Wiping Royal Ass

I haven't posted much about Miss Klea because lately she's been a real brat. And I don't want to turn into one of those complaining moms who turns you against her kids because she doesn't share the good times with you.

But yeah, she's been a mess. When we go on walks, she decides which direction we will go in. And if I don't like it and try to change the path, she sits down. Right where she is and pretty much refuses to budge or acknowlege me yanking on her leash.

Also, cat chasing is her new thing. Ginger was always the chaser and Klea is attached to me at the ankle so I've never worried about her going anywhere. But one morning, I was taking out the trash and I just let her walk beside me on her leash. She always takes the sidewalk because last fall she got a pine needle in her paw and it ended life as she knew it. I should have known something was up when she walked across the grass. Her perked up ears should have been all the sign I needed. I guess I'm not that smart. Because the next thing I knew she had sprinted off into the darkness to chase a cat. I went to look for her and after giving up, came home to find her sitting on the porch staring at the front door willing it to open. I gave her my angry face and she just smiled so proud of her chase and quite obviously starving.

Of all the things I love about Klea, the one thing I could do without is her need to drape herself all over me. Now that she can jump on the bed, she'll take every chance she can to lay across my chest or face and pin me beneath her. Or she'll roll over and start panting her kibble breath in my face. If I sit on the couch, sitting next to me and touching me is not enough. She needs to have a paw or her head or her whole upper body stretched out across my lap lest I decide to get up without warning.

Last week she had some serious bowel trouble. They were hard and she spent a lot of time trying to push them out. I wont go into how worried I was by it. Especially since nothing in her diet had changed. Then one day she only ate half her food. Which is crazy because, while I love her, Klea is a hoss. But she did eat some grass here and there along our walk. I let her because I know that (mostly) she knows what she needs to feel better. But now? Now her poo is like chocolate mousse and that just aint right. I hate going near it or having to pick it up because it's all sticky in the bag and stuff. Ick!

Not sure what I'm gonna do about this either. Probably nothing because she seems to be back to her normal self. Her normal, treat-loving, attention-whoring, "Oh-my-God-that's-the-Queen's-dog" basking self. And I? I'll just be back here wiping chocolate mousse from her fur.

I Should Write a Blues Song

K-Dubs and I have been having some trials lately.

There was the day last week when I appeared to be beating her mercilessly on the side of the road. But I wasn't! I was trying to save her life!

As you may know, Klea is an insect's dream. They love her. Which can sometimes compete with my love for her, ya know?

So, we're walking along the main drag by my house and she squats to do her dog business and I'm admiring how nicely her fur is growing back when I see something crawling on her! Ohemgee! What's a momma to do? I start swatting her. Fiercely. I'm just smacking and smacking and running my hands through her fur.

It never occurs to me that she was doing her dog thang and completely defenseless. By the time I'm satisfied that whatever it is hasn't bred, burrowed, or lived I relent. My poor baby is cowering beneath me wondering what the eff is wrong with me. Needless to say she got lots of treats that night.

So then there's this weekend. I spent Saturday puttering around the house with her but Sunday I hung out with a friend and ran some errands. I was gone for maybe 5 hours. When I got back home, I noticed that she'd eaten a dozen Hershey's kisses. I was so upset. Who knew what the outcome would be?

But I just told her no, swatted her butt with a shoe and cleaned up the mess. It wasn't until I sat down to work on the blanket that I noticed the real crime. The chocolates were just a cover-up, you see? She had used them to lull me into complacency. Klea thought that if I got angry about the candy then I'd have gotten most of it out of my system and I would just think that the THIN MINTS ate themselves!

I. Could. Have. Died.

I was so angry. I couldn't spank her again. What kind of sense would that make? But OHMYGOD was she dead to me.

I told her that I would deport her. That if she didn't like it here she could go live with her aunt in the hood where there are no trees and no treats. I shook the empty sleeve of cookies in my fist like a labor union rep in the midst of negotiations and vowed to pack her bags for her if she dared to look at another Girl Scout cookie.

And then I exacted her punishment. She was not allowed to sit on the couch at all for the rest of the night.

She makes me wonder if I'm a good parent or not.

Crime Scene: Scene of the Crime

I have been made victim of a hate crime.

And this is the perpetrator.

She looks unassuming but I know the truth.

It's in my bedroom.

In my living room.

Even in my kitchen!! Don't judge me. It was buy carpet or wear socks and I ain't wearing socks.

I think it's from the steroids. It better be from the steroids.

Because last night she just waltzed in front of the TV, put her haunches down and pissed all over the place. She's going 3 or 4 times per walk and we've put in two extra walks to try to get all this liquid out.

Her water consumption is off the charts. Two bowls a day. Which is 4x what she was drinking before.

Me and the vet are going to have a chat about this. 'Cause I'm tired of cleaning up puddles everyday when I get home.

Itchy Rashy Backside

It looks bad now but it was worst five days ago.

Poor Klea scratched herself until she bled last Thursday. And while I hate going to the doctor and rely heavily on home remedies, I just couldn't watch her suffer like that anymore.

I was going out of town anyway and her vet also side hustles as a groomer and kennel. It just made sense to have them check her out while I was away.

It's not fleas (thank God!) but she was having an allergic reaction to... get this... the flea powder I put down on my carpets.

I can't seem to win around here!

The Doc told me to continue using the same shampoo and such on her but to shampoo my carpets to get the irritants out and away from the doggie. She also told me to start using Frontline. I never have because it is so GD expensive but I tell you it works super magic.

The next thing I have to do is get an exterminator who will treat the borders of my apartment with a Frontline type chemical so the insects might hop in but they'll die before giving birth. But that will have to wait until summer.

So, for now, Miss Klea is on two medicines - an antibiotic and a steriod. The little white pills are super easy because they can be hidden in peanut butter. But I'm sure one of us is going to die over these green capsules. The melee' that ensues twice a day is getting out of control. I don't know if I have another 6 days in me.

Pure Love

This is the face of love.

A few weeks ago when I was feeling especially down, I awoke to Klea-Wea sleeping *this* close. Head on my pillow and all. Its days like these when I love her most. And these are the memories that I take with me on trips and when I'm paying $180 vet bills for a skin rash.

If only we didnt have to fight 2x a day about the capsules. :)

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The War is Won

Last night when giving Klea a bath, I noticed that not one flea carcus made its way out of her fur. And upon deeper inspection, I can finally say that the war is won.

It was long and hard fought. Some battles were lost. But after 3 bottles of flea / tick / egg shampoo, 2 cans of carpet powder, a bottle of flea dip, a spray bottle of flea treatment, a nit comb, and a touch of my sanity - I have won.

I'm exhausted.