My dog loves me. I know this because I fart. This morning while I was wandering around with a cup of coffee in my hand trying to pull my head together, I broke wind. Nothing wet and loud like I had had a Sonic chili cheese dog last night, but a rather soft “toot” that took me by surprise because I hadn’t even known it was stationed in my intestinal antechamber let alone that it was going to egress. And as if I had whistled for him, my dog Hogan peeked around the corner, head tilted and sniffing the air. I don’t know why I confessed (out loud) to Hogan that I had farted because he’s a dog and really isn’t in a position to grant absolution (being, according to spiritual experts who claim knowledge in this area, soulless), and also because Lord knows he’s done it enough times to me without so much as a “By your leave”. But Hogan did something unexpected: he pranced over to me and leaned his entire weight against my legs, wagging his tail and looking up at me with ecstatic adoration. I was overcome by “AWWWWWWH!” then I realized what drew Hogan to me in the first place was flatulence. I guess I’ll take love however it comes my way.

Andy passed away this morning. He’d been having problems keeping himself clean the last few weeks (which he hated), which meant more baths (which he loathed). No one wants to lay in his own mess all day, Andy included. I took him to the vet this morning to have him euthanized… I’ve never had to do that to a pet before, and I hope to never do it again, which is naive because I have three other little souls I need to take care of, and any one of them could get sick in the future. The vet – who, by the way, was wonderful, as was the whole staff – said they would give him two shots: one to zonk him, the other to stop his heart. They took Andy away from me to give him the first shot and to install a catheter in an artery for the second shot. I was moved to a bereavement room, and a few minutes later, Andy was given back to me, wrapped in a towel and… zonked. It wasn’t him. He was heavy and passive and … not himself. He was so heavy. And they gave him to me the wrong way, not that they could have known. Andy didn’t like to be on his back; he liked to be on his side. I moved him to the table and tries to get him to see me. Andy always watched me when I was nearby. But his eyes wouldn’t focus. Not even when I kissed him. Not even when I headbutted him (how he showed affection). That was the most upsetting thing yet. I knew what was going to happen, but this… this wasn’t right. I wanted a few more minutes with him to let him know I was there, to let him know it was alright, but he couldn’t even see me. Then the doctor came in with the final shots. And Andy was gone. He was a great cat and worthy of better than he was given. Even from me. I’m wrecked.

I had to post a picture of Andy, post-bath.

Cute, right? He hates baths, so I’m surprised he’s even looking at me.

Spoke too soon. He actually broke out of the cage

then peed all over the place.

I think I’ve hit frustration level.

I spoke to Andy’s previous owner this morning, and while he seems like a nice guy, he was a little fast and loose with the people at Town Lake Animal Center when he surrendered Andy. It seems that his mother had become unable to care for Andy due to some health reasons of her own, but also because Andy was unable to use the potty appropriately. Basically, his hind legs and age make it difficult for him to posture correctly when he makes, so he will often just do the best he can wherever he can. Obviously, this means I can’t let him have unfettered access to the house, especially if I’m going to sell it this summer. But I also can’t have him living in my bathroom forever.

At the advice of my vet, I decided to set up a hospice-like situation for Andy.

After work, I went to PetCo and got Andy a kennel. It seemed the best thing to do for him. I gussied it up and made it into (I hope) a serviceable and comfortable place to live. The idea is that when I’m not around, he’ll live there, but when I am, I’ll let him out to hang with the other cats. This way he’ll have the ability to socialize, accidents will be contained, and clean-ups should be easier.

I’ll also get my bathroom back.

Here’s how the first evening is going:

This is a pretty good example of how he’s doing. A few minutes before I filmed this, he got right out of the kennel without a problem.

Today, a friends of mine who works with animal rescue sent me a Craigslist link about a cat named Andy at Town Lake Animal Center. Her email read simply “ADOPT HIM”. When I clicked on the link, the ad read as follows:

This loving orange tabby boy is dependent on humans to help him, but is still responsible for himself. He gets where he wants to go, uses his back legs when he can, and most of all, he wants to connect with people. He gives headbutts, purrs continuously, and is clearly missing his safe home and owner. Even in the scary shelter he shows a lot of independence and the ability to move out of harm’s way.

Andy is a 9-year old orange tabby and white lovecat. Severely injured during a dog attack 8 years ago, he has limited use of his rear legs. His owner left him at TLAC Monday because she hurt her back and can’t keep him.

If you meet Andy, your heart will strengthen, not break. He is loving, trusting, and the shelter staff gave him the highest friendliness ratings. He is easy to pick up and carry around.

Can you save Andy’s life? He was put on the euthanasia list and now has one day to find a home or rescue placement.

And don’t ask me what it was about the words or the picture; I don’t know. But he’s mine. I pick him up tomorrow at 3. He’s adorable, isn’t he?

I’m fostering two dogs for Lucky Mutts (my neighbor lady works for them and she caught me early one morning with a request to help out while my brain was still asleep) and I have to say they’re adorable. I’ve named them Mitzi and Felicia. They are Shepherd/Blue Heeler mutts (and I say that with love).

Mitzi is the blonde. She is definitely the big sister in the relationship. Everything she does, Felicia follows along. Mitzi and Hogan get along like gangbusters. They roughhouse for a while, then they den under the coffee table for a cuddle until one of them wants to play again. Mitzi is a headstrong little girl, but comes running when you call her name.





Felicia LOVES to cuddle! She’s not a wild spirit like her sister, and even though she’ll play with the other dogs for a while, she always ends sitting in my lap or trying to become part of the couch. Felicia knows how to fetch and shake. Well, she’s getting a hang of them, in any case. Both ladies are being crate trained and have it down (more or less; someone had a small accident tonight).

Tonight I let myself sit down to watch some TV (the last two nights I’ve been too nervous and vigilant to relax much) and captured an overload of cuteness. If you watch closely, you can see Hogan ignoring me (he’s a bit jealous of the newcomers).