Maggie has once again proven her mettle as an escape artist in training. This afternoon she defeated her crate… At least I can say it wasn’t the zip tied sides that failed. This time she sprung the bottom latch of the only door that will open and jammed herself through the gap. It seems like an impossibly small opening when you pause to consider that Maggie is now probably 20 inches at the shoulder and easily running on 50 pounds.
The first time you clean watery poo out of the carpet, it’s all about the poor sick dog. The third time you do it, the sick pup act has lost its charm. Add to that an area rug with its corner shredded and you really begin to question your sanity. We’re reaching the point where something is going to have to give. Poo or no, she’s going to have to stay in her crate while I’m not here. The 3-year-old carpet is in rough enough shape without her helping it along any further… and destroying things is a new trick altogether. I suppose it’s time to start looking at those industrial strength billeted aluminum crates they use for military working dogs. Summer’s down here are going to be too hot for me to be comfortable leaving a dog outside all day and the garage gets even hotter than the outside during the day. So yeah, I’m not quite at my wits end, but there is a definite steep upwards trend in my frustration level.
Since the zip ties seem to be out of chewing reach (in theory) the next step is adding a padlock on the non-zip tied door. If she gets past that, I’m going to be out of ideas… and that’s not a position I really want to be in.
Showing posts with label labrador. Show all posts
Showing posts with label labrador. Show all posts
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Breaking out all over...
This is the story of a dog. Well, it’s mostly a story of a dog. Let me start off by saying that this has not been a good week for Maggie, my usually good natured chocolate lab. On Saturday night, she managed to knock the drip tray of the George Foreman grill off the counter and lap up most of the still warm hamburger grease. Yep, I thought to myself, you’re going to be sick tomorrow. Little did I know that it wouldn’t take that long. Both Maggie and Winston usually sleep in their crates in the back bedroom and that’s why I was surprised to hear the scraping of a furry little paw on my bedroom door at 6:30 Sunday morning. Getting up to investigate, I was greeted with the nightmare scenario of patches of liquefied poo… in the living room, in the office, and all over the pup’s bedroom. In her efforts to franticly escape the rising tide in her crate, Maggie clearly flailed wildly about… as evidenced by flung poo reaching the six foot mark on the wall.
First step… toss the dogs out to the back yard and open the windows. Second step… mitigate as much of the damage as possible with paper towels and whatever cleaning liquids I happen to have around the house. Third step… wait for Walmart to open at 8:00. To cut a tragically long story short, I came home from Walmart (incidentally the only place open in the entire south at 8:00 on a Sunday morning) with a steam cleaner and spend the next ten hours or so washing, rinsing, and repeating. The evidence of evil past was fairly well taken care and I thought the worst was behind me.
I had been fasting Maggie for 24 hours and after the first post-explosion feeding on Monday, I was happy to see that things seemed a little more solid. You can imagine my disbelief when I woke up this morning to one more round of the craptastic chocolate lab. At least this time she didn’t get out of the crate and the damage was more contained. Still, running the steam cleaner at 5:00 on a Tuesday leaves something to be desired. Happily, I managed to clean and disinfect a bedroom, scrub down a crate, and still made it to work only 45 minutes later than usual. I’m hoping this isn’t a category that I need to start thinking of in terms of building a personal best record.
Before leaving for work, I drug the now clean and shiny crate through the house and made sure it was well wedged onto the linoleum. At least if there was another explosion, it would be easier to clean. Of course that was all before I got home this evening and discovered that through the last three days, Maggie has clearly figured out how to open the door to her crate or at least squeeze between the bars. Thinking it was a fluke, I put her back in the crate when I left to take Winston for his annual checkup (and pick up some drugs for Maggie). Of course when we got back form the vet, she was sprawled out in the middle of the kitchen floor sans crate.
It seems my beloved lab is breaking out all over. Tonight we’ll see if she can beat the marvel of zip ties and a newly engineered lock mechanism. I have a terrible feeling that she’s going to be better at breaking out than I am at keeping in. Wish me luck.
First step… toss the dogs out to the back yard and open the windows. Second step… mitigate as much of the damage as possible with paper towels and whatever cleaning liquids I happen to have around the house. Third step… wait for Walmart to open at 8:00. To cut a tragically long story short, I came home from Walmart (incidentally the only place open in the entire south at 8:00 on a Sunday morning) with a steam cleaner and spend the next ten hours or so washing, rinsing, and repeating. The evidence of evil past was fairly well taken care and I thought the worst was behind me.
I had been fasting Maggie for 24 hours and after the first post-explosion feeding on Monday, I was happy to see that things seemed a little more solid. You can imagine my disbelief when I woke up this morning to one more round of the craptastic chocolate lab. At least this time she didn’t get out of the crate and the damage was more contained. Still, running the steam cleaner at 5:00 on a Tuesday leaves something to be desired. Happily, I managed to clean and disinfect a bedroom, scrub down a crate, and still made it to work only 45 minutes later than usual. I’m hoping this isn’t a category that I need to start thinking of in terms of building a personal best record.
Before leaving for work, I drug the now clean and shiny crate through the house and made sure it was well wedged onto the linoleum. At least if there was another explosion, it would be easier to clean. Of course that was all before I got home this evening and discovered that through the last three days, Maggie has clearly figured out how to open the door to her crate or at least squeeze between the bars. Thinking it was a fluke, I put her back in the crate when I left to take Winston for his annual checkup (and pick up some drugs for Maggie). Of course when we got back form the vet, she was sprawled out in the middle of the kitchen floor sans crate.
It seems my beloved lab is breaking out all over. Tonight we’ll see if she can beat the marvel of zip ties and a newly engineered lock mechanism. I have a terrible feeling that she’s going to be better at breaking out than I am at keeping in. Wish me luck.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Aww… Shit… Part II…
Our story begins long before dawn on Saturday, January 24th. In the pre-dawn darkness, I herded the dogs outside to do what dogs do while I finished packing the truck for the 13 hour drive to Maryland. With the truck packed and the dogs seemingly relieved, we set out on schedule from West Tennessee at 5:00 AM. Traffic was light and I was making great time. Barely an hour into the drive, I got my first indication that all systems were not go… an unusual gurgling noise from the general vicinity of Maggie, who was riding shotgun for the trip. I didn’t think much of it and assumed that it was her stomach protesting the lack of breakfast. No need tempting the fates of carsickness before a long drive, right? Right.
Now, I should pause here to point out that Winston absolutely must travel in his kennel. He’s all nerves, shedding, and slobber when he doesn’t have that security. Since he’s been riding in a kennel since just after he came home, I wanted to make sure that Maggie was a little more acclimated to riding commando on those long trips. Quite frankly a cage big enough for her inside the cab of the truck is simply out of the question, so I covered the passenger seat with an old sheet and we should have been good to go. Of course this wasn’t destined to be a normal day.
By this point we’re an hour and a half into the drive, darkness is still heavy on the face of the firmament and that’s when I hear the unmistakable sound of a dog about to heave. Having had most of a cup of coffee, I had the good sense to get on the brake and start wheeling towards the shoulder so I could face whatever was coming at a much lower rate of speed and with most of my attention. I heard the splash and almost simultaneously was hit broadside by the most disturbing, pungent aroma that I’d ever personally experienced. That’s right… Liquefied, partially digested, dog poo projectile vomit. Without even the benefit of light, I knew what had happened… but nothing prepares you for the first awful moment of light in a world gone mad. My sweet, darling lab had tossed on the seat, on the dash, and across the center console. My initial thought was an overwhelming need to clean… which was followed in short order by the overwhelming need to keep myself from blowing chunks all over the other side of the truck.
With all the fortitude I could muster, I set about the task of cleaning as best I could. The sheet had saved the seat, Armor All had mostly saved the dash, but the center console took the worst of it… The cup holders and ashtray full to the brim with brown gleaming liquid; every crease, every joint, every nook its own special disaster. It’s only when I got to the bottom of the second cup holder that I realized that my Bluetooth headset, the finely tuned, military grade, $120 piece of hardware that it is had been at the bottom of this devil’s brew. With some intense cleaning, it would probably work again… but I don’t have the fortitude to put it in my ear knowing the horrors it’s been through. With the truck cleaned as best I could with the roll of paper towels and some generic spray cleaner I’ve always carried under the back seat, we managed to get back on the road after about thirty minutes. That’s pretty good time considering how often I had to stick my head out the window to keep my own gagging from becoming something much worse.
Thinking to myself, we’re back on track, things will be fine now. I was just outside of Nashville now and again making good time. I began to allow myself to hope again and this was apparently my second mistake of the day… and just seconds before the next shower of feces-filled vomit was deposited, this time on the passenger side floor mat. Thanks be to God for the heavy duty rubberized type that can be sprayed off. By this point, I was out of paper towels, out of cleaner, and basically out of options… It was go/no go for the rest of the drive. I could turn back three hours into the trip, regroup, recover, and reset for another try on Sunday or I could press on in the hopes that there couldn’t possibly be more left where the first two rounds had been. I rolled the dice and got lucky this time.
The rest of the drive was an uneventful trip along the Eisenhower Interstate Highway System… Except for the windows being down in the bitter cold of a Tennessee morning. And the smell; that terrible smell that I fear I’ll never forget.
Now, I should pause here to point out that Winston absolutely must travel in his kennel. He’s all nerves, shedding, and slobber when he doesn’t have that security. Since he’s been riding in a kennel since just after he came home, I wanted to make sure that Maggie was a little more acclimated to riding commando on those long trips. Quite frankly a cage big enough for her inside the cab of the truck is simply out of the question, so I covered the passenger seat with an old sheet and we should have been good to go. Of course this wasn’t destined to be a normal day.
By this point we’re an hour and a half into the drive, darkness is still heavy on the face of the firmament and that’s when I hear the unmistakable sound of a dog about to heave. Having had most of a cup of coffee, I had the good sense to get on the brake and start wheeling towards the shoulder so I could face whatever was coming at a much lower rate of speed and with most of my attention. I heard the splash and almost simultaneously was hit broadside by the most disturbing, pungent aroma that I’d ever personally experienced. That’s right… Liquefied, partially digested, dog poo projectile vomit. Without even the benefit of light, I knew what had happened… but nothing prepares you for the first awful moment of light in a world gone mad. My sweet, darling lab had tossed on the seat, on the dash, and across the center console. My initial thought was an overwhelming need to clean… which was followed in short order by the overwhelming need to keep myself from blowing chunks all over the other side of the truck.
With all the fortitude I could muster, I set about the task of cleaning as best I could. The sheet had saved the seat, Armor All had mostly saved the dash, but the center console took the worst of it… The cup holders and ashtray full to the brim with brown gleaming liquid; every crease, every joint, every nook its own special disaster. It’s only when I got to the bottom of the second cup holder that I realized that my Bluetooth headset, the finely tuned, military grade, $120 piece of hardware that it is had been at the bottom of this devil’s brew. With some intense cleaning, it would probably work again… but I don’t have the fortitude to put it in my ear knowing the horrors it’s been through. With the truck cleaned as best I could with the roll of paper towels and some generic spray cleaner I’ve always carried under the back seat, we managed to get back on the road after about thirty minutes. That’s pretty good time considering how often I had to stick my head out the window to keep my own gagging from becoming something much worse.
Thinking to myself, we’re back on track, things will be fine now. I was just outside of Nashville now and again making good time. I began to allow myself to hope again and this was apparently my second mistake of the day… and just seconds before the next shower of feces-filled vomit was deposited, this time on the passenger side floor mat. Thanks be to God for the heavy duty rubberized type that can be sprayed off. By this point, I was out of paper towels, out of cleaner, and basically out of options… It was go/no go for the rest of the drive. I could turn back three hours into the trip, regroup, recover, and reset for another try on Sunday or I could press on in the hopes that there couldn’t possibly be more left where the first two rounds had been. I rolled the dice and got lucky this time.
The rest of the drive was an uneventful trip along the Eisenhower Interstate Highway System… Except for the windows being down in the bitter cold of a Tennessee morning. And the smell; that terrible smell that I fear I’ll never forget.
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