No More Walkies! A Dog’s Nightmare.

Some of you may remember that we lost Susie, our old golden retriever, last September.  She wasn’t a bad age – 12 1/2 – and she went down quickly at the end so we didn’t prolong her suffering and, once she couldn’t support herself on her back legs anymore, we called in the vet.  We have another dog who turned 10 in December and who is having problems with her legs now but she is a different proposition.  Instead of pottering around at terrace level in our garden whilst the two youngsters and I go up our mountainous garden for the morning walk as Susie used to,  she insists on forcing herself up to the top.  A few times lately, she’s got up there and then her back legs have collapsed with the effort and she just lies there looking confused.  The problem is – I don’t know how I would ever get her back down again if, one day, she can’t manage to stand up.  So we took her to the vet and she said that, as well as arthritis, she has ‘arthrose’ and walking up the side of a mountain or running around chasing balls with the other dogs is definitely not a good idea so we’re going to have to start leaving her behind.

Well that was on Friday so, this weekend, Mr. T has been at home and I’ve been able to stay indoors with her.   When the other two have been ‘sneaked out’ for a walk, she cries and paces up and down but at least somebody is there to comfort her.  Starting tomorrow, when I’m on my own during school hours and have to do dogwalking duties, she’ll be left behind on her own and I know she’ll be stressed for the half hour or so that I’m gone.  That is, of course, if I actually manage to get out through the door without her in the first place.  She has taken to positioning herself at the ‘exit’ and guards it with her life.  I don’t know whether you’ve ever tried it but it is very difficult to get past a 35 kilo german shepherd who is determined you are going nowhere without her.

Anyway, it must be done because we don’t want her to be in more pain than she needs to be but I worry about the mental stress it will cause her.  I know 10 isn’t too bad an age for a GSD, especially considering her start in life.  She was one of a litter of 3 puppies born to a pair that were being kept  in cramped conditions specifically for breeding and were eventually rescued by the R.S.P.C.A. which is where we got her.  She almost went lame when she was 6 years old as she has a very shallow hip joint which was causing lots of stress on the cruciate ligament in her knee and – thank goodness we were paying insurance – she had a state of the art operation which involved putting some metal in her leg and it was all done without her having to be in plaster for 6 weeks afterward. 

So, really, she has had an extra 4 years of running around and walking and playing that she might not have had.  Still, try telling her that!

I’ll let you know how I get on…….

 

 

Waiting

Is there anything more frustrating than waiting for somebody when you’re all ready to go?

 If the perspective seems odd it’s because the back door of the house is on a much lower level than the start of the garden.  As we are practically on the side of a small mountain, the garden is terraced and Stan has raced up to the first one and is looking down impatient to be off whilst I faff around with boot laces and cameras.

Stan fans will notice that those horrible pustulent spots he had on his nose, probably an allergic reaction to some plant or other he was foraging in, have gone but have left little scars which I’m hoping will get covered up when his hair grows back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spot the Dog

The usually handsome Stan has marred his good looks with a case of, what looks like, teenage acne.

These started off as a couple of tiny bumps under his skin and by evening one had erupted.  The next morning he looked like this.

Antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, ointment, antiseptic and sixty seven euros later, the vet thinks he had been rummaging about in a plant to which he had a reaction.  There are all sorts of plants in our garden – cultivated and otherwise – so I don’t know which one would have done this.  There are some euphorbia, the sap of which I know can be nasty.

Anyway, hopefully he will have his looks back again soon.

Missing You Already

Dogs’ lives are too short.  Their only fault, really.  ~Agnes Sligh Turnbull

SUSIE  

5th February 1999 – 11th September 2011 

The Case of the Missing Chicken and the Mystery Illness

If you read my post about Taz the dog’s mysterious illness the other day, I believe I have discovered the cause.  It’s pretty gruesome so don’t read further if you are eating any sort of sandwich and definitely not a chicken one.

A few weeks ago the foundling dog Stan put all our free ranging chickens up and one didn’t come back.  We searched everywhere for her but couldn’t find a trace.   Mr. Tialys decided it was too risky to let them carry on completely free ranging and he was also fed up with seeing them trash any new seed beds that he planted so, being big softies, we built them an even bigger enclosure so that they didn’t miss roaming all over the garden.  Trust me – it is a big enclosure, I think it is the same size as the garden at my parents’ house.

Anyway, we did wonder where she ended up but today Susie the golden retriever was spending an inordinate amount of time in a certain spot in the garden and, when I investigated, there was the corpse of the chicken – really only recognisable by the green band still round her foot.  Now I’m wondering whether any of the other dogs are going to go down with food poisoning and feel that Taz is lucky to still be alive.  He seems to be recovering slowly but is still not himself.  At least I know now what to say to the vet!

The Victim

The Injured Party

The Perpetrator

Taz

Taz isn’t feeling too good.  He hasn’t eaten for more than 3 days and he has been sick and had diahorroea but the vet can’t find anything wrong.  He has some medicine and we are allowed to offer him food again from tonight but I’m not sure whether he will want any.  He forces himself to come out for walks with the other dogs but he really isn’t himself. 

He is normally such a pain in the arse but now that he’s not barking out of the window at anything that moves and stealing the cat food, I miss it.

The Slippery Slope

I know, I know, but he’s just got that sort of little face that was crying out for a bandana!

Only for best of course! 

(Excuse the nose, the garden needed digging…… apparently)

Counting Slowly To 10

………….after, I admit, uttering a very rude word when I woke up to this scene of devastation this morning.

Luckily it wasn’t, as I first thought, the contents of my sofa but of a stuffed, cat-shaped door stop.  Who knew those things contained so much stuffing and, what looks like cat litter, inside them?  Anyway, the new doggy addition to the family, rescued from the streets, had already been confined to the kitchen at nights because of his addiction to soft furnisings but, unfortunately, my darling daughter had not closed the door into the lounge properly before leaving for school at 7a.m. this morning so, by the time I got up at 8, he had run amok.

It Wasn't Me

Stanley Socks

Look what I found!

Driving Mr. Tialys down to the doctors on Friday – a story for another time! – we saw a young dog run across the road in front of us and nearly into the side of a passing car.  Unfortunately, this sort of thing is a common sight in this part of France.  A lot of people think nothing of opening their front door in the morning and letting the dog out to wander about.  It used to freak me out completely when we first moved here but I have learnt to differentiate between the ‘old hands’ and those that are actually panicking and probably lost or abandoned.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve driven to the refuge – the police don’t want to know!  There is not really an equivalent of the RSPCA.  The local rescue centre is not publicly funded. 

Anyway, on our way back from the doctors, we saw this little chap again, down in the town centre this time so out came the collar and lead that I always keep in my glove compartment and I went and got him.  I took him to the vets where, miracle of miracles, they found he had a microchip and that they would let me know the name of the registered owner the following day.  Bearing in mind I already have 3 dogs, 4 cats and 6 chickens, it was a bit of a risk taking him home but what could I do?  I couldn’t just turf him out on the street again.  Anyway, before too long Mr. Tialys and the Tialys Teens were thinking up names for him!  I told them not to bother as he would be going home the following day.   However, turns out, the original owner had sold/given him to a family who had him for a week and then decided it was too much, what with 2 kids already and one imminent.  Given that information, I can’t really believe he ‘escaped’ as they claimed but rather they opened the door and waved goodbye.   I told the original owner that we would keep him because I am a totally insane, pathetically soft, soon to be bankrupt, fool.

Say hello to Stanley Socks, or Stan to his friends -

Just as well we’ve got the room.  Mr. Tialys must now work until he is 85 to finance all our animals – forget his dream of retiring at 50! – or I might consider registering as a charity.

But, look at his little face……….

Latex Love

Well, now that I’ve got your attention I may as well tell you that this post isn’t about that sort of latex loving, I needed a snappy title to get some readers back after my shameful neglect of this blog over the Christmas holidays.

Phoebe, the German Shepherd, got a couple of toys for Christmas.  I know, I know and I even wrapped them up but at least I didn’t buy any doggy tutus (although I won’t say I wasn’t tempted).  Usually, toys last minutes and are dismembered and disembowelled before the squeak can start to get on your nerves.  However, an amazing transformation has come over her.  I don’t know whether it’s some belated and misguided maternal instinct emerging or, more worryingly, some sort of doggy psychosis but the chicken, the legs of which you can see below, is now tended like any spoiled baby.  It must go everywhere with her.  If, in an unguarded moment, like the rush for feeding time, she leaves it outside, she makes a pathetic whining noise until we go out and retrieve it.    Good job I bought a pack of 3

As for the pig, it was adopted by my other dog.  It makes a grunting noise and has had to be removed for reasons of sanity preservation and fears about the dangers of latex ingestion.