Too busy too blog!

I haven’t blogged for a while now, because life has been somewhat busy.

Principally, my time and mind has been occupied with a very unwell little puppy. Coco is a typical Labrador – always grubbing in the hedgerows and digging stuff up, then eating what she finds. Most often it is something totally unsuitable such as cat poo or her particular favourite, horse poo. But she’s not overly fussy and by and large will pick up and eat anything.

This time she clearly ingested something which disagreed in the most violent fashion with her insides. Normally a ravenous eater, she wouldn’t touch food nor, more worryingly, water, for two whole days. We came down one morning to find the carpet covered in vomit and bloody faeces, and throughout the day she was listless and sick even when she sipped water or had a few grains of rice. Desperately worried, we took her to the vet, who didn’t seem worried at all (presumably sees it all the time) and gave us some anti biotics and sent us on our way.

Things didn’t improve and the next day we took her back to the vets where she was kept in and put onto a drip, by this time fairly severely dehydrated. The nasty specimens we had scraped up from the rug have been sent off for analysis, and we don’t yet know what she ate although I’m sure we will soon. It could be anything, on walks we are always taking things out of her mouth that shouldn’t be in there and goodness knows what she digs up when she’s mooching round the garden. And there are definitely toadstools out there somewhere – no matter how many times you try to get rid of them they spring back up.

The vet, an infinitely patient man, checked her over for anything and everything including various canine ailments I rang up to suggest having looked them up on Google (which must be the bane of his life) and after 24 hours when she had stopped emitting foul fluids and seemed more herself and we had had enough time to steam clean the carpets, she came home. Apart from a raspy sore throat caused we think by the pipe put down her throat while she was sedated, she seems absolutely fine. It is an incredible relief, and I don’t think I have been so worried even when my children were ill.

The cost of all this of course, has been astronomic. X-rays, drugs, diagnostics and veterinary time are ridiculously expensive. Thank goodness we took out pet insurance, for which we pay a measly £12 a month and which we are just about to claim against for almost £600. It has made us think that perhaps we better investigate taking out insurance for the moggies, who fortunately have never been really ill or cost me much beyond their annual jabs.

On top of everything else it snowed the other day, and you will know if you read this blog last winter how much I hate the snow, hate being cold and hate being wet. It actually made people on the train speak to one another, mostly in horror, at whether they were going to get home and asking “this wasn’t forecast was it?” looking out of the window with worried eyes.

I’m supposed to be avoiding stress to bring the old blood pressure down. Recent events can’t have done it any good, and it had gone up to treatable levels when I last saw the doc before all this happened so I am now taking tablets every day (someone asked me what drug it was and not remembering exactly, I said "Ritalin" which made them snort with laughter. It isn't, of course). I have had to resort to buying one of those old people’s pill boxes with the days of the week on it so I remember whether I’ve taken them or not – of everything that is going on, that is the one thing which has made me feel oldest!

To finish it all off nicely, my own work has gone crazily busy and The Hubby has been job hunting like mad. On that front at least we have some good news in that he has some temporary work for a few months, which will keep the wolf (or at any rate the debt collectors) away for a little longer.

It seems like it was time someone gave us a break, it’s been a pretty tough year whichever way you look at it.

Coco has arrived!

Well, the puppy has arrived. After having been an exclusively feline household for many years, we have a chocolate labrador retriever. Called Coco.

This little brown bundle of feet and belly has come into the house and totally taken over. We have had to create a 'den' by fencing off part of the lounge, acquire masses of equipment I simply had no idea about and enrolled her in the local vet's puppy club for her vaccinations, microchipping and eventually, to be speyed.

I had no idea that puppies poo'd so much! At just shy of eight weeks old, she isn't yet house trained. She has a designated place within her den where she is supposed to do anything she needs to do, and sometimes she does. We try and take her out into the garden when she has eaten, had a sleep, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She has treats when she performs appropriately, but so far she is having trouble getting the hang of it (particularly with where she should have a wee) and it is very difficult to identify the  signs that she needs to go. Apparently puppies do go frequently and when they are very small, as she is, they don't have any bladder control at all and when they need to go, they need to go NOW. So you don't get much warning to clip on the lead and take her out back. We have had several accidents, and I haven't cleared up so much poo in years.

It really is just like having a new baby and having to teach it the basics. I always hated potty training then, too. I suspect it will be several weeks before she really gets her head round it and by then, I will be questioning my decision to get her.

Sunday night was her first night away from her mum and siblings (there were seven in the litter) and she cried all night. We gave her a hot water bottle and a towel which we had rubbed all over her mum's back so she had a familiar smell close to her, and a ticking clock which sounded like a heart beat, but it didn't make any difference. She really does have a very piercing whine, punctuated by little high pitched barks. I sleep wearing ear plugs, so I wasn't too bothered, but The Hubby tells me she started at about 11.30pm and continued until he got up in the morning, starting up again when he went out for work. I bet the neighbours loved that, but at least it gets them back for all the times they have woken us up by yelling at each other all the time or when their own dog used to cry outside the house all day while they were out at work and had locked him in the garden.

The vet has suggested that we leave the radio on low as sometimes that can soothe a lonely puppy, so we'll try that tonight. I wonder if she is a Radio Four or Radio Two girl? But what I will not do is bring her upstairs with me; she has to learn that she is not the leader of the pack and cannot go where she wants just because she makes a fuss. Of course I don't want her to be distressed, but rules have to be established from the beginning. Similarly, she will not be allowed on the chairs.

Today, she has been to the vet and had her first vaccinations, been microchipped and had a worming tablet. I have flea treatments to give her in the next few days, and she has to go back in two weeks time for her second jabs. It's all go!

I have a feeling that my life will be significantly different from now on. Coco will dictate our timetable and lifestyle if we let her, although while she is a baby it is very difficult to do anything which doesn't allow us to meet her needs. She will help get us fitter by having to be walked, and most likely, once we get over the first few weeks, bring us an amazing amount of joy.

I'll let you know.

She's gone!

Yesterday, I lost someone very precious to me. I'm not talking about a child, partner or in the usual sense family member, but my beloved older cat, Phantom.

She was only just 14, and had been in excellent health to all outward appearances until Saturday morning, when she started being unpleasantly sick. She did that three times and then was very listless all day, which I put down to eating something she shouldn't have in the garden. All day Sunday she was missing, which was unusual, eventually shipping up at about 7.30pm clearly very unwell and with her back legs collapsing underneath her. We took her to the emergency vet (cost - don't ask, but needless to say substantial enough to go on plastic!) who diagnosed neurological damage and recommended taking her to the usual vet in the morning for tests, and in the meantime gave her something to stop the sickness and make her feel better. Monday morning she was listless, not eating or drinking or performing bodily functions, couldn't stand properly and was trembling. The vet diagnosed brain damage due to toxins in the blood, or more likely a brain tumour which in cats is untreatable. We took the decision to put her to sleep.

I have now cried buckets over this little furry creature. She had been with me through all sorts of life changes - divorce, two weddings, three house moves, bereavements and more. She gave unconditional love and had the most endearing habits. I loved her to bits, and I am devastated that she is gone.

But it was the right thing. She was a very sick animal, what she had wrong with her probably couldn't be cured and her quality of life, if we had chosen to prolong it, would have been very poor. What made Phantom be Phantom was gone. So she died in peace and in dignity. The worst moment was leaving her in the vet's consulting room purring on the table, and seeing her look so trustingly at this kind man who was holding a syringe full of lethal injection. That was when I lost it.

It's very odd, isn't it, that we can exercise discretionary euthanasia on our animals with proper professional guidance but we cannot extend the same dignity to human beings. We have to suffer throughout the most appalling illnesses with no prospect of choosing when to end our lives if they become unbearable for whatever reason. The law in that respect is very much an ass, and needs to be changed.

Poor Phantom, 14 isn't really that old for a cat although I am told it is average. For quite some time I will see things or think of things which remind me of her and feel the tears start to well up. They may be furry with four legs, but our pets are part of our family and an integral part of who we are. They have their own little personalities and ways and we love them.

 I will miss her very much.

After the dentist, the vets!

It's an expensive month. As well as me probably having to go to the dentist, my four cats have to go to the vet this week.

Their annual jabs are due, and so I have to subject them to the torture of the basket, car, veterinary surgery and car again. Each and every one, they hate it!

They have learnt that as soon as they see that wicker basket come out of the loft hatch, something is going to happen to them which they won’t like. I have resorted to hiding the basket upstairs, shutting all the doors so they can’t get into the bedrooms to hide and locking their cat flap so they can’t leg it into the garden just to get them into it in the first place. I also book the appointment first thing in the morning, when they are almost always indoors and I can guarantee to catch them.

I always feel bad about doing this, even though I know it’s good for them and if I didn’t do it and they got ill not only would I feel incredibly guilty but it would cost me considerably more into the bargain. Two of them in particular cry like babies from the minute I put them into the car until we get to the vets, when they are struck dumb in sheer terror at the smell of dogs and other animals as well as that nasty sickly smell you always seem to get in veterinary surgeries (I’m spelling it in full each time just so as you know I can!). I think it must be the disinfectant, but it’s horrible. Then they endure the indignity of the needle, a thermometer stuck up their bum and a worming tablet stuck down their throat. I'm not surprised they don't like it!

For quite a while afterwards I am sent to Coventry. Each cat skulks off to its favourite chair or corner and regards me with baleful yellow eyes for the rest of the day, as though its life has been blighted for ever. I’m sure they only do it because they know that if I feel guilty enough, not only will they get Felix for tea but also a packet of cat treats instead of their usual Iams. Who says cats don’t know how to manipulate you?

My oldest girl is getting on a bit now, reaching the grand old age of 14 this April. She was bought as a tenth birthday present for my oldest daughter but resides with me. The next oldest is 12, whilst the youngsters are both ten. They all rub along together, although the 12 year old is a bit of a bully and can be treated as a pariah by the others when she has tried to rule the roost and been put firmly in her place by the oldest.

Not only does the oldest cat rule the others, they all rule us. They will sit and stare when you are sitting in their favourite place so intensely that I have been known to move because I felt so uncomfortable with their eyes on me. They demand their meals with monotonous regularity, and create loads of mess with their dirty paws and fur on a level that you wouldn’t tolerate from your children.

I love my cats to bits, and have always been a cat person ever since I was a small child. They have their little personalities and habits, and are a source of fun and enjoyment. They’re not as clever as dogs, being purely decorative, but those cute little furry faces make your heart melt when they rub up to you.

All in all, I wouldn’t have it any other way.