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mapsedgeWe got a dog Saturday.
I mean, one besides Shiner. The circumstances leading up to it put a bit of proof to the idea that the Infinite Singularity works in mysterious ways...and has an ironic and cruel sensibility.
This is the story: A woman bought the dog, a female schipperke, from a breeder as a companion after her husband died. Now the woman is dying from lung cancer, recently moved to hospice care and had to re-home the dog.
The lady's daughter went on the internet looking for someone who works with schipperkes and landed on a page with ten year old information, found Michelle's email address and sent an email describing her plight, and would we be able to find a home for "Schippy." (Hereinafter spelled "Skippy"*).
It's noteworthy that the address is no longer really checked and gets immediately shit-canned. Through some odd circumstance, this email made it through.
Michelle tells me what's going on. My immediate reaction the day before would have been "Fuck no...no way...not happening."
Saturday, perfectly calm, I said, "Let's go get a dog."
Why? I don't know. No thought to vet bills, additional chaos, more dog food, and when those thoughts did present they slid away like my brain had been greased. It's so totally out of character for me that I'm not sure I was even present.
When we get to the house - in Odessa, twenty miles away - we chat with the nephew and find out that he graduated Truman High School in the same graduating class as my brother David and knew exactly where we lived.
Completing the string of coincidences, Michelle is asking the question, "Where is the money going to come from to care for this dog?" while checking the mail and finds the IRS notice that our economic stimulus check is on the way.
Jeez Louise.
Skippy's a lover dog - gets really bent out of shape if you sit in a chair long enough without holding her in your lap. At five years old she's full grown, and at only 10lbs 6oz she's easy to hold - no bigger than a football, but with more appendages. For perspective, that's less than half of Shiner. Because of her size, I had to finish the garden fence and set the pickets much closer together than I would have otherwise. Never made a picket fence from scratch before, and it was kind of fun.
The interesting part is that she has the recessive gene for brown fur. At the moment, under my upstairs desk, she appears black. In bright sunlight though, she turns auburn, mostly on her rear haunches.
She's got a patch behind her shoulders and down one leg that's been shaved. She had a reaction to an OTC flea/tick med and the vet had to shave her to treat it, so she's not very pretty right now. She's got a sweet face; I'm interested to see how her fur will fill back out over the next month.
Her health is a real question. Of course, like many Schips she has a problem with obstructive airway: they have really tiny throats, so when they get worked up they wheeze like a rusty steam engine. She appears to have a cold - her nose runs and is caked around the edges. Lastly, most worrying, she hasn't eaten that we've seen since Saturday, except for a few small bites of pizza crust, and threw all of that up.
All that will, of course, change. She gets a trip to OUR vet today or tomorrow for a thorough check and whatever tune-up is needed. No fleas or ticks, which given that she spent time on a farm around livestock surprises me.
Officially, the arrangement is temporary. If she doesn't fit in the family, we'll send her to a schipperke breeder in Edgerton, KS. I don't think she'll be leaving though. My worry with animals and my kids is aggression, either over food, or space, or territory. When she plays, she is ferocious, but she is careful not to bite. She's not aggressive except as affection is concerned, as in, "Dude, it's been three whole fucking minutes since you petted me. Um...yap!!!"
Jami and the cats could care less. Shiner's not sure. Katie's happy and comfortable(!). Michelle has something else to mother, so she's happy. Me? Not sure yet. God's letting my brain work again.
A thought does present: I wonder if our home is merely a way-station on her journey. We'll see.
p.s. I'm typing this trying to see around Skippy's head. She's in my lap, standing with her front feet on the desk like Leonardo Dicaprio on the bow of the Titanic.
* Yes, the name is unfortunate, but she answers to it, so we're stuck for now.
So, the dog on your left is Skippy. Shiner, obviously not too happy, on the right. Below this, the new fence, just because. (Note the security sign on the gate)
I mean, one besides Shiner. The circumstances leading up to it put a bit of proof to the idea that the Infinite Singularity works in mysterious ways...and has an ironic and cruel sensibility.
This is the story: A woman bought the dog, a female schipperke, from a breeder as a companion after her husband died. Now the woman is dying from lung cancer, recently moved to hospice care and had to re-home the dog.
The lady's daughter went on the internet looking for someone who works with schipperkes and landed on a page with ten year old information, found Michelle's email address and sent an email describing her plight, and would we be able to find a home for "Schippy." (Hereinafter spelled "Skippy"*).
It's noteworthy that the address is no longer really checked and gets immediately shit-canned. Through some odd circumstance, this email made it through.
Michelle tells me what's going on. My immediate reaction the day before would have been "Fuck no...no way...not happening."
Saturday, perfectly calm, I said, "Let's go get a dog."
Why? I don't know. No thought to vet bills, additional chaos, more dog food, and when those thoughts did present they slid away like my brain had been greased. It's so totally out of character for me that I'm not sure I was even present.
When we get to the house - in Odessa, twenty miles away - we chat with the nephew and find out that he graduated Truman High School in the same graduating class as my brother David and knew exactly where we lived.
Completing the string of coincidences, Michelle is asking the question, "Where is the money going to come from to care for this dog?" while checking the mail and finds the IRS notice that our economic stimulus check is on the way.
Jeez Louise.
Skippy's a lover dog - gets really bent out of shape if you sit in a chair long enough without holding her in your lap. At five years old she's full grown, and at only 10lbs 6oz she's easy to hold - no bigger than a football, but with more appendages. For perspective, that's less than half of Shiner. Because of her size, I had to finish the garden fence and set the pickets much closer together than I would have otherwise. Never made a picket fence from scratch before, and it was kind of fun.
The interesting part is that she has the recessive gene for brown fur. At the moment, under my upstairs desk, she appears black. In bright sunlight though, she turns auburn, mostly on her rear haunches.
She's got a patch behind her shoulders and down one leg that's been shaved. She had a reaction to an OTC flea/tick med and the vet had to shave her to treat it, so she's not very pretty right now. She's got a sweet face; I'm interested to see how her fur will fill back out over the next month.
Her health is a real question. Of course, like many Schips she has a problem with obstructive airway: they have really tiny throats, so when they get worked up they wheeze like a rusty steam engine. She appears to have a cold - her nose runs and is caked around the edges. Lastly, most worrying, she hasn't eaten that we've seen since Saturday, except for a few small bites of pizza crust, and threw all of that up.
All that will, of course, change. She gets a trip to OUR vet today or tomorrow for a thorough check and whatever tune-up is needed. No fleas or ticks, which given that she spent time on a farm around livestock surprises me.
Officially, the arrangement is temporary. If she doesn't fit in the family, we'll send her to a schipperke breeder in Edgerton, KS. I don't think she'll be leaving though. My worry with animals and my kids is aggression, either over food, or space, or territory. When she plays, she is ferocious, but she is careful not to bite. She's not aggressive except as affection is concerned, as in, "Dude, it's been three whole fucking minutes since you petted me. Um...yap!!!"
Jami and the cats could care less. Shiner's not sure. Katie's happy and comfortable(!). Michelle has something else to mother, so she's happy. Me? Not sure yet. God's letting my brain work again.
A thought does present: I wonder if our home is merely a way-station on her journey. We'll see.
p.s. I'm typing this trying to see around Skippy's head. She's in my lap, standing with her front feet on the desk like Leonardo Dicaprio on the bow of the Titanic.
* Yes, the name is unfortunate, but she answers to it, so we're stuck for now.
So, the dog on your left is Skippy. Shiner, obviously not too happy, on the right. Below this, the new fence, just because. (Note the security sign on the gate)