Sunday, February 18, 2007

Tail of a Wedged Dog

Poor Seamus.

He's my dog with little brain who often evokes Eeyore with his sad "thanks for noticing" look whenever he is feeling blue and unappreciated.

This morning he and Augie were lounging on the bed with me while I attempted to read a book. All that page-turning caught the attention of Little Beans, the feisty and lovable white puppy who bothers Seamus to no end. To say Seamus is jealous of Little Beans is like saying that Hamlet's father had some anger issues.

My gentle and sweet brown dog has been known, on occasion, to go after the feisty white puppy - teeth bared, growling, and with injury on his mind. (What 'mind' he has. Sigh.)

So, when Little Beans joined us on the bed and wedged his little body into my chest and under my neck so that my attention was on HIM and not the BOOK, Seamus decided to wedge his long dachshund body likewise, but against my back and shoulders, since I happened to be in the way of him moving the white dog out of the way.

Augie, not to miss out, chose a wedge-like position also - against my stomach.

I was one wedged-in dog owner. And remained so for several pages until the desire to move became overwhelming.

Now, in the past - when Seamus has gone after the puppy, I have pushed him off the bed in punishment. I don't know if the Dog Whisperer would approve, but my options are limited when Seamus bares his fangs and intends harm for Little Beans, who is arguably the cutest puppy in town. This is a fact not lost on Seamus - who doesn't understand that being the cutest longhaired dachshund in town has its advantages. Or that he is technically NOT a puppy anymore.

So I wiggle a bit and when I attempt to move up on my pillow I unintentionally shoved Seamus right off the bed - into the tiny little spot right between the nightstand and the bed.

When he doesn't move, I figure he is stunned by my behavior. So I reach down and pet him and tell him I am sorry and to come back up.

Seamus doesn't move.

I adjust myself and start reading again - with Augie and Beans happily wedged into my left side.

But then I start thinking about Seamus, who must be in a snit - he isn't coming back. He isn't moving at all. So my mind flashes on the possibilities - I've injured him, he hit his head and is comatose, his leg is broken, he has internal injuries....

I look down.

Seamus is WEDGED in between the bed and nightstand. He couldn't move if he wanted to. His short legs are attempting to move but his long body won't follow suit. So he stays, convinced he's done something REALLY BAD this time because he won't even look at me.

I unwedge him, which takes awhile, but he won't get back on the bed.

I decide to shower and have coffee. Seamus stays put the whole time.

After my shower and breakfast I come back upstairs to find Seamus on my pillow, looking forlorn and dejected.

I take him downstairs to use the backyard canine potty facilities. He does so but won't come back inside - convinced that he is the worst dog in town.

I'm thinking that Dog Wedging must have some serious connotations in the Dog World. You do it when you want possession of the Alpha Female (that would be me). You do it for security and because it is a dogly thing to do.

But to be wedged to the point where you can't move? Now there's some serious issues there - I just wish I knew what they were....

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Kindergarten Valentines from the Trenches

Today the kids were making Valentine cards for their parents. At my table, during Group Time, they had to draw a picture of something Mom and Dad like to do together, and then write a greeting - like, "Happy Valentine's Day."

At any given time, there are about 6 kids during these open-ended activities sitting at my table. I instruct Jovante to draw a picture of mom and dad doing what they like to do together.
He draws mom and then he looks at me very annoyed and says, "Do I hafta draw them when they fighting? All they say is 'whatsup whatsup whatsup!"
Erik is sitting next to Madelin and following my directions, drawing a nice picture of his parents holding hands. Madelin's parents are "roller skating." Erik asks if he can write his greeting in Spanish, since mom and dad don't speak English. I proceed to help him. Erik turns to Madelin and says, "I can write in Spanish."

Madelin keeps coloring and says, "I can't speak Spanish."

Erik doesn't miss a beat. "That's okay," he says, "You just have to keep practicing."
Flower is drawing her parents working in the yard. She is trying to draw a shovel. She asks for guidance.

"What are they doing?" I ask."Cleaning up dog Sh**," she replies.

(I remind her there are NICER ways of saying this. Since she can't say "excrement" she settles on "Poop".)

About 20 minutes later she storms OUT of the bathroom up to my table. "Mrs. L.....there was POOOOP all over the toilet seat and I had to clean it up!"

"Kind of like your poor parents, huh Flower?" (I just couldn't resist.)
Then there's Niya..the PERFECT child. She is the kindest, gentlest, sweetest little girl on the planet. She sets to work drawing diligently, her parents sitting on the couch. Mom wears socks and dad is barefoot. She carefully draws his toes. Then she decides it is too cold and adds socks.

"They like to watch T.V.," she explains.

Then she draws the television, complete with little details, like knobs and the DVD player. Then, she draws a picture inside the T.V. screen.

I look away long enough to check on the other kids and am horrified to look back at Niya's paper to see a body with a HEAD laying next to it. She is using a red crayon to depict the blood and gore.

She is coloring serenely, perfect pigtails swaying.
"They like to watch scary movies. This one has his head cut off."
Franky is drawing a detailed scene of his whole family outside in the yard, playing with the dog.
"My mom and dad like to play with the dog in the morning."

"So this is what they like to do together? How nice," I say. He nods in agreement.

A little while later he says, "Well, actually ... my mom doesn't get up in the morning. She doesn't play with the dog."

"Oh. Well.. I thought your mom and dad played with the dog in the morning."

"My dad hates the dog. He don't play with the dog." Then he sighs. "Actually, I'm the only one who plays with the dog in the morning."
Aracely is busily drawing away on the paper.

"What are your parents doing?" I ask... noticing that they both have HUGE baseball-mitt looking things on their hands.

Aracely smiles. "They're making COOKIES," she says sweetly. "Mommy makes them and Papi eats them."

Sunday, February 11, 2007

A Molehill from a Mountain....

So my husband had this huge goose egg on his head as a result of colliding with the steering wheel during his heart-attack/accident 2 weeks ago. This "hematoma" was large, red, and rather annoying because it pulled on his forehead skin. (I would have thought - 'facelift!' - but he didn't.)

So, during his scheduled visit to the cardiologist last Tuesday, he asks the guy to "take it off." The doctor had previously said that "the body will take care of it" but the body was slow - and Dan wanted this huge bump gone.

So.. I'm thinking that the request is a simple one. Just poke a hole in it and extract whatever is inside to make it poke out. Since it is called a HEMAtoma, I am figuring it is full of blood that lacks direction back into the body.

I'm also thinking syringe, some guaze, maybe some alcohol or peroxide, and the mountain will be reduced. "Hey, Judy...(or whatever her name is)...bring me a Number 4b syringe, will ya?" I picture the cariologist asking. That didn't happen.

"Judy" had to schedule the "procedure" at the hospital for Friday - an outpatient thing. I'm thinking... okay.... they are worried about blood loss? Isn't that the point? What is the ISSUE here? Seems simple to me. Apparently not.

So - the hospital calls twice during the week to give Dan "instructions" - like this is some huge deal. When he gets there he is given an I.V. and put in a gown and placed in a waiting area. A nurse even comes by to play 100 Questions with him.

"Do you have any heart problems?" she asks.
"Uh yeah. I had a heart attack," Dan answers.
Her eyes widen and she gasps, "WHEN?"
"Two weeks ago. When I got THIS," (he motions to the forehead.

She acts surprised. "Wow," she says, writing something on the clipboard.

Dan waits for over TWO hours. They tell him there is an issue with "the room" and when they can move him into "the room" they will but for now, he will have to wait "here."

The cardiologist shows up. He is chagrined to find that the hospital, acting upon his office's communications, has actually prepped Dan for surgery. They even had the anesthesiologist on call - for when the doctor finally arrived.

The good doctor apologizes and then asks for THE SYRINGE and he ... guess what? Just guess!
Yes.. it takes him less than 20 seconds to extract most of the contents of the hematoma. The nursing staff has gathered around to watch, impressed with the volume of the bloody contents.
Then he is bandaged and....sent home.

And I am thinking, when all of this is related to me..."Sheesh! I coulda done that!"
For the price of the syringe I could have done THAT in my bathroom. I just can't wait to get the bill for THIS little mountainous expedition.