Monthly Archives: December 2014

Our Christmas Miracle

Besides a healthy baby on the way and Mack and Pete’s ever growing tolerance for each other, our family had even more to be thankful for this past Christmas season.

A few weeks ago, Hubs and I decided Mack was ripe enough to toss his ass in the tub and give an old, pissed off bulldog something more to complain about. Mackie got a double shampooing, full-on brush treatment in the bathtub and a detailed wash between his toes, which he absolutely despises. He was good and pissed off by the time the bath was over.

Hubs and I split the bathing of the bulldogs in half, Hubs half being bigger than mine, of course. While Hubs lifts the dogs in and out of the tub, wrestles the bulldogs in the tub and washes them, I chase them around the bathroom and towel dry them the best I can.

Towel drying the bulldogs is a wrestling match all on its own. Mack usually takes a few laps around the bathroom to walk off the aggravation the bath causes. I’m toweling him off the whole way but it’s all I can do not to jump on his back and ride him like a bull.

I went to dry off Mack’s head, neck and ears. Knowing that I had just a few seconds of Mack holding still for me, I quickly and aggressively toweled off his head and ears, Mack fighting back by thrashing his head all around inside the towel. After a few minutes, I finally got Mack dried off enough to set him free, Mack making a bee line for our fuzzy area rug in front of the fire.

After a half an hour or so, we noticed Mack’s right side ear was puffed up. Like, REALLY swollen. His ear flap is normally about an eighth of an inch thick. Now it was an inch thick.

My knee jerk diagnoses was allergies, but Hubs was already on his iPhone Googling away. His diagnoses was spot on: Aural Hematoma.

Mack’s ear flap was bleeding internally, all from my asshole toweling methods. Even worse, every website and thread from dog owners said that aural hematomas were only corrected by surgery, since the bleeding only continues to the point where the ear basically explodes. A visual of Mack shaking his head off in pain, spraying blood in every crevice of our house played out in my head.

I felt awful. Not only did I injure my poor, fat ol’ puppy Mack, now it’s looking like I will have to hand over my Christmas bonus to a vet for the 2nd year in a row (see https://houseoffarts.wordpress.com/2014/01/10/why-i-havent-posted-in-a-few-weeks/  )

Even worse, a 13-year old geriatric bulldog will now have to go under for surgery, which is quite risky.

Distraught, we took Mack to the vet, where they confirmed that he would probably end up on the operating table but the doctor wanted to give it the good college try before doing so, given Mack’s dinosaur age status.

Mack’s ear was drained, then flipped over to flatten it against his head. A bandage was tightly wrapped around his head to keep the ear compressed, hoping the ear would start to heal on its own. The doctor again warned us that this would be a long shot and promised to get a quote for the surgery over to us right away.

Babushka Mack mourns for your soul.

Babushka Mack mourns for your soul.

We were told to remove the bandage in 5 days. After Day 4, Mack decided he’d had enough and removed it himself. One moment Mack was just sitting there, sporting his head wrap, not giving a fuck.

Mack, not givin' a fuck

Mack, not givin’ a fuck

The next, Mack was wearing nothing but a flesh-colored infinity scarf and a shit-eating grin:

This isn't the actual picture, but that shit-eating grin is pretty much the same.

This isn’t the actual picture, but that shit-eating grin is pretty much the same.

And his ear, was back to its inflammed state. Shit.

The next day, we brought Mack back to the vet. The doctor wanted to try draining his ear again, but this time taping it down to prevent a certain, crafty old bulldog from removing it. They also put him on a regimen of Prednisone to hopefully speed up the healing process. Which, by the way they had to run up bloodwork for. And which we found out, that Mack’s heart and kidney function are FUCKING OUTSTANDING for his advanced age. So that was our shred of good news.

5 more days went by of Mack, trying his damnedest to take his bandage off. Hubs and I started calling him Babushka Mack, made Yakov Smirnoff jokes and sarcastically asked Mack what he missed about the old country. Mack was not enthused.

Do not ill speak of Mother Russia.

Do not ill speak of Mother Russia.

Hell, Peterbilt even felt sympathy for his dickhead dad and even gave Mackie a lick on the face. It was awkward for all parties involved.

After 5 days, we brought Mack to the vet where they took him in back to remove the tape.

After 20 minutes or so, Mack came running full speed at us, away from the vet techinician……his ear back to normal appearance.

The doctor warned us to keep Mack from flapping his ears around, possibly undoing the healing, for the next 2-3 days.

And I am pleased to tell you that that was 2 weeks ago and Mackie is 100% healed! Hooray! No surgery!

We managed to skirt a risky and most likely painful dog surgery for our Christmas present and that gift beats the PANTS off of anything else we could have asked for. Including those As-Seen-On-TV Glow Candles I got. Thanks, Mom.

Because one minute you may want a red candle and the next, you may really want it to be blue.

Because one minute you may want a red candle and the next, you may really want it to be blue.

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Categories: Being Married, Bulldogs, Crappy Adulthood Problems, Dogs, Pets, Potty Humor | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pregnancy and Bulldogs

Help! I’ve been overcome by a team of midwife bulldogs.

I can’t do anything in my own house anymore without being watched by at least one set of brown, bloodshot eyes. I’m being constantly monitored by anxious bulldogs and although they are well intentioned, they are truly clueless.

As I enter my 8th month of pregnancy, I have found my energy starting to wane. A month ago I could work a 10 hour day and come home and still have enough energy to make dinner, dishes, do 3 loads of laundry, walk the dogs, put away 3 loads of laundry and stay fully awake for an episode of Game of Throne (Hodor!). Now, when I get home from work, I enter the house like someone just dumped me out of a wheel barrow. I make grunting noises when I take off my now too-small shoes. I waddle. I’m usually short of breath. I start wearing my ever-so-comfortable maternity sweatpants at 6 PM. I chant, “BOOM! Ba-ba!” with every step I make. I’m definitely slowing down.

The bulldogs have taken notice of this. The bulldogs are concerned. And now every single thing I do in the house is a fucking family affair.

This week, the bulldogs have come to the conclusion that I need an assistant with everything I do. For example, almost every morning for the past week, as I stared blurry-eyed into my closet, trying to piece together a reasonable outfit for work, Mack stood by my side, also peering into my closet, staring at my clothes with me, pretending like he knew what he was doing.

The  other morning, the whole fam damily was in the bathroom as I showered, including a half-asleep Hubs, trying to brush his teeth around two bulldogs laying on the bath mats, who were anxiously awaiting my grand exit from the shower. I contemplated ripping open the shower curtain with incredible zeal and doing my best sarcastic and naked “Ta Da!”, complete with jazz fingers for my audience. But eh, I didn’t. When I did open the curtain, they both averted their eyes. Peterbilt pretended to inspect the towel racks. Mack licked the side of the tub. My pregnant body is apparently too extreme for bulldogs.

Oh, but that’s not all.

Mack spends every waking moment tracking my whereabouts around the house. From the moment I get home from work, he’s following me around. When he loses track of me (which happens quite often with an almost deaf, 13yo bulldog) I can hear him looking for me, his toenails clacking on the hardwood floors, as he checks the kitchen, the office, then the bathroom and finally the bedroom where I’m laying in bed, getting my ugly eat on with a bucket mini brownies, watching back to back episodes of Restaurant Impossible on Netflix. There’s a lot of ugly they don’t tell you about before you get pregnant.

Peterbilt also wants constant tabs on my whereabouts and even puts my well-being ahead of his food, surprisingly.

The other day, the Hubs and I switched vehicles so he could take my Jeep in for an oil change. When Hubs got home, Peterbilt excitedly circled the Jeep numerous times in the garage, expecting my pregnant ass to roll and plop out of the SUV. Hubs said Pete was inconsolable for like 10 minutes and thoroughly inspected the Jeep and the garage until he finally gave up. All of this before he had a chance to be eat his beloved dinner.

It all started off very sweet but now it’s starting to be a burden. And it gets only worse as time goes by and my belly gets bigger.

In the past month or so, Mack has gone from sleeping downstairs on his beloved couch, to sleeping on a dog bed in the baby’s room, with a baby gate at the door, to now sleeping on the floor of our bedroom. Any attempt to separate him from me is met with loud, constant, belligerent, barking. And I can already tell where this is headed: he will want to sleep on our bed next. So I can get even less sleep.

Have you ever woken up to an audible bulldog fart at 3AM? It’s not funny. It’s not funny at all, actually. No, it’s putrid and the stench will rouse both Hubs and I from the deepest slumber, especially when that fart only has to travel 18 inches to get to your nose because Mack faces the door when he sleeps on the bed. Ass-to-face positioning always means a more concentrated poot. It’s bad enough I already wake up to every single fucking noise this house and its occupants emit during the overnight hours, let alone one of Mack’s face-melting farts.

There isn’t one thing that I’m able to do without supervision anymore and the lack of privacy is getting on my nerves. I always thought that my integrity would remain intact until labor, but the bulldogs constant interruption of even the most private moments is slowly chipping away at it.

With 8 weeks until the baby is estimated to arrive, I don’t have the heart to tell them that  they will have to sit and wait at home when it’s time for me to go to the hospital. I may have to come up with some sort of lie…..or some sort of faux-Sarah decoy fashioned out of pillows for them to fuss over while I’m gone.

Categories: Babies, Bulldogs, Dogs, Farts | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

Double Trouble

2014 has been the year of change at House of Farts.

Ladies and gentlemen, after 4 long and work-intensive years, Mack and Peterbilt have decided to bury the hatchet and have agreed to coexist (somewhat) peacefully on the same level/room/area of the house. That’s right, no more keeping the bulldogs separated within the house.

This was decided recently by Mack. The older and more deaf Mack gets (and the more visibly pregnant I get) Mack is finding it harder and harder to leave my side. “Ok, Ok, I concede”, Mack told me one afternoon about 2 months ago. “I’ll acknowledge Peterbilt as my son. Now let’s all lay on the area rug and lick our paws.”

Peterbilt, less than enthused about now having to split our attention with his dickhead dad, agreed to treat his dad’s now constant presence with respect.

Yay! Right?? We can have a normal-ish family again! Eh, Yes and no. As much as we are happy to have everyone get along, having 170 lbs of bulldog to deal with versus 85 lbs at a time, is a lot of work!

Over the last several weeks, Hubs and I have noticed that there are as many PROS as CONS to our new living situation.

PRO:

1.) Less Shrieking.

Having both dogs in the kitchen as I make dinner is a lot quieter than having Peterbilt in the kitchen and Mack in the finished basement, shrieking with every pang of his broken heart at his exclusion. Now both bulldogs can stand by my feet and hold their breath as I chop carrots, hoping to God that one slips off the counter and falls to the floor.

CON:

1.) Higher fart content

Having both bulldogs in close proximity means more fart air to regular air, in parts per million. Tonight, we will be serving Dijon Chicken and baby carrots with hint of fart. Just dab some Vicks under your nose, dear, It’ll be alright.

 

"We heard there were carrots..."

“We heard there were carrots…”

PRO:

2.) Bigger fan base.

Now instead of one bulldog totally devoted to following me and watching my every move, I have two. The bulldogs totally give my location away every time, no matter where I am in the house. Are the bulldogs totally quiet? That means they’re laying with me on the bed sleeping. Do you hear thunderous noises? That’s the bulldogs following (trampling) me as i go downstairs to put in another load of laundry? Two bulldogs glumly laying outside the shut bathroom door? Well, you know I’m doing then. Painting my nails. Because ladies don’t poop.

CON:

If I don’t close the bathroom door all of the way, it means now two heads are poking inside to check on me instead of just one. I get very little privacy.

The good old days of only only bulldog head.

The good old days of only only bulldog head.

 

They’ve already figured out that they have Hubs and I evenly matched with a 2:2 ratio and have used this to their advantage already, using teamwork to knock a bag of dog treats off the table and to take out a 40 lb bag of kibble, even sharing the spoils. And our bedroom has been converted into “Bulldog HQ”. They’ve taken over that room as their area of choice for gnawing on their bones, Kongs and other toys. We kick twice as many dog possessions of our of bed now and It is almost guaranteed I will stub my toe on a half-chewed up antler on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

 

We love it and are daunted by it at the same time. With the new workload, it makes me wonder how we will ever fit in time to take care of a newborn, but I guess that will all work itself out somehow.

 

In the meantime, Hubs and I thank God that he’s given us what we’ve asked for, for so long: a loving, little bulldog family. At least, that’s what we try to repeat in our heads while cleaning up 40 lbs of kibble and drool off of the floor.

Categories: Babies, Being Married, Bulldogs, Crappy Adulthood Problems, Dogs, Farts, Funny, Pets, Potty Humor, Pregnancy | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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