I swear this isn't a dog blog

But, I am writing about dogs a whole lot, huh?

Argo had surgery again yesterday to remove a lump that may or may not be a tumor. It takes 14 days for the biopsy results. I swear, if someone invented a process for getting instant biopsy results, I would pay three times the amount just to avoid the wait, and I'm a pretty frugal person. The other lumps he's had have just been tested with a needle biopsy, but this one just looked wrong and the vet said it would be best to remove it. Basically, if it is something, even if they don't get all of it, getting the big part out could limit the spread of cancer while we wait for the results.

Part of me thought that having another dog might dilute my feelings for Argo in some way. I thought going through stuff like this might be easier. But really, I just found more room for Stella in my tiny little Grinch heart and I still adore Argo with all the intensity I had for him before. I think seeing them together makes it even worse. Stella worships Argo, and sometimes, I can't help but think, this little pup will be so sad if anything happens to her dog.

I don't think I can get into it too much right now without turning into a wreck, but Argo is more than just a dog. I was at a point in my life when I needed him so much. He's taught me amazing things about the unconditional love, connection, dedication, and living in the moment -- all lessons I badly needed. And, he's a damn great dog.

He's kind of a celebrity at the vet's office. Vet techs come to say hi to him when we're waiting. The woman who handed him back to me when I picked him up after surgery said, "He's absolutely precious," which I'm assuming is code for "he licked the face of everyone who got close enough to him." When we were there for our second tongue appointment, two people in the waiting room suggested that he'd make a great therapy dog. And, I think, if we get through this mess, I might look into training for him so we can go visit nursing homes and hospitals. Something about Argo just makes people happy. And something about Argo has made me a better person.

And out come the wolves. . .

Howling Hill recommended that I read Cesar Milan's books on dog training to help with Stella, and it was a fantastic suggestion. All the Dog Whisperer stuff has been so hyped, and I tend to be skeptical of anyone who is selling posters of themselves, but I actually really like where he's coming from, and just making some subtle changes in my mindset has made a huge difference with Stella. I am the pack leader.

I. Am. The. Pack. Leader. And as crazy as it sounds, when I think that and look at Stella, she pays attention. We've also been taking long walks, and I simply expect her to walk nicely next to me and not get all hyper about squirrels or garbage men, and for the most part, she complies. If she doesn't, I stop and make her sit and we don't walk again until she looks at me.

But here's the problem: In the past two days, it's gotten ridiculously icy out there. We had slush that froze, then snow, then freezing rain. And it's pretty hard to be the confident pack leader when you're absolutely terrified of falling and cracking your head open or re-breaking your tailbone. Stella can sense that fear, and when she does, she starts to pull, she stops paying attention, and she would rather follow Mr. Squirrel than me.

They almost never plow in our neighborhood, which is weird, because it's not like we live out in the woods somewhere. We live in a very residential area. But they don't plow or sand or salt the roads unless the snow is coming down in amounts that are measured in feet instead of inches.

Yesterday, I joked with J that I was going to get out my crampons since the ice on the street was an inch thick in places. Then, I remembered that I had a pair of Yak Trax in the garage somewhere. So now, Stella and I hit the sidewalk like we're embarking on a polar expedition, and I'm learning to keep my fear response to a minimum when I do lose my footing.

I do have to say that Stella is turning into a nice little dog. I also have to say that given the events of of late (like the second trip to the vet for Argo's tongue yesterday), the pack leader is in desperate need of a night out. I feel like the entirety of my focus for the past three weeks has been dogs, dogs, a burned hand, and more dogs. It's a good thing those dogs are cute.

Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood? - The Garden Gnome Edition

Stella comes with some fun habits. She won't do her business while attached to leash, but she won't necessarily come in when called. We don't have a fenced in yard, so this makes things tricky. She was doing better with it, but then the storm door swung shut and scared her and now coming in through the door at all is a tough sell.

The other night she took off and ran through The Crap Garden next door, and it reminded me that I should tell you about The Crap Garden.

The Crap Garden is carved out of the land behind our next door neighbor's house (even though they do not own said land). It's full of oddities: broken clocks, old mailboxes, broom handles stuck in the ground like fence posts. Koosh balls in jars, wind chimes hung from trees, astroturf pathways, bed frame railways, vases stuck on the ends of branches, a life-sized Doberman statue, Jesus encased in half a water cooler bottle, mirrors, shelves pulled from the ends of neighboring driveways on garbage day. All of it is arranged very precicely. And all of it moves and makes noise, and the noises change depending on the season. Few things in life are so creepy as the sound of an iced over pinwheel creaking and spinning in the middle of the night while frozen wind chimes tinkle in the background.

When we first moved here, The Garden Gnomes would bring half the stuff from the garden inside to store for the winter. This year I did not see the massive crap migration, which involves laying all the crap out on the yard and then hauling it into the house in laundry baskets in many many trips. Sadly, I suspect Mr. Gnome has not been feeling well as of late, and this means much of the crap will spend the winter outside, covered in plastic bags and packing tape.

I used to very much not get along with the Gnomes, because every time I tried to do anything in our yard, Mrs. Garden Gnome would come over to tell me I was doing it wrong. Sometimes her points would be valid, but sometimes they wouldn't be. Had she been right all the time, I would have been more tolerant of the situation. The bad advice mixed in with good and tied up with a healthy does of judgment just got me revved up and pissed off. But over the years, we've come to more of an understanding of each other. She seems to respect my efforts in growing some of my own food, even though she's made it known that she doesn't think I weed enough. And I have some malfunction in my brain that reverses the whole "familiarity breeds contempt" thing.

Seeing her out on her hands and knees picking tiny pieces of dead grass out of the lawn, mowing three times a week, or shoveling her driveway at the slightest hint of a flake has endeared her to me. Her penchant for watching me work in the yard from her kitchen window has proved useful, as she's taken it a step further and will often run out to bring me a garden tool to borrow if she feels I'm not using the appropriate one. And over the growing season, we regularly exchanged little packages of our harvested goods by leaving them on each others' back patios. She's given me a lot of good advice as of late, including warning me to pace myself when I work in the garden so I don't get burnt out. So, I have to say that I like her now. I appreciate her. She's a part of this place that's now my home, and I am, at the risk of sounding sappy, grateful for her.

Even The Crap Garden has started to grow on me. Chasing Stella down the garden paths the other night, it seemed less creepy and more magical. The assorted crap glistening by moonlight through a thick dusting of snow, was . . . beautiful. And it is, after all, a fantastic example of recycling.

The Goal for Next Weekend

I am keeping things simple. My goal for next weekend is that no one from this household will go to any emergency room of any kind. And yes, I am knocking on wood about it.

Last weekend I ended up in the ER for my turkey burned hand.

This weekend, I went to run errands on Saturday and came home to find J out in the yard with the dogs. He said he'd been worried about Argo because he was acting funny. Argo was sluggish and crabby and kept making a hacking noise, but then when J brought him outside, he acted fairly normal.

I decided that Argo just missed me and missed getting individual attention (because I need to believe he's as codependent with me as I am with him), so J hung out with Stella and I let Argo hang out with me while I put the groceries away. I was pretty worried about him, because J doesn't get worried often, so his concern made all the alarms in my head go off. I decided I'd take Argo for a walk to observe him more. His leash was in the car, and when I went to get it, Argo jumped in the back seat and refused to move. Usually, he's very eager to please, so the fact that he wouldn't budge was weird.

I got some cheese and came back to lure him from the backseat with it. He still wouldn't budge. I gave him a piece to show him that it was really good cheese and he should want more and come out of the car for it. He took the piece of cheese, tried to chew it, spit pieces of it on the car seat, and then whined as he tried to eat the pieces. I ran in the house to get J.

When we got back, Argo was drooling badly, still not budging from the backseat of the car. So I called the Vet ER and we drove over there. It's more than twice the cost of a regular vet exam just to walk in the door, so going is not something to be decided lightly. But we both felt like it was too serious to take a wait and see approach. I had visions of something stuck in his throat or poison, or, my biggest fear, a massive tumor smothering some vital organ or pathway. I try to shut those fears down, but after Argo's cancer last year, it's hard to. And he was lethargic and drooling and whining about eating cheese.

Over two hours and a gazillion dollars later, we left with painkillers (which caused Argo to vomit all over the living room floor) for his tongue. Yup. His tongue. He bit it. Badly. And it probably hurt like hell and throbbed and made him crabby. And it probably didn't feel good when he chewed. The vet thinks he was hacking because he was swallowing blood and drool and it doesn't go down easily.

It's a good thing the pain killers made him dopey, because I hugged that dog more times than even he could probably tolerate in a normal state. And it's a good thing J and I decided against doing gifts for each other this year, because I think our gift came in the form of a whopping vet bill and a swollen dog tongue.

Next weekend, we are all sitting perfectly still and not doing ANYTHING.

Stella!

Argo the Wonderdog has a a trusty sidekick.

Two Sundays ago, the woman who trains Argo at the kennel called saying, "Please tell me you didn't get another dog." One of the kennel's clients had to work too much and needed a new home for her 13 month old German Shepherd.

We hadn't gotten another dog, so Argo and I went out to the kennel that afternoon to meet Luna. They seemed to get along well, although it was hard to tell because Argo insisted on making sure that some part of his body was touching my leg at all given times (I have mentioned that Argo and I are sickeningly codependent, right?) But when Amazing Training Lady sent me out of the room to sit in the office so Argo could stop doing his best impression of velcro, he and Luna ran around and played.

So Luna came to stay with us on a trial run. The first day was good. The second day was iffy, and things went drastically down hill from there. She could sit and stay, but that was the extent of her obedience. She didn't answer to her name. She didn't seem to have any sense of a "no" word or command, which meant the only way to get her to stop eating dirt out of the plant, drinking the cat's water, or play biting my arm as if I were another dog was to actually pull her away from what she was doing. She's not a big German Shepherd, but she's still 60 lbs, and she has a stubborn streak.

I was exhausted. And Argo was miserable. He hated sharing my attention, he hated that Luna played with his toys and nipped at his legs. He kept trying to climb up on the arms of the couch, he wouldn't come into a room she was in, and he sulked like crazy. I put her in her crate to give him space, but she'd be all the more hyper every time I let her out.

When I came home from the ER Sunday night after burning my hand, I sat in the car for half an hour because I couldn't bear the idea of going in the house. She was too crazy, Argo was too sad. I didn't want to face it. I called J and told him we couldn't keep her.

Monday morning, I called Amazing Training Lady. We discussed options and she made me feel more confident about giving it a try a little longer. I let Stella out of her crate, and kept her out all day. She and Argo played ball. He dropped it, it bounced, she'd pick it up, and vice versa. Argo's tail was wagging. He had the dog equivalent of a goofy grin on his face. I had no idea that it was possible for any living being to play ball for that long. After that, things started getting better.

We've changed her name to Stella, and she comes when she's called already. She has a no command, she's learning to lie down, and she's learned that I am not a dog and don't think being bitten is fun even if it's only in play. She still eats dirt out of the plant, and tries to drink the cat's water, but something has shifted in her relationship with Argo. He's so happy around her, and I swear she looks at him like she's in awe. She has a crush on him, and it's impossible not to fall in love with a pup who totally recognizes the greatness that is Argo.

This morning, I took them out to play Frisbee. Stella totally doesn't get what's going on. She just likes to hold the other Frisbee in her mouth and run next to Argo while he catches the one I'm throwing.

It's amazing to see Argo so happy, but a little part of me is sad that I have to share him. A little part of me feels like doing my best velcro impression. But, I'm not losing a dog, I'm gaining another one. When I took a shower this morning, Stella camped out on the bathmat, nervously waiting for me to get out. And when I walk around the house doing various chores, I now have a dog on either side following me. It's like going from having a bodyguard to having an entourage.

It's a lot like writing a shitty first draft after spending time editing and tweaking something that's almost perfect. We had to work with Argo when first got him, but now that's he's so perfectly wedged into our life, it's hard to remember that there was ever hard work involved. But, after going to doggie hell and back with Stella, I really think she's worth the work and the hair pulling and the never ending stream of plant dirt on the carpet. And I'm really excited to see where everything will go from here. So I think we're going to keep her.

We now live with 168 pounds of dog.