Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Because we are insane

Apparently, Marc and I were uncomfortable with the ease of a simple 3:1 ratio of animals to people in this house, so a couple of weeks ago, we went to the county kennel and picked out another dog.

This is Hachiko:

You can call her Hachi. She's part Akita and is named after a very famous Japanese dog.

We picked her out on a Friday after playing with her for a while and introducing her to Tigger, who was waiting in the car. We decided to bring her home after she passed the Cat Room test.

I can't decide if the cats of the Cat Room at the Cuyahoga County Kennel are the luckiest cats on earth or the most unfortunate. The kennel does not take in cats. Instead, they keep two kitties in residence in a room in the kennel. They seem to have it pretty good in there. They have lots of food and toys and beds and a clean litter box. Thing is, their sole purpose in life seems to be Test Cats for cat owners interested in adopting a dog. So, it's like this: You're a cat. You have a pretty good life, being left alone most of the time in a room with another cat. The only problem is that about 12 times a day, someone opens the door, and A GIANT DOG lunges into the room. Sometimes the dog could care less about you. Sometimes the dog is curious but harmless. Sometimes the dog wants to chew you to bits. You don't know. It's all up in the air, and it never ends. Oddly, the cats of the Cat Room don't seem to be all that vexed. They sort of open one eye when the dog gallops into the room, more annoyed by having their sleep interrupted than by being threatened with a canine.

We were told that we'd have to come back on Monday to fetch Hachi, because she needed to be spayed. On Monday afternoon, I arrived at the kennel, new collar and leash in hand. The incredibly indifferent animal control officer handed her over to me along with a small envelope full of antibiotic pills and a slip of paper stating that she had, in fact, been spayed. Under the spay declaration, in blue pen, was written, "vomited feces after surgery."

Excuse me, Animal Control Officer, I said. Vomit? Feces? Vomit feces?

He shrugged and stared pointedly at me until I fastened the collar around the dog's neck and led her out of the shelter. Eventually, while driving home, I came to the conclusion that Hachi, freaked out by not being allowed to have AM chow, had feasted upon her own waste, an explanation that calmed me considerably. Just as I had assured myself that all was right with the dog, I heard a horking sound coming from the back seat, and I turned around to see the dog puking fecal matter all over my backseat. Given that I was operating a motor vehicle at the time, I was not able to stop her from inspecting the vomit, then proceeding to eat it.

Why did we want another dog?

Tigger and Hachi are still getting used to this new dynamic, and by that I mean, "they are no longer plotting to kill." The first incident happend on Tuesday, when the two of them got into a snarling match, and I heroically stepped between them to intervene. Here now is photographic proof of what happens to you if you step between two dogs to intervene:

Then, last Sunday, while we were snowed in under two feet of snow, Hachi and Tigger got into a disagreement that required three grown adults and a dining room chair to quell, and at the end of it all, Marc noticed that Tigger was missing a substantial chunk of flesh. So substantial was this missing flesh that I could see right down through her layers of skin to the muscle beneath. Being snowed in, we were not able to go to the emergency veterinary clinic, so I looked at Marc and said, "Listen. I need you to bring me a bowl of warm water mixed with antibacterial soap, a guaze pad, some neosporin, an ace bandage, and my razor."

Hey, Kate! How'd you spend your Easter Sunday?
Me? Oh, I stayed home and shaved my dog.

On Monday, after getting someone to plow the damned drive, I took Tig to the vet, where she was shaved (more), sedated, and given multiple stitches. For the record, the vet said I did an incredible job with my half-assed triage. After the stitching, I was handed a drowsy dog who spent the next 48 hours curled up on her bed looking at me with a face that could only be subtitled, "Why?"

(Oh, and by the way, during the Big Dog Fight, one of the dogs broke my toe. The same damned toe I broke last year.)

Should I at this point even bother to mention the part where Hachi yanked the leash and caused me to fall down the back deck steps? Or the part where, two seconds after I started to feel as though we were getting things back in order, Lazarus The Cat had a recurrence of his chronic urinary tract problem, which he blames on his litter box, and is thusly roaming the house looking for places to leave three drops of cat piss? Like on the sofa cushion. And the box of trash bags. And my lap.

I should go to bed. 
posted by Kate at 2:19 AM link/comments