What end of this thing takes kibble again? a.k.a. You got a puppy, now what?

As you may have heard, puppy fever has struck the Dog Snobs.

And the only cure is… shit I know this one

 

Clearly the only option for this is for the one of us to acquire said furry infant and the nominations are in. Fang is your Miss Dog Snob puppy Owner, 2014.

 

The eight tentacles would have come in handy. Damn underachieving childhood.

 

Aside from being incredibly annoying about the acquisition of said puppy, she’s been making list after list after list and generally being incredibly unwilling to discuss anything else for more than three minutes so you, dear minions can benefit from her obsessing (BusyBee and Potnoodle can attest to this…not that they mind…too much).

So you got a puppy, now what. Here’s a handy guide to doing what you should already know before you got said puppy in the first place.

 

Pick a name

What’s in a name? Murder.

Names matter. Pick not-stupidly. We  know something like 30 Bellas off-hand. Bella shouldn’t be your first choice.   Also–read this 

 

Get the stuff you need but don’t have

Need and Want are not the same.

Leash, collar, crate, dishes, white vinegar (Urine eliminator), Xanax, whatever you will 100% truly need when the puppy comes home.

 

Don’t get the stuff you don’t need

Despite feeling like a Need, it is in fact a Want.

Diapers, Flexis, life-jackets, backpacks, 25 backup collars, strollers, giant rawhides, expensive toys etc. There is plenty of time to acquire that shit later. Focus on the essentials.

 

Make a plan

A legit plan

Socialization with dogs, people, umbrellas, wheelchairs, cement blocks, barrels, bicycles. A good touchstone is 100 things in 100 days. What about Training? Puppy Class? Home management? Will you be crating?  Tethering while home? Scheduling? How will you figure out a plan to make sure they can potty regularly? Do yourself a favor and hammer out all the details before the puppy comes home. Be flexible, because weird shit happens, but the major bits should be at least conceptualized.

 

Introduce your other pets

Oh my God! Riley got Quackers! -posted to Flickr by Blaine Hansel at http://flickr.com/photos/54193473@N00/5216306.

 

Slowly, carefully, and without being a dumbass. There are a ton of how-to’s online. Look them up.

 

Call your vet

Not remotely relevant, just hilarious.

Get an appointment. Maybe your breeder needs you to get the puppy examined within 72 hours, but regardless call and make a follow-up for the next round of puppy shots.  Also a great socialization opportunity over there.

 

Make a “go-bag”

But in a nice Canvas or Nylon

 

Puppies are messy, gross little things, much like children. Be prepared with your go-bag for all your puppy-relevant travels. Towels (Paper and standard), water, dishes, Benadryl, wet wipes, spare leash and collar, puppy snacks, and an occupying toy since goodness knows some days we’d kill for an etch-a-sketch when we’re bored.

 

Register the damn microchip.

Except Steven. We don’t want to find Steven.

Put your name on that sucker. You know what sucks? A dog who gets turned into a shelter, gets scanned, has a microchip and then has no current info on it. A microchip can save a life. Do it now.

 

Start training right away

YOLO indeed.

No, we aren’t talking about getting your 8 week old pup to do a clean figure 8, but you should remember that the earlier you begin basic training, the better.  Puppy may be cute and innocent for now and follow you around like well, a puppy dog, but eventually the honeymoon will be over and before you know it, they’ll have hit that super fun (read: sarcasm) adolescent phase where they roll their eyes and tell you to fuck off.  Getting a good handle on obedience and forming a good training relationship early on will save you a lot of trouble in the long-run.  Don’t be that person who says “oh, he’s still a puppy” when your year old dog is still acting like an asshole.

 

Puppy-proof.  Then do it again.

With supervision this doesn’t tend to happen.

This is a great excuse to clean your house and get rid of any unwanted stuff…or at least move your wanted stuff to a safe place.  Puppies have a god-given gift for finding stuff you thought you had put away, so do yourself a favor and make sure that you don’t leave anything valuable, toxic, or dangerous at puppy level, and holy crap remember your electronic cords. Do what they do for babies, get down on your hands and knees (Not like that, pervs) and look around. Imagine the havoc you could wreak with just your teeth and some unsupervised time.

Prepare to take lots of pictures and annoy your friends.

This must be one of those weird Mexican Hairless things. Ugh… Oh well. Maybe it’ll grow up to be cute.

At least they aren’t baby pictures but they do grow up fast. Document it, but live in the moment.

 

Update your emergency contact information.

I like that God. Let’s pick that one.

Who gets puppy if something happens to you? Where do you want them to go for vet care? Any special allergies or circumstances? You need to have all this noted in that document that we assume everyone keeps in their car for travelling with their pets in case there is an accident and you are unable to answer these super-basic questions.

 

Patience, Patience, Patience

The real one this time.

Remember your patience when the puppy is screaming at you at biting because god forbid you take away that toy they wanted a.k.a. Your Macbook’s AC adaptor. This too shall pass if you handle it correctly (See training above) and a time-out/nap time can be as good for you as it is for the puppy.

 

Make time for your other dogs too

I’m probably not to impressed by you either.

If you have multiples (Like Fang and Potnoodle) or even one other very needy dog (like BusyBee), it’s hard not to be blinded by puppy glamor, but you still have other beasts to contend with at home. Those other beasts may also not be as thrilled with your new addition as you are. Alternate crate time for puppy and quality time for your other pets so they don’t get shafted in the time and training department. Or go all OCD like Fang and make a detailed training schedule because that involves different colors and that makes it fun.

 

Pick your coordinating colors and theme design

Not like this. This is all kinds of wrong.

You mean not everybody does that? Seriously?

 

Have fun.

We’re still good though, right? Yes? I’m adorable.

They’re only puppies for a short period of time and it goes by quickly. Love the puppy you have, train the dog you want and you’ll make the best friend you’ll ever be lucky enough to own.

 

And Fang’s puppy is the best puppy ever, so just get used to the shame of your less-than best puppy.

So much better than you

Best Puppy.

 

It’s okay. I’m sure you won’t even know the difference.

Lessons of Road Poodles a.k.a. Why I love my vet and his staff and why you should too, a memory by Fang. Part II

I’d like to say this story has a happy ending. At best I suppose you could call it bittersweet. The rest of this post could be considered somewhat graphic and it’s text heavy so skip to the page break if you need to.

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The toy Bea loved most of all was selected at our local pet retailer on a standard “Find Poodle Fattening food” excursion not even two days after her arrival. The goofy corduroy elephant was at the end of the row of toys. Its nondescript gray and beige body would perfectly blend with the carpet (Yes it needs to be replaced but give me a break). It didn’t stand out from the piles of colorful and loud toys my other dogs regularly ignored and destroyed but it didn’t matter to Bea.  She loved that stupid toy. She carried it. She groomed it. “Where’s Bea’s baby?” would send her into the sick-poodle equivalent of paroxysms of joy she probably should have been able to have on our modified crate rest regimen. It surprised everyone when that question managed to be prophetic.

Despite her bath Beatrice was not exactly what one could call coiffed. Working in a dog business I had easy access to groomers and a friend of mine offered to groom her for me within a few days of her acquisition. I accepted happily and that Thursday, (Maybe 4 days since her arrival) Bea was packed off to work with me and left in the capable hands of my groomer friend for a makeover. A few hours later, looking considerably better and much tidier I went to fetch Miss Bea when I got some worrying news.

Green Discharge. Possible Pyo? Vet ASAP.

I was on the phone to Dr. A within ten minutes and after a quick office visit we confirmed the worst case scenario. Open Pyo. She needs to be spayed ASAP. Scheduled the surgery for the following Tuesday, not ideal and under anesthesia the HeartWorm may kill her in surgery but it’s worth trying. More antibiotics. Take her home.

The weekend was a blurry mix of  memories and worrying. She was an unfailingly joyful companion. You couldn’t be around her and not smile. She came with me to the park, gentle slow walks and a nap beneath the Oak trees about all she could handle, Z doubling back regularly to see Beatrice was still there. She hung out in the office, politely greeting everyone who stopped to say hello, before settling back down into the Kuranda she’d decided suited her just fine. Bea was alive. Bea was happy. Bea was safe.

Pre-surgery bath and fluff. Classy girl.

Tuesday morning came faster and slower than I wanted. I *know* I annoyed the office with my regular check-in calls but you’d never know it. Two hours after the surgery was supposed to have finished the call came in.

Dead puppies.Unidentifiable. Rotting.

She’s lost 9lbs in uterus and dead puppy alone.

The people who did this are monsters.

It would have been wishful thinking to have her home that day. She went into shock at least twice that I know of, but she rallied time and time again. Thursday afternoon the last call of that visit.

She’s not out of the woods but she’s ready to go home. Come get her.

More antibiotics. More Pain pills. A cone, a wrap, a sleeve and a doped up, silly-feeling poodle and we were on our way home. One day made it to two. She ate somewhat, took her pills and slept on the green Kuranda I brought home, next to my bed so she didn’t have to work so hard to get out of her crate. It wasn’t peaceful exactly. We had one incident of “Poodle on the Bed” which led to some panicked stitch checking and another episode of “Poodle undoes her cone repeatedly until I concede to her lady-like manners and make her a pair of pants from vet-wrap and a tank top instead just to cover her incision. Saturday afternoon, free from her shame-cone, she cuddled with her baby and groomed him before getting what would turn out to be her last meal of tripe, chicken and rice.

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Bea died that night.

Caval Syndrome and probable collapse of the atria. From a dead sleep (Morbid pun unintended) Bea shot up to a stand. She came to me on the bed, licked my hand and in under a minute she was gone, though it felt like hours. It was incredibly traumatizing. I inadvertently terrorized a group of Facebook friends with a hysterical summary of real-time events as I looked for a reputable site on dog CPR with my dog dying in front of me.

I still can’t make it through the full account of what happened and I’ll spare you and myself the details but Bea was gone. She finally had enough.

In many respects this is a horrible story. There is no happy ending. Bea is not next to me with her baby, looking up at me with her happy grin. She was abused, neglected and died in a horrible and totally preventable way. I hate the people who did that to her and I hate them more now than I did when it happened. I hate that I couldn’t save her. I hate that she’s gone.

Through all of that I still have to look hard to find the good. Bea only saw the good.

I love lists. I love checking things off and outlines. I’ve never told anyone this but six months after Bea’s death I made a list, Bea’s List.

It’s short and probably sentimental but bear with me.

1. Dr. A is a wonderful vet and a wonderful person.

The bill alone for Beatrice’s care topped out around $1200. I personally paid about 30% of it. The clinic he owns donated services and funds, his second vet donated time and Dr. A put in his own money for Beatrice.

He offered to take her if I found caring for her to be too much or too expensive and she would have lived with his family as their dog.

Six months after she died, on a routine visit with Z he came in with a book and set it in front of me. “Do you know what Caval Syndrome is?” “Yes.” “You did everything you could for her. She was going to die even if I’d been standing next to her as she was dying. She was too far gone.” I promptly burst into tears but it set my mind at ease that no, the extra walks hadn’t actually killed my dog.

2. The Kindness of Strangers is Humbling and Surprising

I posted a bit about Bea on a defunct forum as it was happening. I received numerous messages about her situation including offers from perfect strangers for financial assistance. In retrospect I wish I’d taken them up on it so their gift for Bea could have been passed on to others in need.

The tiny leather-clad men who helped me drag her from the ditch.

The man in the white pickup who turned his truck sideways to block an entire direction of highway when the guy behind him was getting impatient with the dog running across the road.

So many others I’ve long since forgotten.

3. Vets are Human too

I’ve neglected to mention some of the negative experiences in this story mainly because they’re not that important. An e-vet made a mistake. Another vet asked why I didn’t put the dog down before sinking the money into her. (Really.) Conversely, I know my vet probably cried when Bea died. Some vets are just douchebags with DVMs (Unless you’re UPENN special), but most are just people who give a damn trying to help.

4. Ordinary can be important

Bea was a plain girl. She liked plain things. Simple can be elegant and ordinary things that people do matter too.

5. Always Stop the Car

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Bea’s elephant and collar sit on my shelf next to the other mementos of dogs past; Mac’s leather collar, Lucy’s red nylon and those who departed afterwards Asta’s leather collar and likely soon H’s matching twin. I still get a jolt when

I walk into my vet’s office and see Miss Bea’s picture on the wall. “Helping Hand Recipient. Thank You”.

I walk by the green Kuranda bed, now outside and sometimes I swear I see her on it from the corner of my eye. Just shadows. Floaters. No Bea.

I’d like to say I think of her every day, but I don’t. Sometimes weeks pass when something silly grabs my attention and makes me think of Bea, the Road Poodle and then my heart hurts a little for what should have been and then I smile or hold back tears or both.

Two weeks. Two horrible wonderful weeks. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Someone asked me once, “Why Beatrice?” “What? She was there?” “No, why the name?” “Oh. I don;t know it just came to me. She looks like a Beatrice. Queen Bea.” It wasn’t until later that I bothered to look it up.

Beatrice: Italian form of Beatrix. Latin feminine form of of Viator. Voyager. Traveler.

Road Poodle indeed.

Beatrice

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M the Malinois arrived about a month after Bea’s departure. His arrival had been delayed by her illness and my wonderful breeder understood and regularly checked in to ask about Bea’s condition. Now another puppy is set to arrive and April has become a month of emotional upheaval and I figured I should shove some of it on all of you since that’s what you’re here for: Fang’s emotional catharsis.

Beatrice

Loved and Lost. Ever Joyful.

Lessons of Road Poodles a.k.a. Why I love my vet and his staff and why you should too, a memory by Fang. Part I

A few years ago I was driving home from my decidedly unglamorous job of getting yelled at by pet people, when the guy in front of me braked suddenly. Road-ragey tendencies not withstanding clearly something was wrong. One barely missed middle finger when what should I see bounding across the four-lane highway but a brown poodle-y thing.

“Well shit.”

Thankfully being the hot-mess that I always am in my car that also doubles as a closet to Narnia were several leashes and one pissy cattle dog who would just have to hold her horses for three damn minutes while I chase this terrified dog down a state highway in temperatures in the high 80s at 3:30pm with my slip leash and a prayer. Clearly fulfilling every stereotype about how fat girls can’t run (No I really can’t) I bolted slowly after the dirty scared dog who still managed to stop traffic two times in the time it took for me to get flipped off by not one, but five drivers. P.S. Thanks assholes. Clearly I had it all under control.

Finally a horn being honked managed to scare said highway poodle-y thing so much that she ran into a drainage pipe because that afternoon couldn’t possibly get much worse. Thankfully, luck and some very helpful dog lovers/motorcycle types were on our side literally and figuratively and while I blocked one end of the culvert, a very tiny man crawled in after her with my trusty slip-lead and a lot more balls than I was blessed with. He came out very swiftly with Dirty poodle-y thing who upon further exam was actually in fact a Standard poodle who was too scared and exhausted to do anything but lean on me. So back to the car we trudged, complete with a Sheriff’s deputy stopping to ask about the dog who stopped traffic. “I got her. It’s fine.” And we were left alone.

Z at the time was in her ultimate “Thug ACD” phase. She hated all dogs who she wasn’t forced to share a Mama with and even then she wasn’t fond. I fully expected to have to tie her to the roof rack to get this poodle into the vehicle. I opened the door, Z hit the entry like she was going to be a snot as per usual but she stopped, sniffed the poodle and promptly sat herself in the front seat doing her best impression of a chauffeur, hardly acknowledging this interloper’s presence. We got home in under five minutes and I dragged my spare crate onto the porch. Road Poodle was wobbly with exhaustion and who knew what else at that point so I led her to the crate anticipating her fear and was totally stunned when she climbed in herself and promptly lay down for a snooze.

 

Within two minutes of arriving home she was out like a light.

 

It took about an hour while I figured out what exactly I was supposed to do with this new addition. She was filthy and her belly was so distended I figured she was probably pregnant. My vet was over an hour away and would be closing at 5. Even if I could make it there on time there’s no guarantee they’d see her that night and someone must be looking for her. So I called my boss. “Who local can be helpful?” “Dr. A. Tell them you work for us. They’ll scan her for you. He’s a poodle guy.” Meanwhile Road Poodle had woken up enough to wonder where the hell she was and what the hell had happened.

“What the hell? Where am I?”

It was a quick trip to Dr. A’s. We were there less than five minutes before he came out, scanners in hand and the techs checker her all over for some sign that at one point someone wanted to to know where she was. They checked her for tattoos under her laeyers of filth and commented that while distended they didn’t feel puppies in there. It was probably gas and an extremely heavy worm-load.

“What are you going to do with her?”

“Call poodle rescue and probably put up some flyers.”

“Don’t try too hard to find the owners. They don’t deserve her. Call me before you take her to animal control“

I took her to work with me that evening. She needed a bath, I didn’t feel like doing it entirely by myself and having someone else dry her while I made phone calls was appealing. So I bathed her and left others to dry her while I looked up and called every reasonably close (4 hours) Poodle rescue and left messages about a found female poodle who was as it turns out a very clear white and with a shaved face because you can’t have a fuzzy faced poodle. It’s like the law.

Still not a cream, Kamie. Minus 2 points. 😛

 

I called Dr. A’s and made an appointment to get her vetted and drew up some generic “Found Poodle. If missing call to describe” posters I would later half-heartedly distribute around to vets, pet stores and eventually the pound.” In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was dumped likely out of a vehicle at a stop sign and left to die on the side of a major state-crossing road. The only calls I recieved the next day, aside from Dr. A’s confirming my appointment were from the breed rescues offering assistance and informing me that there were no Standard Poodles reported missing at all who might fit that description as well as a lovely lady who I had a nice chat with and she called me “dear”. I forget her name and the content of the conversation but had I chosen to give her to a rescue, I would have picked that one. It actually felt like someone other than me in real life gave a damn about her.

 

My other dogs meanwhile had decided the RP was good peeps. I forgot to latch the crate that morning after taking her out for her morning constitutional and came in to find Z had opened it (It was her crate afterall) and she was actually grooming this other bitch who had wandered into her house, taken her crate and even had the gall to eat from her dish. It’s still amazing to me that my crazy bitch of a dog knew more about compassion than everyone else on that highway that afternoon. I’m still humbled by it and I love her for it more now than I did then.

Z was fat, this I know.

 

Off to the vet we scurried and a moderately cleaner and semi-groomed RP got signed in for her first official vet visit in who knows how long.

“Name?”

“Beatrice. Bea. She feels like a Bea.”

As expected she had every worm under the sun including a hefty load of heartworms. FastKill had just about disappeared off the market at this point and frankly Bea was too fragile for it currently anyway. We had to get her worms in check first, get some weight on her and then we’d reconsider our options. Fine. So off home we went with enough poison to take down any helminths in our path and a script for Doxy, because it’s a good idea in combo with FastKill. Alright fine.

Things were okay for a bit. Nothing major happened. Bea stayed home, was a happy dog for a bit and with her first toy acquisition it seems I’d made Bea’s life.

Toys?

 

…and Part II will be up tomorrow. 🙂

Sex Toy or Dog Toy Saturday: Coochie & The Blowfish Edition

There are so many awkward jokes we could make here, but we’ll spare you since we’re feeling charitable.  So minions, which one of these fish is the PG-finding Nemo dog toy and which is better suited for finding your G-Spot?

 

 

Option A

 

Option B

 

Ok, now that you’ve grossed yourself out with fish jokes (admit it, you went there), are you ready for the answer?

 

Option A is called the “Rub my Fishie” (ew) and is indeed the sex toy.  Those eyes are super creepy.  Would you want that staring you down?  Nope.   Option B, despite having a look of fear in its eyes, is a dog toy meant for Fido.

 

“That’s what Option A said”

 

 

WTF Wednesday: D Cup Edition

Just what every dog needs–lingerie…to chew on.

So the idea is that giving them these realistic lingerie chew toys will “keep Fido from munching your unmentionables” (ew).  And according to their website,  “These canine pleasers make a squeaky sound when chomped upon – just like YOU would if you were wearing them” (double ew).  Hey sicko, here’s an idea,  just give your pooch a questionable dog toy like the rest of us and call it a day.

 

Ok…and then there’s this fascinating tidbit found on a site for ANOTHER company that sells dog toy lingerie…

People are buying these items as a package deal? What?  Are they starting a canine brothel?  Are they putting poor Muffy to work on the street corner to earn her keep?   All that is missing is pantyhose…oh wait…

Sex Toy Saturday

It’s Saturday.  You know what that means.   Time to make you really uncomfortable yet again.  So minions, which of the following belongs in your dog’s mouth and which belongs in your….erm….purse?

Option A

Option B

Questioning all those times your grandmother told you to never leave home without your lipstick?  Ready to answer?  Good.

Option A is a Petco lipstick dog toy and Option B is an “incognito” lipstick vibrator.    That’s right.  It goes on “those” lips.   Of note, both claim to be durable and made to withstand hours of aggressive play.   Fantastic.

 

WTF Wednesday

Poopsy Pets literally poop rainbow, glitter, and jewels.   And then eat it again.   Then shit it right back out.  

yeah, and we bet your shit don’t stink either.

This is a serious issue, people.  Poopsy Pets clearly suffer from Coprophagia .Instead of amusing us for hours, this dog clearly needs to see a veterinary behaviorist.  Wait no. That’s not even a dog. That’s a unicorn. Who do you take mythical creatures in need of immediate medical attention to?

And what does this teach our chlildren about potty training?  There’s nothing magical about it. This doll teaches children it’s okay to eat one’s own feces (And also that it’s okay to match your pets but that’s a different post.)

At least Bowel Movement Barbie  comes equipped with a pooper-scooper but the dog is also on a flexi so we’re not really sure who we disapprove of more in this situation.

You’re welcome

The Dog Snobs have an exciting Announcement to make….

 

We will be releasing a line of calendars, mugs and commemorative statues of shirtless men holding furry creatures. That’s right, starting next week you can buy your own Official Dog Snob “Fluff and Flex” memorabilia   We know how much you’ve loved the random hot men who pop up in our blog posts, so we thought we would save you the trouble of searching through your browser history and bring them all to you in one place!

Meow Chika Meow Meow

We think he’s confused about the weather, but we’ll let him hold our sweater puppies.

No, no. The goat jokes are too easy.

G’day Mate!
**Keep an eye out next week for more information on how to order your Fluff & Flex gear.  We hope you’re as excited as we are!**

Yahoo Answers….we can’t quit you

We should know better than to read Yahoo answers.  No good can ever come of it.  We lose brain cells.  We yell at our computer screens.  We stress eat.  And yet, we can’t look away.  So here, once again, are our responses to some recent Yahoo answers questions we came across.  The stupid…it hurts.

 

 

It depends.  Is it whole wheat?  Organic?  The future is actually in gluten-free, so you might want to look into how to bread those too.   And we prefer our dogs living, so we aren’t really sure if you could profit off of non-living ones.

 

 

Because giving a puppy as a gift is ALWAYS a good idea.   No really, just don’t do it.  People like surprises, but living breathing surprises are generally a bad idea.   Maybe save the big red ribbon for a pet rock or a nice bottle of wine.

 

 

Step 1:  Take picture of dog.

Step 2: Print out. Preferably in color.

Step 3:  Tape on Alpo can.

You’re welcome.

 

 

Um, what?  Go home Yahoo answer poster, you’re drunk.

 

 

Ok, hold up.  Isn’t this something you should, you know, talk to your “breeder” about.  Why on earth are you asking strangers on the internet?  Let us guess…you purchased this dog from a website with a paypal button and an online shopping cart feature.

 

You’re new to this?  Noooo.  We never would have guessed.  Seriously.  If you don’t know how to do that, how are you going to deal with whelping?  This is a disaster waiting to happen.  Call a vet.  Now.

 

 

Is he staring at your vayjayjay or is he just following you into a room because he wants to be near you?  This is an important distinction.  Really though, it’s not that weird that your dog wants to be near you.  You could always close the door though if you’re concerned.  It’s as easy as 1…2…shut the damn door! The more important question to ask is whether you like that your dog seems to like to watch you pee?  There’s a dark corner on the internet for that stuff, and it certainly isn’t here.

 

 

We know what your dog is thinking: “Why is my owner such a dumbass?  What did I do to deserve this?  Shall I shit in her shoe now or later?”

 

**Missed our previous answers?  Want to relive the snark?  Check them out here  and here **