Happy Homecoming Marcy!

Remember back when Marcy came to live with us?  She was delivered to me, as a foster kid (oh, the irony), in a live trap.  While it was believed she was only a couple of months old, she turned out to be at least 8 months.

Marcy, just before she was trapped.
Marcy, just before she was trapped.

Given she hasn’t grown a bit, other than her sense of entitlement, I think it safe to assume she was at least a year old.

Marcy and me, after we removed her from the trap.  We had to do it in a closed garage lest she escape.
Marcy and me, after we removed her from the trap. We had to do it in a closed garage lest she escape.

A year old, having grown up wild, without human intervention.  In other words, feral like a coyote.  At the time, we didn’t think she could be domesticated.

It seems like just yesterday, but it’s actually been 2 years, this month.  Golly time flies!

Life without the people bed....  to terrible a thought to even consider!
Life without the people bed…. too terrible a thought to even consider!

Marcy has come a long way since she was trapped.  She still has feral tendencies and is easily scared around ‘outsiders’, but I can honestly say she, more than any of the other kids, except for maybe Pablo, wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but Run A Muck Ranch.  If Crabby and I were hit by a truck and the kids had to find other homes, the rest, they’d be OK.  Heck, Slugger wouldn’t even notice the change!  Marcy wouldn’t be able to cope.  That’s not pride on my part talking, it’s reality.

Feeling better about life in captivity.
Feeling better about life in captivity.

It isn’t one thing about The Ranch that Marcy loves, it’s the sum of all the parts.  She would be fine without me, or Morty, or the Waggin’ Wagon, or her coyote beau who comes to visit her,  or anything else, assuming only one part was missing. But take away a few things, and Marcy would be significantly damaged.

Marcy at a play date, not of her choosing.
Marcy at a play date, not of her choosing.  She doesn’t like surprises.

This was her home since before she was born, it just took a while to for her to get here.  Sometimes, when I watch Marcy loving her life I wonder if everything in our lives up to February 2013 happened just to prepare for Marcy’s homecoming.

Marcy hating life.
Marcy hating life as a ‘domestic’ dog.

We love you Marcy, even if you did eat a pretty large chunk of the salad that I painstakingly prepared for my dinner tonight.

Thanks again to the folks at Pittie Me Rescue for doing what you do, and making it possible that Marcy could come home, even if I still believe someone did some serious Voodoo conjuring to make us put ourselves in the position to agree to ‘foster’ her.

Once Again Trauma Strikes Run A Muck Ranch

Sarah’s nails are getting a little long, so I decided to trim them.   She’s is one of the easier kids to give a mani/pedi to, rarely even waking up for it.

As easy as Sarah is to work with, only a moron could possibly quick her.   I would be that moron.  The event was traumatic for both of us.

The toe was cleaned, flour applied to slow the bleeding, and Sarah given a cheese transfusion to help her make it through the shock.

 

It looks worse than it appears.  I used flour to stop the bleeding.  Anyone who's ever used flour for this purpose knows you're just creating red paper mache.
It looks worse than it appears. I used flour to stop the bleeding. Though it does the trick, it ends up becoming red paper mache and makes it look like you chopped the entire toe off.  I assure you, all Sarah’s toes are in tact!

 

Anyone who has ever trimmed nails has at one time or another quicked one.  In all these years of toe wrangling, I have never seen a bleeder as bad as Sarah.   It seemed like she lost buckets.

 

We're losing her!  We're losing her!
We’re losing her! We’re losing her!

Once the bleeding finally slowed, I bandaged the foot.

 

Feet are never fun to bandage.  Put it on too loose and it falls off.  Too tight and the foot swells up.
Feet are never fun to bandage. Put it on too loose and it falls off. Too tight and the foot swells up.

 

As you can see, Sarah is still very weak from the trauma.

Once bandaged, Sarah was forced to spend the rest of the afternoon confined to the couch.

 

As you can see, couch confinement was a bitter pill to swallow.
Couch confinement was a bitter pill to swallow.

 

 

It's a terrible life.
It’s a terrible life.

At one point Sarah seemed to be in distress.

 

Gasp....Need chickin!
Gasp….Neeeeed chickin!

 

So a piece of chicken set aside from the people dinner was administered.

 

That's better.
Able to relax again!

 

An hour or so later, we decided it would be a good idea for Sarah to ambulate, so I helped her off the couch.

 

Groan.... too soon Mom!
Groan…. too soon Mom!

 

I think a little something in the way of a late evening snack might help me gain my strength back.  Just sayin...
I think a little something in the way of a late evening snack might help me gain my strength back. Just sayin…

 

Just what the doctor ordered!
Just what the doctor ordered!

 

After the strength injecting mini meal, Sarah was able to go outside to relieve herself and chase some hoo doos.

Upon return to the house, however, she hadn’t the strength to get back on the couch, or should I say, fight for her spot which had been taken by Morty, Gracie, Franky, Hector, Emmi and Pablo.  She had no other choice but to just go to bed.

 

Sarah being tended to by Nurse Marcy.
Sarah being tended to by Nurse Marcy.

And for the record…  the bandage is STILL on, even after an outside romp!

One by one the other Run A Muck Ranch dogs are quietly paying homage to Sarah, thanking her for taking one for the team.  Because of her sacrifice, it is highly unlikely I will attempt a toenail trim on any of the other kids any time soon.

 

********************

 

Word to the newbies:  Unless there is food involved, a walk, a ride somewhere, a visitor, or a bunny in the back yard, Sarah isn’t the most motivated of creatures in the world.  The photos you see are not of a dog suffering, but a dog in her natural state.  I did 2 other nails before I realized I quicked her.  She didn’t even bother to wake up when it happened.

On Crazy Dog Ladies in Denial

With the advances of digital photography comes the curse of date stamps on photos. This curse reared its ugly head during a recent trip down memory lane.

 

Hector after his cherry eye surgery, December 31, 2006.
Hector after his cherry eye surgery, December 31, 2006. He came to us a foster dog about 2 weeks before.

 

We can’t remember how old Hector was at the time he moved in, but he was at least 2. For some reason I think he was estimated to be 3. Now let’s do the math: 2015-2006 = 9. 9+2 = 11. Hector is at least 11 years old. If my recollection is correct, however, he’s 12.

 

DASH! the day he met Crabby, January 8, 2008.
DASH! establishing some ground rules the day after he arrived, January 8, 2008.

DASH! never shared his age when he first graced us with his presence, but he was an adult. My recollection is the vet estimated him to be the generic ‘between 1 and 3’. Let’s do the math again:  2015-2008=7.    7+1 =8. DASH! is at least 8, but he could be as old as 11.

 

When the harsh reality hit, I lamented to Crabby that I thought The Boys were around 5 or 6 years old.  According to Crabby I’ve been saying that for years.

 

Somewhere along the way, as misfits moved in and others passed away, Hector and DASH!  not only got older, but became seniors.

 

I choose not to see seniors.  I choose to see My Boys as they truly are:

 

Hector, December 2014
Hector, December 2014

 

DASH! August 2014
DASH! August 2014

 

I have decided to stick to my claim that Hector and DASH! are around 5 and 6 years old, for now and for the foreseeable future.

 

Riddle Me This….

Can someone explain to me, in words that my simple mind can understand….

Scenario 1:

You take your dog to the vet for a regular wellness check.  He gives your dog a physical and suggests a blood draw to view the over all wellness of your dog.  You consent, blood is drawn, and the results come back.  Some values aren’t exactly within the range of normal, but they’re pretty close and your vet tells you there’s nothing to worry about.  Your dog passes his wellness check and the angels sing.  You wrote on your intake form that your dog is fed a commercial dog food.

Scenario 2:

You home-make your dog food, and indicate as much on your intake form.  You run the same blood tests as would be done in a ‘regular’ wellness screen, but request the addition of other values to be tested as well.  Your results come back, and every single value falls within normal range.  Even your sporadic elevated eosinophils are within normal range.  Rather than receive the same passing grade on the wellness check, you are warned that continued feeding of a home made diet is a recipe for disaster (the word ‘recipe’ was used), even though the vet has never even asked what it is you feed your dogs.  That this was the 3rd blood draw, the 3rd showing gold stars across the board, irrelevant.   This was the first time the vet saw the dog, but he was made aware of the results of the prior blood tests, and their results at the original consultation.

What am I missing here?

 

 

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There’s Something in the Hay!

We’ve converted Hal and Charlie into free range horses.  Rather than turning them out in the arena, we just open their stall doors and let them wander where ever they want.  The back yard is fenced, why confine them to one section?

To further boost their ‘environmental enrichment’, and despite Hal’s issues with hay, from time to time we’re dropping a bale of bermuda hay (the less tasty kind) so the boys can get in touch with their herbivore roots.  They pick at it, but don’t dive in like they did when hay was their primary food source, and when they got alfalfa or timothy, the yummier kinds.

 

Why not?  I have the only horse who can't eat hay on a regular basis without getting digestive upset!  Thanks Hal!
Why not? I have the only horse who can’t eat hay on a regular basis without getting digestive upset! Thanks Hal!

 

Bermuda hay is very loose and messy, unlike alfalfa or timothy which hold together.  As loose at it is, and as relatively gentle as the horses seem to be with it, I couldn’t understand why it keeps ending up in a pile resembling what the grower had just cut down.

Tonight I found the answer.  It’s not the hay that’s the problem, it’s what’s in it.    It appears we have some sort of burrowing creature inhabiting our hay bales.

 

 

 

 

It appears we have an insect of some sort in the hay!

 

 

 

Poor Droopy Faced Emmi :(

Emmi’s face swelled up today, so off to the ER we went.  Turns out, she had an abscess, poor thing.

The abscess has been drained and flushed, a bravery hamburger administered, and Emmi will be on pain killers for a few days and antibiotics for a week.

Is it possible for anyone to look at this face and not feel her pain?

Poor Emmi.  To make matters worse, she can't go on Sunday Family Desert Walk tomorrow.
Poor Emmi. To make matters worse, she can’t go on Sunday Family Desert Walk tomorrow.

Where’r We Goin?!

DASH! in route to his special DASH! and Mom only walk.
DASH! in route to his special DASH! and Mom only walk.  Sometimes I think it’s the ride and not the walk that he gets most excited about.  

Never forget that often times it’s not the destination, but the journey.  Whether it’s to the gas station or visiting with friends, no dog would pass up the opportunity to go for a ride.  Don’t waste opportunities.