Dozer: Dozamo. The Doze Man. Big Daddy Dozer. Knucklehead. Slobberbox.

It is a sad day in our home; this morning around 7:20, our dog Dozer passed away. As it was apparent he was nearing the end, we were trying to get him to the vet to help ease his pain, but he passed on before we could get him there.

We got Dozer from a shelter in Chicago in August of 2009; he had been in the shelter system for more than a year. No one had taken him home - either afraid of his size or his medical issues, I guess. Oh well, their loss was our gain. We found out after we got him that he didn't have hip dysplasia (as we were told) but a ruptured ACL in his left knee. We could have returned him to the shelter, but he was such a great dog! If we had turned him in, it is doubtful he would have ever been adopted. So, we kept him - knowing that someday, he would rupture his knee again and we would have to make a decision.

As we got to know Dozer and he came out of his emotional shell from being in the system for so long, we learned that we had hit the jackpot of dogs. He told his own story: he was so well behaved that it was obvious someone had loved and trained him well as a puppy. He wouldn't hurt a flea. But at the same time, he came to us underweight (only 95 lbs! - you could see his ribs), sick, emotionally withdrawn, and with sores on his legs and elbows from laying on concrete constantly. We could tell that whomever had loved him so well had died or left in some way, and someone else who just didn't care had him - and left him outside for hours on end, and finally in some way he came to the shelter.

When Champs found him on PetFinder.com on a Monday evening, he made arrangements for us to drive to Chicago the next night and bring him home. We brought him home at 11:30 at night on Tuesday (in spite of the fact that Champs had to get up at 4:30 for work). For weeks, Dozer (who was named Andre at the shelter) would do as he was told, but kept an emotional distance. As we worked with him, teaching him his new name, taking him for walks, playing with him and loving him, he slowly opened up and became this amazing dog with such a deep love for us - especially Champs. He obeyed me better than Champs, but he lived and breathed for the moment Daddy walked through the door every day.

Our four years with Dozer were awesome. We took him to the Freedom Celebration parade every July 4. It was so much fun to see people leave the parade and come to pet our dog. He loved to go on walks and would dance around the house until John was ready to take him out. Champs would play with him out on our driveway and Dozer would play growl and jump. From a distance, it looked (and sounded) like we had a monster dog, but it was all in fun. He never hurt a soul. At Christmas we would buy him a new kong-type rubber toy. He knew that smell and would help Daddy tear the package open to reveal his new treasure, and would demand to play right then and there. He liked to pretend he was the master of the house, but in reality, our 120 pound brut would cower before the cats - even going so far as to sleep elsewhere if our cat Jack was curled up on Dozer's bed!

Dozer was 10 years old when he ruptured his knee again a week ago. He'd already passed the life expectancy for his breed. We couldn't afford surgery, and it would have been a long and iffy rehabilitation for him anyway. We tried pain meds to help him through the pain while his knee scarred over, but they just didn't mesh well with his system and he's been sick the last few days.

It is so sad to lose our buddy, but I know that he adored Champs to no end, and helped a number of people who were afraid of big dogs to have a positive experience around one. He was sweet, gentle, funny, and a happy boy to be around. I won't miss Dozer Spit on my walls, but oh, I will miss our big, furry friend.

RIP, Buddy.

Slug Bug Blue

When I was a child - three, maybe 4 years old - my mother drove a baby blue Volkswagen Beetle. A blue bug. I have vague memories of riding around in the back seat of the bug, strapped into a blue vinyl and steel bar car seat that had as much chance of ripping the skin off the back of my thighs as it did of saving my life in the event of an accident.

My clearer memories of the bug - when I was, oh about 12 years old - are of pieces of the car scattered in various corners of our garage. Apparently the motor needed to be fixed. My father owned a gas station and was a mechanic, but like the proverbial shoeless children of the cobbler, our car was neglected in favor of more important things. Finally my dad pulled out the pieces and sold them off just to erase that project from his to-do list.

My mom is in town, and we've introduced her to the family obsession with playing "Slug Bug". One day on the road we saw a baby blue bug, which brought up our ill-fated beetle. And Mom told us a story.

When I was a baby, my mom had two Great Danes, a brother and a sister named Hercules and Sari. My mother's cousin, G Elaine, was a foster mother to 4 children with Down Syndrome. For some reason, these large dogs always charmed and calmed the kids when they were having a bad day. On such a day, G Elaine called my mom and asked her to bring the dogs over to help with the kids. Mom agreed, and not having the family sedan at her disposal, took me and the dogs in the bug.

After a successful day with the kids, we headed home - 25 miles away by freeway in rush hour traffic. When Mom was almost home, she saw lights in the rear view mirror; a cop was pulling her over! She checked her speed, her lane - anything she could think of, but everything was normal. When she got pulled over, she asked the officer what was the matter.

"Oh, nothing", replied the officer. "But when I saw this tiny car with these two big dog heads sticking out of the sun roof, I just had to see it for myself!" Slug Bug blue, indeed!

Feeding Our Dog - or - Dozer Deserves an A!

Now that Dozer is a member of the family, I've stepped up my research and learning about all things dog. Prior to bringing him home, I became a fan of "It's Me or The Dog" on TV, learning about proper socialization and training. I lurked all over the AKC and other websites learning the major differences in temperament and breed standards for the large working breed dogs. But when Dozer came home, I started researching Bull Mastiffs and Boxers in particular (he is a mix of the two), and paying particular attention to the best foods for him.

At the website GoliathMastiffs.com, I found a page that gave TONS of information about the ingredients in commercial, vet, and holistic dog foods. Some of the information turned my stomach, to be honest. I learned that almost all commercial dog foods are made of ingredients that I don't want my dog to eat!

At the end of the page, the author provided a way to grade your dog's food from A to F. I found out that Dozer's food is only a C or C- and may possibly be contributing to skin issues and a probable reason for his stinkiness. Since then I've found a food that we'll be starting him on this week - it grade an A+ and doesn't have any corn or wheat - common allergens for dogs. Who knows - maybe cats, too.

Because I've learned so much from this, I give to you the Dog Food Grader. I encourage you to check out the web page where I found it, and then grab your dog's bag of food and check out the ingredients against the score card. Who knows? You may find yourself heading to the local feed store sooner than you think!


How to grade your dog's food

Start with a grade of 100:

1. For every listing of "by-product", subtract 10 points
2. For every non-specific animal source ("meat" or "poultry", meat, meal or fat) reference, subtract 10 points
3. If the food contains BHA, BHT, or ethoxyquin, subtract 10 points
4. For every grain "mill run" or non-specific grain source, subtract 5 points
5. If the same grain ingredient is used 2 or more times in the first five ingredients (i.e. "ground brown rice", "brewer's rice", "rice flour" are all the same grain), subtract 5 points
6. If the protein sources are not meat meal and there are less than 2 meats in the top 3 ingredients, subtract 3 points
7. If it contains any artificial colorants, subtract 3 points
8. If it contains ground corn or whole grain corn, subtract 3points
9. If corn is listed in the top 5 ingredients, subtract 2 more points
10. If the food contains any animal fat other than fish oil, subtract 2 points
11. If lamb is the only animal protein source (unless your dog is allergic to other protein sources), subtract 2 points
12. If it contains soy or soybeans, subtract 2 points
13. If it contains wheat (unless you know that your dog isn't allergic to wheat), subtract 2 points
14. If it contains beef (unless you know that your dog isn't allergic to beef), subtract 1 point
15. If it contains salt, subtract 1 point


Extra Credit:

1. If any of the meat sources are organic, add 5 points
2. If the food is endorsed by any major breed group or nutritionist, add 5 points
3. If the food is baked not extruded, add 5 points
4. If the food contains probiotics, add 3 points
5. If the food contains fruit, add 3 points
6. If the food contains vegetables (NOT corn or other grains), add 3 points
7. If the animal sources are hormone-free and antibiotic-free, add 2 points
8. If the food contains barley, add 2 points
9. If the food contains flax seed oil (not just the seeds), add 2 points
10. If the food contains oats or oatmeal, add 1 point
11. If the food contains sunflower oil, add 1 point
12. For every different specific animal protein source (other than the first one; count "chicken" and "chicken meal" as only one protein source, but "chicken" and "" as 2 different sources), add 1 point
13. If it contains glucosamine and chondroitin, add 1 point
14. If the vegetables have been tested for pesticides and are pesticide-free, add 1 point


94-100+ = A
86-93 = B
78-85 = C
70-77 = D
69 = F

The newest member of the family

Family Expansion on a Weeknight

Champs has wanted a dog pretty much since the day we got married almost 11 years ago. Due to varying circumstances - most of them revolving around rental agreements or long employment hours, it just couldn't happen.

However, when we bought our home in March, the door opened for us to finally get a dog. We determined that we wanted a large dog; a Great Dane, preferably, or a mastiff.


We were lined up to adopt a Great Dane in we found in Indiana on Petfinder, but that fell through, breaking our hearts. After that, we tried to adopt a bull dog and then a Great Dane on Craig's List, but the owners were not upright in their business dealings. It was beginning to look like we may never find a dog for our family. Until this last Tuesday.

On Tuesday night, Champs was looking on Petfinder again when he saw these sad eyes looking out from the screen. He immediately wrote to the woman, who responded a few minutes later, giving us the go ahead to call her the next day after noon and discuss meeting the dog. Champs had Wednesday off, so he anxiously awaited noon and then gave Kristine at Eye on the Sparrow Dog Rescue a call. He explained our situation and asked about the dog. Then he agreed to come that evening - if she promised that she wasn't going to back out at the last minute. He explained that we couldn't handle that kind of pain again.

After hearing our story, she promised that the only way we would leave without the dog was if it was our choice. After I got off work, we drove 2.5 hours to northern IL and met the dog she called Andre. He was such a quiet, gentle love. Being a special needs rescue, we knew he may have some issues. He is about 5 years old and is already showing the beginnings of hip displaysia. But even when he was obviously uncomfortable, he was gentle, loving, obedient and calm - exactly the kind of dog I wanted for my introduction back into dog owning, and just what we needed for our daughter and my work-at-home-on-the-phone job. So we brought him home. We didn't get home until after 10:30 on Wednesday, and John needed to be up by 3:45 the next morning. Champs didn't think about the lost sleep; he only thought about the dog.

Bringing a new dog home at 10:30 the night before you have to work, the kid has to go to school, and the cats are expecting another average day is, to say the least, a possibly foolhardy proposition. It worked well though. Well, other than the cats. They were unimpressed, to say the least. Now, four days later, they are beginning to calm down.

By Thursday evening, we had to bathe our new Bull Mastiff, and we were still working on a name for him. When we tried to get him in the tub, he would have none of it - living up to the bull part of his breed, and we couldn't budge him, living up to the mastiff part of his breed. We finally threw up our hands in defeat and took him outside and bathed him on the sidewalk.

By Friday, after entertaining a lot of name options (Chief, Apollo, Fred, Ed, Duncan, Duke, etc.), we decided on his new name: Dozer. As in bulldozer. As in dozes all day (and he DOES!), as in "wow, that's a doozie of the dog!"). It fits him. We've been giving him treats and saying his name to socialize him to it. We've been taking him on walks and teaching him to heal. We've been talking about getting him to the vet to look at his hips and elbows (from laying on a concrete shelter floor). We've been feeding, walking, and teaching the cats to accept him.

And somehow I've gotten past the slobber and the dog stink to the heart of this beautiful, gentle giant. When the other adoptions fell through, I kept telling Champs that we just had to have faith that God knew the desires of his heart and would bring us the right dog at the right time. Dozer may not be a young puppy, and he may need extra support from us sooner rather then later, but he is family now, and we will do what is needed.

Because I love my husband. And when I saw him laying on the floor next to his dog, asleep and content, I fell in love with Dozer. The newest member of our family.


Here are the comments from this post:
Jean-Luc Picard said...
A large dog can'r be easy to look after, yet Dozer seems a very calm, gentle giant, as you say.
NetChick sent me here.

bellamocha said...
Hello, NetChick sent me!!
Your new dog is beautiful...wow! I have been a dog lover and owner all my life and can't imagine being without one. We have a golden lab right now...we thought he was big until I saw yours!
Keep posting the pictures, we'd love to see them! I'm glad that after the previous one fell through, you have brought Dozer home. I wish you much joy with your gentle giant!
Bella :)

David said...
so glad you found such a LARGE love

Diesel Isn't Coming Home

Sometimes, when something painful happens, you just don't know how to process it.

Champs has wanted a dog ever since we got married, but it has never been an option for us because we wanted a big dog – bigger than most rental contracts will allow. When we started looking for a house to buy last year, we agreed that the time was finally right for us to bring a dog home. After researching, talking and being honest about what we wanted and could handle in a dog, we decided that the right dog for us was the gentle giant – a male Great Dane. We agreed that we would look for an adult dog to give a home to as soon as we bought a house. On closing day, I don’t think the ink was dry on the deed before Champs was searching PetFinder.com for our new boy.

Finally, Champs found him – the perfect Great Dane for us. For the last two weeks, we’ve been going through the process to adopt Diesel from a rescue in Indiana. We've completed applications, emailed back and forth, and spoke on the phone with the rescue lady. We wanted to go next Friday so that we could have the holiday weekend for him to settle in. Instead, she wanted us to get him this weekend. She said that he is such a great dog that if he stayed any longer she might keep him herself. We made our plans, went shopping to buy new doggy stuff for our big baby, created a poll to decide which one of three carefully chosen names he would be given, emailed everyone we know with our news, and generally let ourselves get wrapped up in the excitement of giving this rescue dog a new, loving home.

So this morning we got up early and drove four hours to Indiana to bring Diesel home. We spent nearly two hours there, getting to know him and falling in love with what a great dog he is, only to have the rescue lady tell us that she couldn't give him away. We'd be great dog owners - just not for this dog, she said.

I think she was concerned by my reaction when I met him, which was "wow, you're beautiful... and BIG!." It took me a couple of moments to be ready to pet him - not because I didn't like him or I was afraid, but mostly because I wanted to be sure he wouldn't jump on me. I had told her that I grew up with Great Danes but hadn't owned one of my own or lived with one in 20 years. I may be wrong, but I think that after that long, it's not unreasonable to expect that I might need a couple of minutes to get reacquainted with the breed.

He was too perfect and she couldn't bear to let him move so far away, she said. Maybe if we lived closer so she could come and see him, then it would have worked, she said. He'd lived a hard life and deserved to be in a home where he would be loved like one of the children with no boundaries, she said. It concerned her that we didn't want him to sleep in our bed, she said. And then she went on to say that she wanted him to be in a home where he would be the only dog, but since she fell in love with him, she was taking him home to live with her four other Great Danes.

It took her nearly 20 minutes to go from "I'm not sure if I can give him up. I told myself this morning that I could, that I was ready, but now that you're here, I don't think I can do it" to "No, you can't have him." Champs finally had to leave because he was so upset, but I stayed behind to see if there was anything I could say to ally her concerns. I mean, we had passed the application process and we loved the dog. Sweet Girl, who has been nervous around big dogs before, but had no fear of him, had spent the hour hugging him, stroking him, and falling in love. We knew that Diesel was the perfect dog for our family; sweet, calm, loving, and gentle.

But I realized that nothing I could say meant anything to her. I don't think it was really about us - she just fell in love with the dog herself, which I can understand. What I can’t understand is why she didn't have the nerve or the courtesy to call and tell us how she felt beforehand so that we didn't take the long trip only to have our hearts broken. I think she was hoping that either we wouldn't want him and then she'd have an out, or that she could find something horribly wrong with us so that she could justify keeping him. But we came and loved him, and other than the fact that I want him to sleep in a doggy bed on the floor (which we'd already bought for him), and that I didn't fall over myself adoring him (which just isn’t something I would do, no matter how much I love an animal), she had no other reason to turn us away.

And when my daughter stood crying by the dog's kennel because she couldn't understand why Diesel wasn't coming home with us, the rescue lady's business partner leaned down and told my daughter, "Face it, you're not getting the dog.", then straightened, smiled at me and said, "I'm a grandma. I know how to handle them." That's when I picked up my daughter, picked up my purse, and walked out.

And just like that, we drove home 253 miles with our daughter crying for the first two hours of the trip. No dog. No new family member to love. Only pain, and the indefinable question, "why was I not good enough?"


Here's the comments from this post:
Geekwif said...
I wish there was something to say that could actually make you feel better, but I know there's not. All I can say is that this woman was selfish, inconsiderate, dishonest, and cowardly to the Nth degree; and her friend does not deserve to have grandchildren if that's how she "handles" them. To say something like that to a child in that situation is absolutely unpardonable.
I'm so sorry you and Champs and especially Sweet Girl had to go through this. I hope you find another dog soon that is even more wonderful and will help to wipe out the memory of this painful experience with lots of happy tail wags and sweet puppy-like affection.

gift4gab said...
That is a HORRIBLE way to treat people, especially a child. Is there someone you can report this lady too? Someone higher up in the rescue group?
I am so sorry your family went through that - I am ashamed that they were able to behave that way.
Good luck.

Tammy said...
That woman dared to call herself a grandma and had the nerve to say to Sweet Girl, "Face it, you're not getting the dog."??????? You've GOT to be kidding?!?!? If I had been there with my Irish temper in tow, I would have slapped her to start with... You would have had to bail me out of jail. I am soooo sorry to hear what you went through. =(

David said...
i can't believe this, but since you said it I will try to get my mind around the concept of people being so selfish. She was clearly NOT thinking about the dog's well being.
This makes me sad.

Jean said...
That was a real nasty way they treated you all... Feel very bad. I was really hoping that at the end Diesel would have somehow come with you.

Will He Ever Learn?

I swear I do not understand the male of the species.

What is it that gives them such boundless optimism that they will get their way regardless of how their woman feels about it? Why is it that they will push and push, trying repeatedly to get what they want but you don't want to give, especially in the bedroom? Never mind the fact that from the very first time you share your bed with them, you make it clear what is your space and what is their space.

I did. I made it clear: "I will give you all the lovin' you crave when I'm awake, but don't go waking me up just to meet your needs, buster." And most of all, I made it abundantly, consistently, clear that he would never be welcomed there.

And yet the male persists. Optimistic and pesky, he looks to his woman for the attention and gratification he seeks, regardless of how she may feel about it.

And so, at four o'clock this morning, after trying to fend off his advances, I finally had enough and just kicked him out of my bed.

Stupid cat. When will Gus learn that I am never going to share my pillow?


Some comments from this post:
Geekwif said...
Well, I suspect you accomplished what you set out to do. I was thinking, "Oh, dear lord, she has gone too far. I really don't want to know that."
I should have known, shouldn't I?

Thumper said...
Just when I was thinking, "punch him in the nads once and he'll never do it again..."
Gus probably doesn't even have his anymore and it wouldn't deter him anyway. Max is just like that...

David said...
funny, every time i read it, thanks.
Today I kayaked for 2 hours on our lake. It was glorious. Soon I get a massage for my sore muscles…. Life is good

Jack Finds His Voice

We have a new cat in our family, named Jack. He was born on Mother's day and I got him in August when he was a tiny ball of fluff, thinking that he would make a great companion for our 1.5 year-old cat, Gus. Jack was a very quiet little guy. When I was staying with my mom, I hardly ever heard him meow. The day I took him to the vet for his vaccinations and travel papers, he didn't make a peep.

When we got home from the vet, his back was sticky with lidocaine gel they used to numb his skin to implant his microchip so I decided to give him a bath. It turned out to be the only time he ever got loud. I have NEVER heard a cat scream like that! It was obvious he was saying that he did not like water. I gave him his bath in the apartment building's laundry room. My mom could hear it in her apartment. A neighbor came to see what the ruckus was. He was LOUD. After the bath, he went back to silence. In fact, the day we came home, he meowed once when we got in the car and didn't make another sound through the airport, the plane and the shuttle ride.

And then we got home.

And Jack met Gus.

And Jack found his voice.

Right away when we got home, I put Jack, still in his carrier, on my bed. I thought I had safely closed the door, but Champs followed me into the room and, without realizing what was at stake, left the door open. I didn't realize until it was too late. Gus came into our room, jumped up onto the bed and walked directly to the cat carrier. Remember the scream I described when I bathed Jack? Yeah, he did that. Terrifyingly. Loudly. Repeatedly. Pressed to translate, I think it meant something along the lines of "hey, no one told me there was going to be a huge cat here! I'm stuck in a bag! I can't defend myself! Get rid of it!"

We quickly separated the cats and got Jack calmed down. That night we kept Jack in our room and Gus had the run of the entire house. You would have thought they would have wanted to stay apart, but instead they spent the night just 8 inches apart with only our door between them. And they discussed the situation. Loudly. In detail. All. Night. Long. Both cats meowed and hissed until I was ready to give them away. Determined not to go through another night like that, we introduced them the next day.

The next night, both cats were banned from our room and had the run of the house. Didn't help. They went from hissing and yelling at each other through the door to doing it outside our door. Loudly.

Now, almost a month after we came home, Jack and Gus have made friends. Things have calmed down. And Jack, amazingly enough, is still talking.

My formerly quiet kitten has turned into a lippy teen. Believe it or not, I know what he is saying most of the time. Here is a short list of Jack speak:

* A quiet "mmmm. mmmm. mmmm." means "here I am Mommy."
* A quiet "mmmm? mmmm? mmmm?" means "will you pretty please scratch my tummy?"
* A medium "meeeeraow?" means "where are you Gus?"
* A loud "Meeraow!" means "please make Sweet Girl put me down!"
* A really loud "Mawl! MawL!" means "I'm gonna take you down, Gus!"


And, oh yeah: An ear-splitting scream still means "I TOLD YOU ONCE I DON'T LIKE BATHS!"


Comments on this post:
Thumper said...
At least they made friends. My two tolerate each other, but there's no love lost between them. Buddah recently realized he's as big as Max, so the dominance struggles have begun, and I get to hear alllllll about it from Max, who has no problem with complaining.
They really are like teenagers...

kenju said...
Too funny! I have one cat who never made a sound until this year. Somehow I think he didn't know he could until recently...LOL
Now he meows at every turn. The other one doesn't meow, but he says "huh"...although it sounds more like "eerk" every morning when I wake up.

Good Morning Sweetgirlism

I need to leave for work in 26 minutes and I'm still in my PJ's, but I couldn't let this one pass.

This morning, Sweet Girl came to snuggle with me and Champs as she often does in the morning. It is a nice way for the family to wake up. As we were cuddled together, Champs let go a bit of a toot. "Sweet Girl!" he said. "Hey, that wasn't me!" she chirped.

"Mama!" he pointed. "Uh uh, innocent!" I protested, giggling.

"Well then, it must have been Gus", said my husband.

At this point, Sweet Girl sat up and proclaimed, "No, it wasn't the cat. Cats don't toot. When they need to do that, they go into the potty and make a fluff-up. I know they do. I know all about cats!"


And here are some comments from this post:
Geekwif said...
Too funny! So, is a fluff-up the same as a toot? I've never heard that one before.

Thumper said...
Heh.
She should come spend time with my cats. Max will not get on your lap, point his butt at your face, and cut loose. He *knows* what he's doing, and he's proud of it.
Maybe she can convince him a bathroom fluff-up is the way to go... ;)

Faith said...
Too funny. I always call a "toot" , "fluffing". As in " did somebody fluff"?

surcie said...
"Toot" and "fluff" up are much cuter terms than "farps", which is what my three-year-old son calls 'em.

From the cat's perspective

This week has been hard on all of us. Champs' back and shoulder are beyond sore. My right heel is done in. Poor Sweet Girl just wants school to start before she dies of boredom (I mean it - I haven't found a box of her toys yet, so her world has been reduced to watching us unpack, helping when I can find a small job for her and playing with the amazing collection of McDonald's Happy Meal Polly Pocket toys she's collected since we left Minnesota).

However, if the cat were to posses the power of speech, I think he would have the most interesting story to tell. Since he doesn't, I'll just have to reach into my powers of empathy and tell you what we've put this poor animal through. It isn't pretty.

Prior to our move, I consulted with our vet about poor Gus. This cat does not travel well. The vet's office was only three blocks away from home and that short ride nearly sent the poor animal over the edge the few times he went. He would caterwaul the entire way there. Funny me, but I got to thinking that if I didn't enjoy the music the ballistic cat provided for a three-block ride, I really wasn't going to enjoy his company for a 550 mile ride! Thankfully, my vet agreed and prescribed a nice kitty downer. (Sidebar: At about this point in the story, people usually say "oh, benadryl, right? That's what they gave my cat to calm it down." No, my vet understood and proscribed a very real, very strong sedative. I really like that man.)

Since the house would be open all day Friday while we packed the moving truck, my mom came over to get Gus on Thursday. By now, I had packed half his stuff and reduced him to the "little" combo water/food bowl and the kitty carrier had been out for a couple of days, so he knew something was up (yeah, the growing pile of packed boxes probably tipped him off as well). Both mom and I agreed that six miles probably didn't warrant pulling out the stash, so she enjoyed (yes, I am an optimist) Gus' serenade on the way home.

On Friday, Gus was very clingy to my mom, thinking that I must have abandoned him or something. She said he barely let her sleep Thursday or Friday nights since he kept crawling up onto the bed and trying to sleep on her pillow. Silly cat; he didn't seem to realize her head was already there. Actually, I've noticed that fact seems to rarely deter any cat, does it?

On Saturday, we called mom before we left the hotel and she drugged the hungry and thirsty cat (nothing after midnight when you're drugging your cat, you know). Just like a surgery, "Operation CatMove" was underway. Our vet had said to give the cat a quarter of a tablet and if he didn't settle down in half an hour, give him another quarter tablet. He didn't, so we did. That cat didn't know what hit him; he was walking sideways and couldn't seem to focus. That seemed like the perfect time to start the trip, so off we went. We loaded Gus into his cat carrier (always a feat in mechanical engineering, since he hates that thing) and strapped him into the front seat.

Gus still serenaded me for the first 20 minutes of the trip, but it was very soft, as though he had switched from the hard rock station to easy listening. Eventually he settled down to sleep. Now, our trip should have been 10 hours. Unfortunately, we had truck problems, so when 6 hours of kitty nirvana had passed, we were still only 100 miles out of Minnesota and were getting the truck fixed. So I let the cat out to see if he would do his business. Yeah, right. Of course, I couldn't just let him walk away, so I put him on a leash, which he didn't like at all. He was having no part of the kitty box. All he wanted was to get back into his carrier. So, we gave him more drugs and let him go back (I think this will be the only time I ever see that cat voluntarily get into his carrier). We got back on the road and it was all good until the 12th hour of our trip, when the drugs wore off. Remember, the trip should have taken 10 hours. It took 15. I got three hours of one pissed off cat doing his best Alanis Morrisette impression in the front seat next to me. Yeah, that was one jagged little pill, all right.

Finally we arrived and you would think the poor cat's trials would be over. Not so. If you read my previous blog post, you know that we had to wait nearly a week for our house to be ready in order for us to move into it. So we stayed at my mother-in-law's house from Sunday to Friday. Not a problem except for two things: Grandma Nee doesn't enjoy cats much and she has a bird. This meant that, except for carefully controlled visits, Gus lived in one room of the house for a week. Needless to say, this didn't go over too well with the cat and he would sing about the injustice of it all every time we got near his doorway. I'm amazed he didn't wear out his meower, to be honest. Finally we got enough in the house that we were able to bring him home on Friday night. It was just in time, too. He had stopped eating and drinking, probably in protest or maybe out of boredom.

Now that we are home, Gus is in a place where he can roam freely, eating and drinking at will and taking the Nancy approach to drugs ("just say no!"). Of course, with all the boxes and upheaval around, not to mention a plethora of new smells, he is on full investigative mode 24/7. I haven't actually seen a lot of him, and he hasn't forgiven me enough to be willing to snuggle down and purr for me. Oh well, he'll come around. Eventually he's gonna want those ears scratched, and only Mom knows that one special spot.

All in all, he did really well and we survived. Now that we're here, though, I am wondering if we can find a vet just a block away...


Here are some comments from this post:
kenju said...
Hello! I love the new look for the blog, Blond Girl, and this post is very well-written and entertaining! Welcome back - it seems a very long time since we have seen you around at Michele's. She sent me!

colleen said...
Well, I'm glad the cat's off drugs and your moved in even if your shoulders are sore. Michele and are saying HI.

Carmi said...
I'm so happy that Gus is settling in and that he's past the kitty drugs phase of his life. When we moved - first from our little apartment to our first house across town, and then later to a city far, far away - we struggled with what to do with our beloved cat, Shadow.
The move across town was tough enough. We resorted to vet-prescribed kitty valium when we moved to a new province.
He, too, made the trip without too much damage, and was a happy part of our life for many years thereafter.
Congratulations on getting the worst of the move behind you. I'm so excited for you all!

princssis said...
Can you imagine the cold shoulder you'd be getting now if you had left Gus here for a month? I'm glad he's survived the trip and I'm sure he'll acclimate to his new surroundings quickly!

Geekwif said...
Glad to hear Gus is happy now...well relatively. Hopefully he'll be back to his purring self soon.

utenzi said...
You're an amazingly tolerant family, Blond Girl. I doubt Gus would still be with me! My girlfriend is like you though--and her pets (3 cats and one dog) are treated far better than I am. (dammit!)
It's good that Gus can finally get himself comfortable in a house once more. Poor Gus!

Linda said...
Oh my, I DO remember those days with my kitty. While I miss that kitty dearly (the ex got custody), I don't miss those dealings at all!
Good luck - Gus will come around and love you again!

Shannin said...
Love the new blog look - very you!
Sorry to hear Gus had a less than enjoyable trip. And to think I was the one who needed the Valium with a vodka back to get two dogs from Los Angeles to Minneapolis.
Glad you are getting settled... Thinking of you guys!

Tracie said...
I'm glad to see you back!! Sorry that Gus had it so hard, but don't worry-he will be back purring for you in no time.

Fetch, Rover!

I think we gave the cat the wrong name. He is named Gus, after the roly poly mouse in Disney's Cinderella. Only he's not roly poly and he isn't mousy. He is a bit cheeky like Gus and the same color, but after that the similarity ends.

If anything, I think we should have named him Rover or Fido. Why? Because this cat has taught himself to fetch.

Yes, fetch.

I have owned many cats through the years and I have never had one that fetched. Even the one who was raised with a dog would sit up to beg for food, but he never fetched. This is a new one for me. You see, it all started with pipe cleaners. I bought a package for Sweet Girl last year and she quickly went through the fun colors. The pink, purple, teal and yellow pipe cleaners are long gone. There are these orange stragglers, however, that have just hung on. I don't even remember who or how it started, but we started using the orange pipe cleaners as kitten toys. They are purrrfect cat toys! You can bend them into any shape and, when stretched out long, make a wonderful wand for the cat to bat at while leaving your hand out of the reach of unbelievably sharp little kitten talons.

Well, one day I got tired of playing with the pipe cleaner, so I tossed it on the floor. About 15 minutes or so later, the cat had carried it back to me for another play session. I gave him about 3 minutes of half-hearted playtime then threw it away again. This time he was back about 5 minutes later. I threw it to the floor right away and he went after it. The rest, as they say, is history.

Now he expects to play fetch all the time and initiates the game daily. Gus brings the pipecleaner to me, then crouches expectantly, waiting. When I throw it, he bounds off my lap, jumping as high and far as he can. I've seen him soar 5 feet in a single leap off the coffee table in pursuit of his orange obsession. He brings it back, drops it in my laps and waits - then bounds off with joyful energy at my next throw.

Gus' favorite time to play is first thing in the morning. Or just before bed. If I refuse to play, he meows at me in the that voice that can only mean "hey lady, what's your problem? I know you're planning to lop off my pro-recreational equipment next week. Can't you at least take a moment to play with me? Huh?"

And so I play fetch.

With

My

CAT.