Unexpected memories.

Okay, not in the best of moods today, but what the hey, might as well write this Blog. I read somewhere that the secret to the success of a Blog is consistency, so if I can’t go for interesting today, I might as well go for that. Hah.

I wake before the alarm goes of. The monster boxer and Knight II have been making a nuisance of themselves for the better part of the last remaining hours of my short night, and I’m more than a little miffed when I shove my way through the noisy pack and throw the door open to bright sunshine.

It was a late night…not my own doing for a change, and sleep was elusive. Last night I was just about to drop off when Chaos, my gorgeous (Basset Hound), started crying softly, making his way from the center of the bed, up to my pillow, while I was trying to figure out what was wrong. He felt rather cool to the touch, and as soon as I rubbed his fur, strong shivers started to wrack his body.

I was rather startled, I’ll admit. Chaos is a big dog (short legs, but big nonetheless) and has got more than his share of meat on his bones, and yet, from the feel of him, he was experiencing something that was scarily close to hypothermia. I immediately dragged his body under the blankets, and wrapped my vest, and myself, around him in an attempt to get him warm again.

It took almost an hour, and he was feeling pretty miserable if the constant nudges of his head were anything to go by. I had to keep petting his head, or else he’d start fussing and trying to turn around uncomfortably. Finally, body heat doing the trick, the shivers subsided and we both fell asleep.

Over the years I’ve found that the cold can be quite dangerous for dogs that are used to hot summers. One would think that they’re smart enough to find a warm spot…heck they crowd around the heaters enough to bear testament to this survival instinct…but some still manage to get a bladder infection from lying in cold place, which is far from pleasant, and more than a little dangerous, or so experience taught me.

Chaos’ discomfort this night certainly had me thinking back of when we got him, and the eighteen other puppies that we’d taken into our home at the same time.
There was a breeder–back then–who went bankrupt and he needed to get rid of his pups fast, so we offered to take them…and suffered the consequences.

It started on day two, after the batch of nineteen entered our home. Cute black and blond Labradors, a Dalmatian, two shepherds, two Bassets-one of which was chaos–several cocker Spaniels and a handful of boxers, all of them sweet as could be.
One by one the pups started getting ill. Lack of appetite, white gums, vomiting, diarrhea, the works! The entire family was working ‘round the clock in an attempt to keep the little ones alive…seemingly having no effect whatsoever.

Several visits with our vet of that time, were fruitless, and pups started dying from what the vet presumed to be parvo, and couldn’t do much about, or so she claimed.

Chaos was in a terrible state, and soon he was dehydrated so much that he had to stay at the vet’s to get an intravenous drip and antibiotics. Bad idea! Bassets cannot stand being alone, and since that vet was a one-woman operation, he was rapidly slipping away as he lay there miserably in a tiny little cage.

‘Till this day I still swear that if we hadn’t insisted on taking him home–with the drip–he would have died that very evening. He was literally giving up.
So, carrying him in a small box, the drip held high, I took him home, and hoped for the best.
Two weeks of hell followed.
We lost a total of four pups in those weeks, while I was fighting to keep Chaos alive.
Two beautiful golden labs, and two cocker spaniels. We were all heartbroken, not to mention weary from stress, and what with the other pups occasionally showing the same symptoms as well, it wasn’t until Chaos was finally eating more than yogurt and no longer needed his drip to stay alive that we stumbled across our present vet.

Chaos was slowly recovering, eating cooked chicken breast with a slowly increasing appetite, and grinding his teeth noisily since they’d grown considerably–without wear–during his two weeks of not eating. He was just venturing staggering steps, a few days after we had visited our old vet who claimed that the worst was over now, when I woke up to find a gaping hole in his slender little chest.

Apparently because he had been lying on his side so much during his illness he’d developed a severe bedsore that had made the skin tear open. Horrified about the fact, and then outraged because it was the weekend and our vet didn’t take our emergency call, we headed for the bigger vet hospital in the village.

A rather young apprentice helped us immediately. He was a friendly man, who explained that he would need to cut out the damaged flesh and then put in a drain and stitches before Chaos could come home. I dreaded leaving him behind there, not knowing the vet at all, and was more than a little relieved when the young man informed me that I could come and pick the pup up in just a few hours.

Due to the stress of the weeks past, and the still sick dogs at the house, I actually cried on my way home. I was pleased, however, to find Chaos tentatively wagging his tail when I came to pick him up less than four hours later with the assurance of the vet that there would be no lasting damage. Chaos would need some added medication because he had done a blood test and had found several dangerous bacteria in his blood and feces, including parvo.

Heartened by the fact that the vet seemed to know his business, that same night we headed towards the vet–all pups, even those that weren’t ill yet–tucked into the truck, speeding towards the hospital for a late-night examination.

All of them had at least two dangerous diseases in their blood that would require medication that was–much to our relief–affordable. This was good news but seven others were suffering from parvo, too, which, the vet said wasn’t uncommon from pups that came from the same place.
Seriously if I ever get my hands on that breeder, I’ll do him serious harm. Gawd. A heads up would have been very helpful.
Luckily the young vet and his boss were having a slow period at the hospital, allowing us to leave all the sick dogs there for the treatment they so very much needed.

They managed to save all of them, the tiny mini-boxer that were only eight weeks old, the big boxers, and the shepherds. All, except for the Dalmatian that died three days into the treatment. ‘Till this day we still regret the fact that we hadn’t found this vet sooner, ‘cause perhaps they would have been able to save the two labs and cockers that we’d already lost. Sure, the good vet claims that with parvo and the mix of other diseases they were suffering from gave a dog a 50/50 shot at survival, they did manage to save six out of seven that time. Such a waste!

The worst thing was that due to the parvo they all had a serious blow to their immune system, causing a kennel cough breakout that threatened severe lung problems for all. The “fun” just didn’t seem to end, and it really appeared that fate…or whatever…wasn’t giving us a break as the cough swept through the entire pack, forcing us to spend a small fortune on even more medication.

I think I can honestly say that those two months of my life were the hardest I ever experienced. It is strange how quickly we got attached to those pups, really. We already had around eighty dogs at the time, and one would think that that number creates a certain amount of distance between human and animal. But those pups were a part of the pack–the family–almost from the moment they entered the house. There’s nothing worse than having to watch helplessly how innocent little creatures just slip away, no matter what you do to save them.

Chaos became a strong dog, however. Just as Trin Trin turned into the Monster Boxer when a dangerous pneumonia almost killed her just months after she had just barely survived the parvo. Heck, the vet had warned that in all likelihood Trin Trin would never regain her full lung capacity after that bout, but her latest X-Ray (she does have Leishmania. AKA the sandfly virus) didn’t show any scar tissue in her lungs. It’s a small miracle, in the vet’s opinion.

It is reassuring to know that the months I spent feeding the once so sick dogs Spirulina for their immune system, garlic for their blood and primrose for their general health, paid off that way.

I always find it strange how stuff like last night’s little scare with Chaos can cause such disturbing memories to surface. I can’t say I enjoy them.

But, back to the day:
After going through the morning rituals, I head on down to the house and start on the day’s laundry first thing. There’s quite a batch that needs to be hung, and after doing so, enjoying the sunlight that filters its way underneath the courtyard’s roof, I walk into the house to fold the dry batch I’ve gathered.

Chatting with big brother, who has already started the chore, we move from laundry to breakfast and then get to work on the book project…finding our focus lacking considerably when the mood is obviously “in the air” again. We manage only a few pages in the hours that follow, and in the end I decide to call it a day and start on dinner, instead.

After a quick search through our supplies, I settle on rice with veggies. Nasi, it’ll hit the spot well enough, while offering variety and vitamins with the 9 different vegetables I manage to scrounge up.

It is eaten with appreciation, I find, pleased that even the sibs, who really like the taste of basmati rice better than that of the ordinary long grain par boiled rice, have eaten a good portion.

I have a persistent nagging ache in my lower back since awakening this morning, and after deciding that I really can’t stand it much longer, I take a painkiller before setting to the task of dishes and cleanup for when we continue with the kitchen.

The top cupboards that we’ve fastened appropriately last night have dried and it is time to put the china in, along with the cooking herbs and spices, that’ll bring us closer to completion.
What with all the sawdust that has been floating around for the past two weeks, all the bottles, cans and containers need to be cleaned, and while I start, middle sister takes over the chore so I can resume cutting out strips of wood that still need to be attached in and around the cabinets.

Little sister takes the painting upon her shoulders once more, and is moving around on the counter, slapping primer on the bare wood as I finish cutting and then start drilling holes for the shelves that need to be placed.

By the time the evening comes to an end, music playing noisily on big brother’s computer now that the TV is occupied with recording series that we don’t have time to watch right now, we start to see the end result of our hard work.

The cooking cupboard looks quaint with all the bottles and cans, and soon the shelves can be placed for more storage. With the extra shelves, our serviceable China will have all the room they need, too, and that will be a positive change, to say the least.

While big brother is finishing up the compartment sections for the cutlery drawer, so little sister can roll paint on that as well, middle sister and I start to clean up. Due to the old oven having been out of commission for so long, we forgot to clean the new one after we used it last, and something is smelling…nasty.

Some scrubbing follows, along with more cleaning of pots and pans that can finally be placed in their allotted drawers. It all fits, with room to spare, I am pleased to see by the time we’re done and sigh our pleasure of the view that is getting to be more perfect every day.

Little sister announces that she thinks it’s looking great now…and that when we first started out she’d had her doubts: If for no other reason than the fact that the island counter was so huge and bare. But now with the reverted J of cupboards hanging over it–soon with the lazuli blue spice drawers attached beneath–she agrees that it looks downright cozy, while allowing for easy access to us…rather than the dogs. Hah.

There’s quite a bit of rubbish to throw out there at the end. Old pans that disappeared into the back of the kitchen cabinets over the years are examined for future use or discarding, clearing most of the remaining counter of the old kitchen that is scheduled to be torn down in the next few days.

I am somewhat relieved when we’re done for the night, and decide to sit in front of the TV a bit, taking the time to pet my patient dogs–they really were at their best behavior these two weeks–when there wasn’t time to do so for the duration of the day. Chaos stretches out on my lap…not an easy thing to do for an eighty-pound dog, but he manages well enough. Dax jumps up to settle on my shoulder, and the rest just lounges around my feet as half an hour of petting ensues.

Even though it was a successful day, remodeling-wise, my mood is somewhat blue by the end of the eve, when I head on up to my quarters and feed the dogs. I wonder what’s wrong this time. I do find these mood swings to be terribly annoying, especially when there really is no reason for it.

Ah well, tomorrow’s another day, and it’s bound to be another busy one.