Meet Apollo, a dog who will melt the Grinchiest of hearts

During our visit to St. Lucia last week, we had a chance to chat with a lot of people from around the world (mostly Canada, the U.S. and the U.K.)

Patti and Gene did many dives with us, and we shared stories at lunch one day. Patti had an up close and personal visit with a giant octopus on the west coast of Canada. They are the largest on earth, some of them 20+ feet long, and weighing in at 150 lbs. (See HERE) (Lisa, I double dog dare you to look.)

Patti said the top of its tentacle was as big as a man's arm, and after she and her fellow divers peered closely at it and gave it some gentle nudges, it decided to check her out but wrapping one of those meaty tentacles around her arm all the way up to her shoulder. It was intense, but she said she never felt threatened, only that it was curious. It eventually uncoiled itself and calmly swam off without any ink involved. Because they are as intelligent as dolphins, Patti can no longer eat calamari. (I have no such qualms, although I get it, because I refuse to eat horse, which is common here in Montreal. It was difficult sitting across the table from someone who was eating horse, quite frankly. I was grossed out. Not sure about what I'd do if offered seahorse on a cracker. But I digress.)

The subject of dogs came up and of course, we all became animated and had more stories to tell. Patti's was one of the most heartwarming, and she allowed me to share it, and some photos, here.

Apollo is their 130 lb Great Pyrenees they inherited at 10 weeks old after another family gave him up. He has a condition called "mega-esophagus." This means he is unable to eat like a regular dog. Food can't move through his esophagus because of this muscle or nerve defect. If forced to eat from a bowl on the floor, the food would not make its way down to the stomach, but instead, collect in his chest cavity. At a certain point, he would just throw it all up, and if not treated, he would certainly die.

So, treatment? I asked. Surgery? Nope. It's incurable.

The only thing that can be done is to either have the dog stand on its hind legs, and keep it upright for upwards of 30 minutes so the food can move down to the stomach, or...

...put the dog in a doggie high chair.

Apollo has his own, custom made highchair. When he's ready to eat, Patti and Gene gently place Apollo on his bum in the chair, arranging his tail underneath him. When Apollo wiggles into place and when he is comfortable, he lifts a paw in the air to signal he's ready for the tray to be lowered, and meal time to commence!

I didn't believe it, so Patti showed me photos and I thought my heart would melt on the spot. She agreed to let me post them.

Prepare to be swept away on a sea of dog love. Seriously, this is the cutest thing I've ever seen.

I'm dying here, looking at these.

Dying.

If you leave your stuff where I can get it

I will get it.

What I put up with on a daily basis

Watch this and you'll get some idea of what I put up with every day, living with the world's most ridiculous dog.

He clearly wants something. I know what it is, because I've lived with him for 9 1/2 years, but see if you can figure it out.

He's communicating with his eyes, and as you'll see at one point, his snout.

The scene: I am on the couch, trying to read, as he sits at my feet and stares, and shifts, and snorts. I know from experience that if I ignore him, he'll woof deep in his throat, tiny restrained woofs that blow out his cheeks. Those will turn into sharp barks that show me how disgusted he is by my lethargy to act now right now I've been patient enough, woman, and I lack opposable thumbs we've been over this!



Did you figure out what was bugging him?

I honestly think, seriously believe, that my dog has OCD.

The family has a couple of new babies

Baby Number One.

Meet Austin.

He belongs to my brother-in-law and family.



Baby number two.

Meet Medved.

My niece belongs to him.


Yes, Medved is still a baby. Yes, he is still growing. Yes, I was a little freaked out when I offered him a chicken treat and he almost swallowed my arm. It felt a bit like feeding a herring to Shamu.

Visiting the Vet or I Told You So Day

It was time for our Annual Pet Check Up so I decided to save myself some travel time and I booked my dog and two cats for one joint visit. Pretty smart, I thought. Piece of cake. They all get along at home, so why not bundle them together? I decided to take Youngest Daughter with me so I could get them from car to waiting room. Buddy was on his leash, and the two cats were in two crates.

For reasons unknown, over the past few years Buddy has evolved from being a fairly high energy yet reasonably normal dog into a neurotic nightmare when we go into a public building and there are people around. It seems the more acoustically rich the location, the more vocal he becomes. He doesn't bark so much as "talk" in a way not unlike a yodeler swallowing jello shots and reciting the alphabet. Give that pooch a marbled floor and walls, like in our local bank, and within seconds he's positively operatic. My girls learned that the hard way when they stopped at the Instabank and left humiliated and cashless.

So today, Youngest and I got to the reception room and Bud whipped himself into his usual lather. He began his bow wow yippy yippy yay solo which would have been comical if it wasn't so mortifying. He literally tipped his head back and formed little "o's" with his mouth, then chewed air and ranted like a mad dog. Worse, oh so much worse, is after a few minutes of this, he sucked in air through his nose, over and over, with laboured breathing and great loud snorts and grunts like a truffle-hunting pig, which alarmed everyone except his owners (who are so used to it they feign ignorance or claim it's a rare medical condition too bad, so sad but he won't die on the spot, despite all evidence to the contrary so just ignore it.) He may, in fact, be possessed.


We finally charged into the examining room, bashing cages into door frames as Buddy lunged and jumped all over the vet. That's because he got a cookie there, once, years ago, and anytime anyone feeds him anything, it imprints on his brain and from that moment on, that person is nothing but a giant snack machine.

What he didn't remember was that he also needed to have his annual anal probe to empty his anal sacs, hence the cookies, used as a distraction. I may have forgotten to mention this detail to Youngest when she agreed to accompany me. She watched in mute horror from the corner chair as the vet used his BARE HANDS to examine Buddy, and by "examine" I mean he jammed his index finger up where the sun don't shine, which sent Buddy's yowling up an impressive octave. The resulting liquid was most foul, the stench overpowering in the tiny room. I looked over at Youngest, and her expression told me she had definitively crossed veterinary science off her list of potential career options. Before I could protest, the vet slapped on a liberal application of faux mango soap to Buddy's nether bits, which meant Buddy now smelled like two noxious odours.

Kicia the tiny white cat was a piece of cake. At seven pounds, she was easy to placate (once we pried her off my shoulders.)

Boris.....well, Boris is Boris. At almost sixteen pounds, he's all muscle and attitude. He tolerates much of the indignities without moving or making a sound, things like injections or wound cleanings. But then the vet said he needed a pill. Two pills, actually.
To be continued.....

It's snowing

Heavily. Yet again. Try explaining it to him, the Dweller of the Comfy Cushions.


Does this look like a dirty look to you? It sure does to me.

But when a dog has to do his biznits, he's got to do what a dog gots to do.

And then he has an opportunity to get even.

Tara and Bella

If this doesn't melt your heart, you are made of stone.

Bow (wow) to the King Charles Spaniel

He ain't called a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel for nothing. Here is Buddy, in all his glory, in some photos snapped by my sister-in-law's father Gerry in his basement studio.

I wasn't even going to bring the dog for a visit, let alone set him up for a portrait. This time of year, Buddy looks more like a dirty welcome mat at the local rugby team headquarters than a noble lap dog. But the next thing you know, Gerry was rigging up the camera while my niece was racing around the room like a professional, adjusting the lights, dressing the table with a piece of burgundy velvet, catching Buddy before he toppled to the floor (the platform was a tad wobbly, and Buddy soon learned that he had to stay in the centre of the tiny table and Not Move A Muscle.) My job was to keep the Bud focused and still, which turned out to be fairly easy. I just danced behind the camera, occasionally dipping into my pocket full of kibble and waving it just out of reach. The Bud can be motivated to do anything for kibble and will lock his eyes on my hand like a meat-seeking missile.



So bless his doggy heart, he sat and posed like a little royal. If you look closely into his eyes, you'll see what appears to be the studied concentration of an intellectual about to make a particularly salient point about the current political situation in Ottawa. What he's really thinking is, "drop the kibble, drop the kibble, drop the kibble."

Then he got tired, or perhaps he was trying hard not to slide off the table, or he was full of kibble.(As if.)


I've got to give the little guy credit. He posed with the professionalism of a super model. At least until the kibble got within striking distance.


Thanks, Gerry!

Buddy is a good sport because....

He doesn't mind when I take his photo and manipulate it with my new Mac.

We call this one his teddy bear look.



Then there's his Star Wars Bar Scene look:



And his Truman Capote imitation:



What a good boy.

Cat, Cat, Dog, Doug

Bon weekend! From the gallery, courtesy of my new lover, Nikon.

The Kicia The Boris (don't worry, he's just yawning)

The Budster

The Dougster