The one where my dog shat himself ….. and then I screamed DON’T KILL MY DOG

My car is still in for repairs — to the tune of R65 000.00 and change.  As mentioned before, VW Caddy’s are not designed for plowing fields.

Well, you live and learn new things each and every day.

I found out my dog Parker gets violently car sick.

How did I find this out?  You may ask.  On the R300, like you do.

I was driving to Pringle Bay – I decided to take the dogs along, because the kids were not with me.  And because I am scared of the dark, and my dogs make me feel better when I am faced with a large wall of blackness.

Any the ho. I thought this would be a nice leisurely drive. I would stop along Clarens Drive and take selfies of me and the dogs, you know doing cool stuff.  That is how I imagined it.

Reality unfortunately did not receive the memo.

FORTUNATELY. I had placed blankets on the back seat of the car (the hired car) and I put the dogs in and off we went.  I knew something was a bit off when Dexter jumped into the front seat with a look of suprise on his face.  He is a Boston Terrier – guy has huge freaking eyes, for him to look more surprised you must know something big is going on.

Parker_9017

 

 

I look at the back seat and Parker – the French Bulldog – has evacuated his bowels, and is now proceeding to try to empty everything out of his body cavity via his mouth.  Onto the back seat of the rental car.

Parker_9229

Of course I am swearing like a drunken sailor —- and it leaves me no choice but to swerve controllably from the right hand land across three lanes and come to a halt on the side of the road.

I do not wish to knock anyone who has real estate anywhere along or near the R300, but shall I say that of all the places you want to stop your car – alone – the R300 is seldom a good choice.

Which probably explains why they do not have those concrete picnic tables and chairs that were ché cool in 1984.

I turn the engine off, and try to assess the damage.

The damage is a large amount of runny shit and a fair amount of dog vomit, which is only being exasperated by the fact that he is now lying in it.

Cheese and rice.  I try and scoop up what I can —- yes we have all scooped up shit and puke, don’t act like you have never had to catch some from your child …this is similiar, it is just a dog and in my car.

I then realise I need to grab a plastic bag from the boot as I need somewhere to safely store the now shit soaked blankets.  I get out the car, careful to only open the door a fraction because the traffic is barrelling down on me.

A fraction is pretty much all Dexter needs to exit the vehicle and go and stand in the lane of the oncoming traffic.

Fortunatey – because it could not get much worse, he froze and just stood there.  As I would have done had three lanes of traffic being headed to me at speeds in excess of 120 km/h.

The way I solved the problem was to flap my hands around hysterically – not dissimiliar to how they do JAZZ HANDS in fancy dance routines.  I also screamed MY DOG, MY FUCKING DOG, DON’T KILL MY DOG …… I am not sure what helped, the screaming, my hysteria, my improvised dance routine or the rather large eyes of Dexter, but traffic managed for the most part to try and swerve around him.

I eventually sat on the tar and tried to coax him OUT OF THE THREE LANE HIGHWAY.  How the hell that dog got out of there and was not killed, or me killed is still a mystery.

Get dog in car.  Have a small yet powerful crying jag.

Go to the boot, get plastic bags – get back into car vacillating between screaming at Dexter for being so stupid, and then kissing him and telling him I am so grateful he is alive all whilst trying to cram shit covered, and now dripping puke, blankets into the now what seem like really small plastic bags.

Just as I am really up to the my elbows in all things chaos, three police vehicles pull over.  These guys climb out armed to the hilt.  I had a vague sense they were expecting more than a hysterical woman in a car and two dogs.

He knocks on the window.  I can’t hear what he is saying as the traffic is so noisy.  I am still a bit hysterical, and I cannot work out how to get the rental vehicle’s passenger side vehicle to roll down.

I have no idea what this guys assessment of the situation must have been — my guess is he was radioing in for backup, or at least some sort of sanitary control vehicle.

I eventually find the go down window button —- now bearing in mind I am still moving between crying, laughing with happiness and retching —- I am trying to say “I am fine”  and I have huge panda eyes of mascara and no doubt a bit of shit on my shirt too.

He does not look convinced.  He leans over and says “Ma’am are you okay?”

Me: Yes ….. I had a bit of a dog incident….

Him: You know you shouldn’t park here …

Me: *glancing around at my surroundings as if I had just noticed I was not parked in the scenic part of town” … yes, I know, my dog just shat himself and puked, and then the other one nearly got run over in the road …….

Him: *possibly removing the safety off his gun* …. are you okay?

Me:  Yes …. dogs you know …. *I sort of shrugged like that would make sense*

Him: *leans over and looks at the dogs* ….. do you need any help?

I am wondering then if it would be okay to ask the nice policeman to help me clean shit and puke of the car seats ….. my guess is his idea of public service is not going to go that far…

I eventually compose myself —- try to appear like I can control a vehicle and two dogs, and merge back into the traffic.

Parker then continued to puke the entire way to Pringle Bay.  Eventually he was not puking so much as trying to disengage his liver and spleen.

It is really difficult for a French Bulldog to look sad — but Parker looked like death.

Clearly I did not do any selfies, no stops along Clarens Drive — and now I need to get a full valet before I return the rental car.

Otherwise it was a really lovely drive.

 

 

 

 

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Dog Shows and Boston Terriers

I have Dexter who is a Boston Terrier.

I have been a Staffordshire Bull Terrier person for years, but two or three years ago, I thought I just need “less dog.”

I love Staffordshire Bull Terriers, but they get into your car and they become the car.  They do not so much get on the bed, as take over the bed.  For my household, it just became less than ideal with three kids and a dog, I needed a breed that was easier for my life style.

Staffies are not known for their ability to blend in with other dogs, and this is really problematic as we often head to Sandbaai and my mom has three dogs, which means I always have to leave my dog at home.

Any the who, I adore French Bulldogs and Boston Terriers.

I contacted a breeder about a Boston Terrier (actually I contacted several).  We hooked up and she had a litter (her bitch clearly, not her personally) and discussed Dexter with me (Carogan Ive Gotta Feelin).

I received him in January 2012, and he is gorgeous.  Dexter has been great, he is such a character, and really easy to throw into the car and take him pretty much anywhere.

I also love dog shows.  No really I do.  It is just one of those things I really love. I love ring stewarding, I love watching dog shows, I love having a dog taking part.

The idea of getting Dexter, was so that there was potential to show him.  I started showing him recently and so far he has done really well – he has been shown in the Puppy class and I have been really proud of him.  He does unfortunately think he is Cujo at a certain point of the show, which is not ideal, and is pretty much when everything goes pear-shaped …. fast.

I took him along to the West Coast Kennel Club Qualifying Show on Sunday, 4 November.  The idea was to leave the kids at home, and me head to the show with Dexter.  Isabelle saw me trying to leave and there was no way she was going to let me go anywhere.

I had to take her along to the dog show – Kennith is on a business trip to China/visiting is his other family.  Taking a young child to a dog show by yourself is sort of an okay idea in principle, but not a not great idea in application.

I walk in to the show ring, and Isabelle is running behind me screaming MOMMY with tears running down her face.  I could not calm her or get her out of the ring, so I just continued to show Dexter with a child SCREAMING running behind me.

Dog shows are meant to be really serious affairs, and one shows one’s job with a certain measure of seriousness.  One wants to win after all.

There I am walking around the ring with my dog, whilst my three-year old is running behind me screaming.  We did a triangle, and Isabelle ran behind SCREAMING doing a triangle as well.

Other than that, Dexter won Best Puppy and Best of Breed for his Breed. Of course he bombed out in the Group Competitions — he is just not a group competition kinda guy.

I have started internet dating … and I think I have met someone ….

It’s been more than a year since we had a dog in our house.

I have never been dogless.  I have been legless, motherless, and sometimes senseless, but I have always had a dog.

We babysat a dog earlier this year.

I really would like to tell you it was a good experience. I really would.

I got very angry that a family had probably had this dog, and given it no discipline.  They decided to move (probably to get away from the dog).  The dog then got passed along to a variety of people, but the dog really was too much dog for anyone.

I really want to find those original owners and make them listen to Whitney Houston’s “I will always love you” on a loop so their ear drums bleed.

I felt so bad for this dog.  I called a dog behaviorist and thought I would take it on the chin and keep the stupid and annoying dog and train her.

I have never met a dog I hated. I hated this dog.  Like day-dream-about-hate.

Towards the end of our “dog-sitting” time, I started wondering if I could kill the dog myself.  I also thought that maybe I could just leave the gate open and the dog could just run away.

I blame the original owners who did not love this dog enough to teach it manners.  They in theory should be found and slapped.  Hard.  With a spade.

Basically they metered out a death sentence for Maya.  And they made me totally shift my thinking regarding ever taking in a “rescue dog” (hate mail email address is along the side, feel free to drop me any hate mail you would like, really!)

In the end, the dog was poisoned.  Not by me, but clearly by someone who had slightly less patience than me, and maybe needed a bit more medication.

So that was my experience with a dog this year.

It jaded me to “thinking” about getting a new do in our house.  I really was not up for it.

I thought about a dog a few months back, but was not ready.  Flash backs of the black-bitch-from-hell kept playing through the VCR in my head.

A few weeks ago, I thought I might be.  Maybe it was a hormonal imbalance, maybe I missed a pill that day.  Who knows.

I started looking around and looking at what I wanted in a breed, and one thing led to another.

I decided that I wanted a French Bulldog or a Boston Terrier.  Then I realised I loved both breeds and I want both.

Recently online I met Declan.  I call him Dexter.  I love the sound of Dexter.

I sometimes say his name out loud in the middle of the day, to no one in particular.

I find Dexter very handsome and he makes me smile and giggle a bit.

I get excited every time I get an email from his mom.  I am quite “in love” with Dexter, but I am trying to act more aloof than I feel.

He comes with his own bowl, lead and collar.

I must confess I am quite smitten.  The only problem with internet dating is that you really do not know who you are talking to.

Dexter could be a 6-year-old Maltese Poodle, with bad breath and a hernia, masquerading as a Boston Terrier!   He could be.

I need to meet Dexter at the airport on the morning of the 18 November …… he comes with a box, as all good dates should.

His mom has asked me to deposit a large wad of money before she sends him, which makes me suspicious that our relationship is not founded on true love.  It has made our relationship a bit less “magical” than it was before.

I am still meeting him at the airport on the 18 November!

French Bulldogs …. I want I want I want … please may I have?

We went to view this litter of 9 French Bulldog puppies on Sunday morning.

We took Connor with us, and left the two girls at home.

It would have been totally chaotic with all three kids and nine puppies we were not allowed to touch.

I would have been so busy slapping little hands that I would not have had a chance just to sit in the drool and grunts that are French Bulldogs.

Oh my giddy aunt, my heart skipped a beat.  I gasped what I saw this lot.  I do think puppies are cuter than children … they just are ….

I like puppies as much as the next person, but freak, there were nine little monkeys here and I could so easily have snatched one and put him in my camera bag.

The mother was Hannah, but what was even more divine is that there was a puppy from her first litter, and she was a brindle bitch and just under 18 months – she was absolutely divine.

The litter is 4 weeks old.  The viewing is so that we could be introduced to the breeder and they could make a decision we were special enough to take home one of these special puppies in about 6 weeks.

It was a bit like going to a popularity contest with a few dozen people and not sure exactly what the criteria was for the selection.  But still hoping that what ever it was you got chose.

You want to be polite to the other people there viewing, but you realise they are direct competition.

Just like that.

I have to go so I can stare at my cell phone and wait for it to ring!!  Breeder please call me and tell me I can choose a puppy …. please call ….. please call

More photos can be viewed through this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/celestebarlow/