For the past 8 months he has been receiving allergy shots twice a week. In addition to the shots, he was on antihistamines two-to-three times a day. He often needed to go on antibiotics if he scratched until he opened his skin, and occasionally he would need to take steroids both as a topical cream and orally. The latter makes him act a bit odd. Aggressive, but only when pushed. Normally he is very easy going even when prodded by his younger, smaller, ruder canine companion, Haley. But when he is on steroids he has a wild look in his eyes and is more likely to respond with force when Haley pushes his buttons. Recently we started a new treatment for Mickey’s allergies.

When Mickey had surgery recently to remove a benign cyst on his back, the doctor who did the surgery said that his blood work showed that the steroids were having an adverse effect on his liver. Luckily this could be countered with yet another drug; however, this news gave us the courage to switch to the newer treatment our allergy specialist vet had suggested many months ago. We had been hesitant to try this new treatment because it was relatively untested. We were concerned by the lack of long-term data, and how our older dog would respond. Knowing that the current treatment was hurting his liver was the spark we needed to change treatment directions. Our vet’s opinion that we would be much happier with the new treatment—and more importantly, that Mickey should feel the benefits of the new treatment—helped us make the decision. The bonus is that with the new treatment we shouldn’t need to administer additional drugs.

Mickey has only been on the new drug for a few weeks, but so far we are very pleased with his progress. He’s less itchy, his skin looks much better, his coat is softer and shinier, he smells better, and—most importantly—he seems much happier. So keep your fingers crossed with us please.

In other Mickey news, he got into a tussle with a mother raccoon.

A few nights ago, I went to let Mickey out for his last wee of the day, but didn’t turn on the light to check for yard critters. As soon as the door closed Mickey’s head went down in his familiar “hunting” pose. I looked toward the driveway and saw what Mickey saw: a mother raccoon with two or three kits. By the time I opened the door Mickey was off the porch and heading for the raccoons. I tried to call Mickey, but he was locked on to his target. I started after him repeatedly saying “Mickey, no!” but by the time I got close Mickey had lunged for the mother raccoon and the scuffle began. I grabbed for Mickey while the raccoon screeched, and luckily was able to grab him by his collar and pull him away.

Mickey suffered a few scratches on his mouth and chest, but otherwise came away in good shape considering. I think I was more frazzled than the dog. Plus I lost my slippers in the fracas, and each time I went out to fetch them in the dark I would hear what I assumed was the wounded raccoon. So I waited until morning.

Sarah called the vet as soon as we had checked Mickey over, and the vet informed us that Mickey was probably going to be fine, but that we had to bring Mickey in the next day for a rabies booster. Apparently it is Vermont state law that domestic animals get booster shots when they have encounters with wild animals.

Mickey is fine, thankfully, but for the time being he gets his walkies on his leash.

On cold works days we had to bundle up to walk a mile to the Silver Spring Metro stop, where most days we had to wait on the elevated platform while the wind whipped around us. Once we were on a train, it would inevitably be blasting the heat, and as more people got on at each subsequent stop the train would get very warm. The fact that more people took public transportation on colder days—especially if it was snowy or icy—meant that in addition to being hot, one would have a great deal of difficulty removing layers for the 30-45 minute ride due to the extra bodies, all of whom were wearing extra layers themselves.

Once we arrived at our respective stops, we had to walk various distances to our offices, again bundling up against the cold and or wind. Once at our offices, we would strip our layers to work. I can’t speak for Sarah’s office, but mine was frequently warmer than I would have liked. (My office mate next door to me, however, was always cold and blasted the heat in her office.) If we didn’t bring lunch, we had to also bundle up to go out for food as well. At the end of the day, we’d turn around and do it all again in reverse.

I mention all of this because I find it rather ironic considering our current situation. We spend more time going inside and out now than we did for our commutes. The reason? The dogs, of course. Where before we were bundling ourselves up against the cold, now we are also making sure our companions are warm and dry as well.

At least three times a day we must get them both into their harnesses, collars, boots, and coats. Naturally they hate this routine. They hang their heads, drag their rumps, and look at us as if we have condemned them to the gallows.

Thankfully, once we get them outside they are fine, and seem to enjoy their walks despite the awkward footwear. Mick trudges along like a big dinosaur, and Haley will chase after the bits of snow that her own steps kick up as she walks.

The boots do a great job of keeping their feet warm and dry, and they are especially good at protecting them from the salt and chemicals that we encounter on some of the sidewalks around town. We get stopped constantly by people who either think the boots are the cutest thing they have ever seen (”ooo, look at their cute little booties!”), or other dog owners who want to know where we got them. The other night, a Montpelier policeman stopped to say how cool the reflectors looked to him as he approached us in his patrol car.

All things being equal, I still prefer the current routine to the old one.

It is not only gross, it is illegal. Below is the information from Section 8-210 [PDF] entitled “DEFECATION.”

(a) The person in control of any dog which defecates in a public park, walkway, sidewalk, street, public way, playground, cemetery, school grounds, state property or on private property shall remove such material immediately and dispose of it in a sanitary manner. This provision shall not apply to private property used without objection of the property owner or to off-trail, wooded areas of public parks.

A month ago we were yellled at by one business person because he was fed up with people’s dogs crapping on the property. At the time I was picking up after someone else’s dog, but any attempt I made to explain this to the person fell on deaf ears—and blind eyes since I was obviously picking up a mess and not abandoning one. But I understand his frustrations.

Since that event I have made an effort to have a baggie in view as I wander around mumbling “go potty” to my companions, simply because I hate the looks of those people who also are fed up with the messes left behind in Mont-poo-lier.

When we brought him back, the staff saw what we did, as Pogo lunged and barked at every animal in the place. The staff said we made the right decision and that perhaps Pogo needs to be an only dog. He really is a sweetie, but he wasn’t exactly the companion animal we were hoping to find for our little girl.

Here’s yet another music video by our toxic-arsed dog masquerading as content. (Note: Quicktime video with sound. 8MB)

Sure there were some creative differences, and Haley and the lighting director did nearly came to blows over some silly little thing, but rumours of Haley hitting the hard stuff were greatly exaggerated. The only weeds she ever messes with are the ones in the garden, and that goes for the herbs too! As for Haley’s relationship with a certain long-haired chihuahua, she blames youthful indiscretion and wishes Ms. Chica well.

And now, without further ado, Haley, in her most recent video extravaganza ….
Riot Grrrrrrrrrrl! (Note: Sound and Quicktime video)

Despite the fact that so many people seem determined to claim otherwise, Haley is not a Training Baby^TM. We didn’t get her to find out if we are somehow meant to be parents or to prepare us for parenthood. Still it is a bit disconcerning when I find myself muttering under my breath to the dog at 6 AM, saying things like “Go potty, Haley. Good puppy, go potty outside. Goooooood puppy, go potty outside!” or “Where’s your ball? Where’s you little ball, Haley? Where’d it go?!”

Why do I speak this way? The dog doesn’t speak English; and it certainly isn’t going to pick up—or repeat—any “bad” language we may utter. So why am I not saying things like “Take a shit, dog. Good dog. Take a shit, girl.” Why don’t I tell her to “Cut that shit out, Haley!” or to “stop eating those f#@ing worms!”

I mean, the dog does not speak English, after all.

…and if you think that’s cute, wait until you see the music video!

Fortunately, the breeder came through! In a couple weeks, we’ll see which one picks us!