Archive for June 1, 2014

Puppy Continues to Be Emaciated and Itchy

Puppy has been bathed frequently with prescription antifungal shampoo, has had various anti-flea meds applied in case he’s allergic to flea bites, is all current on his heartworm meds, yet he continues to turn up his nose at food of either the dog or people variety and scratch his hair out. He’s on Dinovite vitamins which do not seem to have had any effect. He’s on allergen-free dog food which he doesn’t like. I’ve combined that dog food morning and evening with a can of wild salmon or a can of jack mackeral for the omega 3 fatty acids and, of course, the protein and calcium from the pressure-cooked soft bones.

Yet I don’t really see a change in him for the better.

*sigh* For breakfast, he had a dozen boiled eggs in the shell, along with a cup of his dog food that I refrigerated that he would not eat the night before. This evening, he had a 6-egg omelette filled with only two cups of the hated dog food, dinovite, and a little bacon grease drizzled over it.

He actually hate that pretty eagerly. Perhaps I will make it again for his breakfast, but he will probably turn his nose up at it in the morning.

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An Intervention is Needed

SwampMan is currently looking online at pictures of 15-passenger vans. “Hey, come look at this!” he shouted. “There’s room for 15 passengers!”

“Wait, WHAT? We do not need a 15-passenger van! We’ve only got five grandkids!” I protested. “That thing is a land boat!”

“Yeah, but check out the seats!” he said. “There’s two seats up front, then four rows of seats in the back! We could stagger them in the seats, tie them in, and NONE OF THEM could touch the other ones! Hell, I can even build a soundproof wall between us and them! No more ‘are we there yet’ whining!”

Hmmmmmm. There must be a flaw in that argument somewhere.

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Changing the Baby

My just-turned-three-year-old granddaughter assured me yesterday that she was going to change baby Lila, her baby sister who will be born on Friday. “Change her into what?” I asked playfully. “Are you going to change her into a TOAD?” “Meemaw, NO!” “Are you going to change her into a kitty cat?” “No, MeeMaw, not that kind of change!” “I know! You’re going to change her into a BUTTERFLY!”

She stomped her little foot. “MeeMaw, I’m NOT a witch! I’m going to change her dipee!”

Somehow, I don’t see mommy letting her change the baby’s diaper, but maybe she can help. She helped me so much yesterday that I didn’t get anything done.

Not getting things done is my fault entirely, I admit! I get sucked into conversations about where the daddy chicken is, and why he isn’t there with the mommy and baby chickens, and why I have the mommy and baby ducks locked up and daddy duck can’t be in with them, and why don’t I have baby lambs this year because she wants to play with them? Well, I don’t know rightly how to explain infanticide nicely to a three-year-old child, so I just tell her that the mommy chicken can’t watch all of her babies at the same time and sometimes hawks eat the ones that wander away which makes the mommy chicken very sad, so I have them all locked up so the mommy can watch them. “But what about the daddy?” “The daddy chicken doesn’t watch babies very well and sometimes he steps on them and hurts them, but he can see them and talk to them through the pen.” This satisfies her curiosity somewhat. And, of course, the daddy duck is so big that he could squish the baby ducks by stepping on them accidentally. That’s the official explanation, of course. The real explanation is that daddy ducks will kill the ducklings to lure the momma duck to them.

The lamb question, though, is because the only freakin’* ram I kept last year was infertile. (*Insert cuss word of choice here.) I *could* go up nawth and get another one, but (a) it would cost money that I, as an unemployed person, do not have, and (b) we’re going to have a new grandbaby, so I ain’t got no time fo’ dat.

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