Hopefully the Sun Will Make All the Difference

Indiana looks possessed, but you can totally see my sparkly shoes

It's been raining for 300 days straight here in Illinois.  Okay, maybe not that many, but it sure feels like it.  The sun is out today, sort of.  It's not raining.  Right now.  And tomorrow and Saturday are supposed to be beautiful, so yay for that!

I do love me some rainy days, because they make me want to hunker down on the couch, and snuggle up with a cat and read a book or watch TV and generally be really lazy.  That's been kind of disastrous this week, because we have Indiana's big birthday party on Saturday, and I am so behind.  Seriously, I need like an extra 24 hours to get everything done.  I woke up in a panic in the middle of the night last night and couldn't get back to sleep for hours (and that's not an exaggeration), because I was convinced that there was no way humanly possible to get everything done that I want to get done. 

Do you do that?  Wake up in the middle of the night, worrying about this or that?  I do that every few weeks or so, and when I wake up again in the morning, I think, "What the heck is wrong with you?  Why were you freaking out?  It's not that big of a deal."  For some reason, nighttime makes everything worse.  For example, in the middle of the night, I might think, "Oh My God I Have To Make Cupcakes For Tomorrow Night, And I Will Never Get Them Done, And When Am I Supposed To Make Cupcakes, Oh My God, It's The End Of The World."  But then when I wake up in the morning, I'm considerably more lucid, and capable of thinking things like, "Well, I have two hours between my appointments, so I can make cupcakes then, and then after my second appointment, I can frost the cupcakes.  Easy peasy."  But these things do not occur to you in the middle of the night. 

Anyway, I totally got off on a tangent, because my whole point about my night worries is that I think in this case they are totally founded.  I woke up this morning feeling slightly better than at 1am, but still...there's a lot to be done.  And I have standards to live up to.  Eh, sleep is totally overrated.

Another thing that has made my week weird, is that the rain has kept my four cats inside, for the most part.  They'll run outside while it's raining to potty under the deck, and during brief periods when it isn't raining, they'll explore for a little while, but overall, they've been in the house a lot more than usual.  Which means a lot more energy, and a lot more fights. 

Yesterday morning, Jim woke up and found a bag of dog food on the floor, filled with holes, probably attacked by Samson.  Who brought in a snake two days ago.  And Gus has been trying to make Mr. Squiggles play, which Mr. S hates.  And Gus and Samson have been stalking Q*bert all around the house, and Q*bert has been annoying the heck out of me during meal time, running around my legs and then biting me when I dare make contact with him.  All I can say is that I am sooooo glad that it's supposed to finally be getting nice outside, so I can get these darn cats outside, where they can work off their energy and take their aggression out on, I don't know, butterflies or something.  Sorry butterflies, but better you than me.

Unfair

Less than two months ago, I wrote about my friend Terri, who lost her dog, Sophie, to cancer.  Just yesterday, Terri lost another dog, Boden.  Though I don't know the specifics, I do know that Boden was suffering from megaesophagus.  I am heartbroken for Terri.  Losing one pet is hard enough, but to lose two...it's unimaginable. 

As with the last time, my group of pet cancer friends is rallying around Terri, who has been there so much for the rest of us.  There is little we can do for her.  We are spread around the continent.  Do our words help?  Does hearing, "I'm sorry" enough times bring comfort?  I certainly hope so.  The words just seem so...insignificant.  But the meaning, and the love behind them, is not. 

Terri, we are all holding you close to our hearts during this awful time.  If I could do something, anything, to ease your pain, I would.  If I could bring them back, I would.  You have one of the biggest hearts I know, and you don't deserve the pain that fate has thrown your way.  It's beyond unfair.  I hope you know that I am sending all of my love to you.  And I'm sorry.  I'm just...sorry.

Kibbles and Bits

Last week, we were having major problems getting Indiana to eat.  Raw food, her main diet, was out.  Canned food, her usual safe go-to, was out.  I tried scrambled eggs.  I tried cooked turkey.  Nothing was working.  She wouldn't eat her pills either, not in cream cheese, not in liver sausage, not in canned cat food, not even in liver sausage dipped in canned cat food.  I was freaking out, a lot, to be honest. 

It's not that I was worried that Indiana was going to starve.  She didn't even seem like she felt sick, just that everything I offered wasn't quite what she wanted.  What I did worry about (because this latest round of food aversion was probably brought on my her last UTI and subsequent antibiotics) was that maybe this last backslide would be the one she wouldn't bounce back from.

Indiana has battled illness after illness with grace and strength, and she has recovered from all of them, more times than I can count.  Major illnesses, minor illnesses, this dog has fought them all, and won.  I know someday this will stop being the case.  As she ages, I know that each illness puts more stress on her body, and while we do everything we can to build a strong immune system for her, I know eventually, because she is a biological organism, that she won't be able to recover from something.  This is the way of life, and it totally sucks, and I live every day trying to delay that.  But I am aware of the realities.

So when Indy stopped eating last week, there was a small part of me that wondered, "What if?"  What if this was the one she couldn't recover from?  What if she was just going to stop eating and waste away to nothing?  I turned to my online pet friends via Facebook, who offered loads of support and advice, reminding me to take a step back, to take a deep breath, and just let her be.  Getting her to eat anything was, at some point, more important than getting her to eat the ideal diet.  So I turned to my last resort: kibble.

I keep some grain-free, human-grade kibble around, because my canine brother, Bill Wilson, visits often, and that's his favorite.  Indiana happens to like it too.  And while I'd rather a dog eat high-quality kibble than the large, commercial brand foods out there, I'm still not generally a big fan (it's less a quality issue than the fact that I prefer feeding whole foods).  But I was desperate, and I know that feeding kibble, especially temporarily, isn't going to hurt Indiana.  In fact, it had the potential to help her.  So I poured her a small bowl,  set it in front of her, and she inhaled it.  So I poured her more.  Gone.   And more.  Gone again.  So the next day, (because I believe in rotating foods as often as possible) I headed off to the store for samples of kibble, so see what other kinds she'd eat.  The answer?  All of them.  Some she likes better than others, but basically, I gave her samples of every grain-free food in the store, and they were all a-okay in her book. 

So yesterday I headed back to the store to buy actual bags of food.  My first time buying kibble for my own pets in almost 5 years.  I felt almost ashamed.  I work at this particular pet food store a few days a month, so I'm familiar with all of the food and frequently recommend favorite brands of kibble (even if I don't feed it, I still learn about the different brands and do, indeed, have favorites) to customers.  But I felt completely lost buying food for my own dog.  I'm comfortable around the raw foods and the canned foods.  Years of an aversion to the baked stuff has given me a complex, I guess. 

I headed right away to the food Indiana inhaled the fastest, a locally distributed food called "Born Free," a grain-free food manufactured by Fromm (on my list of faves).  But I still wanted more, so I headed to the one she ate second-fast, the most expensive foods in the store (of course, right?), Orijen and Acana.  (Also faves, though sometimes customers shy away from these because of the price)  After picking up a couple more samples, I was good to go.  And I felt, oddly, very free.  I had purchased kibble and survived. 

I'm still not generally a fan of kibble (I firmly believe that each pet owner should feed the highest quality food they can afford, and because I can afford raw, that is my preference), but I am a fan of Indiana.  And she's loving kibble right now.  She eats it up right away, as fast as she can.  She's excited, her bright eyes staring at me while she munches away at her (now beloved) food.  And that's what's important. She's getting all the nutrients she needs.  She loves it.  What more can I ask?
I hope eventually to be able to get her back onto canned food, and then, maybe, if I'm lucky, back on to raw.  Because Indy has kidney disease, and because kibble is baked and therefore very concentrated, it's still a food that is hard on her kidneys.  So I'd prefer not to keep her on it forever.  I do know, however, that she's calling the shots.  And if she wants to eat only kibble for the rest of her life, then that's okay with me.  I guess that makes me a fan of kibble.

The Naughty Counter

Q*bert, not being naughty

We have one counter in the kitchen where the cats are not allowed.  One surface in the entire 2000 square feet of our home.  And it's not verboten because we're mean.  In the middle of this counter is the stove, which, because we eat, is hot multiple times per day.  So restricting access to this counter is really an attempt to prevent little burned feline toesies.  We're actually being nice.  Around here, we refer to the restricted counter as "The Naughty Counter." 

Mr. Squiggles "gets" The Naughty Counter.  So does Gus.  Samson knows he's not supposed to be on it, and only jumps up there post-dinner to steal food.  (And as soon as we walk in, he jumps down.  SO NAUGHTY)  But Q*bert...ahhhhh, Q*bert.  I do love you, dear cat. 

Q*bert jumps up on The Naughty Counter an average of probably 20 times per day, and that's honestly being conservative.  Q only jumps up on The Naughty Counter while we're preparing animal meals, which is not only naughty but really, really annoying.  There have been meals where he's jumped up probably 15 times during one preparation period.  As you can imagine, this slows the process down considerably.  Stopping every 30 seconds to pluck a cat off of the counter becomes really counterproductive.  And he jumps into the middle of the 8 bowls I have spread around me, and he tries to steal morsels of food out of the bowls.  Sometimes he's successful, and as you're lifting him to the ground, he takes his little paw and shoves the food back in his mouth so it doesn't fall out.  This kills me every time.  But cute or not, it's still reaaaaaaallly annoying.

Last week, as I was lifting Q off The Naughty Counter for the dozenth time, I looked into his eyes, and it occurred to me that he does not understand what I am doing.  He does not understand the cause and effect.  I could see it in his face.  Here I am, thinking that, after a while, he'll eventually understand that when you jump on The Naughty Counter, you get lifted off; therefore, we are not meant to be on The Naughty Counter.  But I understood in that moment that Q will never make that connection.  I am no longer hopeful that eventually he'll get it.  Because he won't.  My future involves thousands and thousands of struggles over food.  I will lift that cat off of the counter three times a day for the rest of his life.  And you know what?  Now that I've accepted that, it doesn't seem so bad.  Is it annoying?  Sure.  But it's now a part of life.  And I'm pretty sure this means the cat has won.  Well played, cat.  Well played.

Thirteen of the Best Years of My Life

Indy and I, but much, much younger.

Today is Indiana's 13th Birthday.  It's such a special day for us.  For those unfamiliar with her story, go here, and you'll see why every birthday with her is a gift.  We never expected to reach her 9th birthday, let alone her 13th.  She is such a special girl, such a fighter.  She has made me the person I am today.  Everything I know about parenting, I've learned from her. 

When I started looking through pictures yesterday for today's post, I started to feel very wistful.  Looking through my favorite puppy pictures, I almost started to cry.  We were both so different back then.  I like to think I was still a good Mom (though definitely not an educated Mom).  I was young and foolish and wanted to raise a happy dog.  I wasn't thinking about illness or cancer.  I was thinking that we both had our whole lives ahead of us; lives full of walks, and playing, and togetherness.  When that was almost taken away from me in 2006, I became a wholly different person.  A more educated one, to be sure, but a more cautious one as well.  I know understood the frailty of life.  I felt guilty that I hadn't understood better before.  In some ways, I wish I could go back to being the carefree person I was back in 1998.  I was still in college, and life seemed so open and free.  Indiana was young and healthy.  She could run and do anything she wanted.  I want that back for her more than anything.  But life doesn't work that way.  Dogs age (we all age), and we can't go back. 

So when I started to feel teary-eyed, looking through pictures of a more innocent time, I had to remind myself that today is a day of celebration.  A day to look forward and celebrate life, not a day to think, "What if" or "I wish."  Today is a day to celebrate the life that Indiana and I have been given, and to make sure, like I do every day, that today is the best darn day for her ever! 

With that in mind, I've gone through and found 13 of my favorite pictures of Indy throughout her life.  I hope you enjoy them and the stories that go along with them as much as I do!

This is Indy the first day we brought her home in 1998.  Oddly, I don't remember the exact date.  It was in June, that much I know.  She is standing here with my Grandma's dog Skippy, and I can't believe how tiny she is.  Tiny and fuzzy and soooooo naughty.  But smart.  That dog went to the bathroom in the house once and was totally house-trained within three days.  Wowza.  She's been freaking whip-smart ever since. 

This is Indy in the fall of 1998, at my college home in Champaign, Illinois.  I love this picture, because not only does she look really pretty, but I look at it and see her naughty streak.  You see, that yard was filled with sticks.  And Indiana's mission in life was to bring each and every stick from that yard into the house.  And then chew them to bits, either on my bed or in the living room.  And because I was in college, I pretty much never vacuumed up those bits, so our house was covered in a fine layer of chewed-up wood.  I remember one day when Indiana tried to bring a stick bigger than herself into the house, via the pet door.  I didn't think she'd be able to do it, because, well, physics and math and stuff, but after a few tries, she got that stick into the house.  And proceeded to chew it to bits on my bed.

We're still living in Champaign in the picture.  She's in the living room, but sadly, I must have vacuumed, because you can't see any wood bits lying around.  Hrmph.  I love this picture, because she's super happy, having just finished licking out a crock of butter.  That was back in the day when I didn't think about things like "Oils can give your dog diarrhea," only "Licking this container will make my dog really happy."  And it did.  And I don't particularly remember any diarrhea, so it must have turned out fine.

Okay.  We're onto a new house now.  We moved to South Wilmington, Illinois (the armpit of the Midwest) in 2000, so this picture is somewhere around 10 years old.  I love it because Indiana looks absolutely, madly insane.  She has always loved to sleep upside down, and it was really funny to walk into the room and see this. And frightening.  Also kind of frightening.

Also in South Wilmington.  Love that green carpeting.  I love this picture too, because, again, she looks so darn happy.  She has a bowl full of cancer-kibble (I fed crappy food back then), she has her Dad, and she's good to go.  Holy cats, does Jim look young in this picture.

Starved Rock State Park!  One of our favorite places to visit with the girls.  We always call it "Stairs Park," because, well, there are about a million stairs there, and Isis loves every single one of them.  When the girls were younger, we always tried to get to Starved Rock at least once or twice a year, because it was such a fun day for us.  The girls were really happy to be someplace new, and it was such an adventure.  Some of our happiest days have been spent there.

 This picture doesn't really have a story, but I love it because Indiana used to love to lay on the chaise (when she could still jump up there) and survey her kingdom.  Look at her eyes in this picture.  She's totally keeping an eye on something.  That's why she liked the chaise.  It was in the corner, facing out at the rest of the downstairs, so she could keep an eye on everything that was happening.  And that makes one happy herding dog.

Ah.  This picture represents the day that changed everything.  This is the day she came home from the hospital in 2006 after almost dying.  It's not a particularly good picture of Indiana.  (And please excuse the quality)  But I think it perfectly represents what she went through and how she triumphed.  She is shaved in more places than I can count (in this picture, you can see both her neck and her paw are shaved).  There is a cautiousness in her eyes.  Maybe it's the weight of what she's just been through.  We were so scared that day.  Happy and scared.  She was alive, she was home.  But we were still in a scary 10-day window where her sutured stomach could still burst and kill her instantly.  That was horrible to think about, and obviously it didn't happen, but it still haunts me if I think about it too much.  Moving on...

This picture was taken not long after the surgery (probably a few months later), as you can see that her neck is still missing lots of hair.  But I love this picture, because not only do my girls look happy and beautiful, but my Indy is alive!  This picture was taken at Lake Shelbyville, where my parents have a cabin.  We were so happy to make it down to the cabin with the girls and to resume a normal life with Indiana.  This picture was taken post-heart mass, so we still didn't know what Indiana's future held for her.  We were treasuring every moment and every special event with her.  That weekend at the cabin was so fun, and it was great to see Indiana back to hiking (and actually, we're geocaching with the girls in this picture--see the gold box in the forepicture?).  Those were uncertain times, but we were determined to make the most of every minute we had with Indy!

This picture is from Indiana's very first "re-birth" party, in 2007.  Every year, since 2007, we have had a big party to celebrate Indiana's triumph over cancer.  This picture is awesome, because she is so happy.  The guests are running a big human agility course (because we're mean but have amazing friends), and Indiana is barking and following all of them.  Oh, and you can see my nephew Ephraim's butt in this one too.  It's just a big ol' mess of fun.

This picture was also taken in 2007, taken in our back yard.  It is one of the happiest pictures we have, because the girls are having so much darn fun.  You could really get the girls riled up, chasing after each other like crazy gals.  (Well, actually, it was always Indy chasing Isis, because that's how they roll)  Jim would chase after them, and I would laugh and take pictures.  Good times!

God, there are so many other pictures I could post, but I had to pick my favorites.  And my favorites are from when Indiana was active and we were creating happy memories.  She's still happy today, mind you, but it makes me sad that she can't run, or even walk, the way she used to.  This picture though, is from earlier this spring, when we were able to start taking walks again.  Unlike in previous years, Indiana can't walk with Isis.  We walk a few hundred feet with Indiana, and that's an accomplishment.  So on days when Jim is home, Jim takes Isis out, and I stay with Indiana.  She likes to sit in the front yard and watch for Isis and Jim to return.  I love the intensity in her eyes in this picture.  She's just seen Jim, and she's just waiting for him to get closer.  It perfectly exemplifies the intensity of love and commitment this dog has for us.

Not to toot my own horn, but I hear comments all the time from people about what a wonderful job we've done with Indiana, and what great parents we are.  I love hearing that, of course, but my standard response, because it's true, is that it's easy to parent Indy.  She's so special.  Her depth of love for us is immeasurable.  I know she's still alive today because of that love and dedication.  How can I not try to return it?  I will spend every day of her life trying to live up to her expectations, to give her what she deserves.  So it's easy to sacrifice and spend most of my time making her life better.  Because what she gives to us...it can't be replicated.  I don't know why Jim and I were given this special gift, this amazing dog, unlike any other.  She is tough and strong.  Sweet and sympathetic.  Sensitive and loving.  In a word, amazing.  Happy Birthday to the best dog ever put on Earth.  You've made my life richer than I ever deserve.

Flaking Out Today to Make Tomorrow Awesome

Here.  This oldie of Gus will tide you over.

Tomorrow is Indiana's 13th Birthday.  This is a huge feat for any large-breed dog, let alone one who has survived cancer, hypothyroidism, adrenal disease, kidney disease, and cancer again.  Plus, becoming a teenager is a big deal for everyone, right? 

So tomorrow's blog post is going to be awesome.  I have something really cool planned, and I think you'll enjoy it.  I'm sorry to flake out today with a lame post, but I promise to get started right away on tomorrow's post.  So it'll be worth it, I promise.  Check back again tomorrow, 'kay?

Until then, friends...

The Last Word, But Truthfully, Probably Not

Q*bert's not in this picture because, well, that would be disastrous

I'm feeling a bit melancholy today.  Maybe it's the weather.  It's pouring rain.  I love rainy days, but they don't really help your mood, do they?  They're the kind of days where you just want to stay in your pajamas all day, snuggling with an animal and a book.  All of my animals have other plans though, apparently, so I'm sitting on the couch, sans cats, and with a computer instead of a book. But I am in my pajamas, so there's that. 

Anyway, if you've been reading my blog lately (or, well, ever), you probably can understand why I might be feeling sad and overwhelmed.  And I feel both.  Indiana's doing ok, but she's been even more work than usual, given that she's changed her eating habits yet again.  Plus, we're into itchy allergy season, and she's already an itchy mess.  Then there's the cats.

I wrote yesterday about the cats all being anemic, most likely from the mycoplasma infection that Mr. S came back with.  I got a call from the vet's office late yesterday afternoon, saying that they aren't going to run the mycoplasma test as planned but instead would treat three of the cats for it.  With oral doxycycline.  Every day.  For a month.  I asked about Gus, who wasn't tested this week, but is likely anemic as well.  Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, noooooooooo.  Let's not make Jen's life easy, and just put Gus on antibiotics as well, considering three of her four cats have anemia from an infectious disease.  That would make too much freaking sense.  No, Gus has to be brought in to the vet's office for bloodwork to confirm anemia.  Because it's so easy to shove a cat into a cage, drive him, crying (him, not me, but, well, probably me too this week), and then drag him into the back of the office, take his blood (during which time he will probably bite and or scratch the techs, knowing Gus), reverse the whole process, wait for test results, only to find out what we already know by the process of deduction.  I really want to cry about this, because I am overwhelmed with responsibility this week, and I don't have the time or energy to take Gus in, when I don't see the point.  Ugh.  I'm ranting, but I'm beyond frustrated about this.

Not to mention, the idea of giving antibiotics to four cats for an entire month is really overwhelming too.  Q is actually a dream about it--he's on antibiotics now--because he eats just like a dog.  He stands in front of his bowl and eats every single morsel of it, no questions asked.  I'm not even sure he tastes it, so it's easy to put his antibiotics in his food.  But the other cats...oh, it causes my heart palpitations!  Q eats by himself, but the other three cats eat together.  And they are not easy to feed.  The three of them get a total of five bowls of food every meal--three bowls of raw and two bowls of canned.  The bowl you put in front of one cat is guaranteed not to be the bowl that cat actually eats out of.  It's a crapshoot.  And during any given meal, each cat will walk away from and come back to the food over the course of an hour or so.  So there is no guarantee that one bowl will be finished before the next meal, and there is no telling which bowls will be finished and by whom.  So how, pray tell, am I to dose three cats this way?

The doctor's office says to separate them in different rooms during meals.  I get that, but I know my cats, and that's not going to go over well.  Anyone who owns cats knows they are creatures of habit, and they don't change habit easily, or happily.  And I don't blame my vet's office for this--it's not their fault my cats need meds--but I'm having a pity party, so I'm going to complain and get it all out.

I don't want anyone to think that I honestly have a problem with this.  I love my cats (and dogs) beyond measure, and would do anything for them, including jumping through hoops to give them medicine for a month so they'll be healthy again.  I am frustrated at what I consider irrational expectations from my vet's office.  I'd be happier right now if I could just have meds for all four.  And it'll all work out.  The cats will (somehow) get their meds, Indiana will start eating again, and all will be well.  Until the next time there is some medical crisis.  But I accept that as a part of animal-parenthood, something I took on when I adopted these amazing creatures.  They are my family, and even though I might want to put them in the naughty corner for five minutes or sixty from time to time, I wouldn't trade them for the world. 

Cats and Such

I can't get enough of Mr. Squiggles.  Can you?

Last week, I wrote about my marathon day at the vet's office.  Three cats, three sets of bloodwork.  I wasn't expecting to hear anything back until probably tomorrow, but I got a voice message (I had my cell turned off--ugh, what was I thinking?) on Friday night, telling me that all three of my boys are anemic. 

We found out, through a fluke accidental test run by the lab, that Mr. Squiggles was infected with mycoplasma, a bacterium that causes anemia in pets.  He probably got it while out on his grand adventure.  The vet treated him with some supplements, and we fully expected it to clear up, as we was otherwise asymptomatic. 

But then with last week's blood results, we learned that it's probably not gone, and has, in fact, probably spread to the other cats.  The lab is running another set of tests on all three cats right now, to see if mycoplasma is indeed the cause, or something else.  Though the descriptions of Feline Hemotropic Mycoplasmosis are frightening, I know it doesn't necessarily mean that my cats are in any danger.  We will, after all, treat them once we know what's going on.  Even so, the hyper Mom in me still freaks out about it.  This infection can be deadly.  And I really don't know anything about it, not yet. I am so anxious to talk to my vet about this, because she always makes me feel better.  Test results, hurry up and get here! 

I just can't believe I have to deal with this.  Jim says it's to be expected, when you have six pets, most of whom you adopted either because they were sick or in need.  I just wish sometimes I could get a break, in the health department.  I'm thankful that we can afford to treat our clan (today's tests are going to run about $360) without worrying too much about costs.  Still, when I'm feeling sorry for myself, I wish for just one day where all six babies are healthy!

In happier news, I have now joined Twitter!  I have a lot to learn, but I look forward to sharing information and interesting links to my followers and expanding my own knowledge base as well.  Please follow JenSchneiderDog.  I learn new things all the time, and you'll learn right along with me!  If you're on Twitter, please mention it in the comments section of my blog, and if you have any favorite animal wellness resources, please share them as well.

Sorry for the less-than-stellar blog post today.  My mind is in a million places at once right now.

Weekend

Weekend.  Week-end.  Get it?  Get it? 

After the craziness of Tuesday, I was back at the vet's office again today with Indiana, for her twice-monthly acupuncture appointment.  I was glad to be going in, because not only did Indiana change all of her eating habits yesterday, she also threw up. 

I wrote yesterday about being concerned that maybe her kidneys were acting up again, making her feel sick, which would be a bad thing for so many reasons.  But she vomited up grass (our vet says most dogs and cats are doing that right now, because the grass is new and fresh, and it's one of the best sources of potassium) and she had mad, curl your toes gas last night.  I mean, the kind that you can smell across the room.  It was awful.  But it kind of made me happy, because gas + grass + upset tummy = not kidney problems.  Our vet thinks it's gastric upset from the massive antibiotics she was on last week from her UTI.  Having been on massive amount of antibiotics myself this winter, thanks to the osteomyelitis, I can totally relate to this.  So, we're keeping Indy on probiotics, respecting her tummy by feeding bland, cooked turkey, and cutting down her pills and medicines to the bare minimum.  Hopefully, in a week or so she'll be back to normal.

The only real complaint I have this week, (and I suppose it's a small complaint in the grand scheme of things) is that I still don't have bloodwork results from my cats from Tuesday.  I know my vet has them.  She told me she has them.  But they are "in a stack a couple of feet high on her desk.  She'll get to them over the weekend, and you'll get a call from us on Monday or Tuesday."  Really?  It shouldn't take almost a week for me to get results from routine bloodwork.  Not that I should receive priority care or anything (but, come on, I practically live there with my six animals, shouldn't I get some kind of preferential care for that???), but I just spent over $1300 there this week.  That doesn't deliver my bloodwork in a timely manner?  The answer, I know by now, is no.  No it doesn't. 

Tears of Frustration/Figure it Out

Just when things were going soooooooo well with Indiana, she got a massive UTI, and now we've done some backsliding.  It's really disappointing, and also scary.  Can she bounce back again?  She's done it before.

There are two main problems right now: one, her back legs are weak again, making it difficult for her to get up sometimes.  Before I leave the house, I have to make sure she is in a "safe" place (i.e. somewhere with rugs) and just hope that she doesn't get up and move somewhere "unsafe."  We've been trying to get her out daily for walks, but she typically gets out the door, turns right back around again, and goes back in the house.  I'm not going to force her to walk; she knows her body better than I do.  I just don't understand her aversion to walking right now, especially because I know it's the best thing for her.

The other problem is that she's rejecting food again.  Ugh.  This morning, I spent a good 25 minutes trying to get her to eat her breakfast (and this was canned food that she normally inhales).  I sprinkled freeze-dried duck on it.  I sprinkled appetite shaker on it.  I sprinkled a different appetite shaker on it.  I spread canned cat food on it.  The canned cat food finally sort of did the trick, but she left a good quarter of the food untouched.  That's not the end of the world, but it means she didn't get the entire dose of Poly-MVA (and at around $7 a dose, I hate to waste any). 

She's also been spitting out her pills, though I can usually get her to take all of them eventually.  Wrap the pills in the tiniest amount of liver sausage, and smoosh a liberally amount of canned cat food onto the wrapped pills.  She still sometimes "mouths" them, eating the meaty bits off and spitting out clean pills, but I can generally get her to eat them if I try again. 

This is all really frustrating to me.  I may have said "Damn it, Indiana" twice today.  I may have gotten cross with her.  I hate that.  I know she's not doing these things to frustrate me.  She has a reason.  I just don't know what it is yet.  Is she still recovering from the antibiotics?  Is her BUN too high?  Is this just another random appetite change?  She's sending me a clear message--that she doesn't like what I'm doing--but unfortunately, she's not telling me how to fix it.  That's for me to figure out. 

So I'll stop at the pet food store today and buy new canned food.  I'll allow plenty of time to feed her, and I'll take a deep breath before losing my temper.  I'll remember what this dog has been through the last almost five years, how few complaints there have been, how many times she's trusted me to do the right thing for her.  And I'll do the right thing again.  I'll respect her and guide her, nurse her through this rough patch, jump through hoops to make it all better.  Hopefully I will be successful.  I'm halfway to losing my mind over this whole thing, not because it's so much work, but because I am sick with worry for her, and I want to make things better now.  But I am focused on her best interests, and as long as she's happy and healthy, that's all that matters.

I Made Four Trips to the Vet's Office Yesterday

Mr. Squiggles did eventually figure out how to get into those treats.  Again.  And Again.  And Again.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

5:20 am:  Wake up.  Eat breakfast.  Feed the dogs but not the cats, because Q*bert is going in to see the vet, because his paw is massively swollen.  He still feels fine though, so there are four really annoyed cats who don't understand why the dogs are being fed but they are not. 

8:20 am:  Feed the other three cats, because Q*bert is outside, and we'll be leaving in a few minutes.  After all the complaining at 5am, I fill the food bowls and no one cares. 

8:40am:  Get Q into the vet.  Because we adopted/found 800 cats last year, and took them into the vet the before they had names, there are a million nameless files to sift through to figure out which cat is which.  Mr. Squiggles has two files.  Confuse poor Lynda at the front desk.  Finally get correct cat names with correct cat files. 

9:00am:  Marathon Starbucks get-together with friend Amanda.  Spend hours talking animals and life.  The happiest, sanest part of my day. 

12:45pm:  Sitting in the Starbucks parking lot, making a cell call to vet to check on Q.  Get put on hold.  And hold.  And hold.  Fifteen minutes later, decide to hang up and just drive the two minutes back to the office to check on him in person.  Realize this would have been a smarter decision fifteen minutes ago.

12:50pm:  Find out Q is currently in with the vet, getting his paw fixed.  No other info, but they'll call when he's done. 

1:00pm:  At Razzle-Dazzle Doggie Bowtique, picking up food, because the house is somehow devoid of everything all at once.  Get a call from the vet that Q is done and will be ready to be picked up in just over an hour.  Would we prefer liquid medication or pill form?  Finish picking up two bags of Freeze Dried Stella and Chewy's, one bag of Frozen Stella and Chewy's, one bag of Northwest Naturals, one case of Wellness canned cat food, one case of Tiki Cat canned cat food, 7 cans of Weruva dog food, four small cans of Wellness canned turkey cat food, and one shaker of appetite stuff that Samson goes nuts over (not because he needs it, but simply because we got some free samples and he really loved it).

1:40pm:  At home.  Discover Indiana is outside, stuck under the deck.  Crawl under the deck, calm the freaked-out dog, and push her out from under the deck.  Have 20 minutes to unpack the pet food purchases, wolf down some trail mix, feed the dogs and cats, and get out the door to pick up Q. 

2:00pm:  Headed back to the vet.

2:15pm:  At the vet's office.  Q is pretty alert for having been sedated, and I am handed a large bag of medications.  Thankfully, most are from an order placed earlier in the day for Indy and Isis.  There is no info on what happened to Q's foot, but the doctor will talk to me about it at my 4pm appointment later that day.

2:40pm:  Back at home with Q.  He is annoyed with me for his ordeal, but is more hungry than mad.  Feed Q and sneak his antibiotics in with the food.  He doesn't notice. 

3:00pm:  Oh my gosh, 20 whole minutes before I have to leave again.  Spend 10 minutes on the chaise lounge looking over some music scores.

3:10pm:  Start wondering where Sam and Mr. S are, because we have to leave for the vet in 10 minutes. Sam is in the kitchen, but Mr. S is nowhere to be seen.  He's never outside.  Well, hardly ever.  Except now.  He'd better be close by.  Oh, good, he's on the porch, just hanging out.  Hmmm...Samson just crawled into the small cat carrier.  Was going to put him in the large one, but, hey, a bird in the hand.  Close the door and decide to leave a few minutes early.  Pluck a happy Mr. Squiggles off the back porch and shove him into a cat carrier.  He is inexplicably not so happy any more. 

3:15pm:  Realize preparing the car for two cat carriers would have been a good idea prior to taking said carriers to car.  Decide to wing it.

3:20pm:  Back to the vet.

3:40pm:  Arrive early to fill out paperwork but run into a family I know from doggy physical therapy.  Spend time reassuring Mom about her dog's recent kidney disease diagnosis and talking to the adorable daughter instead of filling out paperwork. 

4:00pm:  Appointment time, but we're just getting into an exam room now.  The doctor will be running late (as usual) but this time it's sort of my fault, as my cat's paw played a role in her delayed schedule. 

4:01pm:  Wonder whose brilliant idea it was to bring the two smartest cats in the house in at the same time. 

4:02pm:  Pluck Mr. Squiggles off the counter for the third time.

4:03pm:  Cats are weighed.  Mr. Squiggles has gained 3 1/2 pounds and is almost back to his pre-missing weight of 10.5 pounds.  Samson weighs in at a whopping 13.5 pounds, which is amazing because he's a skinny guy.  Just huge.

4:10pm:  Vet assistant comes in to procure cats for blood draws.  Samson volunteers to go first but changes his mind when the vet assistant touches him.  He freaks out, and there is 13.5 pounds of cat legs flying everywhere.  Decide that Mr. Squiggles with go first.

4:15pm:  Mr. S is back, and it's Sam's turn again.  Vet assistant is less than enthused about grabbing a squirmy, sharp creature.

4:20pm: I hear a cat yelp.  Ooops.  Vet assistant returns, wordlessly opens the door a crack, hands me my cat, and, just as wordlessly, closes it again.  One fewer person on Sam's "friends" list.

4:40pm:  Finally, the vet.  Find out that Q basically pulled out the nail of his "thumb," and it's infected.  She gave him a little gas, squeezed out the pus, cleaned up the wound, and is putting him on the highest dose of antibiotics.  Time for exams.  This vet's never met Sam before, so we go over some of his greater virtues, and he's a big, loving blob of Maine Coon for her.  Unhappy about a liver palpation, he hides under the couch while Mr. Squiggles is examined.  Find out that Mr. S is probably mostly blind in his bad eye.  His teeth, while bad, don't need to be seen by a dentist just yet.  Mr. S is sweet and loving, and melts against the vet's leg while she examines him.  He is okay with having his liver palpated, unlike Sam.

5:00pm:  Vet gets tools to lop some tartar off of Samson's tooth.  This could go very badly, but he's actually pretty good for it, and the procedure is successful.  Mr. Squiggles takes advantage of our focus on Samson to jump onto the counter and steal treats out of a bag.  The vet and I both think this is pretty cute.

5:05pm:  Time for rabies shots.  There is much confusion over how many cats need the rabies shot (Samson got one in '09, but apparently, our state, in its infinite wisdom, makes owners revaccinate Animal Control adoptees after the first year, even though it's the same darn shot and is actually good for three years, not just one.  Grrrr.)  So two shots it is today.

5:10pm:  Time to put cats back in carriers.  Samson goes in easily, but Mr. Squiggles resists.  Realize this is because he has both pooed and peed in the carrier.  Clean up the poo and pee and shove cat in.

 

5:11pm:  At the counter, ready to check out.  Have to wait for another client to check out first.  I know this client as well (we met at a dog show years ago, while her dog was undergoing treatment for cancer).  I kill time by getting kisses from her adorable yellow lab. 

5:15pm:  My turn.  I have several more medications to pick up.  Then I remember that the doctor and I never talked about Indiana's urine culture test results.  Front desk manager Lynda talks to the vet, finds out the tests came back negative for bacteria (a good thing), but since Indiana is still leaking urine (a bad thing), she'll be going on some supplements to help that.  Have to wait for the assistant to bring that up.  Finally check out.  My total is over $1000 for the day, but I've gotten something for five of the six of my animals, so I guess it's not too awful...I still have a minor heart attack though.  Ask if I'm the highest total for the day and am told no.  Am sort of surprised, but not really.

5:16pm:  Lynda has to fill out rabies vaccination paperwork for the two cats, who are being really good and quiet.  So we're in no big hurry.

5:20pm:  Out to the car!  Toss the cats in and get out of here! 

5:45pm:  We're home!  Both cats whine and cry on the trip from the car to the utility room but have been oddly silent during the ride home.  Both cats bolt out of the carriers as soon as I open the doors.  Immediately grab the smelly towels from the carriers and wash on the hottest setting. 

5:50pm:  Call my Mom to catch up on both of our days.  I care about her day, but I also really want to just whine about my own.  Am exhausted but happy when Jim pulls up early from work.  Crap.  Now I have to feed us both.

6:40pm:  Making dinner for me and Jim, eating dinner, then feeding the clan.  Everyone is happy and well, and I'm glad that my day is finally over!

He's Naughtier Than He Looks

Samson, that is, not Jim.  Oh, wait.  No, Jim's naughtier than he looks too.

This past weekend was the first really nice, spring-like weekend we've had in Illinois this year.  My cats have been pretty stir-crazy all winter, so now, when the weather is nice, they're spending lots of time outdoors.  Nice weather + previously cooped-up cats = trouble.

Samson is freakishly large and freakishly smart.  He's Maine Coon, so that means he's got brains, braun, and really dextrous paws.  (Have you ever seen a Maine Coon in action?  They use their paws just like raccoons--Sam even eats with his paws sometimes)  Though he's one of the nicest, friendliest cats on the planet (he has never met a stranger), Sam has a naughty streak a mile long.  As with any intelligent animal, if you don't keep their minds occupied, they find a way to do it themselves.  For Sam during the winter, this meant stealing bread.  He has a fascination with all things plastic and all things bread, so if you leave a wrapped loaf of bread on the counter...well, let's just say we don't do that anymore. 

And speaking of stealing bread, Sam stole a piece of bread out of the toaster the other day.  Jim probably could have stopped it before he did, but he wanted to see how it would play out.  We do that a lot.  It's really fun to watch Sam at work, so unless he's in danger, we often let him go ahead and be naughty, to challenge his brain, and honestly, to amuse ourselves.  

The biggest downside to having a smart, naughty cat, as we are learning this spring, is that live creatures outside are the single most interesting, challenging thing out there.  In the past four days, we've received one worm, one vole, one wet, dead mouse, and two snakes.  I am terrified of snakes.  I shutter to think what would happen if Sam were to bring one in when Jim isn't home. 

I've gotten over my fear of mice (sort of) and can catch one now by myself (if I have to--but if Jim's home, it's still totally his job), but I don't know what I'd do with a snake...My mouse method involves a broom and dustpan with a long handle (one of the ones that flips closed--it's perfect!), and I probably could use that if I had to, but the idea of even going near a snake makes my skin crawl.  Of course, I hate the thought of a snake in my house even more.  I'm just going to pretend it's never going to happen.  Maybe Sam will forget where his stash of snakes is (it's in my garden, by the way).  Maybe he'll transplant the stash all around the yard and forget where he put them.  I somehow doubt it though.  It's going to be a long spring.

He's More Like Himself Every Day

Mr. S has always been obsessed with shoes--see the tongue sticking out?

It's been a little over six months now since Mr. Squiggles came back home.  It seems like he's always been back, and yet it still seems like just yesterday that we were reunited.  I still stare at him every day, amazed that he's lying next to me.  I want to cuddle him, smell him, take in every ounce of what I missed for twelve and a half long months. 

Mr. S is doing so well.  He seems to improve every day, and even more exciting, he gets back more of his personality every time we look around.  Some quirks were there from the beginning, like his litter box aversions and his tolerance but annoyance with Gus.  But in the past six months, we've seen more and more of the old Mr. Squiggles emerging.  His hair is getting darker, and his hair is filling in.  He's still hugely grateful to be here, but he's starting to get that irritated look in his eye more often, a look that was always pure Mr. Squiggles.  He's getting stronger and less wobbly, and he's starting to venture outside more often.  It used to be, we couldn't keep that cat in the house.  He'd whine and cry, and pitch a royal fit if he was even locked in over night.  So it's nice to see him starting to go out again, safely within the confines of his (1/2 acre) kitty prison. 

He's still as picky an eater as ever, though we've finally gotten him to eat raw food, courtesy of our good friend Stella & Chewy's Freeze Dried Duck Duck Goose patties.  Nothing else will do, at least when it comes to raw.  But I'm happy to oblige.

As you can tell from the picture, he loves shoes.  He always has.  Now we find him spending more time with them--as soon as you take them off, he heads over straight away, rubbing them with his muzzle, laying on top of them.  It's kind of bizarre, but it's oh so Mr. Squiggles, and I love it.

***CORRECTION FROM YESTERDAY'S POST***  A friend in the industry pointed out that reading titer results is not cut-and-dried, as I indicated that they were.  (Hence why they're still controversial)  I apologize for this misinformation and will do some research on that aspect of titers and will publish another post about it next week.  By the way, I'm still pro-titer, either way.

Thoughts About Vaccines

Happy Noodles

Last week,  we took Isis in to the vet for her twice-yearly checkup.  This appointment always includes routine bloodwork, a heartworm test, and vaccine titers.  Ever heard of titers?  (I hope so, but I won't be surprised if you haven't)

Titers are blood tests that measure the amount of vaccine antibodies in the bloodstream.  If the level of antibody is high enough, then the dog is still immune to disease.  High enough titer levels = no vaccination. 

I was thinking about this topic on Tuesday, because I got Isis' test results back, and not only was her bloodwork great (yay!) but her titer results were normal as well.  Even though I've titered for years (and have never had to revaccinate my animals), it still amazed me that Isis was vaccinated yearly for the first 7 years of her life (before I knew better) but now has not needed a vaccine for 5 years.  (This doesn't include rabies--that's a whole 'nother subject) 

Vaccines are a controversial topic in the veterinary world.  I'm not by nature a conspiracy-theorist, but in the animal world, unfortunately, profit tends to rule above all else.  Animals do not need yearly vaccines.  In fact, there is much evidence that yearly vaccines not only damage the immune system (leading to diseases like cancer), but the side effects of the vaccine can cause certain diseases as well.  Read this great article by Dr. Karen Becker to learn more.  Vaccines have even been proven to cause cancer in cats, at the injection site.  Read more about that here (and though I generally love this site, I don't agree that every cat should always be vaccinated). 

Most traditional vets push yearly vaccines, not only because this is what they're taught in vet school, but also because vaccines have a high profit margin.  It's sad.  The tides are turning a bit now, as some vets still advocate yearly vaccines but at least will provide titers if they are requested by the client.  Some vets "don't believe in titers," which I don't understand.  The results are there in black and white, on paper.  The testing lab even makes the determination if the pet has sufficient antibodies.  If your vet is "against" titers, ask yourself why.

Additionally, rabies vaccines are controversial, for no good reason.  The rabies vaccine is the most toxic of all vaccines but is required by law.  (Except for animals with long-term illnesses, like cancer.  Then a waiver is usually granted if a signed letter is provided by the treating veterinarian)  However, no animal should be given the rabies vaccine every year.   The one year shot is exactly the same as the three year shot, and the three year shot is all that is required by law (in most states, but not all, sadly).  I hear from so many pet owners whose vets give the vaccine yearly, for no apparent reason other than profit (I'm in Illinois, where the three-year vaccine is what's required).  I always encourage those pet owners to do their research on vaccines, and then find a new vet. 

To learn more about the rabies vaccine, visit The Rabies Challenge Fund, an organization started to prove that the current three-year rabies vaccine is actually good for 5 or even 7 years.  They even advocate around the country to get states to change vaccines laws to the standard (accepted) three years.  It's a great organization. 

So what am I trying to say?  Do I think people who vaccinate yearly are bad parents?  Not at all.  We are a product of our veterinary teaching.  I vaccinated my pets yearly for 8 years until my new vet taught me about titers.  I researched them, they made sense to me, and now it's something I believe strongly in.  My animals all receive a rabies vaccine every three years (except for Indy, who gets an exemption because of her cancer).  We do yearly titer tests, but no one has needed a booster yet. 

My recommendation to you is, if you haven't already, read up as much as you can on titers (the links I've provided here are a great start).  Read the good and the bad.  Talk to your vet about it.  Form your own opinion and do what makes sense to you.  Sometimes what makes sense to you isn't what your veterinarian recommends.  That's okay too.  An educated owner is an empowered owner, and our pets are better off for it.

If you're interested in learning more about vaccine issues, I encourage you to read the book Stop the Shots.  It's a complete look at the vaccine and veterinary world.  It'll probably scare the pants off of you, but that's alright.  We parents need to be shaken into action sometimes. 

Also, here is a list of recommended vaccines by Dr. Jean Dodds, a leading veterinary hematology researcher (and one of the founders of The Rabies Challenge Fund).  She lists the shots she recommends for the first year of a puppy's life (followed by titer tests at least every three years thereafter) and also talks a little about vaccines and health.

Aha!

From "In the Company of Dogs"

Jim and I have been wracking our brains for a good year or so now about how best to bathe Indiana.  You see, we have three bathrooms in the house, one of which only has a toilet and sink, one has a shower and whirlpool tub, and the other is on the second floor.  None of these is an option for a nearly-thirteen-year-old arthritic dog.

Starting last year, Jim and I (courtesy of a grand idea from my Mom) started bathing Indiana in our utility room, in a kiddie pool.  We run an RV hose (because you can drink out of an RV hose, but not a regular garden hose--I have this idea that it makes the water purer for Indy) from our utility sink and bathe her in the pool.  It kind of works.  I mean, yes, it works, but there are a lot of drawbacks.  Like the fact that the pool is a little slippery, and mostly, that the pool is way too large to fit through the door outside to empty the water (since it doesn't have a drain) without oodles of water ending up on the floor in the process.  So I've been searching high and low for an alternative.

I don't mind a stinky dog, so don't think I'm bathing Indiana simply because I require a clean dog, because I don't.  But Indiana has had horrible seasonal skin allergies most of her life, which means she is itchy, itchy, itchy from about April until October.  Baths help ease that itchiness. 

I ran across the inflatable tub pictured above last night, while perusing a new copy of the In the Company of Dogs catalog.  (I love this catalog--the products are cute, high-quality, unique, and not terribly overpriced)  Anyway, when I saw this tub, I got really excited.  It's a much better option than a kiddie pool.  The sides unzip, making it easy for a stiff dog to walk in.  It has a drain (and is smaller than our kiddie pool), making it easy to dispose of the water.  And it has a nifty wash nozzle that will attach to the sink via our RV hose.  I have to take some measurements of Indy first (because she lays down when we bathe her--she can't stand for long periods of time anymore) to make sure she'll fit, but I'm fairly sold on buying this tub already.  I'll be showing it to Jim this afternoon to see what he thinks. 

I thought this was a pretty brilliant invention.  It's easy to look at it and say, "Why would anyone need that?  Just bathe your dog outside with a hose--why do you need a fancy bath?"  But if you think about the product in terms of an older dog, for someone who needs a portable indoor option, it's nearly perfect.  Here's to hoping it works for Indy.

She Makes Me So Proud

On Saturday, Jim and I took Indiana to one of our favorite places, Pawsitively Heaven Pet Resort.  It's an amazing daycare/boarding facility, which we've never personally used, but we visit often because it houses Indiana's physical therapy office.  We've been going there for almost four years, so we've gotten to know the owner and staff pretty well.  They are some of the nicest people, ever, and if you live in the Chicago area and are looking for a place to board, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend them. 

Indiana is very much a creature of habit, so we've of course developed a habit when we visit Pawsitively Heaven.  (Until recently, we visited there twice a week for over three years)  When we arrive, Indiana has to go to the front desk and visit her friend Julie, who luckily almost always works the days that we go.  Julie is Indy's best friend there, and she generously feeds Indiana loads of treats.  She's such a sweetheart that she even feeds Indiana according to the "rules," i.e. treats broken into small pieces.  She knows Indiana's affinity for butt scratches and never hesitates to share Indiana's cancer successes with visiting clients. 

Indiana loves to hang out behind the front desk.  We always go a little early to our appointment so she can hang out with Julie for a while, and then, after her massage, she likes to spend time with Julie before we go too.  I enjoy this time as well, not only because Indiana is happy, but because the staff treats her like a queen, and she always catches the attention of incoming clients.  People always ask about her, and I get to talk about how amazing she is.  I swell with pride.  I think my girl is really special, but I love it when others see it too.

So this past Saturday, we had an appointment for Reiki, but we also had signed Indy up for Easter pictures!  Julie was really awesome to squeeze Indiana in before her appointment, and when Indy walked into the picture room, everyone paid lots of attention to her.  She laid down on the paper background and went to town.  She's really photogenic and really well behaved, so it was a quick, easy process for all involved.  I was dying to have a picture taken of her with a bunny ears or flower headband, but she hates wearing clothes of any kind, so I wasn't sure how that would go over.  I won't spoil the surprise, but let's just say that she totally let us put on a headband and the picture is adorable OMG. 

When Indiana's photo session was over, the photographer's assistant and her daughter were laying on the floor next to Indiana, just petting her.  She has that affect on people; you just want to be near her.  She's really something special.  She gives off a very unique energy, a sense of calm and love, and just, well, amazingness.  I'm proud of her every single day.

Happy 100th Post!

Today marks my 100th blog post!  Yay!  Also, I have been blogging every weekday for three whole months now, which has surpassed the original goal I set for myself.  So, yay again!

To celebrate this big occasion, I went back into my photo vault and picked some old favorite photos of mine which I don't think have been on my blog before.  I hope you enjoy them!  Thanks for reading what I have to say, and for caring about me and my family!



Silly girl with a bowl on her head -- this picture was totally not a set-up

Indiana and Dr. Bear, given to her by Marilu.  Dr. Bear has been with us through some tough times, so he's kind of our good-luck charm now!

Me and Indy in her agility tunnel.  Yes, we put it up inside.  And yes, she loves it.

I don't remember the name of this toy--it's probably something clever like, "Mr. fuzzy pink lamb," but Indy looks super cute resting her head on him. 

Indy and Isis helping us build the basement pool.

A fun day at Allerton Park in Monticello, Illinois.  Not the best picture of Isis and I, but holy crap, Indy looks gorgeous!

Indiana looking beautiful at her 2nd Annual re-birthday party!

And finally, one of my favorites!  Gus has always loved Indiana more than he loves anyone else in the world!  Look how innocent and tiny and non-finger-bitey he looks in this picture!