Joey, my dog, is very sick.

Yesterday was a rough, rough day.

Backing up a bit:

About two months ago I brought Joey up to the Morristown Animal Hospital for his yearly check-up so he could get his blood test, vaccinations, etc.  All seemed well, but a couple of days later we got a call that his blood tests had come back positive for Lyme disease.  No surprise, in a way ... our neighborhood is full of trees and bushes, and Joey likes to "dive in" head first when finding a place to pee.  I'd pulled deer ticks off of him plenty of times, and one finally managed to get him with the disease.  We put him on antibiotics for a month, with the expectation that he'd push through and get better. 

He'd been asymptomatic, which is why we're not sure when, exactly, he got the disease.  Without any warning signs, it was simply good fortune that his check-up came at an opportune time to discover the illness.

Other than the Lyme disease, though, he seemed to be doing pretty well for a middle-aged dog.  He had gained an appropriate amount of weight since we adopted him a year ago, and his behavior since the holidays (when he bit my father in law's hand and caused Nicole to have a late-night meltdown over his raucous, food-grabbing behavior) had been exemplary.  He'd stopped barking at the trash can every night and, with the exception of picking up a shoe with his mouth now and then, had started to leave items in the apartment alone. 

Since January, Joey has been the dog we'd hoped he'd be when we adopted him. 

Not long after he started taking his Lyme disease medication, he started to limp.  He favored his front left paw, so I took a look at it and didn't find any cuts or bruises.  When I touched/squeezed  his leg, from his paw up to his shoulder, he never winced or squealed or pulled away, so he never appeared to be in any pain.

We brought him up to the vet again, and he had an x-ray of his shoulder taken.  It didn't show any breaks or damage, so soft-tissue damage was suspected.  Also, one of the effects of Lyme disease, as I understand it, is joint stiffness.  I figured that might be part of the cause for his limp.

He went on anti-inflammatory/pain medications, and bounced back wonderfully.  Literally the next day he was fine - as if nothing had happened.  Two hundred dollars wasted, we though.  What a faker!

This past Friday, the limp returned.  We thought we'd let the weekend pass to see if it cleared up on its own, given how quickly he seemed to recover the last time he had it.  Nicole needed the car for work on Monday, so I couldn't schedule the appointment for that day, and we decided to schedule for Tuesday.  On Monday, he actually seemed a little better so I didn't schedule, giving it one more day just in case.  By Tuesday afternoon, though, it was clear he needed to be seen again, so I scheduled an appointment for yesterday (Wednesday) afternoon. 

He still didn't react to being touched on the left leg, but Nicole and I could both tell just by feeling him that something was wrong with his left shoulder.  Compared to the right shoulder, it seemed "enlarged", and the bone almost seemed to be protruding in a way.  His limp on Tuesday night was very pronounced, and just watching him move from the living room to the kitchen was painful.  At one point, I sat down next to him on the floor and he just put his face in my lap, as if to say "I'm hurt.  What's wrong?"

When I brought Joey up to Dr. Matalon's office to be seen again, Dr. Matalon immediately said "I don't like the way his leg looks".  He said there was swelling, and he was concerned that there "might be a tumor".  The first step, he said, would be to take another x-ray.  Go for it, I told him.  Do what you need to do.

They had to give Joey a mild sedative to move his legs into the proper position; long story short, in order to get a clear view of just one shoulder, a dog's legs have to be moved just-so, otherwise the shoulders overlap and you can't get a clear view.  Given the swelling, the possibility of pain, and the fact that he'd likely be fidgety in trying to avoid discomfort, they put him under for a while. 

I waited in the exam room while they took him for the x-ray.  For those who know part of this story already, this is when I started posting updates on Facebook via my cell phone.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity, and Dr. Matalon came into the exam room with the new x-ray.  The bone density, he said, had changed from the last x-ray. 

(Given how my thoughts are swimming around in my head right now, the following may not exactly be chronologically in order, and the facts are as I remember them - I might have gotten some parts mixed up).

Basically, the area in his shoulder seemed to be losing strength.  His bone density was apparently worse than it was in the first x-ray (my loose interpretation of the discussion - not Dr. M's exact words), and since Joey was already sedated, I was asked if I would mind if they did a bone biopsy to check for cancer.

I would have been less surprised if Dr. Matalon had come into the office and hit me in the knee with a tire iron.  Not expecting the C-word, to say the least.

But of course ... do what you need to do.

Instead of waiting in the exam room, I went to the lobby and hung out there for a while.  When he was done, Dr. Matalon came out to let me know what was going on.  Joey needed some time to awaken from the sedative and wasn't ready to leave just yet.

My first question was about his Lyme disease.  As it turns out, the timing of the Lyme disease and his current problems were coincidental and completely independent of each other.  There was nothing we could have done to prevent his current condition.  It's a cold comfort knowing this, but at least I won't have any retrospective regret hanging over me regarding our care of the big guy.

They were able to remove a sample very easily, because the bone was so weakened.  Test results might be available tomorrow (Friday), but it could take a couple of days, too.  When the results come back, they'll be able to determine the best course of action.  If the tests come back positively for cancer, they'll need to do chest scans to determine how far the disease has spread. 

There's a possibility that Joey might, at the least, have to have his front left leg amputated.  His bone is so brittle, I was told, that it could break if we let Joey play unsupervised.  One of the benefits of living in an apartment without our own yard, though, is that Joey's always here under our watch. 

In theory we'll need to cut our walks short, though this morning I didn't have the heart, and I brought him for his "long walk" all the way around our neighborhood.  He'd been trying to get me to do this for days, but I knew he wouldn't make it all the way around if we'd tried over the weekend.  He's been prescribed the same painkiller/anti-inflammatory, and he took his first dosage last night.  This morning, he was full of the same kind of energy he used to have.  When I asked him if he wanted to go out for a walk, he got very excited and started running around the apartment - I had to stop him, because one bad jump and the bone could give way ... But we got outside, and though I knew I shouldn't do it, I let him walk as much as he wanted to.  It was the most joyful I'd seen him in a week, and I didn't want to deprive him of this little bit of happiness.

As I write this, he's resting on the dog bed behind my desk chair.  My blonde dog's left shoulder is shaved and I can see the black stitches in his pink skin, as if he's got some awful medical crop circle formation in his fur.  He's in pain, but he doesn't know, because it's masked by the meds.  His bone is weak, and he might have cancer that could result in an amputation. 

How is it fair that this poor dog managed to escape whatever unfortunate past he experienced for seven years before being adopted into a loving apartment last February, learning to change his behavior and becoming an absolutely terrific pet and great friend along the way, only to face amputation as what could potentially be a "best case scenario"?

We have a lot of big questions coming up, including the obvious one that I can't even bring myself to write about just yet ...

This whole thing sucks.  I've cried more in the last 24 hours than I have in I don't even know how long.  I'm hoping against hope that the test results come back with some unexpected optimistic twist, but I know it's unlikely. 

Burning and freezing. Also, anyone want a stupid dog, cheap? (Christmas '08, Part I)

We'll probably keep him, because we're suckers - and because we know that we can provide the best home for a dumbass dog such as he is, all things considered - but Joey's really been tempting us to take a trip to the hot dog factory lately.  I'm mostly just kidding (but not completely).

He survived our occasionally white-knuckle drive in the wintry mix on the way to see our families before Christmas with little difficulty (he's actually a great car dog), but once we got there all bets were off.

First, he still feels compelled to mark any "new" house, at least a little bit.  Second, he'll eat any food that he can reach (even stuff on counters), so we have to keep an eye on him constantly.  Third, he had to spend the better part of a week with his old friend/nemesis Rocky, who was kinda freaked out to see our white half-husky/half-jackass again, especially on his own home turf.  Fourth, in order to keep him calm during the day when there were so many people (and another dog) around, we had to both give him his anti-anxiety medication , Clomacalm (a life-saver if ever there was one), in the morning, and keep him on a leash in the house to make sure he didn't do anything stupid while unsupervised.

Ah ... but the devil is in the details.  (Or is it 'the best laid plans'?  Which cliche am I reaching for here?)

Nicole's mom came home from work while we were in the living room watching TV.  She came in to say hello and take her coat off, and she put an open bag (the re-usable grocery sack kind) on the floor.  On top of the pile of items in the bag was a little paper gift bag full of homemade cookies from one of her co-workers.  Not missing the opportunity, Joey (still on his leash) swooped in and grabbed it in his mouth.  Nicole managed to tear the cookies away from him, but the bag ripped and a shredded strip of paper fell to the floor between Joey's feet.  Nicole's father went to grab the debris and you can guess what happened.

Without so much as a growl or warning of any kind whatsoever, Joey chomped down on his hand and wouldn't let go until I smacked him a few times (pretty hard, with an open hand) across his backside.  The bite drew blood, which Nicole's dad ended up partially smearing across Joey's snout while trying to free himself, so it looked pretty bad when it was all over.

Joey had bitten me several months ago under different circumstances (long story short: I was trying to prevent him from choking on a bandage we'd applied to a cut he had on his leg, and he got defensive), but I thought that was just an unfortunate situation propelled by his own physical discomfort more than by any aggressive tendencies.  Turns out, he's just kind of a douchebag sometimes, I guess.  Also, there was no blood in my case.

In the end, a trip to the doctor's office the next day led to a prescription for light antibiotics but little else.  Joey's future is questionable regarding further trips to Massachusetts, to say the least.

Worthy of note, in an unfortunate kind of way, was the incredible streak of bad luck with Nicole's family as it related to hand injuries:

Days before, Nicole suffered second degree burns to her hand due to a work-related incident.  When one works in the food industry, as she does, there's an inherent risk of injury because of dangerous machinery, hot stoves and ovens, and everything that goes with using fancy-schmancy kitchen/factory equipment.  It should come as no surprise, then, to learn that her burns resulted from a freak oatmeal incident in the cafeteria.  Go figure.  Pretty nasty stuff, to be honest.  There's going to be a nice-sized scar, and her skin is slowly growning back over the pinkish strip of gross that she's currently keeping clean.

Not to be outdone, while we were visiting her family over the holidays, her mother burned her hand in a freak coffee-pot accident involving a mystery stream of scalding hot water, resulting in a nice patch of blistering skin on her wrist.  Fortunately (?), Nicole had burn cream of her own with her and was able to jump-start the healing process without the need for a doctor.  Then, the bite.  Nicole's two brothers survived somehow, and I tempted fate by not wearing gloves or keeping my hands in my pockets for the rest of the trip. 

***

The trip to Massachusetts was a mess.  The plans we'd made fell through for the most part, because of the weather and because of my family's work-schedule.  We had hoped to go to Worcester for the first half of the week to see my family, then go to Boston for the second half to see Nicole's, but the lingering cleanup from the previous week's ice storm and the threat of additional snow led us to take our chances on the slight window of opportunity we had to get out of New Jersey late on Saturday afternoon and go straight to her family's place. 

It had snowed pretty hard in New Jersey on Friday morning and afternoon, slightly harder in Massachusetts.  The forecast called for additional snow starting Sunday morning - up to ten inches, according to weather.com.  We knew that if we didn't get out on Saturday evening, by which time the roads had been pretty well plowed and salted from the previous day's storm, we'd probably have to sit out Sunday, and possibly Monday too, since everything was going to freeze over.  Since we're the only people in America without a four-wheel-drive SUV, apparently, we didn't want to risk travel on icy roads. 

We packed up and hit the road as the sun was setting, so it was dark for pretty much the entirety of the trip.  And when I say "packed up", I mean we could barely see out of the back window because of the bags full of gifts, clothes, and travel supplies.  Plus, Joey was in the back seat, which prevented us from putting bags there with him, in case he got curious and wanted to start gnawing on things.

Somewhere in New York state, past the Tappan Zee bridge, we pulled into a rest stop that apparently hadn't yet escaped the last Ice Age.  Not only were we freezing cold when we went to use the restrooms, I had to push the car from the front bumper while Nicole had the car in reverse with the pedal down because we had no traction in the snow that had built up from the snowfall the day before.  Then, when we finally got out of the parking space, I had to go to the back of the car and push while Nicole was in drive because we got stuck AGAIN.  Once we got back onto the highway we were fine, but we were questioning our decision to leave our apartment in the first place.

Then, in Connecticut, we couldn't tell if we were seeing black ice or just really wet, dark pavement.  In the right lane, cars were cautiously traveling at a snail's pace.  In the left, people were zooming by well over the speed limit.  So who knew?  All we knew was that we could barely see out of our back window, and had to be careful not only for ourselves, but for our dog.  The best moment, in retrospect, was Nicole trying to see the road more clearly, turning on the high-beams.  In a surprising development, we discovered that snow was actually falling fairly heavily, a fact we weren't aware of with just our regular beams on.  Ignorance being bliss, she said "Ohhh ... kay ..." and turned the high beams back off.  What we couldn't see couldn't hurt us.

Anyway, we finally made it to Boston a little after 10 p.m., and barely an hour after we arrived the streets were covered in at least an inch of fresh snow.  The next morning, I opened the curtains and raised the shade to reveal a sloppy wonderland that we'd barely missed along the way.  We didn't move the car again until Christmas day, which was a-ok with me.

The adventure will continue in Part II!

Doggie baths and back pain; or, I should just give up now and call it a day.

Hey! New music! (If you're reading this on sonicplague.com, that is.)

First of all, this wonderful dog of ours.

He started to get a little funky smelling, so we decided to give him a bath this weekend. The plan was about as well executed as it could have been. When we get head out of town, we bring Joey to a kennel where there's an option for them to wash him for us. It didn't go well the first time, apparently, so we figured he might handle it better if we do it ourselves, because he trusts us and he'd be comfortable (or "comfortable", at least) at home.

The first step was to give him his Clomacalm after I took him out for his walk (at 5:30 a.m., more on that below), a dog medication he's been prescribed to deal with his separation anxiety. Basically, it's a tranquilizer, and it really sucks the energy out of him. We filled the tub with warm water, put the leash on him so he couldn't get too far if he escaped our control, and literally dragged him to the bathroom. It's was like how animals know an earthquake is going to hit before it actually does and they freak out. Joey seemed to know something was up, and he fought it every inch of the way.

So I grabbed him and picked him up the way I did a couple of weeks ago (read the "There Will Be Blood" post), and gently lowered him into the water, keeping a firm grasp on his collar with my left hand. Let's just say he didn't like it. I followed, climbing into the tub wearing just my boxers. It was quite the scene - very funny, and worthy of being committed to photos (except that nobody - including me - wants to see me in such a state of undress. I'm did a favor for everyone by not taking any, trust me. Our camera is broken anyway, thank goodness, but that's another story.)

Once he realized his fate, he was actually pretty cool about his predicament, and he calmed down enough for us to lather him up with mango-scented doggie shampoo and rinse him off. In all, it took us about 10 minutes to clean him up. Toweling him off ... not so successful. He didn't like it and had had enough by that point, so he shook himself off twice in the bathroom, giving the walls a nice spatter of dog hair and water, and we took the leash and collar off and just let him go. He went into our bedroom, found a corner, and curled up into a wet little ball for a couple of hours.

Two problems:
1. A wet dog, even if he's just been shampooed, still smells like a wet dog. Now, he was making sure our carpet smelled like wet dog, too.

2. Curled up the way he was, only one side of him was going to get the air he needed to dry off, resulting several hours later in some sort of Two-Face wet/dry dog, depending on the side you touched. (Speaking of, have you seen the pictures online of Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent/Two-Face in "The Dark Knight"? AWESOME. If it's real, that is. Big-time spoiler there, if so, so beware.)

Also, ten minutes to wash him ... an hour to clean up. Given that the floor was dirty and gritty, and the walls were all wet, we figured we'd clean the bathroom and get it over with. Scrubbing Bubbles, SoftScrub, the whole deal.

This was my Saturday morning. It's a glamorous life, I know.

I love Joey to death, really I do, but he has returned to his old habit of waking up at 5 a.m. wanting to go out. Long story short, we decided not to let him sleep on his own in the living room because he got nosey in the trash (and kitchen sink, pulling out whatever he could grab, including a knife one time) in the dark of night while we slept with our bedroom door closed and would start whining outside our door when the sun started to come up, so we put his bed in our bedroom, where he seems to sleep soundly and can't be destructive. He'd sleep - or at least let us sleep - until the alarm clock went off at about 6:00; Nicole would jump in the shower, and I'd throw on my sweatpants and take him for his morning walk (still too early for my lazy ass, for the record - if he could wait until 7:30, that would be fantastic).

The last week or two, though ... I don't know if it's the warm weather or what, but he's been waking up earlier and earlier, and he's shot out of a cannon. He starts his dancing around as soon as he sees me grab my shoes, and by the time I'm at the door with the leash in my hand he's ready to run headfirst through the wall to get outside.

I walk him in a loop around the neighborhood, I'd assume probably 3/4 of a mile long. On this route, he sniffs around so many trees and bushes and, for whatever reason, insists on stopping to pee a little bit on at least 12-15 of them per trip, rather than just unloading on one and getting it over with. The point being, I'm out the door at 5:30 in the morning, poorly rested, and Joey takes twice as long as he should need to to do his business, walking around on the morning-dew wet lawns. When we get back to the apartment, he's got his blood flowing and is ready to play (or go for another walk), but I'm exhausted and my shoes are soaking wet.

Usually, Nicole heads off to work shortly thereafter, and I fall asleep for another hour or two on the couch listening to Howard Stern streaming through the computer after checking the previous day's Fantasy Baseball stats.

And I wonder why my back hurts and how I pulled my hamstring (I think).

I don't think I mentioned my back pain here on the blog yet. Another indignity of becoming an old man. Not only am I losing any sense of coolness (if I ever had any to begin with), I'm failing physically now, too. I used to have long hair (but nature's ruined that for me), I didn't used to know what "too loud" was (my ears have found out what "sensitive" means), I have to wear glasses now to combat eye fatigue, I used to have my finger on the pulse of pop culture (when I see the magazines at the checkout counter at the supermarket, I don't know who most of the people on the covers are - though, frankly, I'm a little proud of myself for this), and I used to be able to stay up until all hours (well ... OK, I can still do that one, but it's because I'm up playing Halo 3, not out at shows watching headliners take the stage after midnight).

On January 13, 2008 (I remember it well, because it was the day the Chargers upset the Colts in the playoffs), while at the supermarket with Nicole, I experienced what - to me - was extreme lower back pain, like someone jabbing a light saber into my spine.

At the supermarket. Just standing there.

When we got home, I could barely walk up the stairs to the apartment. For weeks, I had to take daily soaking baths to "loosen up". I had to re-learn how to sleep (on my side with a pillow between my knees) because I was used to sleeping pretty much face-down on my pillow. If I sneezed, the resulting physical shake/kickback would send my lower back into fits.

At my last job, I worked with a lot of medical records and had to read a lot of reports, some of which dealt with back pain. I know from those that pain is rated on a scale of 1-10, and that reporting of that pain is subjective. If I had to rate my own pain, I'd say it was at least an 8, and I couldn't shake it for a few weeks.

I took Doan's back pills and tried ice treatment and Icy/Hot ointment, but of course I refused to go see a doctor, though I realize in retrospect I should have and certainly will if it ever happens again. That or I jump off a building. One or the other.

My back is better now and slightly aches only occasionally, but I think I somehow pulled a hamstring two weeks ago, too.

Me: "I have a pain in my butt."
Nicole: "You have a pain in your butt?"
Me: "Well, not in my butt, like in my butt. Not the gross way."
Nicole: "What are you talking about?"
Me: "It's like my butt muscle on the left side. It feels like it runs down almost to my behind my knee."

So I looked "hamstring" up on Wikipedia (good enough for me) and decided that's what it was.

Anyway, I'm falling apart and I'm tired again. That's the point. It's Monday morning at 9 a.m., I've already been up for almost four hours, and I've told two shitty stories about my dog and my back pain.

I'm so far behind on the blog. I have to write about trips to Atlantic City and the Baseball Hall of Fame, and make note about my recent introduction to the world of Facebook. So maybe there'll be more later today, after I take a nap.

Back pain and naps.

Like I said, it's a glamorous life.

There Will Be Blood

(Edit: upon re-reading this entry, I realize that I switch verb tenses a couple of times. Usually this makes me crazy, but I'm too lazy to fix it right now.)

Once again, a recap of something that happened a few days back. May 10, 2007.

Perhaps a bit of back history would be worthwhile:

1. Joey is incredible around other people - he couldn't be friendlier, and he's remarkably gentle. He doesn't jump up, he doesn't open his mouth (he's not ven a licker of faces/hands), and he doesn't get overly excited.

Around other dogs, though, he can get a little skittish; his first six years are pretty much a mystery, but we think there may have been competition for food or attention with other dogs, as he gets defensive and a bit growly around them. We're slowly trying to get him used to being around other animals (the eight Friday nights' worth of training classes with other dogs helped), but when we're out walking around the neighborhood, there are LOTS of other dogs, and we tend to keep him a safe distance from them most of the time, just to be safe.

2. His walks, because I'm a sucker who can't keep him on a tight leash, tend to be long and meandering.

3. On this particular Saturday, it had rained heavily all day. Dirt patches became mud puddles, and the grass was slippery.

OK. So Joey and I headed out for our last walk of the day at about 9:45 p.m.

Our usual walking route is a loop around our neighborhood. We had gotten to the side of the loop opposite our apartment, about halfway through the walk, when Joey started sniffing around a bush. Up a short hill, maybe 20 yards from where he was taking in the smells, a door opened to one of the apartments. I don't know the people who live there, but I knew they had a large sized dog, because every time we pass by, that dog barks from the window. In fact, the dog is so aggressive with his barking that the pull-down screen in the window has a giant tear in it where the dog looks out. It's as if someone cut out a silhouette of the dog's head in the blind.

The point being, even though they've never "met", that dog definitely knows who Joey is. And barks at him all the time. I can't tell if it's friendly or not.

What I didn't know was that there was another dog in that apartment, too.

The door to the apartment opens, and a woman heads out and walks to another apartment a few doors down - apparently there was a gathering of some sort taking place. As the door is open, some dude (holding the door open) starts chatting to the woman who's walking to the other apartment, and another woman, perhaps not realizing that Joey and I are slowly moving past their place at the bottom of the hill, has the two dogs' leashes in her hand, preparing to take them out for a walk.

The barking dog, realizing Joey is right there at the bottom of the hill, bolts out the door. The woman, who is perhaps not paying as much attention as she should have been, has him on one of those leashes that feeds out a distance of strap and that can be "locked" to prevent the dog from wandering too far. But she didn't have it locked, because as I see the dog bolting, I can hear the leash unwinding, almost like the line coming off the reel on a fishing pole.

Seeing Barky the Large Sized Dog run, the smaller dog also gets excited and starts to take off. In the corner of my eye, I see her trying to get control of either dog, but she seemed more concerned with the smaller one, allowing the larger one to "take control".

I turned my attention to Joey, who was blissfully unaware of anything going on. There was a bush to be sniffed, darn it. And bushes don't just sniff themselves. At this point, my back is to the doorway, and I'm trying to shorten my leash so I can guide the sometimes-skittish Joey away from the scene.

The next thing I know, the barking dog is inches from Joey's face, and they're about to get nose to nose. I don't want Joey to lunge out or start growling, so I pick him up about three feet off the ground like he's a package. A hairy, soggy, 45-lb. package. I'm used to this, as sometimes carrying him is the only way I can get him to go to his bed. My right arm is over his rear half, with my hand on his belly near his hind legs, and my left arm is cradling him underneath his neck and through his front legs. It sounds uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to mind, and he's well supported.

By my feet, I see that one of the other dogs' leashes has wrapped around my feet and ankles, and, while still holding Joey - and with my back to the apartment, I start "marching" in place to untangle myself.

Finally, I free myself from the tangle, and Joey is, for the moment, safe from the other dog, because the guy who was at the door has come to take command of its leash.

Note again that it had been raining heavily, and that everything was soaking wet and slick.

Still holding Joey, I turn around and see ...

The woman who had the leashes in her hand at the top of the hill ... at the bottom of the hill. On her hands and knees. Picking herself up off the ground. With a rip in the knee of her pants.

And blood all over her face. Not just a little blood, either. Andrew W.K. blood.

The large dog had bolted with enough force to pull her down the hill, where she had apparently landed face-first, though I didn't see it myself.

The guy asks her if she's OK, and, holding her nose, she replies "I think it's busted."

I start apologizing profusely, and, through her fingers, I could hear her tell me it wasn't my fault, that we didn't do anything wrong (which was, I realize, absolutely true - Joey was just sniffing around a bush and was not confrontational at all). "These fucking dogs!" she tells the guy. "These fucking dogs!"

The fact that the dog bolted because of us, and now this woman had (at best) a bloody nose (I really hope she didn't chip her teeth or something worse) made me feel horrible. Not to mention it was a Saturday night, and maybe they had just concluded a fun evening, or had to trade what was about to be a night out with friends for a trip to the hospital.

I asked if there was anything I could do, and again the response was "it's OK - it's not your fault". I figured I'd just get the hell out of there, rather than make things worse somehow.

Joey, not much worse for wear, knew something had happened because of all the excitement in the air, but when I put him down and started to walk away what did he do?

That's right. He started sniffing the bush again.

He's a weird dog sometimes.

(OK, maybe not quite Andrew W.K. blood - but close. Seriously.)

Joey update #1

Joey is rapidly warming up to life at Chez Schumeau. Nicole and I are very confused as to the state of Joey's hearing, as he can definitely hear various sounds - we think.

Here's the thing: the first few days he was with us, he wouldn't respond to anything at all, soundwise. Even if we gently spoke directly into his ears, there'd be no response. Then, we were watching "Eastern Promises" (very, very good, by the way) and a dog barked in the background of the movie, and his head perked up right away. We thought this was odd, so we rewound and played it again - same response. But there was another moment during which our temperamental smoke detector went off, and Joey couldn't be bothered. Go figure.

He's also eating solid foods, which is a relief. For the first two days, he had a pig's ear, a handful of chicken soft-chews, and a piece of jerky. Now, he's eating a very healthy mix of wet and dry foods more than once per day, and there's a spring in his step that was absent when we first brought him home. Clearly, he's getting over his nerves.

We also bought him a new crate, which he loves. We weren't going to get him one at first, thinking we'd rather let him roam around the apartment (well, the kitchen and the living room, at least) depending on his whims. When Nicole and I would turn in for the night, though, he'd come to our closed bedroom door and whimper.

The intention of the crate, frankly, was more for us and less for him - we wanted to make sure we could get solid sleep. So when we took the crate out of its box, Joey couldn't climb inside it fast enough. Before we had it fully assembled, he was inside, making himself at home. He loves it. It's like a teenager who finally gets his own room after years of living with his brother. So happy, so comfortable.

And the walks - oh, the walks. Getting Joey now is one of the highlights of my unemployment (which, by the way, I'm totally milking and totally enjoying). Three or four days per week, we head out around the neighborhood for 30-45 minute walks, and he trots around with his ears up and his tail wagging, excited with every step.

Today's gonna suck, though. Last night we had a couple of inches of snow followed by a period of freezing rain, followed again by a very cold downpour of regular rain. So it's gross and miserable, and when you take a step, your foot sinks through the icy crust into the wet mush that used to be snowfall - two or three inches deep. But if a dog's gotta pee ...

More pictures coming soon!

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