he can reunite with his little family.  I adore bats and fantasized all night about keeping him (not realistic or what's best for him, but fun to think about).

This video clip is so cute.  I very gently touched his back foot, hoping to motivate him to fly.  He did not like it.  That's a lilac leaf (for scale) next to him.

I have a kitty living in my first-floor bathroom for now. This young cat showed up a couple of months ago and has been eating here and hanging around. He's been so timid and skittish that I couldn't get near him.  Every time I saw him here eating, I tried to make "lovey eyes" to start to befriend him, but he was terrified of everything--every noise, movement (outside or inside our house), scrawny, and it wasn't looking promising.  I could see that there was a strange wound/injury on his back left paw, but there was no hope of getting close enough to see it.

Last Wednesday, I was out in the driveway repotting some houseplants, when I heard a cat crying. I looked around, and didn't find anyone, so went back to my task.  It started again, and finally, he crept, slowly and timidly out from our garage and approached me. He slowly started to trust me, and finally crawled in my lap.  Over the next few days, we built a relationship. Every hour or so, I would go out, call "kitty, kitty", and he would instantly meow back and come running.  He quickly started standing in the driveway under my kitchen window and cry for me to come out. I spent several hours a day outside on the deck cuddling with him, as it became apparent that he was terrified of life and only relaxed and ate when I was with him. This is time I didn't really have to spend, but how could I leave the poor miserable little guy alone? Once we had a reliable routine, I was able to schedule a vet appointment for him. He went in Monday morning.

One of the hardest things to deal with, during this period, was that I would snuggle him and go to bed around midnight only to come out early in the morning to find him with new bloody wounds that he didn't have the night before. Despite trying his best to hide in a corner of my garage, he was still getting beat up every night. He's a full-grown cat (about a year old) but only weighs 6.5 pounds.  There are a lot of big cats that roam this neighborhood.

He was in good shape, other than the foot.  The foot was a mess, with a severe infection that had been festering for months.  The blood and pus had formed a huge mass that was firmly lodged between his toes. They got it out and found that the flesh was completely raw and it left a very open wound.  They treated it, gave me some antibiotics and said he needed to be kept inside until the foot healed up.  We've made the bathroom as nice as we can for him, and he seems quite happy here--much happier than he was outside.  Luce and I rotate spending time in there with him, so he's not alone.  He cries when he wants company.  I can at least take my laptop in there and work while I spend time with him, so I'm not falling any further behind.  

He was chipped, so I found out the whole sordid story of his sad little life. He was adopted from the Humane Society by a beast of a woman (also named Amy).  She lived about four blocks from me. She then moved out, leaving him and another cat behind at the rental. The landlord called her and told her she had to come back for the cats. She did, but I'm guessing he escaped in the process, and she made no effort to find him. The other cat was promptly dumped back at the Humane Society.  For the last three months, this young, scared, indoor kitten was left to his own devices, trying to survive.  Thank goodness he found the reliable food, water, and garage accommodations available at our house and finally came to me for help.

He is incredibly sweet, very affectionate, and has impeccable litter box habits. He is a house cat (a lap cat) and does not want to be outside.  I'm working very hard to find him a loving, permanent home. He's much happier here than he was, and this is probably as good as he's had it in his short little life, but I want better for him.

In between the animal stuff, I've been trying to keep up with my prep (four different classes this semester).  The web development class is finally finished and uploaded to the host, so now all I have left is getting ready for my fall classes.

I've hit a plateau with my upper-body lifting, and I'm getting more frustrated by the day. I should have been able to increase my weights by now, but I'm stuck at the same level I've been lifting for months.  It seems to be getting harder, rather than easier.  There's something going on with my shoulder that feels stuck and hurts all the time. I'm stretching religiously, and even gave it a two-week break (from lifting), with no improvement. I don't know at this point if there's something mechanical that's impeding my progress or if perhaps I'm not eating enough to build more muscle.  The plateau, along with the constant pain, and my inability to figure out the problem(s) is making me very crabby .

Froggie!

Each morning before work, I spend a few minutes (5-10 minutes on FB is all I can handle) scrolling through Facebook.  I look at dozens of beautiful animals who are in desperate need of homes, I post a few and cry about them all.  I would love to take all of them, but the reality is that we have a house full, and I can't take on more than I can afford medical care for, and I can't take on so many that the quality of life for those I have already committed to suffers.

Every now and then, for reasons I can't necessarily explain, I know that one of the little faces I see belongs in our family.  When this happens, I give myself a time limit (I have many  rules established that prevent me from acting rashly. They are all very necessary.), and if the animal is still available, I proceed.  I saw and posted Froggie's picture in mid May, the week before finals week.  I was at my absolute busiest, so I decreed that I would wait until after finals were done, and if he was still unclaimed, I would go for it.

So I waited the proscribed time period, found he was still there, and the family (along with Daisy, Jezebel, and Damon) went to the Humane Society to meet him.  I knew when I saw his strange, mis-shapen body, and so-ugly-it's-cute face, that I was in love and this was happening.  Then we brought Jezebel, the easiest, most laid-back of the dogs, in to meet him.  He started barking wildly, charging at her, and smashing his flat little face into her side.  It was strange.  It seemed rather aggressive, but Jezi wasn't responding as if he were trying to attack.  The young man who worked there said that he had behaved this way with the other dogs he had met, and wasn't adopted because of it.  We spent over an hour outside with the dogs, watching their interactions, running and walking with them as a group, and trying to assess the situation.  I asked for Rachel to come out (she's an amazing employee there, and a vegan animal-rights' activist, so I trust her opinion completely) and help me assess the interaction. She agreed with me that it looked sort of aggressive, but yet not really, and the other dogs didn't seem to read it as hostile.  Her confirmation was all I needed--I felt certain that since I'm home in the summer, I could spend the next few weeks getting everyone socialized and things would work out fine.

We left with Froggie--Dej and I were feeling pretty good about it, but Mark & Luce were not very happy about him coming home. They felt he would upset the other dogs.  M, L, and the other dogs arrived home before Dej, Froggie, and me. I was braced for a couple of weeks of hyper observation and training, so we came in the house very apprehensively.  Froggie did not, however. He trotted in, walked right up to the other dogs, and they all sniffed each other as if they were old friends.  From that moment on, he was the most perfect little pack member. They have not had any interpersonal issues at all.  We were thrilled and pleasantly surprised by the immediately peaceful, happy family.

We discovered right away that when Froggie can't see humans, he cries, and when Froggie cries, it sounds like a goat being strangled.  He makes the strangest noises I have ever heard from a dog.

His post-surgical outfit (better than a cone)

We knew when we adopted him that his teeth were a mess--full of cracks and abscesses, and many needed to be removed.  We also discovered at his first vet check that he had a malignant growth.  That was a nasty surprise.  We had pre-surgical bloodwork done, and the good news was that his organ function and over all health were good.  We scheduled the dental and mass removal surgery for the first available time.  The surgery was successful on both fronts, and he should have many quality years left with us.

The Humane Society estimated his age at 10.8 years, and our vet said 12 years, so he's definitely up there in years.  He has a ton of energy and is still very silly and playful.  He's now cancer free (clean margins, so a really good prognosis) with a clean healthy mouth, and he's really enjoying life.

He was brought into the Humane Society as a stray, which really means some asshole wanted to dump him without paying the dumping fee.  Because of that selfish, thoughtless human, poor Froggie not only lost his home but his name and medical history.  Froggie is not a runner.  He sticks so closely to me that when I stop, he runs into my ankle. While Froggie hadn't had vet care for probably several years (at least), I think he was loved and treated kindly in his past life. I see no signs of abuse or neglect in him at all.  I'm pretty certain he had a nice life, but his person died/entered long-term care/divorced--something that left Froggie suddenly in the care of someone who didn't want him and subsequently cruelly dumped him.  Froggie was the name given at the HS. I was planning to change it to Pierre, as he didn't know the name at all, but as it turned out, Froggie fit him so perfectly that we stuck with it.

While I love all dogs, I have a definite preference for medium-to-large-size dogs and have never had a small dog.  He's < 15 pounds (a pug-Boston terrier mix), so he's quite small.  I'm thoroughly enjoying having a little "yip-yip" dog.  I feel pretty lucky to have such a mix of sizes and personalities!  He gets along with all of the dogs, including his extended family--Sophie (Dej's dog) and Nala and Ziva (my parents' dogs).  He's especially fond of Damon and Sophie.  Damon is laid back and doesn't mind when Froggie drapes himself across Damon's body, or uses him as a support so he can stand on his hind legs.  Froggie pays back these favors by grooming Damon's face, ears, and feet, quite elaborately.  Damon loves it, and it's pretty entertaining to watch. Frog takes it very seriously and is so thorough about getting every part of his face and ears, and Damon's head is about the same size as Froggie, while Damon's feet are about the size of Froggie's head. Frog also loves Sophie quite passionately, but she's a diva and is not impressed.  She will gladly allow him to groom her face and ears, but never returns the favor.

He has some quirks.  He's stubborn.  So stubborn.  He turns into a little hurricane of naughtiness 15-30 minutes before breakfast and dinner. He has an internal clock that seems to really rev him up before meals. He starts tearing around looking for excitement--shredding tissues, chasing cats, dragging shoes (which he leaves in strange places and we have to hunt for them), attacking his teddy bear, all while making a cacophony of grunting and goat noises.  This is not my favorite way to be awakened in the mornings, but it's really entertaining.

May Update - Prom

May was a really action-packed month for all of us.  It's one of the more intense months for both Mark and I, on the work front.  We tend to work long, hard hours and be pretty exhausted with little time or energy to spare.  

We noticed at the beginning of the month that we were suddenly hearing one of the names from L's circle of friends more often.  We were not prepared for her to start having "special friends" yet at all and had discouraged her from developing non-platonic relationships. These are the years she should be focused on herself--developing her brain, body, and good habits for her future, not her biological impulses.  Chemistry, being our biological imperative and all, will not be denied, and it made its appearance in their little group.  We were relieved and felt much better about the situation when we met her special friend, Nick. If she has to detour into the pointless world of romance, he's someone we feel comfortable with. He's kind, smart, mature, respectful--a very good choice and just what you would want for your daughter's first romantic endeavor.

While we were still trying to adjust to this new situation and work out policies and guidelines that we didn't expect to need in place quite so soon, they dropped another surprise on us.  He was graduating in May (a year early), and he wanted to go to prom. She did not want to go, and initially resisted, but then realized it was his only shot to go and didn't want to deprive him of that. They informed us the Monday before prom that they were going.  I had several levels of private meltdowns. I don't approve of prom for many reasons. It's a pointless, ridiculous waste of money for the students who go, and a slap in the face to the many students who can't afford such a pointless waste of money.  I did not think I would have children who would participate in something so frivolous.

I took small comfort in the fact that she wasn't really into going but wanted to make him happy.  I wrestled with not making this about me.  This is probably my biggest struggle with raising kids.  Morals and ethics are incredibly important to me, and I want them to be important to the girls as well.  However, I have to be very careful not to impose my own personal moral code on my teen/adult children and let them find their own in matters where their health/safety/future is not directly at risk.  The fact that I believe proms are ridiculous and shouldn't occur should have no bearing on whether my children attend, because it's not a big deal to anyone but me.  I also struggle through the rather selfish notion of not wanting them to do things that will reflect badly on me (If I let her go to prom, people will think I approve of such stupid, wasteful activities.), and that is absolutely not an appropriate reason to deny someone an experience.  I did a lot of private emotional struggling during the week that I spent doing the activity I loathe most--shopping, and last-minute prom dress shopping is a particular kind of hell.

We looked everywhere and tried on countless dresses. It was so not fun.  She was becoming discouraged and hateful toward her body, which is absolutely fine but not easy to fit right off the rack.  We finally found a dress she didn't hate that was close to fitting, so after purchasing the dress, we started the last-minute (and thus overpriced) alteration process.  We used the shop at the Janesville mall (K-Alterations), and I have to say they did a really good job and got it done earlier than they said they would.  I will use them again.

In the course of that nightmarish week (come home from work, get dinner in, spend the rest of the night shopping), I discovered a couple of her friends were unable to get appropriate clothing but had tickets and were all planning to go as a group, so we took them along to get clothes--even more shopping, yay.  That week in which I spent hours every night shopping with a group of teens will serve as paying back the entirety of my karmic debt for a lifetime of ugly deeds (and I've done some really bad things in my wild youth).  Really, that has to be a wash.  I'm still suffering a little PTSD from that week. ;)

Luce & N. let us take some pictures here (I was allotted ten minutes), and then they went to have more pics taken by N's mom, who did a fantastic job and generously shared the pics with us.  They had dinner, attended prom, and then returned to N's house where the kids and N's parents hung out and had snacks around the fire pit.  They had a very nice evening, but stayed less than two hours at the prom--all agreeing that that was the least fun part of the evening.  So I mentally calculated the amount of money spent and the hours spent preparing for that two-hour stay at prom, and wanted to weep at the hourly breakdown.  We have some great photos and the kids have great memories. I try to remind myself of that when the numbers start dancing around in my head. 


N's parents are lovely people, too.  His mom sent a pre-prom gift for Luce--a very nice scented shower gel, lotion, shimmer mist spray.  She also made and gave her a photo album with some of the pictures she took from the night.  All of the following shots were taken at Rotary Botanical Gardens by N's mom.

After surviving the prom experience and finishing up my semester, we moved on to our next big, exciting May event--the Froggie adoption.