Bite Me.

Well, crap.

I’ve managed to get behind on ranting again.

I had been putting off some long-needed dental surgery, because I was reserving money to make someone an offer. That fell through, so off to the periodontist I went, and had the surgery done.

I regret it, of course.

Let me start out by saying that I had somewhere between 25 and 30 shots before they even got started. I got twelve – TWELVE – shots in the roof of my mouth. I was a wreck before they even started the procedure.

With a wind-up that bad, you know the actual work was horrific. To keep from disgusting everyone, I will just say that it’s been two weeks and the sutures are really really bothering me, plus I am concerned because my supply of Vicodin is getting a bit low.

Furthermore, dammit, I am getting mighty tired of mashed potatoes and squishy overcooked pasta. I want some actual food, something I can – you should pardon the expression – sink my teeth into.

I want a crunchy salad.







I want a nice crusty loaf of French bread.






I want an apple, and my sympathies are completely with Barbossa when I watch Pirates of the Caribbean.


So I’m drugged and cranky. Jesse and the dog are both somewhat pleased about this, because the drugs slow me down and make me confused. So I haven’t found their new hiding place just yet.

I hate the damn dentist.

Bander, the Bionic Dog

You may have noticed we haven't mentioned anything about Bander getting the cast off yet. After a week with no improvement, we shelled out money for some MRI soft tissue scans, and learned that the damage to his wrist was a lot worse than anyone thought - as in, he snapped every single connecting ligament.

That gave us three options, per the vet - one, very expensive surgery. Two, amputation of the leg. Three, put him down. Since both two and three were impossible, unthinkable, and just generally not happening, we went for the expensive surgery. This involved fusing the affected joint and inserting a steel plate to stabilize the whole thing.

It's been eight weeks now, and here are the first x-rays of the nearly-healed repair job:































Impressive, no?

The downside is that we still aren't allowed to walk him much, and he needs another four weeks in the cast. He always had a lot of energy to burn, and has a bad case of cabin fever, so any little behavioral problems are magnified a million times. The separation anxiety that caused him to jump off the roof in the first place? Yikes. Bring on the puppy Prozac! (so not kidding, here.) And some training. And he needs company while we're at work.

So. He now has a vet, an orthopedic surgeon, a behaviorist, and a pet sitter. The freakin' dog has a staff of FOUR. I, of course, just have Jesse, but since he only has me we just order each other around a lot and nothing gets actually done, because we're too busy catering to the dog.

It's a good thing he's cute.

It's About Fricken Time.

Well, I got the computer fixed.

First he slowed down. Then he hung up. Then, in his infinite wisdom, Calculon the Third (C3) decided it would be fun to turn off the sound. And as a last bit of defiance, he told our printer, Gutenberg, to stop the presses.

Now I know that some of you would say that I neglected the poor thing, and that really he was sick, and needed to be taken care of. I know that some of you will recognize these symptoms as some attention seeking cry for help. But the truth is, our machines are on a Machiavellian machination of machina über alles. They hate us.

They're trying to kill us.

Really.

We've had more coffee machines than Angelina has had kids, hers or others. Jackie has been electrocuted by the crock pot. I've had various fingers almost severed by hovercraft, fans, and other sharp pointy electrical things. We may be the first people, ever, to hurt themselves with a clock radio not in a bathtub.

So.

They're trying to kill us.

Really.

For Bander's Blog Buddies

Just a quick pic, for those who miss our dog.

A Quick Bander Update

It's been a few days, and he's gone through a couple of splints. He's like the rest of the family, tough on things. He's not as sad as he was, although on his last trip to the vet, they decided to try and used a couple of sheep worth of padding and a bit of green tape to keep it together.

So here he is all happy, on the way to the vets.

Since then, he's been more tired. But I think that's because without the splint, he feels the ankle/paw soreness more. I guess it keeps him from doing further damage; it must be working, because he certainly has spent more time not trying to drag me across the planet.

In fact, he's spent all his time doing what he does best; being a doorstop. This is where he stayed for about an hour, before I had to carry him down the stairs. He's not allowed up or down them, so if he wants to hang out with me while I do stuff, I've gotta carry him.

But he's adapting. I mean, he found the most comfy place in the house, and staked his claim.

So if'n you're wondering how he doing, he's a little better and a little more shrweepy.

It'd be nice if I could work this hard.

Update on Bander

He's not broken, anywhere. Sprained, bruised, and drugged out of his mind, but not broken.

'El Doggo' has gone around the block and sat in the grass for a while, so he's doing o.k., albeit he's slow and awkward. In fact, he snuck upstairs while I'm posting this and is lying down behind me right now.

I think he has a knife or a machete in his good paw.

I don't want to look and find out.

Pieceing all the information together, he climbed over the computer desk, chewed through a drawing board that was propped against the window, busted through the screen (that was the crashing noise everyone heard) walked to the corner of the roof, and jumped down.

He left his mark in the asphalt.

I need to put a sock or something over the bandage; a one block walk has begun to wear through already, which you can kinda see in the main pic.

Thank you, everyone, for your well wishing and kind words.

We'll keep you updated on his progress!

Crazy comes on four feet, too.

I am posting this quickly while I wait to hear from the emergency vet. I had some fun stuff planned for today, but I didn't get to it, because I've been entirely focused on Bander.

And here's what Bander did to distract me: while I was gone doing a massage, and while Jesse was at work, he jumped out a second floor bedroom window. I'm pretty sure he broke his right front leg. At the very least, he has some pretty heavy bruising and sprains.

The neighbors heard breaking glass, and ran out to see what the noise was. They called Jesse at work and told him what happened, and then took care of Bander until I could get home and drive him to the emergency animal hospital.

I was pacing too much, so they sent me home, but he's getting pain meds and xrays and a splint and all sorts of expensive things. I get to go pick him up in an hour or so.

What kind of crazy dog jumps out a second floor window? He had to get up over the top of the computer desk to do it, too. And he launched himself right through the screeen, and broke a couple of roof tiles. I know he landed on his feet because there are toenail divots in the asphalt.

This is not the kind of crazy I enjoy. Poor dog.