The Dog Ate What? and he still lives?

Yesterday I took our dog Biscuit to the vaccine clinic...he was so obedient and gentile...and I mean the dog not the buffoon vet-assistants who gave the rabies shots. They were nasty and rude. (Now in the past I picked up our dog shots and gave them myself! but I guess that is in the olden days here in Santa Clarita when it was a farming community. So this is only the second shot for an animal where I had to take the patient to the clinic...)

There I was getting our old doggie a rabies shot for his license......(What does that license get him...permission to pee on our lawn?) anyway, I signed in at the walk-in-dog-clinic. I was in line behind an old skinny-girl Labrador who looked like she had been on chemo, her hair was so thin. I stood there with my bear-fur dog...that's what his fur-hair is like before it sheds. It's 110 today so maybe he will start soon, he's a late shedder...(Is that a word?) I wasn't sure of his age, but the very large check-in-lady said he was 12, (according to their records)..so in people years he's 84...almost as old as my mom, and in much better shape.

I continued to stand behind the mange-almost hairless dog who was 10 yrs or 70 in people years, a mere whipper-snapper compared to the Biscuit . As I got closer to Frick and Frack, the two guys giving the shots...I began to cringe and close my eyes due to their really rotten sterile technique...they took off the caps of the needles with their teeth. (You flunk my pharmacology class Dude!) Then they were waiving the UN-covered needles around like maracas in a Desi Arnez band. I ducked to avoid being skewered. The piece-de-resistance was putting the syringe, and needle sans-cap...under the foot and stomping down while at the same time- giving another shot...(That is a double flunk action DUDE!) Oh! did I say, I never saw a needle disposal container, AND THEY RE-CAPPED several times as I watched in Horror!...(What is the result of multiple finger sticks of rabies vaccine?) I wanted to flee before the guys had foaming seizures, but obediently stood in line to pay my money and then fled out the door....I am hoping...yes hoping our poor old canine friend is pushing up daisies before he must have another shot at that place.

But sadly, he constantly rallies like a puppy and runs after the ball, even when he drops it himself and thinks some invisible person is playing with him. He still has OCD and lines up rocks and balls, bones and other Geerfkaa he finds. You could consider him a dog MONK...like the TV show. And yet, He has finally become an endearing dog...but if we move, which is the plan next year we are not sure what will happen to the sweet old guy.


If anyone wants to adopt him let us know as he no longer excavates the yard, does not bark unless a stranger enters the gate,  And has had his shots!

So Have fun reading Biscuit-rewind if you are interested in adoption and see what you as his new family will NOT have problems with...

After Tuna (our first dog... who was of questionable linage) died we had several other dogs join our family. Bandit was an absolutely nutty Dalmatian, he put out fires. If we set off a firecracker, he would pounce on it with his paws and put it out. Fairly soon after we got him, he jumped the fence. We never saw him again.

Shoe came along…a long haired retriever of sorts, black with white patches. He became the Rooster of the back yard. Megan had chickens in a coop along the back fence. Shoe would sit like a king with all the hen-ladies surrounding him, pecking, grooming and getting any bugs or dirt off. In return, he protected his girls from the many raccoons who prowled the neighborhood and would have loved to make a chicken dinner of his harem.

Next came Bevis who was massive, protective and gentle…and he loved the beach! He could swim 2 or 3 hundred yards into the water to retrieve his beloved ball and swim back to the shore like a seal. When Bevis died all the kids were gone from the house and Mike was on a mission to Texas. I wanted someone, anyone, to meet and greet me when I got home from work. Patrick was working long hours at a hospital job over an hour away from Santa Clarita so I wanted another dog. I watched the paper dutifully and soon found an advertisement for retriever puppies. There were only two males, a wild acting black one with white marks on his chest and a cute sleepy golden one. Hoping to get a calm dog we chose the golden and named him Biscuit. Big mistake, as soon as we got his shots (which I gave...bad move) and other puppy ministrations (de-worming) he became a crazy monster who could jump straight up into the air about 6 feet and began to dig and demolish the back yard like an archeologist searching for King Tut’s tomb.

He particularly liked PVC pipe, and excavated all the sprinkler lines in the back yard. Patrick was incensed and thought getting him a new home would be better than dog-o-cide. I tried to minimize Biscuit’s behavior and would often replace the sprinklers before Pat came home. One time he got into the house and got shoes, the TV remote and my daughter-in-laws’ cell phone and IPod. At that point he was very close to being abandoned in the Mohave Desert. Then we discovered he could open the sliding back door by using his nose to push it open (The pee stain is still on the living room rug...brand new at the time... which I could never get out) and would also get into the garage and my clean clothes in the hamper…spreading them all over the backyard in the dirt. We were unaware of another of his tricks until one day when taking him for a walk.

He was about 14 months old but somehow was one of the most obedient dogs when on a walk especially when we had a weighted pack on him full of about 12 pounds of nuts and bolts from one of the buckets Pat had left over from one of his jobs. (see “What do you do with a dozen doorknobs.”) Caesar the dog whisperer had suggested having a weighted harness was a good way to calm down an over energetic dog, so I was willing to try anything at this point since it appeared Biscuit was soon going to the dog jail as a result of his gangster behavior.

After we were about half way around the block he stopped to manage his usual poop deposit which I dutifully picked up in one of the doggie bags I carried. I dropped the deposit in a trash can which was on the curb waiting for the garbage men and we continued on a while, talking about the vicissitudes of life. It was Patrick who noticed what looked like a string hanging from Biscuits’ rear. I watched it dangling back and forth and thinking it was something he sat in so put a dog-bag over my hand to retrieve the string swinging from under his tail.

As I grabbed the string he walked forward and as soon as he did we both realized the string was getting longer as it came out from his rear.  He walked forward,  and by then about two feet of string emerged and finally out came tied to the end of the string was a wooden pull handle which made an audible pop as it came emerged and fell to the ground. He had eaten the lawnmower pull cord…handle and all…

It was if we had revved him up and started him like the lawnmower. He ran forward yipping as the handle extricated and we couldn’t believe our eyes…but it was true. When we got home we discovered sure enough, the handle and pull cord were missing from the power machine! He had devoured the cord…handle and all. Patrick’s only comment was, “That’s your dog.” Now how could you get rid of a dog who was that clever…and that stupid?  
And now that dumb dog is 84, older than Coon, our first dog, when he passed. I have a feeling all our dogs in heaven are looking down and laughing!