The Ruffles Report

I blocked out most of last week. My two-legs abandoned me with other two-legs I do not know. They had two mini-two-legs. One of whom screamed all the time, and other just ran around and played with our toys (and our toys became hers). I suppose in retrospect it was not too bad… except that I am still sick.

My two-legs decided I needed a haircut. He did not do a good job. I am displeased for multiple reasons.

On Monday night he took me back to the V-E-T. Supposedly I lost a pound in two weeks (sickness diets work!) and was running a bit of temperature. They also had to retake all my x-rays. I do not like sitting still, splayed out for any period of time (unless it is of my own accord). For your viewing pleasure are my X-rays. I have included both the ones from July 17th and from August 2nd. To the trained eye they look pretty similar, but you need to look closer (which is tough as they are not very high resolution here). I will explain after the photos.

Look at how huge my heart is!

So, look at the lungs (the dark gray), it should not have all those white spots.

This was on Monday, my lungs are more white than black... not good.

I do love how cool my insides look. I wish I could see it in action (breathing and eating and pooping).

My  lungs are what is in question in all this. Two weeks ago they had a few little white speckles. The speckles are an anomoly and have a higher density than the surrounding tissue. Two weeks later I have more little white speckles. Which essentially means something is growing in my lungs. Things should not be growing in my lungs.

We opted to try some new medication. I am on a different family of antibiotic from the one I took before. I am also on a light dose of steriods. The steroids are mainly to help open up my lungs and make breathing easier. If I take too much, it may speed the growth of the whatever it is in my lungs.

Sigh. This regiment should take another two weeks or so to finish up. At which time I will more than likely be subjected to the same horrors of the V-E-T as I have before… probing, prodding, x-rays, pills. Good times.

So wish me luck. I will post later in the week with an update.

Test results came back yesterday. I have zero parasites and the labs look OK. So basically we are back to square one:  what is wrong with me.

Apparently the fungal tests that I thought they were going to do are a great deal more involved then just running my blood through some sort of fungus detecting machine. It would involve another vet visit (boo!), sedation (yay!), and ultimately having my trachea/lungs flushed. Since I am neither a) an automobile radiator nor b) do I have $700 to blow on such a procedure, my two-legs and I have decided to trust in father time and give some more of said time to the pills I ingest every day when he gets home.

Once I finish my tasty treat-flavored regimen of antibiotics we will re-evaluate and see if stronger drugs are necessary. I even heard that steroids are on the table so maybe I will finally be able to wrench a toy out of big-little-bro’s clutches. Unfortunately, the “big C” is still hovering out there; however, I do not lend much credence to that as I retain both my Hungry Hungry Hippo-esque appetite and my penchant for carrying frog around the apartment when my two-legs gets home.

There is however one disturbing development…

He is so mean to me, even when I am sick.

The two-legs in the white coat told him and the skirted-one that it would be a good idea to take me in the bathroom with them as they shower. The humid air is evidently good for my lungs (but murder on my hair). The skirted-one takes me in for her morning shower and my two-legs for his evening one. For the bulk of these steamy shenanigans I am resigned to lay on  the bathmat and contemplate what I did to deserve such treatment. The real humiliation comes at the end, when the two-legs are done showering and proceed to perch me atop the highest shelf in the bathroom (as pictured above). I overheard the skirted-one telling my two-legs that this is better than leaving me on the floor since all of the nice hot, humid air has floated to the ceiling. Since I am a fairly short four-legs who spends most of his time breathing the cool, crisp air usually found 8 inches off the floor, I do not appreciate being made to breathe the torrid, muggy air found 6 feet + 8 inches off the floor.

C’est la guerre.

This may be my last post for the month of July. My two-legs and the skirted-one are abandoning me and big-little-bro in favor of a dog-free vacation in the slightly sunnier city named by Spanish conquerors explorers after their beloved Saint Didacus (whose name they also gave to the ship they sailed in). Incidentally, Saint Didacus managed to heal not one, but two kings even after he had been laid to rest. (this information was directly pilfered from infallible wiki entries, here & here ) Maybe some of that healing power will rub off and the triumphant return of my two-legs will lead to my miraculous return to good health.

Excuses, excuses, I am full of excuses. But this time it is a good one.

For the past 3 weeks or so I have found it difficult to breath. Not just after a good run chasing birds but even when I am just lounging (which we all know I love to do). I do not believe I am that out of shape that I should get winded walking from my food bowl to the couch but there you have it. I wheeze and whistle when I breathe. My two-legs thought it was funny at first. Chalked it up to my getting older and being out of shape. Then I started hacking when I got excited. I never coughed up anything, just clearing my throat I suppose; however, it started to get less funny for my two-legs. Then, on Saturday, it got even less funny, I began to cough little specks of blood.

I am very upset. I am going to jump.

My two-legs and the skirted-one took me over the Animal Wellness Center on Main. They recommended I go to the Pet Medical Center to get some X-Rays. Little-big-bro was left at home for all this. He missed out on the fun.

I did not like it there. First off, there was a non-dog 4-legs just hanging out in the lobby. My two-legs went over and had the nerve to pet her! I got so upset that I promptly hacked and coughed blood on their floor. They then proceeded to whisk me into a little room. I guess they do not like it when you get your fluids on the middle of their lobby floor.

In the tiny room my two-legs proceeded to perch me on top of the little metal table suspended a good 4 or so feet off the floor. I did my best to claw my way back on to my two-legs but neither he nor the skirted one would let me down.

I went through the normal exam. Weight. Thermometer (not in my mouth). And then prodding by the V-E-T. She said my breathing was not normal. (She also said I seemed a bit skinny, suck on that two-legs and feed me more dinner!) Next on the agenda was X-rays. My two-legs was not invited to join us. Frankly I blacked out once I left the room. When I awoke I was in a cage, yelling. I do not like cages. I especially do not like them when I can see my two-legs standing 6 feet away looking at pictures of my innards. I was not a good dog.

They drew some blood (again I had blacked out at this point as my two-legs and the skirted one had left me alone in a cage) and soon I was back in the arms of my master.

Tests are currently being run. Word on the street is I have largish specks in my lungs. It could either be fungus or cancer. I am rooting for fungus as I do not think I will look good bald.

I should know more this week and will keep you posted. And in case you missed it, I posted another one of my back dated posts. I can’t believe in another 3 months I will have been here a year!

It is I, Ruffles! Did you miss me?

So, where to begin. We will start with the basics. I haven’t posted since June of 2009. Can you believe it has been 7(ish) 4-legs years since I have last graced you with my wit and candor? I had some posts in drafts which I have now finally posted, you should see them back dating to October. I may back date some other posts I had been working. I may not, you never know.

I still live with my two-legs, big-little-bro, and the skirted one. So the people have not changed but the surroundings sure have. I no longer am forced to spend my days in the gray, drizzly, cold weather of the Pacific Northwest. I get to be a California boy again! Ah, sun, surf and sand.

Look at how handsome I look on the beach (OK, by the beach, 4-legs are not allowed on the beach)

It would be great if I liked any of those things. I get sun burnt and hot, I hate the water, and sand gets everywhere. The change of pace is nice though.

Life has been pretty status quo for me. Sleeping, eating, chewing. I have learned a few tricks (I can lie down!) and my new digs are much more conducive to the life of a 4-legs (I can let myself out to go poop!)

I have a few good stories that I will fill you in on in the coming days. I vow to you, my dedicated readers, I will not vanish for weeks, months or even years at a time.

I will keep you informed of my happens and hopefully continue to entertain you with my unique take on life as a four-legs in a two-legs world.

** I was going to call this post “Back in the Saddle” but then I got the damn Aerosmith song stuck in my head. It has been rattling around in there for hours now. Out of spite, I changed the title. That will teach them to make catchy songs…

Note: This is a backdated post that I had started in October ’09 but never finished… enjoy!

Smells! We four-legs have noses that are 10, 100, possibly even a million times more powerful than even the best two-legs nose. As a schnauzer, I may not have the best nose, but it is pretty darn good (my ancestors were ratters and those critters like to burrow). Our noses were designed for smelling. We have deep folds and pockets to trap odors and particulates, huge clusters of nerve endings all around to quickly past the smells to our brain, and those little slits on the sides of our nose, those are so when we exhale, we do not blow the scent away from directly in front of us. Pretty sweet. So when I got to my new home I was overwhelmed.

A cleaned house still has plent of old smells.

My two-legs and I had just pulled up to the apartment and already I was pretty excited. I love new places and was sick of the smells in his car (dust, fast food, and funk) and was itching to run my sniffer over this place. The previous tenants had done a decent job cleaning up, but they were no match for me…

There was a chair there, a rug here, the dog slept over here, and had an accident over there. Someone dropped perfume on the rug in the bedroom. Oh, a bit a dried old food (nom nom nom). And so on and so forth until my olfactory senses were pooped.

This place was big too, probably as big as the first two places in Seattle combined. Good solid hardwood floors for playing and running, soft carpet in the bedroom for napping. And with no furniture there except 3 boxes and my dog bed, I had the run of the house!

oh, oh, oh, and there is an outside. For the first time since I lived in San Jose I finally have a way outside on my own. Of course, it only leads to a little concrete path that runs three quarters around the house but it is better than nothing. I can do my business on my own schedule now. My two-legs has no power over me.

Furniture comes in a few days, then all of these old smells will slowly be replaced by my two-legs smells. The memories of old fade and give way to new smell memories (smemories?).

Until then, I am going to keep snorting and sniffing and sucking up all the delicious aromas I can.