Down south one never gets a “three dog night” as Great Lakes and other folk know it. Whether ithat term originated in the Australian Outback or with the Aleuts, it means a night so cold that one needs three dogs in bed to keep warm.
Of late we’ve had a couple of one dog nights. The rescue we took in a couple of months ago (dumped, abused and fearful) had a rough week. It took an overnight visit to get her spayed, a double dose of meds to get her calm in the back of my SUV and transferred to the vet clinic, and way too much tme driving there and back and recuperating.
Most dogs consent to a leash but not Sara, yet. So it was meds, which we tested. She took a test dose for a 45 lb. dog (she weighs 26 lbs.) and it took her 7.5 hours just to take a half-hour nap. She was loopy, but alert and cautious the entire time. So our vet had us double the dose for the three-hour trip to her clinic.
Instead of a cone of shame, we opted for a surgi-suit, but even Sara’s new owner M, the top-notch seamstress of quilting fame, was unable to make her one that would meet her needs, to not ride up and expose the surgical wound, keep the wound clean and allow for Sara to relieve herself outdoors without restriction. So she bought one, with the latter being an issue.
It’s now been six days since the surgery. Dr. V used surgical glue and absorbable sutures so that we wouldn’t have to trap Sara again and take her to a local vet for removal. She took off the suit herself, yesterday, and the sutures look fine. She’s no longer loopy and the pain seems to have subsided. Sara seems her happy self again, and doesn’t hate us for putting her through this, but we couldn’t have her attracting all the males in the neighborhood and getting pregnant.
The temperature dipped below freezing for a couple of nights. Sara now has a thick cardboard box sized for her and lined with three layers of area rug, clean and treated for the fleas she was diagnosed with. It’s covered with heavy plastic against the rain, and is placed in the coziest place in the carport where she can see everything important. The other day we added a “heating pad” comprised of a rectangular 1 liter plastic juice bottle filled with hot water. She liked it and stays in there a lot on cloudy days.
Keeping to the farm ethos, every eight hours the bottle (two now as we added a 2 liter Dr. Pepper bottle on a really cold night) needs refilling so the cold water is dumped back in the garden. We haven’t had much rain so the hardy red lettuce and kale are still growing and their roots need sustenance as well.
So, if there are any inventors out there willing to make a surgi-suit that allows rescue dogs to do their thing without being taken out on a leash, we’re willing to try it. If we can catch Sara again, that is. She’s actually accustoming herself to all people not being evil. At first, I picked up a tennis ball and went to throw it for her and she thought I was going to hit her with it. It took a few weeks but when the light turned on in her smart little brain, she found that play was indeed fun.
So now we have my in-laws’ outdoor patrol dog Sara formerly of the Flea-Ridden, and Princess Lulu of the indoor Secret Service. Bored with real life indoors, Lulu is considering applying for a job as a quality assurance tester for Indestructible Dog Toys, as within five minutes her latest was breached on the nose and both front paws. It used to look like a speedy hare, not so much now.
Life on the ranch. With Sara’s spay out of the way, in a couple of weeks when she has truly forgiven us, we may try to use Lulu’s indoor bath routine on her so she’ll be clean at least once in her life. Once the vet’s exterior flea treatment has worn off and she’s on a pill form of flea-tick prevention like regular dogs. It’s a thought. As I’m told, ranch dogs don’t get baths. We’ll see.
Merry Christmas to you and yours, and peace on earth to men and women of good will. We’ll need that last part in 2025! Today I thank my in-laws and everyone else in this world who has taken on a rescue. God bless you. Dee
Cooking with Dee 