Jake the WonderDog

The bulldog, Jake, is an incomparable creature. He is loving, friendly, sweet, TOTALLY thinks he's a lapdog and is fiercely loyal...to my husband. I, on the other hand, can't do a thing with him.

One thing we've learned over the years about Jake - that there dog either has the highest pain threshold EVER, or he just doesn't feel pain at all. And it seems recently that he has been happily walking around with a fist-sized tumor in his mouth that we didn't discover until it became infected. Running to the door to go for walks? Check. Eating his dinner in 24 seconds flat? Check. Sleeping well? Begging for treats? Harassing the little dog next door every chance he gets? Check, check and BIG OL' CHECK.

This morning Emmie and I had to take him to the vet to have the tumor removed while Hubs took Thomas to school. I buckled Em into her carseat then went to get Jake. Regardless of the fact that 90% of his car rides are to the vet he luuuuuurrves going for a ride and ran hell-for-leather to the back of the car, attempted to jump in by himself then glanced back at me with this look that was all "lady? I'm nine years old here, can I get a boost?" I hefted him in, tied his leash to a bracket in the way-back of my CR-V since his first act in the car is ALWAYS to jump into the backseat, and since that spot was already occupied by mah fragile baybee, I wanted to make sure he'd stay put.

At the vet I opened the door to the way-back, grabbed Jake by his collar to keep him from jumping out while still tied up and thus hanging himself, then frantically started untying the leash because the silly dog had JUMPED OUT ANYWAY and was standing on his rear feet making a gaaah, gaaaah, gaaah sound. Fabulous. The vet can repair his esophagus right before they intubate him for surgery.

(Don't worry, no animals were harmed in the making of this story.)

I grabbed the stroller and buckled Emmie in, and Jake pulled us both into the vet's office. Have you EVER known a dog who fought to get INTO the vet?

The surgeon took a look at the tumor and said it is probably oral melanoma which does not bode well for our bulldog.

I hated leaving him there. It isn't until we got to the scales for a weigh-in that Jake remembered that he doesn't like the vet. He started to fight and pull away and gave me that pleading look that says "please please take me home, I'll be good! I promise!" I hugged and kissed him and Emmie and I ran out before I could cry.

Jake probably won't live much longer and I realize that both kids are really too young to have developed memories of him. They will never know what a fantastic dog he is and, even though I bitch and moan about him on a daily basis - his breath, his drooling, his stubborness - how much we love him. I'm glad I'll always have this photo:

I can haz doggie noze?

When Hubs and I moved in together, we created a blended family. I had two cats, Alex and Stella, and he had two dogs. Two BIG dogs. The cats had never been around dogs, and vice versa. We knew it was gonna be interesting.

We tried a test run before I actually moved in. I took Stella, the younger and friendlier kitteh, over to Hubs' house to see how everyone would react. I carried her in the house, she got one whiff of DOG and ran straight under the bed. That's where she stayed for the next 24 hours. Every time I went by the bedroom I would see the dogs huddled with their heads under the bedskirt, tails wagging furiously, and I would hear Stella making that weird rraawwrrrrr cat growl that means she is REALLY, REALLY pissed.

Finally I took pity, extricated the oh-so-miserable Stella from the dust bunnies under the bed and took her back to my condo.

Undeterred, I moved in a few weeks later. Now BOTH cats were living under the bed making that rraawwrrrrr noise while the dogs sniffed happily around the edges. I did a little research and found that a good way of acclimating animals to one another was to let them interact through a closed door. Therefore I created a cat home in the office - they had their litter box, their food and water, their scratching post and toys. The carpet at the door just outside the office quickly became discolored and dirty from the dogs parking themselves there.

A few days into this, I decided it was time for the dogs and cats to REALLY get to know each other and start getting along together. *snort* This is hilarious. You see, the cats RAN whenever they saw the dogs, and the dogs, being dogs, CHASED. It's instinct. The dogs would chase the cats into the office. The cats would jump onto the sofa. The dogs would bark frantically. The cats, in pure self-defense mode, would start swatting. One or both dogs would end up bleeding.

I can't tell you how many times I heard horrendous battle sounds from the back of the house and then saw one of the dogs casually stroll into the living room, bleeding from scratches on its nose, and look at me like "What?? I wasn't doing anything!"

One day the dogs ran the cats into the office and the horrific sounds of carnage ensued. The hissing, the barking, the yelping...

Moments later, Jake, our English Bulldog, came sauntering back into the living room and I took a quick look to make sure his nose was still attached to his face. Thankfully, it was. I did note that he seemed to have a bit of fuzz on his face. Eh, just doggy mess.

A few minutes later Jake plopped himself at my feet and I saw the bit of fuzz again. "What IS that, Jake?"

I grabbed his face and plucked at the fuzz. It was a cat claw. Embedded in his nose.