Hug!

Maisey is a true pibble...she loves to give kisses.

By kisses I mean she loves to tackle you and lick your face until it is dripping, or you manage to hide your head under the nearest safe harbor (aka a pillow).

For example:

















If you dare make one sound while she's showering you with her affection things get a little dicey. She is so beside herself with love and glee that she starts nipping at your nose (and not in the Christmas-y Jack Frost way...). Don't let the smile on Babs' face fool you, this isn't exactly a desired behavior for a dog as solid as Maisey. The thing is, we had the hardest time training her to get down. She just gets too damned excited to be redirected.

Well, if you can't beat 'em...train 'em to do it on command!

I give you "Maisey, hug."



















Yes, we trained our dog to clamber up onto our shoulders and lick away. You would think this would lead to more of the same...out of control licking, a couple nips at the nose.

Nope.

Instead, we combined the lesson in "Masiey, hug" with "Maisey, get down," making sure to give that command way before her head exploded from the exuberance. Her need to be socloseshecancounttheporesonyournose is met and our need for boundaries is met too.

Mission accomplished. Go Team Awesome.

What Exactly IS An American Shelter Hound?

We have mutts. Two of them.

Taking them out in public, which we do frequently, is one long game of "Guess That Breed".

Let's start with Maisey.
























People think Maisey is a Boxer, a Pointer, a Bull Dog, a Pitbull, a Terrier, a Hound, and all manner of boxy-headed breeds. Truth is, we have no idea. She was found as a stray on the streets of Iowa, dumped in a shelter, then pulled before her "kill date" by a rescue here in the Twin Cities. An awesome father/son combination fostered her for several months before we adopted her last spring.

So we have concluded that Sweet Maisey Potato Head is simply an "American Shelter Hound".

Nubbinectomy

Not to start off my first venture into blogging with a downer, but last night's eventfulness is what prompted me to give this a whirl!

Right...just tell the story...

Shortly after dinner, B noticed a couple spots of blood on the stairs. We did what every good pet owner does at this point: reach for the nearest animal and start feeling around. B hit the jackpot with Maisey. Now, Maisey's our bleeder in the family. She has a spot on her chin that periodically opens up, says hi, then goes away. I figured that was our source.

No problem. A little styptic powder, a little pressure and she's good.

I wish.

I think the moment I realized it wasn't her chin was when B, my dear emetophobic B, nearly threw up. It seems that Maisey had managed to rip part of her carpal pad away from her leg.

Yes, it is as gross as it sounds.

B and I immediately activated our Team Awesome wonder twin powers. In a blur we managed to put Gypsy in her crate, find the address for the after-hours vet, put a temporary bandage on Maisey's leg, and hit the road. All this, and no additional blood letting!

Is bleeding pet management an Olympic event?

B was a rock star driving through the tail end of rush hour traffic while I sat in the back of the car, keeping Maisey calm. Minor detail that I had wrapped her leg too tight, leading to the most panicked howling we've ever heard from her. Once I figured out what was up I rewrapped her leg and it was smooth sailing.

Except for the nausea.

Have I mentioned that I get carsick if I'm not driving? I do. It's not pleasant, especially when you don't have access to the two things that can make you semi-comfortable; a view of the road and some cool air. What I had was a view of the rear end of my SUV and a portable furnace named Maisey.

I love my dog.

We finally arrived, got checked in, and kept Maisey calm with a steady stream of Milkbones. The vet was great, offering us two options for care - 1) suture the flap back in place and hope it heals despite the poor blood supply to the area, or 2) clip the flap off and let it be. Considering how active our girls are, option 1 seemed like a guaranteed return visit to the vet. So, off Maisey went through the back door of the exam room.

5-10 minutes, and some whining and howling later Maisey was brought back in with her fancy new bandage (which is way better than the kitchen towel/ace bandage system I had rigged!).