"When do you rest?" A question commonly directed toward me anytime someone asks me what I have on my agenda for the day or week. My answer isn't always clear, because I'm not sure that I do--I sleep at night, but as far as going home and vegging out? Doesn't happen.
Work has been very busy over the past couple days. My boss was invited to speak at a conference overseas. She deserves a break and to be appreciated for the work she does. I am thrilled for her and cannot wait to hear all about it when she comes home! I also don't want her to be worrying over things, so I've been keeping several irons in a very hot fire and it's made for some rather interesting days of slotting things into open time spaces.
So far, we're managing.
And, M2 and I spent this past Saturday afternoon at a pet adoption event called, My Furry Valentine. We were just looking, but you know how sometimes window shopping turns into armloads of purchases?
We looked through every rescue organization's area. We saw a couple contenders. But, many of the dogs were either too young (and not housebroken) or at an age and size where I wondered if we'd be able to manage controlling them.
We were on the last round when Mags spotted a small rescue organization's area that had puppies in a little circular fenced set-up. We wandered over to look at the puppies, looked down and saw a little cage with a little guy inside named Gibson. He had been rescued from a hoarding situation, was around 2 years old and was a dachshund/shi tzu mix. A "Shiweenie" if you will.
We spent probably 40 minutes mingling with him, texting photos to my husband (who is a big dog [as in large sized] fan) and speaking to the rescue lady who had Gibson in her care for awhile.
We decided when my husband texted to "Do whatever we want" that we wanted to adopt Gibson.
He didn't bark. He wasn't jumpy. He didn't act overly nervous. And, he was a serious cuddle bug. M2 was immediately impressed.
When we had been home about 15 or 20 minutes, Gibson started scratching something awful. I immediately grabbed him to investigate the source of his scratching.
Holy. Crap. FLEAS.
Let me provide this caveat: I hate, detest, revile and rebuke fleas. I am a stickler about Frontline on the dogs. Hell, I even bought Frontline for a neighborhood cat who likes lying on our porch in the summer because I didn't want him suffering or not ever being petted by anyone in my household. We do not and have never done fleas. Period.
I immediately carried him into our Florida room (outside, but walled in) and drove like a maniac to the nearest pet store. I bought the strongest "kills anything but the dog" shampoo and flew home. I wrapped his little hinder binder in a towel, whisked him upstairs and commenced the massacre of the fleas.
Honestly, I think it was the best thing I could have done to bond us. He realized a few things pretty quickly: 1) when Mom says you're staying in the tub, you're staying in the tub; 2) Mom is a very careful bath giver; no drowning, no too hot or too cold, and no soap in the eyes or mouth; and 3) when Mom was done, whatever was making me itch like crazy had stopped.
I will not go into the feelings I have about a dog being rescued from a hoarding house (most assuredly matted and flea ridden) only to be treated for those and then left to have the eggs hatch and be itching like crazy in someone's home and no one taking care of that. Seriously. Those folks HAD to know, if they were minding him, that he had fleas--adult fleas that had chewed on his hind quarters with quite a bit of verocity.
Luckily for Gibson, M2 had fallen in love and I had more concern about putting him back into the rescue's hands than just obliterating a rogue flea infestation. Both Annie and Henry received their Frontline treatments ( a first for winter time ) and Gibson is soon to follow as his will arrive from Wag.com today. We've been keeping a very careful eye, using the Dyson daily and so far, so good.
Gibson was purportedly crate trained and so far, that is holding true. He has only had one accident in the house, but I blame that on the circumstances under which he was sent outside. Gibson is basically still a puppy, easily distracted, and coming from a hoarding house, he doesn't really signal he has to go nor does he always see being outside as an invitation to go. One has to take him out (alone preferably) and wait a little bit. And, one also needs to pay attention to the clock such that if he didn't go the first time out, he has an opportunity presented to him again relatively soon after that. It isn't rocket science, but it does take diligence. So far, I'm the one committed to the diligent part.
He is a total cuddlebug.
When I enter the room, especially after I've been gone all day, he dances and prances and makes it VERY clear that I need to sit on the couch...NOW.
And, the minute I do, he wants to be in my lap, snuggled down for one of his many naps that he takes throughout the course of the day.
He is, quite possibly, the cuddliest little dog I've ever seen. And, he absolutely loves me. I find this so fascinating because I am sure just a few months ago, he was neglected and not receiving the kind of affection or attention that we give him. I also think, because I've watched his reactions, that my husband is too big with too deep a voice to be liked at the moment. And the girls can be a wee bit loud and unpredictable in movements and M2 sometimes has a tendency not to read Gibson's body language to know if he's ready to play or if he's feeling nervous. It will come with time, but so far, I think he finds me to be fairly even keel where he is concerned and likely the most predictable around our house.
Other times, though, it's as if he still wants to be touching me in some fashion, but he needs his space. He winds up contorted in some of the most unlikely positions that I, for the life of me, would never deem as looking "comfortable."
But, I suppose he's young and flexible enough that this type of positioning stretches him out, keeps him cozy and lets him enjoy his space. He really is a little goofball.
He's enjoying riding in the car and I try to take him whenever I go somewhere that he can go so he doesn't have to spend too much time in his crate. As it is, my husband's work schedule has him gone from noon to eight at night, so Gibson is only alone about three hours in the afternoon until the girls come home from school. He'll be super excited tomorrow because the girls have an entire day off.
So, we took a chance and allowed another little furball into our hearts. I don't think it's a coincidence that we have not taken him to the vet yet. I know it's only been a week, but usually, it's the first thing I would do. I guess I'm scared to learn something would be the matter.
I'll get over that, though, and make him an appointment for this coming week. We'll just hope and pray that he's fine and that the fleas were his only ailment.