"Where to Bury a Good Dog"

Put in my post box today in a card by a dear friend. 

.... "There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave.

Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavourous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.

For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master."
..........by Ben Hur Lampman

'Letting Go'

Peace at Last

Cuddled gently in my arms, Lily slipped quietly into doggie heaven at 2.30am this morning, assisted by an exceptionally caring vet.

Woken by a massive seizure and seriously disoriented for a long while afterwards, it was a blessed release for us to help her end her suffering.

I got up early and went down to where my lovely man buried Lily at 3am.

The sun was just up, the breeze was still, the dappled sunlight trickling through our little forest onto the fresh turned earth.

My funny old lady sheepies came and stood around me, sensing something profound had happened,

and Chevy came and nibbled my fingers.

We all stood there together and listened to the birds' early morning chatter, and watched a kookaburra swoop low over her grave. Perfect peace and all is well in the world.

 

R.I.P. my darling girl. ♥ ♥ ♥

MRI Shows the Damage

Painted on Art Rage while I waited for the neurologist to call after her first seizure..

Lily's condition has worsened over the last month, and after seeing specialist DM at the Melbourne Veterinary Specialist Centre on the 11th of January, she continued to decline. The anti-convulsants she was prescribed made no difference, so he upped the dose.

I took her to have a trial acupuncture at Prahran Vet Hospital in the hope of settling the facial twitching, and we took home herbal tablets as well.

The next day, Thursday 31st January, she had two grand mal seizures, her back legs were no longer co-ordinated so she fell heavily over and over, and her facial twitching was almost non-stop. The specialist was contacted immediately and we made plans for her to see her neurologist when he returned on Wednesday.

The next morning, she had deteriorated so much I believed she would die if we didn't do something immediately, and after a desperate call, the Specialist Centre said to bring her straight down.

She went in for a CSF test and a MRI of her head, which showed a white flare over the optic nerve for her removed eye, indicating inflammation/ infection from the surgery. She has been so brave considering that she has had this simmering away since last July. Dogs are.....

Specialist Kate Heading is getting a radiologist in Sydney to view them to get a more definitive idea on Lily's condition.

She has been put on antibiotics and cortisone and we have decided to put her to sleep if we can't get her some stress and pain free life ahead of her.

We are getting some heartening results so far, her seizures have stopped, the twitching lessened, and she has regained the use of her hind legs, though she dropped like she had been shot after a big jolt this morning, poor dear girl.

The financial cost to us this past week is mounting fast, not counting numerous long trips from West Gippsland to Melbourne, but I am really pleased we decided to go the extra mile, and hopefully given her another chance.

This past week has been the most horrifying to me for a long time, watching my dog suffering the way she has. I never knew I had so many tears in me.

What you see is not always what you get.

Well, the dispute with the vets is ongoing, and I am learning a lot about what seemingly decent educated people will do to get out of admitting that they handled things badly.

Lily exhibited what I called 'startling' as soon as the anesthetic wore off, and was stumbling and falling, twitching and behaving quite strangely quite a few times through the days and now months that followed. At first I thought she was having trouble adapting to having only one eye, so just watched her and calmed her when she needed comfort. 

She no longer had the courage to come upstairs to sleep, and sadly put herself to bed in the lounge while her mate slept upstairs with me. She had a few slips on the timber steps, which left her very unsettled about falling all the way down. Indeed, she did come a clanger every now and again before she gave up totally, poor love.

I had emergency surgery with my thyroid coming out less than a month afterwards, so it took a while for me to focus fully on her again, but I was concerned to see that the symptoms were escalating. 

To cut a long story short, it really became obvious on a hot day recently, when we flopped around in front of the telly, and I filmed her while her left side of her face was jumping and twitching. Huge jolts would jar her whole body, and they would be the ones that have caused her to stumble and fall so soon after the surgery.

I  did a lot of research on the net, and consulted with a terrific online vet who advised me about what it might or might not be.

My research came up with Trigeminal Neuralgia, caused most likely from the surgery. In humans, it can be terribly painful, and the symptoms were identical to Lily's.

I made an appointment with a neurologist and took my poor little lady down to see him. Her symptoms escalated with the long trip and the stress, so he was able to watch it first hand. He was marvelous, and we spent a really interesting hour and half, tossing symptoms, possible diagnoses and treatments back and forth. He agrees with me that she has nerve damage. She has been put on anti-convulsant drugs and we are hoping to see some improvement soon, though 10 days later, she is still as bad. 

I did find some references to using Botox in humans, and it has been used safely on dogs for other reasons, so I have asked the specialist to look into that if the meds don't work.

I hate watching her, as she is really miserable at times, and her only relief is when she is heavily asleep, so I tiptoe around when she's dozing.

Back to the vets... They have been truly, truly disgusting, twisting facts, making up things that never happened, and trying to discredit me and protect themselves. I was lucky to get hold of their case notes, which displayed just how low they will stoop to get out of taking responsibility for this disaster. Fortunately I have lots of ways to disprove them.

My final submission is going in this week, but sadly, none of this will get Lily's eye back, or take away her suffering.


 

Vets in Trouble with Pannus

Lily's eye was removed in July, and now it seems it was not necessary. Her other eye flared up a few months back with the same symptoms as the first. I took her to the vet (not the same one, but the same vet clinic) and it was immediately diagnosed as Pannus. We used Cortisone Drops and anti-inflammatories and it improved overnight.

I got onto the internet and did lots of research and found it was an hereditary condition and always affects both eyes .... though not necessarily at the same time. It cannot be cured, but can be controlled, as her remaining eye is now.

That led me to the conclusion that the first vet, who was pretty unpleasant to deal with, had not dealt with Lily correctly by not trying everything that could be tried before removing the eye.

I called a meeting with her and the senior vet. She apologised if I felt that she had been judgemental about me, but would not admit she could have done better. The senior vet said they had done nothing wrong and had provided me with all the options I needed. He also made a throwaway comment that 'Lily's eye was shot anyway', even though he had not seen the dog for nearly a year. He was in no position to make such a judgement. Luckily, I found a photo of Lily with a nearly clear eye only 7 weeks before the surgery, so that blows his theory out of the water, and gives me proof.

To cut a long story short, I have made a complaint to the Veterinary Board, they have accepted it and sent my submission on to the vets involved. They will send a reply back and it will be sent on to me for my comments. Finally, if we can't reach an agreement, it will go to a formal meeting.

Sometimes it pays to make a stand, as I am now. They are probably protecting themselves from litigation, but that was never on my agenda. I asked for my money back, and then said I would accept half in the spirit of compromise.... and they have refused. We'll see. The vet board doesn't make judgements about money, just the professional behaviour of vets.

I'm just rattling the bars of their cage a bit at this stage, but I'm pretty upset.

Dear Old Lily

 

My wonderful 13+ y.o. standard poodle Lily had her left eye removed a few weeks back, and we are still trying to get used to a permanently winking old lady.

She has been going blue in that eye for time, so her vision wasn't good enough for her to dodge twigs in the garden. She damaged it once last October, we treated it and over some time, it healed. After a few days staying at the kennels, she came home weeping a bit from that eye again. Sure enough she had done it again. I had ointment, so kept putting that in everyday, but it would come good for a few days, then regress. I had a family tragedy arise that slowed my attention to a crawl for time, but finally it got bad enough to warrant taking her to the vet.

My usual lovely vet was on holidays, and the one I saw instead dragged me heavily through a guilt trip, inferring that she hadn't healed from the 2011 issue. It didn't matter how I protested, she wouldn't relent, and suggested I take Lily to see an eye specialist down in Malvern East to try to save the eye. On ringing their offices, I couldn't get an appointment at Moe, who has only one day per month there, so would have to wait a while for the Malvern appointment. Lily was obviously uncomfortable, and I was getting no constructive advice from my vet, so felt it probably should be removed to stop the serial relapses and her suffering. I did ring the night before hoping for some different medication that might help it, but Megan said no, there wasn't.


I had no choice but to use Megan for the surgery, as my lovely vet was still away, but she toned down my guilt trip to a manageable level.
Lily has been brave and dignified through the whole process, but the sight of her stumbling out to me with her topknot clipped off and huge stitches over that side, took my breath away. Such a visual shock! I sobbed loudly all the way home in the car.
She had her stitches out last week and never moved a muscle, earning a dried liver treat from Megan.

I still look at her and am surprised to see her winking, but when her topknot grows back, I will scissor the hair into a fetching Greta Garbo look, and hopefully we'll barely notice. What a girl!

Clean Children

Big bath and clip up for all three poodles today, in preparation for being somewhat disabled for a while soon. It's not often I get them all done on the same day; it's such a big job. They love it when it's all over (and so do I!).

Dear, funny old Connor ~ A bit blind and deaf, and so self indulgent at nearly fourteen.

Lily and Zara ~ my two beautiful ladies.

It's all Over!

Well, it was simple, fun, and just that little bit exhausting.

Seeing our beautiful baby grandson opening his first ever Christmas present, and the joy felt by the watching family made it all worth while. Eight year old Blake opening his with equal anticipation, made it very special also. It has been some years since we all got together at Christmas, and each of us felt the familial bond made stronger by being together at this time of year.

If you are reading this, it means that you've survived Christmas Day, and now it's Boxing Day, where we breathe a sigh of relief, with just that little hint of anticlimax.

For us, it was plain old toast and honey for breakfast, and an unopened ham waiting in the fridge for our lunch and his daughter's annual visit. For some, the cricket, or the beginning of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. The weather's good, so they might have a smooth trip this year. Other years have brought multiple drowning and broken yachts.

We visited, chatted and caught up with people for most of yesterday, and then collapsed in front of the TV last night. The man wandered off to bed early, exhausted by the socialising, and I reveled in my aloneness, processing my photos from Christmas with one ear on some rubbish on TV.

Aldi opened only a few weeks ago, and I am learning to make the supermarket work for me. This morning, I left my man mowing the lawns, and wandered down to town to view their Boxing Day specials. I had spotted a cordless vacuum cleaner I fancied in the brochure, and thought I would have a closer look.

Down at five to 10 am, there was a motley group waiting impatiently at the doors for Aldi to open. Two women were commenting they had 'never waited in line at a supermarket before'. How true! I never dreamed I would go to a Boxing Day Sale!

The doors opened and some men, who had probably never graced a supermarket in their lives, rushed in and snaffled the table saws, drill sets, and cement mixers.

I was happy with my snazzy little vacuum, and apart from realising I had left my keys in the car in my excitement, got out in one piece, after a short wait in the rapid-fire queues. You kind of hit the checkout, and feel like you've been pushed onto a slide, with your items snapped through the scanner, and dumped unceremoniously into your specially placed trolley. I found I apologised for fumbling my money!

More socialising this afternoon, and we actually chopped into our ham. The Christmas Cake has been cut, and is very good.

I am feeling a little emotionally frazzled. The effort of getting everything together in time is hard work for my tired old brain. But this year has presented some warm fuzzy moments that I will remember for a long time.

"Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall."

.. Larry Wilde, The Merry Book of Christmas

Postscript..... Deleted OES snippet as it's attracting nasty people. Happy New Year to you all!

Weather watching!

The countdown to Christmas has begun, and we have just received our Christmas bonus.

For the past two weeks, I have become increasingly aware and distressed about our disappearing water supply. Living in the country with no town water, we have two large tanks of five thousand gallons each and a small catcher tank of 500 litres down at the studio. That's about 44,500 thousand litres. Heaps!

There's only two of us, plus the three poodles, ten sheep and the garden, and I've been very careful.......

A short but heavy downfall three weeks ago should have topped us up, but no, we were down to our last ten thousand in one tank only. I could feel my garden wilting, and the veggies turning to crisps as the weather heated up.

Two minute shower orders were put into place and I hovered dangerously over my man's shoulder as he brushed his teeth with the tap running. Not good!

I 'put on the jack boots' and marched him out last weekend to review the situation. It turned out that the two tanks weren't 'talking to each other', and the small tank down at the studio didn't have the pump that sent the water up to the big ones turned on!

Still no rain! I reviewed the weather radar each day, watching for brightly coloured pixels on the map that might wander our way. One heavy shower the day before yesterday wandered tantalizingly close by on the flats below, missing us, leaving only a light shower to damp the parched garden.

It's Coming!

Until yesterday! Thunder, lightning and the whole damn lot! In the middle of the first really heavy shower, the man got out on top of the primary water tank, to discover that there was a thatch of leaves blocking the inlet. Aha! With thunder crashing around him, and me yelling from the veranda for him to come in or get struck by lightning, he cleared the blockage and we were away.

Lily went under the bed as she always does. She hates lightning, and there is nothing that can be said or done to comfort her.

Poor baby under the bed

We sat out on the veranda and watched that blessed rain filling our tanks and knowing our lives can begin anew.

"We never know the worth of water till the well is dry."
... Thomas Fuller, Gnomologia, 1732

Memories of Our Boxer Dog

My daughter rang me last night, talking about how much she liked the painting I posted of her and our boxer dog Dempsey, so I thought I might do a small write-up about him.

We had Dempsey for 9 years only as boxers rarely live much longer that than that. He came to us as an eight week old, gloriously soft faced and beautiful, all big feet and loose skin. He grew rapidly into a lanky teenager, delighting in family life, snoozing under the children's doonas and chewing anything that came into sight.


As he grew into adult hood, a darker side crept into his personality, and I remember his and my first and only face to face argument. I asked him to move from his bed and he growled deep in his throat at me, all bully-boy teenage stuff. He was going to be a huge dog when mature, and potentially dangerous, so I grabbed a newspaper, rolled it up and took off after him around the bedroom. He growled and stood up to me for a while, but I kept thumping him and shouting at him to get down, until finally he acquiesced and did. He rolled over onto his back and showed his belly, a sure sign of acknowledging defeat. I praised him loudly and got him up and outside, and showed him I didn't hold a grudge. He was mine for evermore, and never grumped at me again.

His good humour didn't show to everyone, and each day as the postie came, he would roar out to the fence barking loudly. When we walked the streets with him on the lead, he would spot the postman coming from far away, and be dragging on his lead to get at him. Poor man, he was a bad tempered old bugger who had growled at the dog when he was a pup, and Dempsey never forgot, or forgave.


We also had some pretty awful neighbors who lived on a 'battle-axe block' down behind us. Their two dreadful boys would throw half bricks and gravel at him over the fence when I wasn't home, so he hated them too, giving them the same treatment as the postman. They weren't clever enough to work out what might happen if he got over the fence to them.

He was well bred and very handsome, and one day a woman came to me and asked if she could use him for stud. She brought her bitch on heat for him to meet, and he was horrified, not understanding the manners or mechanics of mating, promptly biting her on the nose .... and drawing blood! Needless to say, there were no puppies expected from that meeting...................

He and I walked many kilometres around our country town, and we were often stopped by admirers, complimenting me on my beautiful dog. He grew very large, around forty kilos in weight, and his arched neck, high tail carriage and floating movement was reminiscent of an Arabian horse. I never tired of watching him 'strut his stuff'.

Later on, he developed an infection in his prostrate, so he lost his 'undercarriage' and any future opportunities that might have come his way.

As an eight year old, some health problems began to be noticed, and he was diagnosed with cardiomiopathy after his heart was found to be hugely enlarged. This slowed him down considerably. Then he developed some cancerous lumps on his feet. Poor old boy, he aged very rapidly after that, until I finally had to make the hard decision to have him put to sleep. It was a sad day for us all, but we celebrated his life as one worth living.

Cancer and weak hearts are common boxer problems, and I was only talking to a man last week whose dog was put on chemotherapy as a four year old to extract some more time for them both. He now has another, and a second daughter of mine has one as well.

They are wonderful dogs, physically beautiful, with faces full of expression. As an artist, I have always loved them. I did do some portraits of him (see below).

He was a great mate, a top guard dog and loved those who mattered. The rest he didn't bother with.
........................................................

"Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really."
... Agnes Sligh Turnbull

Bye Bye Babies............

I went for a last visit and to photograph Glynnis's cavoodle puppies yesterday. I haven't seen them for a few weeks because I can't drive at the moment, so she came and picked me up.

The babies are ready to go this weekend, and though they will be missed, managing a pile of wriggly puppies with constant needs is beginning to tell on the family. Apparently they are waking at 3.30 onwards for breakfast and go right on squealing and wrestling for hours afterwards.

Mum Meggie is really enjoying playing with them and gets right down and dirty rolling around and nipping at them. Other times, it's all too much.

Little Ruby is very quiet and gets picked on a bit by the other two rowdy bubs. She retreats to her bed and snoozes when things get too rough.

As we left for the drive home, Meggie asked to come too, and she sat, free as a bird in the grandsons' car seat, head out the window and not thinking about babies at all..................

Zara's Teddy

Fresh out of the washing machine - no eye no nose, just lots of doggy slobber, the occasional errant trip outside, many flights through the air for pickups, and numerous times in Mum's lap for a cuddle.

Sometimes It's Truly 'Hell on the Hill'!

The last two days have been a nightmare weather wise, with gale force winds and rain battering our small slice of paradise. Springtime in Victoria is renowned for violent changes, sometimes our fresh garden shoots and early blossoms are often reduced to crumpled left overs in a few wild days.

I woke early yesterday morning and went out to check the sheep, and one of our girls was down on her side, head lifted up and peering desperately at me. She had a lamb almost out on the ground. I rushed down and pulled it out, and checked it for life, but apart from the feet which had been inside its mum, it was cold and lifeless. She had been a bit on the tubby side, had quite a bit of wet wool to weigh her down, and had laid in the wrong place to lamb.

I called for my man, who lifted her back on her feet, and she rushed off in relief.

The weather was pretty cold, with minus one during the night, so all factors added up to go against the poor little lambie. Mum just couldn't get up to clean and feed it. We left the baby there for an hour or two, and she stood about twenty feet away and just looked ..... a sad and lonely little lady. My heart really went out to her.

It was pretty distressing, considering it seemed a healthy lamb, and has since caused me to stumble around in the dark late at night and early morning to check on the other three ewes who are expecting. Last night I fell over in the mud again and landed on the broken wrist. I felt a slight crack, and thought I had re-broken it. But it seems OK, thank heavens!

We wondered whether we might source an orphaned lamb from a local farmer, and I read up on the net about skinning the dead lamb with the amniotic fluid intact, and tying it around the orphan. This apparently works at least 50% of the time, but the thought of bottle feeding a rejected baby with a broken arm put me off big time, so we buried little bubby. Poor bereft mum is off with the flock again getting on with her life, so we will too.

The other lamb is doing well and we put a ring on his tail yesterday, which was a steep learning curve, but we couldn't find his testicles to ring those! They just wouldn't drop down for we amateurs. Our sheep farmer friend is coming over soon, so that will have to wait until then.

On a happier note, we went to see our friends' cavoodle puppies on Saturday. They are now 5 and a half weeks old and cute as...............

All have now been sold and will go to their new owners at 8 weeks. Glynnis will miss them now they are all cuddly little people, but she is running out of newspaper!

" God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled. "

... Author Unknown

Zara's Dolly

"Think what a better world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down on our blankets for a nap."

... Barbara Jordan

Today's drawing is one of Zara's favourite toy. We call it her 'dolly' to differentiate between that and her 'teddy'. She does know the difference between the two words. Both are stuffed poodle toys, and she has had them for most of her life with us.

This one was given to me by my friend Janis when we got Zara, and she would probably be quite surprised how this little toy has lasted puppyhood and many cleansing trips through the washing machine. She is very soft mouthed and gentle with her toys, and this one has survived with only its nose chewed off. I got to it with black thread and closed up the hole, thinking I might form a new nose, but now the poor thing has only a lop sided grimace left. She doesn't care and carries it around proudly to drop it in my lap so I can have a pretend wrestle with her. She loves it when I make little squeaking noises and pretend it's hiding down behind my chair, only to pop up and delight her.

She is happiest when she has a toy in her mouth so she can start a conversation with me about it. My sock in the morning is a good substitute if no toy is nearby. I have to grab at it as she goes outside to the loo, or my socks and her toys would be spread all over the yard.

Our Wild Child

This is today's drawing of our crazy teenager, Zara's collar. Her breeder likens her to a 'wild child', which sounds wonderfully romantic, but to me she's my 'little nutter'.

She is the dearest, funniest, most affectionate creature I have ever had. She's the first on my lap when I sit down for the evening, even though bits of her hang off everywhere now she's so big. She is full of love and kisses for everyone. She worships the 'Princess' Lily, after copping many beatings when she was a pup. Together they run like the wind around the house yard, going neck and neck like racehorses, stopping to tumble at each other on the lawn like puppies.

When we return home after an outing, the front gates get closed, then I let them out; Connor and Lil from the first run, then Zara from the one behind. Lil, in her joy to be out, always waits for Zara to be released, then chases her mercilessly around the yard, grabbing at her legs and bowling her over. Zara has learned to tiptoe out near me, peering round the corners, expecting to be steam rollered at any minute. If I can, I hold her collar, and lead her out safely, holding on until Lil's ruthless exuberance subsides and peace returns.

Zara is now 18 months old, and we share her with her breeder, Katherine Whitely from Aglaia Poodles at Cannons Creek. I met Kathy 11 years ago when she gave me Connor, my first standard, when she retired him from show at two and a half as an Australian Champion.

Zara's father is the highly decorated Viola Canadian Club. 'Richmond' now has 108 Best Exhibits in Show, and the highest collection of wins for an Australian Bred Show Dog.

Her mother is the beautiful Australian Champion Aglaia World's a Stage

Her brother Aglaia Leaps and Bounds (Gilchrist) has recently become Australian Champion, and is growing into a beautiful dog. I decided not to show Zara because our lifestyle doesn't support keeping a standard poodle in show condition, especially a lively gal like our Zara. She'd be mooning behind the bars of her run, while the other two ran free.

When she is three year's old, we will put her in pup, which we are really looking forward to.

All that aside, she is a glorious ray of sunshine, guaranteed to brighten even the darkest day.

"There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face. "
~Ben Williams

**** As a postscript to this, I have just had a phone call tonight to tell me Gilchrist has gained Reserve Challenge at the Royal Melbourne Show 2007, next to his father, Richmond. Huge excitement!

Coming Back Together Again

The 'Crazy Teenager' on a drier day.

The day began early with a miserable ache in the broken bits and drizzly rain outside. It was only just light when I let the 'crazy teenager' Zara and Lily out for their morning walk. Lil came back in almost straight away, but Zara disappeared.

Next Door Neighbours

The cattle were in the adjoining paddock next door, and she had been keen to get to know them the night before, so I knew that's where she would be. I stumbled up behind the hedge and she was 'spronging' up and down the fence, with them all standing in a dopey line looking at her. I was getting wet, and a bit desperate when she finished her socialising and took off towards the house. Relieved, I trailed off down the bank after her, and slipped on the mud and wet grass .... down on my bum, crash onto my fragile elbow, and, thankfully, broken wrist in the air.

I cried out with utter dismay, wondering whether I had re-broken something, but all seemed well. With wet muddy bottom on my clean pyjamas, and nerves jangling, I stumbled back to the house, making small sniffly, miserable, sorry-for-myself sort of noises.

My man slept on, oblivious of my distress, so I got myself a morning cuppa, and made an effort to calm down.

The crazy teenager? She spent the rest of her morning either on the chain, or in the doggie run with her bone.

The rest of the day was spent going up to have an x-ray, and to see the surgeon. He unwrapped it and viewed the nicely healed incision with extreme pride, saying it was knitting together nicely. All was cleaned up and wrapped again in the old plaster, not to be opened for another 4 weeks. On the trip back home, I muttered about how the shape of it had changed and was rubbing everywhere, but now, after a few hours, it has settled back into place again.

Tomorrow will be a photographic afternoon, with the Harley repairer needing high quality photos to send to the assessor, so I'll post some broken Harley pics tomorrow night. We can all mourn together....................

"I can't complain, but sometimes I still do."
... Joe Walsh

Birthday Present for Glynnis

'Fergus' ~ 8" X 10" Oil on canvas board.

I can't wait until Saturday to give this to Glynnis for her birthday. This is also one of my 'small paintings' and I did it this morning.

I guess she'll spot this on my blog, so an early Happy Birthday dear! You can have it when it's dry.

This painting is done from some photos I took of her proud 'cavoodle' daddy, Fergus', whose three babies were born a week ago.

"A true friend is one who thinks you are a good egg even if you are half-cracked".
... Author Unknown

Miracle of Birth

Well, Meggie has had her three puppies, and I was lucky enough to go back and see them all this morning and take some photos. She is fiercely protective of them and just the best Mum. They are warm, fed and spotlessly clean, and the report is that she hasn't even been out to the loo yet!

Proud daddy Fergus has been mostly left outside, and when he came a bit close this morning to sniff at all the exciting smells, Meggie leaped on him, growling ferociously. Poor little man. Men can be so dispensable!

He had to be satisfied with peeking around at them all from the chair.


"A little child born yesterday
A thing on mother's milk and kisses fed."
... Homer

Warm weather's great, but what about the Snakes?

Although the warmer weather is wonderful, we now have a major problem literally rearing it's head, and that's our snake population is stirring in their burrows.

We are surrounded by tiger snakes, and every year we have a big confrontation, with one on the veranda, or the dogs get bitten. One dog in particular.... and that's our elder statesman poodle, Connor.

Connor has been bitten twice now, almost exactly a year apart, and has lived to tell the tale. Fortunately he is too old to fuss with them much now, but used to actively hunt them. The first time was in the dog run, where the snake must have come in for water. We were out for the day and came home to him drooling and staggering a bit. He had a nasty ear infection at the time, and was being treated for that, but we were a bit unsure as to why he was so unwell, and didn't take him down to the vet until the next morning. He had deteriorated a bit by the time he got there, and they were confused as well. His symptoms could have been a few issues. They took blood and he was diagnosed later that afternoon. The vet ventured that he mustn't have got a heavy dose, but gave him the anti venom treatment anyway.

He struggled for life for the next week, with blood in his urine, muscle breakdown, and all the other classic symptoms. Quite a few times I thought we might lose him. We live half an hour from the vet's, but I went down each day to sit on the floor next to him, and helped him to go outside for a walk when he was able.

It took him a long time to recover and lost a lot of muscle. His cheeks and top of his head were just skin draped over bone, and they still haven't filled over years later.

The next February, I found him down behind the hedge, vomiting and collapsed with shock. I had done a lot of research since the last time, and raced to get the Vitamin C injection I had stored in the fridge. Intensive Vitamin C doses are renowned for snakebite in animals, and it certainly helped Connor. His gums pinked up and he became much more alert. Looking back afterwards, I should have kept going with more shots, but after 5 hours, he slid somewhat and I took him to the vet for more anti venom. Twice is about the limit, and the have allergic reactions which can be more life threatening than none. He did have a reaction to that, but antihistamine was administered and helped a bit.

This vet was much more practised at diagnosing snake bite. She took some blood and left it for 7 minutes, saying if it hadn't clotted by then, it was definitely that. His eyes were also very dilated, and stayed that way when she shone the light in.

He spent two days in hospital and came home weakened again, but we were experts by then.

Connor couldn't stand long enough for a drink

I recommended to all our friends with dogs to have a vial of liquid Vitamin C in their fridge and a syringe. It keeps for about 2 years. Mine is older than that, so I had better get down to the vet and get some more.

We also use Shoosnake, a herbal snake repellent, which we spray around the runs and wood piles and anywhere they might like to hide. It has lovely pungent smell, with cloves and geranium and citronella. I really love it and walk around sniffing it when I have some on my hands. Hopefully the snakes don't.

I have also looked at electronic ones, where you insert a solar panel driven probe into the ground and it creates a vibration that snakes don't like. They're fairly expensive, but so is anti venom and vet care, I suppose. I will do more research to see if they work.

See the complete story of Connor's trials and tribulations at
http://www.lowchensaustralia.com/health/vitc2.htm

Last year, I had a personal confrontation with one on the veranda, where there was only me, the snake, the dogs and a hoe. The snake came last in our battle to the death, but my little heart was pumping hard after that one. Snakes are protected, and I really would be more than happy to cohabit with them, but my dogs come first.

"If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster."
...Isaac Asimov