Month: July 2010

Ok. I have to say, on behalf of Catie and Riley, this has been a lousy week.

Tuesday. 3 AM. Wake up to the sound of Riley barking. In my stupor, I’m confused because it’s not the same bark he makes if someone’s on the street outside the house. I think: OMG, maybe it’s Catie. Run downstairs. He’s sitting by the back door, obviously wanting to go out. Bad. He has never, in five years, ever barked to be let outside.

He has several very urgent, very watery movements.

5:00 AM. More barking. More nasty stuff.

Tuesday PM Come home to a mess all over the floor. Riley is mortified. It’s boiled hamburger and rice time.

Wednesday. Makes it to 5 AM before he hollers. Come home to another mess. Poor guy.

Thursday. Same deal except now Catie’s got the nasties too.

Friday. Riley’s not much better; to add to it all, Catie’s thrown up a couple of times. Off to the vet to get checked. Homeward bound minus $210. (small change compared to other veterinary expenditures this year) and some medications: something to coat their stomachs and some antibiotics and instructions to collect a stool sample from one or the other and bring back to check for parasites. This is definitely a task on hubby’s to-do list.

On a positive note, however, because Catie shares the same miserable symptoms as Riley, this bout of illness can’t be because of the cancer.

Here’s hoping they both start feeling better soon.

I

I’ve had my fingers poised over this keyboard many, many times over the last week. I think too much has happened over the last while for me to form a coherent thought so I’m just going to say that Catie and Riley survived their stay at the doggie hotel while we were in Cuba for my daughter’s wedding, which – by the way – was spectacularly beautiful. Cuba, however – ahem – well,  except for the glorious waters and the white sand on the beach and the tropical landscape, that country needs a significant overhaul despite the rhetoric of the “triumph of the revolution.” I personally didn’t see a lot of evidence of triumph. If you were to judge Cuba by the vintage American cars on the road, you’d think you’d been transported back to the 1950s; Cubans apparently have never heard of 2-ply toilet paper and the 1-ply is severely rationed; the blow-dryers in the hotel rooms had scary vacuum-cleaner-like hoses; and let’s not even talk about going through security at the airport…BUT the wedding was amazing and in my objective opinion my daughter was stunningly beautiful. Sorry… I couldn’t resist adding these.

And of course, then there were the beautiful children I had to board for a week.

They are very happy we’re home.

Something strange is going on.

The dog eating machine has been working overtime the last couple of days as Mom and Dad – in a flurry of activity totally unlike their usual selves – as the treasure-trove of fur balls Catie and I carefully tucked away in the house were hunted out.

There are open suitcases on the beds.

Mom’s got that crazed look in her eyes she gets when she’s stressed. Her hair is sticking out every which way. Mom’s been obsessing about hurricanes.

This is not good. We don’t get hurricanes in the prairies.

It takes me a while to figure it all out. There’s been a lot of talk about our human sister’s wedding. There’s been a lot of talk about Cuba. I thought at first they were talking about one of the world’s best actors until I realized there were referring to a place.

“Dude, you and Catie can’t come,” Mom says. She gives us extra cookies.

I’ve scoped out Cuba on the internet while Mom’s been crazy with packing and housework. Beaches. Water. I see no reason Catie and I can’t come so we get dressed in our beach gear.

COME ON MOM! WE’VE GOTTA GO BEFORE MY PANTS FALL OFF!

Mom feels sad but she tells us it’s only for a week. We’re off this morning to a kennel-free kennel where my pre-vet cousin works and I won’t have access to a computer for a little while.

Since we can’t be at the wedding, Catie wants me to post a picture of her with the bride-to-be.

Since I won’t be writing for a bit, here’s a a pic of ME!

Have a great week everyone!

The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession.

Sherlock Holmes

Monday, June 28, 2010
9:20 PM

Catie and I are hanging around waiting for our next unsolved case. Results from the investigation of Catie’s missing whiskers and the naked patches remain inconclusive. Suspect has covered her tracks well. The good news is that Catie’s bare patches seem to be slowly growing in and she doesn’t particularly miss the whiskers anyways.

Case closed due to insufficient evidence.

Mom is running up and down the stairs doing laundry. Catie’s rolling around on her back with her three legs in the air. I’m thinking that if I was a real supersleuth I’d be kicking back with a whiskey or brandy or even some Kentucky bourbon like dudes Philip Marlowe and Sam Spade. Instead, I’m stuck with water in a stainless steel bowl.

“Good grief,” Mom says, marching another basket of clothes up the stairs, “One of you guys really has bad gas. Phew.”

9:40 PM

When is Mom going to bed? I want my bedtime snack.

9:50 PM

Surely this is the last time she’s going to run down the stairs to the laundry room. Arms full, she pauses at the foot of the stairs and gives an exaggerated noisy sniff.

“It really stinks down here. Phooey,” she says. She carries the clothing up to the bedroom and returns to the family room.

The investigation doesn’t take long. She spies the dirty deed on the area rug between the television and dad’s amplifier and guitar. A perfect pile of excrement. “What the h—,” she says. She is genuinely shocked. “Where did that come from?”

A rhetorical question I’m sure. The critical query, as any supersleuth knows, is: “How long has that been there??”

After Mom removes the deposit, she lifts Catie’s tail and checks her butt. She checks mine. She’s dusting for carpet fibres. Oh come on! She’s watched too many episodes of CSI.

10:25 PM

The carpet’s been spot cleaned and scrubbed. Mom’s been all-over scrubbed and showered. I’m subjected to another random bottom check before being allowed on the bed.  Catie’s on the floor by the bed. We’re still waiting for our snack.

“Did you poop on the floor, Riley?” she says. Me???? Her face is alarmingly close to mine so I squirm and wiggle to disarm her. I know how to work the charm when I have to. She asks me again and again. I squirm and wiggle again and again and make short order of the interrogation.

Three days later Mom still obsesses over the crime. She talks about it with dad, the neighbours, her friends, strangers on the street, she’s sent query emails to Ace Ventura Pet Detective.. It drives her crazy not knowing who the culprit is. Again, however, she’s totally missed the relevant question: WHY?

Riley’s Supersleuth List of Clues:

• no evidence of any gastro-intenstinal distress on my part or Catie’s
• shortly after dinner Monday evening there was a rocking  thunderstorm. Now, storms aren’t enjoyed by dudes, but they are tolerated albeit with mild apprehension. However… Catie hates storms. Catie is petrified of storms. Catie quivers and pants and shakes and sometimes crawls into the bathtub during storms. Most importantly, there is no way Catie will go outside during a storm. For ANY reason whatsoever. Period.

It is my conclusion, based on all the circumstantial evidence, the window-shaking crack of thunder at 7:05 PM, simply scared the poop out of Catie.

Mom, this case is closed.