Pity Party

Well I had every intention of posting the details of our recent move here on Stella's page but things got out of hand early on and haven't quite settled even now, a week on into our transition. The Cliff's Notes version is this: I had everything I own except the bare essentials (dog toys, clothes, computer, cameras and the food that was in the refrigerator) moved into storage. I hired Music City Movers to do this for me. That was a mistake I regretted half an hour in but I don't want to talk about it because then I'd be forced to relive it.

The Thursday prior to our move I took Stella to the vet for a rabies shot that was two months overdue. I didn't want to get one at all and even asked the vet once if she would sell me the tag which is completely illegal and of course she refused however, this time they stuck her, charged me the $24. and THEN SAID:

"They've recently changed the law in Tennessee so she won't have get another shot for three years."

In other words, we could have skipped the thing for two more years legally but they wanted the $24. Then, I made the second mistake and bought a single dose of Advantage topical flea medicine.

We got to the new house (which is spectacular btw) and began unpacking a little bit and getting settled in and Stella seemed to be having the time of her life. Even the cat was cool about the whole thing. Then on Thursday I gave her the flea medicine - just in case. I didn't want her bringing any rogue fleas into the new place. It belongs to friends, and I've agreed to house and garden sit for 6-8 months.

When she started itching I thought it was because the fleas were on to us. I had no idea that the next five days would be fraught with vomiting and diarrhea, listlessness, swelling, and trembling, hives and what can only be described as mental breakdown. She was feverish and delirious, running into walls to get away from the itch. At one point I opened the front door and she ran outside, down the steps and out into traffic. She just missed getting hit by a car. As some might suspect that led to my very own personal breakdown.

During all of this craziness, she also managed to adopt a variety of neurotic behaviors. She didn't drink any water except out of a flower pot in the backyard but oops, then she was afraid to go out the back door, or into the kitchen or up the front steps. She spent time licking the floor. She's only eaten twice since last Thursday. I went for Benedryl on Friday. That actually gave her some relief but since then she appears to have a runny nose. I'd take her to the vet but now that she's improving I'm sure they'll want to give her a steroid shot, why is that the answer to everything? Thanks but no thanks. I knew things were going south when she climbed up in my lap and laid down on my chest.  

So that's the short story. What I had hoped would be a big fun time, turned into a nightmare eluding to the fact once more that the power of positive thinking is bullshit - just in case anyone wondered.

UPDATE: Just so as not to leave everyone floating in a black hole - I believe as of about four-thirty this afternoon (but for the runny nose) Stella appears to be recovered and has mostly reverted to her regular self. It's been a long few weeks and despite my ranting there are wildly fun things in our future over here; on the other side of the river. We promise to avoid having a big pity party next time.

Here is part of our new (temporary) bathroom with the stained glass window which is not only beautiful but genius. 

A variety of charges

Okay, so we were charged by a Jack Russel Terrier named Eddie today. I told Stella she should make a note of it since Terriers are in fact, a part of her lineage (ahem). Thankfully, she didn't kill him. He ran up to her growling, smelled her behind and then changed his tune. We only knew his name was Eddie because his owners were yelling his name (and peeing themselves) from some distance away.

We went to the vet today and got Stella's annual rabies vaccination. They said she was the perfect weight (57 lb) for her size. There was a chart in the waiting room that pretty much blew my mind. Since some of us are determined to treat our pets like children even to the point of feeding them to death, apparently now there's a market for DIET DOG FOOD. Here's a short list of how human food translates calorie-wise to our pets. It's pretty scary to be honest.

Here's another scary (and upsetting) link that brings to light an issue lawmakers have yet to address. Basically, here in Tennessee anyway, your neighbor or anyone for that matter, can take the life of your pet and assuming they did it in a humane fashion, legally - it's about the same as if they picked up a pair of your tennis shoes and threw them in the river. This story can't help but infuriate people but I hope some of you will pass it on if only to help educate the masses and get the right people interested in changing things.

Finally, on a much lighter note, there's the Kitten Report:
Something's in the air. Domino has taken to her kitten box (the original one that I made in the closet) no less than FOUR times today. What's more, Stella is resting comfortably in her crate, which is totally out of character unless of course, she's done something bad or I'm about to leave the house. I still can't make any predictions. The kittens are moving around a lot more but Domino isn't actively in labor yet. She's just lying in the box, calm and waiting; presumably rehearsing her lines. You know the ones: "Because I said so, that's why" and "Wipe that look off your face." or "I can give you something to cry about." Personally, I hope she makes it through to tomorrow or they'll all end up with Irish names. Happy St. Patrick's Day, btw.

Update: It's 10:18 p.m - I'm going to go out on a limb here (again) and say that we're approaching lift off. Mama cat is experiencing some pretty major discomfort in the last half hour..

1:00 a.m. Should be a kitten any minute. I keep having to remind myself that cats have been having babies for generations without me even so much as looking on.

Packing Heavy

It's funny how dogs behave when they know somethings going on. In Stella's case all I really have to do is pull the crate out of the corner a couple of inches and as far as she's concerned - it's on. She wasn't totally sure she was invited until about seven thirty this morning when I picked up the leash. It seems I read a similar story over at Stumpy's recently. Our trip is much shorter than hers but it does involve swimming - eventually. My neighbor asked the other day when we were coming back. When I hesitated, she wisely turned it into a question: "You are coming back?" I had to give it some thought because you know - it does involve an actual beach. I'm still mulling it over.

Stella and I are on the way to Baltimore, Maryland and Barney's riding shotgun. I'm not sure how often we'll have internet access but I'll try to update periodically. For example, I forgot to specifically request a room with access here at our first stop (Motel 6) so at the moment, we're sitting in the parking lot at Days Inn bootlegging their wi-fi. (note: I just lost this entire post and didn't have enough battery left to rewrite the thing, ack!) Also, if Carny Dog hasn't been updated you might want to try us over at my other blog. Just now, it looks pretty depressing but there's fun in our future because Barney would've wanted it that way.

p.s. In the last couple of days Stella has developed a mean cold (I'm hoping that's what it is anyway). Her fabulous pink nose is stuffy and extremely raw. Last night she barely slept. I've promised her that the salt air will cure it as it cures most things (achy bones, bad attitudes) but if anyone has any miraculous home remedies I'd love to hear it.

p.s.s. Night before last I dreamed I was sitting on a toilet (sorry) and the shower curtain fell down. In the tub there was a full grown male lion. Named Taffy.

Once again, who needs fiction?

Aqua Girl

(Ed. note: Stella doesn't normally look this persecuted in the bathtub, I think she was a little suspicious of the fact that suddenly a tripod appeared on the bathroom sink. Her humor improved dramatically once the water started flowing.)

Thanks to some of our regular readers, Stella (and I) won some prizes back in February from a company called Kokos Pet Spa. I was pretty excited when the box landed on our front porch and even more so once the contents of the box were spread all over the kitchen. Stella wasn't impressed at all until I pulled out the stuffed boomerang. She gets visibly wound up whenever I get it out now, six weeks later. Her third place win scored us a fifty dollar donation to the animal rescue of our choice. We sent the check to the Cheatham County Animal Awareness Foundation. They're located right across the road from where I used to live in Pegram, Tennessee and I know for a fact, they need as much help as they can get out there.

Koko's also sent us some treats and one of their Pet Vitamin Showers which filters out the chlorine and enriches the water with vitamin C. I can't say enough good things about this apparatus. We live in a city where the water coming out of the tap smells just like bleach. In the past when I've given Stella showers, her skin is flaky in the days following. It goes away pretty quickly but still... She's had two encounters with the Pet Vitamin Shower since it arrived and the flakiness was reduced to zero. In fact, her skin is soft and smooth and (for those aware of how we approach showers here at our house) for that matter, mine is too.

Finally, the list of prizes included a bath towel (ahem). I had no expectations about this offer other than to think it would be something practical to dry off the dog. Turns out it was about seven-and-a-half square feet of plush, hooded, thirsty entertainment. A couple of minutes with this thing and I'll just be honest, I didn't care if the dog got dry or not. Thanks again. We'll think of you all whenever we're out running through the mud, which seems to be a habit.

The great stick hunter

Stella gave us a big scare last week, developing a pretty mean limp in one of her rebuilt knees. Turned out it was nothing. She just tweaked it running like a maniac at the fairgrounds. We celebrated by going on a stick hunt at the creek.

Over the weekend, we took a drive to friend Beverly's house for a couple of days of rest and relaxation. Stella got to spend some time at the farm with a couple of senior dogs she met last year. The two of them thankfully, managed to put up with her nonsense all weekend, without incident. One (Smiley) temporarily commandeered her bed, which was pretty funny, but she'd already fallen in love with him by then and didn't even care.



This week the state fair gets busy setting up. It opens on Friday. Stella and I have been over there for the last two days poking around and pretending to direct traffic. Posting here will be spotty for the next few days while they get everything situated, then with some luck, there'll be a whole new crop of road dogs to visit with on this page. Anyone who's a fan of the carnival itself is welcome to check in over at Cliffhanger. That's where I post most of the shots that are non-dog related.

Some Pig

Friday morning, I woke up to the sound of pouring rain. The industrious plans I'd made for the day were immediately forfeited for a more practical version of house work. Rain or no rain, the plan was to walk the dog, clean the house, run a couple of errands and walk the dog a second time. Some would have called it a day off although pushing a thirty-pound vacuum and walking a sixty-pound dog two or three miles does occasionally, resemble work. Just to make it officially a day off, I tried to think of some way to make it extra fun for Stella.

We've been building her muscles (and mine) back up from our extended hiatus and doing some amount of physical and mental training each day. At fourteen months old, she is most definitely a teenager and there are fleeting moments when she hates my guts and I return the favor.

That afternoon however, after a few weeks of sporadic research, I decided to stop at one of the Hispanic grocery stores near my house to peruse their meat counter. I was looking for a meaty bone that wouldn't be too rich or too small for Stella to enjoy. In the glass case there was every sort of body part you might imagine, including an entire hog head surrounded by a collection of pigs feet arranged around it like fireworks. I cruised the counter twice and decided to ask the butcher for one. He asked if I wanted him to cut it. I declined politely and to my own credit, added nothing further.

He handed me the single foot in a plastic bag. It weighed nearly a pound, a mere $0.98. All I could think of walking back to the car was that one bully stick costs about six dollars.

When I got home I tossed the pig foot into the refrigerator and with feigned contempt, I made an announcement to Stella:

"Stella," I said, "you don't love me now but later on today...? You're going to. I guarantee it."

We walked for an hour and a half that night and when we got back I put her on the long lead (30 ft.) out in the back yard. I got myself a beer out of the refrigerator because quite honestly, I have seen a lot of things in my life but I have never seen a dog eat a piece of raw meat before, let alone one that looked like it just ran out of the barnyard, nor had she. We started off our little training routine. Knowing now that something was up, Stella hit every note of it perfectly, without so much as a distracted glance down the driveway. People walked their dogs past us, I was amazed at her sudden ability to focus.

When we finished, I took big swig of the beer, removed poor little Wilbur's foot from of the bag and dropped it in the grass between her paws.

She eyed it suspiciously.

She sat up and punched it with her paw, then the nose, again the paw. She studied for a few seconds then laid down and sat back up the second time, temporarily confused. Almost too quiet for her to hear, I said, "Pick it up girlfriend."

In what seemed like slow motion it dawned on her that this was not only something she could eat but it was something that I planned to let her eat.

She decided to throw herself a party right then. First, she killed it several times over and danced around the yard like she was starring in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. She then chewed its toes off (sorry so graphic), and threw it over her shoulder a few times for luck. The only thing missing was music. In the eleven months we've spent together I've never seen her sparkle and dance like she did that thirty minutes. It was joyous and unbridled. It made the beer taste really good.

The Fun House

Stella got a new nickname today from her friend Snakeman. He decided to call her "Ham Hock" Don't ask me why but it was funny. We went out to the fairgrounds early yesterday, to deliver some pictures and just grabbed this shot on our way down the midway. I'm still amazed at how much she seems to enjoy being over there. The only thing she was fearful of all day was a big fiberglass buffalo. She managed to overcome it.

As of today, she's allowed (finally, twenty weeks later) to be off the leash and to jump in and out of the car on her own. We're slowly working up to the off-leash part of that duo. It's really hard to just let her go without thinking of her physical well-being and my bank account.

UPDATE: I found a photo of Snakeman at the Twinkie joint
(...why people write fiction is beyond me).


I've known this man forever. He is both odd and wonderful. Odd, in a good way. He has a unique personality that I haven't seen duplicated in another soul. We recently learned that he too is a lover of dogs.

Friends in high places

She has a direct line to the moon. I take her outside now and she has this thing she does where she jumps out ahead and squares off with me and (in her mind) like it or not, we're about to play. She then runs as hard as she can for the four foot length of the leash, spins around to face me and does it again. It isn't new but she hasn't done it for a long time. It's a good sign but I have to say it doesn't go over that well at six o'clock in the morning. It would seem the knees are feeling pretty feisty at this point.

This off-duty police horse (above) tried so hard to make friends with Stella. After some cajoling, she made an effort to get control of her unfounded fear but it was just too overwhelming to do it all at once so she chose to ignore the horse and turned the snarky attitude onto an innocent stick instead. This is one of our old walking paths. At the beginning of last week I started taking her to some more familiar places to do our abbreviated walks. I figured five or ten minutes anywhere but the front yard would be a treat and this one definitely was. We haven't seen the horses out for a long time. When she was a little puppy, we used to visit a horse named Commotion who was always separated from the other horses (because he was bad). He was always happy for company but Stella was a pain then too. The only time she actually seemed to love the horses was that day back in January when we walked for the homeless. Two of them, topped with full-fledged police officers, led us back across the bridge when we went home and I told her we'd get arrested if she acted like a fool that day. Instead, she did her little Tennessee Walking Horse impression all the way across the Cumberland River. Speaking of horses, I commented somewhere that with regard to being off leash, Stella has a tendency to think she is the reincarnation of Spend a Buck. For those of you who missed it or may have been too young to remember, here's a video of one of the most amazing horse races of all time..starring Spend a Buck. [Link]


Off duty police horses out for lunch; Ellington Agricultural Center

Suds your Duds

Please excuse the graphic description I am about to include in today's post. If you think of it in a Lucy Ricardo sort of way, you will come much closer to the reality of the whole situation. No, seriously.

First the basics. I am a forty-seven year old woman. I weigh approximately 120 pounds. Corndog Stella - weighs fifty-seven pounds. That's like two twenty-five pound bags of dog food stacked on top of each other, with a couple of six packs of soda tossed on. Twenty-four ouncers.

Although her weight varied, from September to February, I gave Stella baths in the shower - with me. That thud you just heard was my mother's head hitting her printer stand on the way down. While I understand some of you may be repulsed by the thought of showering with a dog I assure you, we both come out better for it. The only thing that really suffers are the bathroom walls and my landlord's drain (bummer).

The tricky part isn't the showering, the showering is sort of zen-like to be honest, but it's getting the pit bull into the shower that's the real talent. It's a bathtub. I have to open the shower curtain, step one foot out of the slick-ass bathtub, pick her up NAKED, turn back to the tub and put her down standing, in the water. Typically I will then tell her that she's the best dog in the world and to Stay. At that point I pray that she does, sometimes I even pray aloud (note to Mom).

So a few days ago, after a long hiatus I decide it's time for Stella to have a bath. To be safe (hah), I get out a pair of shower shoes, the old style flip-flops you get at the beach, and put them in the bathtub with me while I shower. At one point I step into them and immediately they suction themselves like a frog, to the floor of the bathtub. I almost fall down. Fine I think to myself, I'll just leave them off and stand in them later, after I get her in here. So here we go with the potential 911 moment and Stella hasn't done this in a while, so she's mighty tense (I'm told this is because I'm tense which would make her a psychic - no?) I step, left foot out of the tub, wrap my left arm in front of her chest, tuck my right arm under her rump and stand upright. Then I move my left foot back into the tub and set her down in it. When I do, her front feet go right into the flip flops and suddenly she's standing on one of them and wearing the other one like a bracelet.

Did I mention before that I am NAKED? In a shower? With a pit bull, wearing thongs? Now I get laughing so hard in there that she thinks I've gone insane and I wonder if maybe I haven't. And she's looking at me like: Are we gonna' do this thing or not? It is at this moment I realize that I'm not always forty-seven years old. Sometimes, when the planets are aligned just right, I still get to visit seventeen, this day thanks to Stella.



[Ed. note] Somebody recently asked if I was absolutely head over heels in love with Stella now that she and I had been through these surgeries together (savvy question, I thought). The answer is yes, of course. I loved her before she was ever injured but the day you find yourself bathing an animal half your size with a warm washcloth because she can't do it herself, you're pretty much done for.

We recommend Perfect Coat natural oatmeal shampoo and, if you should choose this method of bathing for your own big dog, a crash helmet.

Backtalk

Today was take your dog to work day. It's really too bad I only had "house" work to do instead of say.. a load of head shots of bankers or a parade to shoot, something, of course, Stella is still pretty much housebound so she couldn't have gone very far anyway. I think I mentioned that we went to Office Max this week. That was a big thrill for her. I can't say it's ever been that exciting for me but whatever works, I suppose. She had a great time the entire six minutes we stayed and visibly tried to restrain herself from getting too excited. Mostly, I took her along so she'd know that her oh-so-active social life hadn't collapsed entirely. July 28 is now the target date for her release. Personally, I'm dying to take her swimming but resolute about following her doctors orders. Okay except we did walk to the corner today instead of just staying in the yard. My poor front yard looks like a urine-stained, mole-infested mine field - but I digress.

Her leg seems to be healing beautifully and what's more I think she turned a little corner in the behavior department this week. Not sure if I can describe it although the dog lovers will understand perfectly, it's like our understanding of each other has raised to a new level. It isn't huge but certainly noticeable and welcome. She still sasses me like a teenager when I tell her to do stuff but at least I know she's engaged. Does your dog/or cat ever sass you?



This photo (she was giving me lip even then) was taken back in December on Mill Creek at one of Nashville's many outstanding greenways.

Hey one more (totally cool) thing that happened this week, in case anyone missed it in the feed was that Michael Winslow followed us on Twitter. Well, he followed Stella. She's got more followers than I ever will. You can find him at this address.

Stella is a Gemini

Astrology Weekly has this to say about Geminis:

You're popular, and you know it. You enjoy people, and you love to watch them to keep your mind busy. You're at your best at parties, bars, the office water cooler—anywhere you can find people with whom you can laugh. You thrive on gossip and news—you need information constantly, more even than food.

According to the Farmer's Almanac, if today is your birthday:

Although changeable and restless, you do your tasks faithfully and to your best ability, even though they are irksome to you. You are led by your inward desires rather than by outside influences. You are affectionate and sincere and will not fall in love at first sight. You are sometimes obstinate and like to have your own way.

Today is Stella's first birthday. Assuming I have the right information, she shares a birthday with Irving Penn, and Giacomo Agostini, TuPac and Billy Crash Craddock.

She was invited to the wonderfully prestigious Gemini Party on Old Hickory lake this Saturday but unfortunately she still has six weeks to go on her orthopedic rehab and was forced to decline. The good news is, she gets the staples out of her leg today and as such can retire the lampshade. She does plan to be the star of that party next year though. Something tells me we'll be spending a lot of time near the grill.

Canine Patellar Luxation

Patellar luxation is foreign to most people. When Stella was diagnosed with it I went highballing around the internet looking for information. There were definitions of it everywhere but very little from the general public about the reality of the condition. The after effects, as it were. I found more than one discussion group with people asking questions and some who occasionally answered but always it seemed, with the same lifeless information. "Get the surgery. asap", "It's expensive." etc. Few offered any results or follow-up which is part of why I chose to detail her experience here. Maybe I was looking in the wrong place so if you have your own experience, please feel free to speak up or put a link in the comments below.

Stella stayed two days in the hospital and came home yesterday morning. She slept most of the day. Her entire leg is shaved high enough and in such a way, that it looks like she's wearing half a thong; I so meant to ask them to shave her a whole one this time and forgot all about it. I just thought what with sixteen staples in your leg, you should at least get to be ridiculously cute in the short-term. But I digress (wildly).

Yesterday, two days after the surgery, her leg was puffy and looks like it's been insulted. It has been. Today it is less so, by half. Same as last time. She's putting regular weight on it just not in every situation (obviously, it's still sore) She's eating, drinking and using the bathroom outside on a short leash. The staples look like a long zipper on the front of her knee. They'll be taken out in two weeks whereupon the funnel collar will be removed. Five minutes from then she will have licked at it until it threatens to bleed and I in turn, will lecture her on the importance of the Leave it command.

It's been nine weeks since her first surgery, the scar from it is hardly noticeable. Her movement is restricted, as it was last time, for the next eight weeks, the first three being the most critical. Any jumping running or playing could muck up the repair or loosen the pins. Keeping a sixty pound, eleven-and-a-half month old dog still is a challenge I wouldn't wish on anyone. The better she feels the harder it gets. It's set up so that seven weeks and six days from right now, one or both of us will be certifiably insane.

(Note: Anyone looking for more information on the subject of tricky dog knees, is invited to begin here. Definitely worth reading but certainly a much pithier version, can be found here. As I said earlier, I welcome your experience, links, or advice in the comments section below.

Uptown Girl

If I had known that yesterday, I and a remarkable woman I've never met in Illinois, would inadvertently drive a hundred people over to this blog, I might have planned to tell you this a little sooner. I was hoping for exactly that sort of traffic when I began lobbying my friends and co-workers, some twenty hours ago, to donate money (for Stella's second surgery).

It was originally Barney's idea (same guy we visit - from the previous post) that I should have a fundraiser for a dog. The conversation started a few weeks ago with him wanting to give me money from his Social Security check. Man lives on eight hundred dollars a month, he's wanting to pay my vet bills with it. Yeah, okay Barney, I hear you. I politely refuse his money. The trouble is, he drinks, so if I try to argue with him, he just digs in and gets in the zone. The only way to win is to hope he forgets, which happens, but it's temporary. I was over there recently tending to (what I call) his junkyard garden and he launched off about how we were going to pay for Stella's (first) surgery.

"How many people have you met in this town over the last twenty years?" he demanded to know.

"Many", I said, rearranging his flower pots and trying to figure a way out.

"So, if everybody you know and all them people you talk to on the computer was to pitch in ten dollars, how much would it be?"

"Barney," I said, "if everybody I know pitched in ten dollars, I could pay for both surgeries and get Stella her very own inflatable swimming pool to do water therapy in this summer."

There was a pause while he took a long draw from his cigarette. Then he stood up, tossed what was left of the butt in a coffee can and shook his cane at me for effect.

"I'm gonna' need a pitcher of that", he announced, "so get busy and you're takin' the money 'cause I love her too you know."

For reasons I'll explain another time, his words made it much easier for me to sit down and create a donation page. It is for anyone who might see fit to invest in the future happiness of a dog. You can pledge as little as ten dollars. Those pledging twenty-five dollars or more should send along their snail-mail address (she is a carny dog so naturally, we've got prizes). There's a link in the sidebar too, in case you get lost. I might add that I am terribly impressed by the number of people who have already made a contribution to her cause, whether online or in person. I'll be sure to let you know if we get anywhere near that inflatable swimming pool.

Barney's garden, May 2009)

Out of the Gate

She runs. From the very beginning she wants nothing more than to run like a race horse. Once in Edwin Warner Park I changed out her collar and forgot to switch the leash so when I dropped the harness from her body, the leash fell to the ground with it. She was off like a bolt of lightning. When she looked back after what seemed like ages, I was holding her tennis ball. I bounced it once on the ground and she ran to me with exactly the same enthusiasm.

When we go to the dog park, or rather when we did go to the dog park, she goes around and asks all the dogs - starting with the largest ones, if they want to chase her and if none of them accept her offer well, she runs without them. She runs so fast and with so much conviction that everyone, humans and dogs, do what I like to call the dog park pirouette. They can't take their eyes off of her. I remember watching a Jack Russell Terrier run the middle school soccer field once. I'd seen these dogs race, jumping hay bales along the way but I hadn't seen one run full out. It was incredible much the same way it is when Stella does it. She's focused, on what I'm not quite sure. Maybe it's the turbo power of her own physique.

Having not been on a walk for close to four weeks now, for the first time ever, Stella bolted out the front door today (no jumping or running says the doctor; she could easily injure the newly minted knee). She made two laps around the front yard, one around the patio and one last one around the yard. Both of us got a free shot of adrenaline. I skinned my knee but hers seems to be working beautifully.

This shot was taken the last of September, on the farm where my friend Beverly lives. She did a little cow-inspired running that day.

House Arrest

Stella got the staples removed from her knee a couple of days ago. And the big satellite dish collar came off. The surgeon said she's doing great but can't go for a real walk for six more weeks. That means she's going to miss the carnival that's coming to town next week. Shame. It also means she'll be insane, with a capital "I", by the time we finally do go. Eight weeks is an eternity for a teenager (and sometimes for the parent of a teenager too) so we're ticking off the days already.

Several people have asked (as I did) what does knee surgery for a dog cost? There are some shifting variables of course, like the size of the dog, where you live, how experienced the surgeon is and which procedure is necessary (there are two, I think). I was given an estimate of somewhere between $1650. and $1850. Add a pre-op visit, and two post-op visits with x-rays and the total with tax, came to about twenty three hundred dollars. Strangely, once the bill was itemized, it all seemed really reasonable. For example, the surgery itself, was only $500. I don't mind saying that I wouldn't think of doing major surgery on someone's dog for less than a thousand dollars. In the interest of full disclosure, I haven't paid a penny of this bill yet (I was forced to charge it) but I have entertained countless funny ideas about how to raise the money and get it paid. Most of them were even legal.

Give and Take

Tomorrow, will be two weeks since Stella's surgery. Not positive but I think when we revisit the surgeon, also tomorrow, he'll remove the staples and the Elizabethan collar we've come to love so much. Stella, in her teenaged grace, has bashed that thing on every stationary object in the building, including every door frame, every stick of furniture, the cat and my calves. It's difficult to say who'll be happier to see that thing go. To my knowledge, she's only actually jumped off the floor once although there have been a lot of sassy threats over the last week or so. It's hard not to laugh at a dog that's growling at you through fish lips and making facial expressions. One raised eyebrow from me and she'd be leaping through the house like a deer. Ordinarily that's not the case but as I said, we're low in the exercise department. Two days ago, I extended her post op walk to include a grassy plot of land two doors down, owned by the electric company. That same day, she managed to round up a tennis ball, showing up at my desk to rock it back and forth on my knee, again with the growl added for effect. She's been a good sport, I have to say. Her immobility has forced us to visit some of the more finite details of canine English language skills. Give it - Take it - Drop it - Open. She's clear on all of those now.

Get your ass in that dog house and LAY DOWN... not so much. Too many words maybe.

(Note: Thanks for all the kind notes and phone calls from readers and friends. I appreciate it very much. So far, everything has gone along as we hoped it would.)

This (little bit scary) shot was taken the day I brought Stella home. I am including it mostly for those who are headed in the direction of such surgery with their own dogs. After a couple of days, the inflammation subsided and it became much less disturbing.

Stella's patellas

For those just joining us, which is pretty much everyone, it's important to note that several months have passed since I began this page and Stella is a teenager now nine and a half months old. She has become a muscular, 54 lb. fireball of lovable, boundless energy. I have every intention of finishing her story from the last post forward but I want to interrupt along the way to basically keep track of some of the more current events in her life. Bear with me.

About a month ago, she was diagnosed with a right medial luxating patella. That's a trick knee to you and me. For a kneecap, it's a little like when your kitchen drawer jumps the track. It can simply slip off an be replaced manually or it can splinter the wood, damage the drawer and the track, and never work again. It occurs most often in little tiny dogs. If you've ever seen a little dog running full blast on three legs, there's a good chance it's because of a luxated patella.



Sometimes I'm told, these things right themselves with time but Stella's sadly, did not. Our walks went from four miles a day to zero over a period of four weeks and it became clear that she would have to have surgery or face chronic pain and (eventual) lameness at such a tender age. A couple of people I discussed this with naturally assumed I'd have her put down. Before anyone gets enraged over this sort of thinking, I should say in their defense, that they were people who generally don't have too many options. I don't have a vast supply of them myself, but putting her down was never an option. To make a long story short, she had the surgery on Wednesday and was released from the hospital this morning. I asked the vet staff if their itemized surgical estimate included any Xanax for owners, but was told that it didn't. I spent two days carrying the phone around and thankfully, working.

Not surprisingly, she was happy to see me this morning and I her. I was stunned when her doctor offered to walk her to the car. So far, the prognosis is good. The next four weeks however, are critical to her future quality of life, the idea being the nine and a half month old puppy isn't allowed to play or have any fun at all. I hope for her sake, that it all becomes a distant memory wherein I get to tease her occasionally about that day she came home dressed as a satellite dish.