White noise

Leave a comment

Swish.  Swosh.  Swish.  Swosh.  Click click click click.  Click click click click.

The subtle sounds vibrate through the house as Dolce and Amore ramble in and out from the pen.  Swish.  Swosh.  The first sound is the dog door flap as it swings back and forth.  There is a gentle cadence in the sway of the heavy plastic protecting the entrance to the house.  Swish.  Swosh.  Swish.  Swosh.  Two dogs in.  Two dogs out.  The click click click click clatter comes later, as they move further into our residence.

Throughout the day, Malcolm and I tune out the swish swosh as the girls come and go.  The sounds blend into the audible buzz of our household.  The hum of the refrigerator, ticks of the clocks, birds cawing, cars that drive by.  White noise that doesn’t even penetrate.

In our sub-consciousness, we know Dolce just came in from the pen.  Swish.  Swosh.  Coming through for a drive by to check out what’s going on, Dolce swings through the kitchen first before going to the water bowl and on to the couch.  As we hear the slurps of her licking up water, somewhere in the back of our brain we tell ourselves to add fresh water and ice to the bowl.  We listen to her grunts and sighs as she settles into a comfy position on the sofa.  We hear all this as we continue with what we’re doing.  We have become so use to the background melody Dolce and Amore make, it has become an echoing beat in our minds.  A little song that plays over and over.  A part of our everyday life we don’t even notice.  White noise we won’t even hear.

“Where are the girls?” Malcolm will ask.  “I just heard them go outside,” I’ll reply.  I chronicled the swish swosh as an exit.  It’s an unconscious, sightless audit I do, taking inventory of the girl’s actions.

During the night, Malcolm and I register the acoustic swish in our sleep.  It’s part of the sounds our minds filter out as we slumber.  It’s immediately followed by little clicks as their paws hit the brick floors.  In our sleep, we mindlessly track them as they wander through the darken house.  Click click click click.  Followed by another set of click click click click.  Never loud enough to fully wake either one of us, never annoying, it’s a calming presence that blankets us with warmth.

Dolce especially has turned into our protector.  She likes to sleep just outside the dog door, guarding the entrance.  Amore likes to sleep on the cool bricks at the foot of our bed, chaperoning her human folks. During the night they take turns as they roam through the house, securing the premises.  Click click click click.  Even in the depth of sleep, I hear the clicks as they defend their territory.  Patrolling.  A small moan is heard as our canine sentinels settle back down to sleep.  All is well in their world.

Many believe white noise is like radio static.  Disturbing, irritating, abrasive.  To Malcolm and I, white noise is music to our ears.

blog signature 2-25-14

I’m outta’ here

4 Comments

You ever feel like it’s never-ending?  Like it’s one thing after another and it just doesn’t stop?  Such is our life.  This summer it has been one thing after another.  Just when we get one dog healed, the other decides she wants equal attention.  Just when we pay off the first vet’s bill, we rack up another.  Just when we think things are calming down, it’s safe to stick our heads out of the hole, life throws us another whammy.

Earlier this summer, Amore flipped her stomach.  The vet gave us a choice of emergency surgery or to euthanize her.  Amore breezed through her ordeal and Malcolm and I both thought we had dodged the bullet.  Two days later you would never have known anything was wrong other than a shaved belly.

A month later Dolce pulled up with the same symptoms.  Again, we thought we had dodged the bullet when we were reassured her stomach was stable, but the vet thought we needed to check out her back leg.  In layman’s terms, it looked like she had torn her ACL in her left hind elbow.  We brought her home and made an appointment with the surgeon.

Malcolm and I are big proponents of ensuring quality of life for our dogs.  When we took on the responsibility of caring for the girls, we accepted this.  We took a big gulp, sucked it up big time, and headed into repairing her leg.  July 24th.  It was a Friday.  The vet planned on keeping her a good, solid week to keep the leg protected and give it a good start to heal before she would be able to come home.  Once home, she would need to be crated for six weeks. Yikes!  We knew she wouldn’t like that, not one bit.  We dragged out the crate from the garage, dusted it off and made room in our bedroom for the unsightly, huge thing in anticipation for her home-coming.

Our vet, Dr. Gruda, called late that night to give us an update.  Dolce came through just fine.  She had a few pins in her to stabilize the leg and she was groggy from the drugs but over all she was doing good.  We planned to pick her up the following week.  The next Friday, Malcolm hadn’t even made it all the way home with Dolce in the car when he had to turn around and bring her back to the vets.  Halfway home he noticed some bleeding from her incision.  Dolce was going back to the vets.

Nine days later, we were able to bring our baby home.  Yep, she had to wear the collar of shame.  IMG_1431Yep, she had to be crated at all times.  And, yep, our life was hell.  Dolce hated the crate, just as we suspected she would.  She whined, she barked, she whimpered.

When Malcolm brought her in for her two-week check up, x-rays showed the pins had slipped and her little bone was broken.  She was going back under the knife.  We have no idea what happened, just that her six weeks of crating had just been extended and another surgery was needed.  By this time, a month had passed.  Scar tissue and healing had occurred hiding the pins.  Dr. Gruda was working blind as he plated the break, repinned the joint and sewed her up.  X-rays revealed she still had one pin in her joint and it had to be removed.  A third operation was needed just days after the second one.  They say the third time’s the charm and this time it was.  With Dr. Gruda’s blessing, we kept Dolce at the vets for two weeks, almost three, just so she would heal.

September 11th, late in the afternoon, both Malcolm and I went bring Dolce home.  I sat in the back seat to keep her calm in her excitement to see us.  This time, her incarceration had been 18 days and she was done with the vets.  She was stick a fork in it done.  She wanted home, she wanted us.  Even though we had visited her on weekends, even though there were other dogs to bark with, even though she had vet techs she favored, she wanted outta’ there.

Straight into the crate she went, only to be released to be fed and to do her duty outside.  Always leashed, always under control.  We could walk her for about 10 minutes for a little exercise but other than that, she was in her padded cell.  For two days, all was well.  The third day, hell broke out.

Malcolm and I had to run into town late afternoon that Sunday.  Dolce had her brief walk, she was fed and watered and back in her crate.  We quickly took our leave.  We were only gone two hours, when I opened the back door upon our return and was greeted by two happy dogs.  WTF?  Dolce wasn’t suppose to be out.  Son of a bitch!  I checked the crate and found it still latched but the front gate was bent.  The little shit had squirmed through the bottom of the gate to freedom.  Immediately we grabbed some strip ties to re-enforce the seams and bottom. That worked for one more day.  Twice more she escaped.  IMG_1632

There was no way we were going to be able to keep Dolce in her crate.  She was not going back in.  She was outta’ there.

I texted Dr. Gruda:  We have a situation.  Dolce has broken out 3x’s from crate.  Please advise.

Dr. Gruda:  Bring her back.  We’ll keep her for another two weeks until her leg has healed well enough.

Me:  On our way.

We are on day four, ten more and she’s outta’ there!

 

blog signature 2-25-14

Out of coffee

Leave a comment

“Don’t you ever run out of D & A (short for Dolce and Amore) stories to write about?” friends often ask me.  Even Malcolm will question, “how do you remember all the things Amore and Dolce do?”  I think to myself, of course I remember the silly antics of Amore and funny things Dolce does.  They’re my kids.  My brain goes into mother mode and takes a memory snapshot of their canine shenanigans.  I mean, hello?  Have ya’ not been reading along here?  Dolce and Amore never fail to deliver.  Those two are always up to something.

I equate all this to coffee.  Something is always brewing.  And we have lost more than one coffee filled cup to a swish of a tail or a head lifting muzzle.

The funny thing is, the girls understand the importance of coffee.  The start of their mornings evolve around my first cuppa Joe on to Malcolm’s reheating the coffee pot a few hours later.  The girls know they will get fed directly following my early morning stumble out to the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker.  They eagerly trail behind me as I make my way to the counter and push the start button.  They hear that loud beep and they take their places next to their individual feed stands, ready for deliverance.  Their breakfast comes after my coffee.  Oh yeah, coffee is a big deal to them.

I’ve always enjoyed my coffee. When I was a kid, I remember being told to drink it black.  Straight up.  No fillers.  Leaded. I took that to mean only wussies put cream and sugar in their coffee.  Back then, we didn’t have Starbucks in our lives.  Skinny Lattes and Cafe Mochas were never heard of. Our choices were limited to Folgers and MJB.  Sometimes Sanka (uck!).  If you worked in an office, Farmers Brothers was your only option in the employee lounge.  Juan Valdez was our coffee god.

Coffee is my social hour.  I savor the dark rich brew as I enjoy the early morning hours prior to leaving for work.  Me, Dolce and Amore cuddled together, as I read the morning news. I savor my friendships as I join my BFFs on weekends for a small respite from the dogs, catching up on what’s going on.  I savor the enjoyment of a special brew after a special dinner on the town.  Winding down the conversation before we pay, leave and head home to Dolce and Amore.  One last moment of a perfect meal someone else prepared.

I learned to appreciate coffee even more so when I had an opportunity to spend several weeks in Brasil.  Coffee harvesting is extremely labor intensive.  Hand-picked, those little beans eventually end up in a football field sized brick floor, sorted by color and hand-raked with brooms into rows for further processing.   And, those hardened hands that picked the beans only make about $5 a tree as they pick their way through the orchard.  Since then, I have never questioned the cost of coffee or the price of a Starbucks.

Dolce and Amore get pretty excited once Malcolm is ready to get going for the day.  The hours between me leaving for work and Malcolm arising from slumber, leave them eager for company.  The girls have learned a different beep with Malcolm.  Malcolm is usually left with a cold pot of coffee that he will nuke for his morning beverage.  The two minutes in the microwave is when they get the Malcolm Morning Meet n’ Greet.  From the first beep of starting the microwave to the final beep announcing the nuke job is done, the coffee hot, the dogs get their morning love from Malcolm.  Two minutes of rubbing, scratching and love.  Yep, Dolce and Amore understand the importance of coffee.

So, as long as our household doesn’t run out of coffee, I won’t run out of stories about the dogs. However, I do confess, I have, at times, resorted to stealing hotel room coffee packets for our emergency stash.

blog signature 2-25-14