I sent an email to my vet asking her for her feedback on health and personality of aussies and standard poodles. Those two breeds seem to be my focus du jour and I thought she'd have a good perspective on them. Of course, I do understand that once I'm in the grips of a puppy, I may buy by the heart—and I hope that's the case! None-the-less, I'd like her opinion. She is not only a vet, but does a lot of outside activities (agility, etc.) with her dogs. Plus, as a vet, she sees them in their time of need, so can assess if either breed is more prone to certain issues.
Off the subject of breeds, but equally important, I came across this blog entry today. Since I've used many of those questionable products on Lucy, I find this interesting. Did the flea solution have something to do with her cancer?
April 28, 2009
April 22, 2009
Looking at Poodles
I met some great standard poodles recently. They were quite small (37 and 43 pounds, I think), but large enough to not be confused for a miniature. They were lovely and sweet and well-mannered.
As a child, my mother had been told that if she insisted on getting a dog, she should get a poodle as I was allergic. What amazed me about these dogs, was how my hands didn't react at all when I petted them. It was very surprising as I am so used to my hands getting itchy when I touch a new dog. Whenever I've brought a new pup home, it's taken a while for my skin to adjust to the dander, etc. But with the poods, nothing.
As a child, my mother had been told that if she insisted on getting a dog, she should get a poodle as I was allergic. What amazed me about these dogs, was how my hands didn't react at all when I petted them. It was very surprising as I am so used to my hands getting itchy when I touch a new dog. Whenever I've brought a new pup home, it's taken a while for my skin to adjust to the dander, etc. But with the poods, nothing.
April 18, 2009
April 10, 2009
Oh...
I just got a call from a good friend. Their dog, who we've taken care of over the past decade, is being put to sleep today. She has a brain tumor that can no longer be controlled by drugs. She's had five seizures in the past week. One of her owners is overseas and was concerned about leaving because of this. My heart breaks for both of them, for her being away, for him having to take their pup in and return to an empty house without either his dog or his partner. Losing your dog leaves a pit in your heart that is enormous.
Rest in peace, Ms. Suki.
Rest in peace, Ms. Suki.
Identity
Because Lucy and I were such a familiar sight in the neighborhood, I am often stopped and asked where she is. People aren't accustomed to seeing me dog-less. I am pleased I still walk the 'hood twice a day and for the first time in years, I'm traveling through different neighborhoods. And there in lies the rub...
I grew up with dogs even though I was allergic. My mother decided it was better I learn to live with and care for animals than have an itch-free existence—and for her own need to own a dog, I'm grateful. Throughout my childhood, there was always a dog, big, little, smart, gregarious—it didn't matter. Dalmatians, dachshunds, retrievers, mutts... When I moved out of our house into my first apartment, I was dog-less, but I didn't feel like I was. I lived close enough to my mother and visited frequently where there was always a dog at home.
It was only when I moved west that I truly was without a furry face. That lasted just shy of two years. Getting a dog, being responsible for someone other than myself, was my first step towards "growing up." It instantly modified my behavior. And how lucky I was that Suzy was such an amazing dog! When she passed away, it only took a couple of weeks before Lucy came to live with us. But now that Lucy is gone, it's been two months—and that's just the start of it.
I find I'm not frantic for a dog, though being without a dog is curious. I don't go into a store without thinking I should look for dog treats or toys. I still save plastic bags for scooping. I don't go on walks (although I'm training myself to call it that), but dog walks. Being on vacation last weekend without Lucy in the van with us, made me feel as if we'd forgotten something. I continually imagine her in the house. Not literally anymore, but in the figurative sense. The "if I was here, she'd be there" thought process.
Many friends—and even my students—ask when are you getting another one? I wonder the same thing. I've never considered being without a dog. I assumed one would always be in my life. Is this a new me? When will I get another dog...or will I?
My response has been consistent. For all her fabulous qualities, Lucy's dog aggression was stressful. It was something that I had to always monitor, it limited where I went and what I did. Plus the last three years of her life were fraught with medical issues which were equally emotionally debilitating. What did she have? How much would it cost? Would she be okay? And on, and on...
So I am not in a rush to have a pup again. I'm going through the steps. I'm having a "home check" down by one of the rescue organizations. I look on the internet and have been to the humane society, but no little face has called to me without me thinking of the work involved. I am liking my freedom to go anywhere at anytime to do anything. I am liking how clean the house is. I am liking there are no spousal disagreements on dog care.
But somehow I feel that's sacrilegious...
I grew up with dogs even though I was allergic. My mother decided it was better I learn to live with and care for animals than have an itch-free existence—and for her own need to own a dog, I'm grateful. Throughout my childhood, there was always a dog, big, little, smart, gregarious—it didn't matter. Dalmatians, dachshunds, retrievers, mutts... When I moved out of our house into my first apartment, I was dog-less, but I didn't feel like I was. I lived close enough to my mother and visited frequently where there was always a dog at home.
It was only when I moved west that I truly was without a furry face. That lasted just shy of two years. Getting a dog, being responsible for someone other than myself, was my first step towards "growing up." It instantly modified my behavior. And how lucky I was that Suzy was such an amazing dog! When she passed away, it only took a couple of weeks before Lucy came to live with us. But now that Lucy is gone, it's been two months—and that's just the start of it.
I find I'm not frantic for a dog, though being without a dog is curious. I don't go into a store without thinking I should look for dog treats or toys. I still save plastic bags for scooping. I don't go on walks (although I'm training myself to call it that), but dog walks. Being on vacation last weekend without Lucy in the van with us, made me feel as if we'd forgotten something. I continually imagine her in the house. Not literally anymore, but in the figurative sense. The "if I was here, she'd be there" thought process.
Many friends—and even my students—ask when are you getting another one? I wonder the same thing. I've never considered being without a dog. I assumed one would always be in my life. Is this a new me? When will I get another dog...or will I?
My response has been consistent. For all her fabulous qualities, Lucy's dog aggression was stressful. It was something that I had to always monitor, it limited where I went and what I did. Plus the last three years of her life were fraught with medical issues which were equally emotionally debilitating. What did she have? How much would it cost? Would she be okay? And on, and on...
So I am not in a rush to have a pup again. I'm going through the steps. I'm having a "home check" down by one of the rescue organizations. I look on the internet and have been to the humane society, but no little face has called to me without me thinking of the work involved. I am liking my freedom to go anywhere at anytime to do anything. I am liking how clean the house is. I am liking there are no spousal disagreements on dog care.
But somehow I feel that's sacrilegious...
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