My Dog Smells like Pina Colada now.

So this whole thing started when I got home after being gone for like a week and a half working at that job thing I do in the big city. I got home fed the pets that I knew the farm sitter had already fed that were lying lie faces because lets just face it I do whatever they want me to do and then I took the dog out. Which is when I noticed that he looked a little well, bare.

As in his hair was coming off.

And then I freaked out because I knew he was scratching himself but it hadn't been that bad until I left and apparently that was the trigger for him to go to town on himself.

Itchy town, apparently.

So then I freaked out because instead of stopping to scratch two or three times a walk he was now stopping to scratch every ten feet. So then I made Scott come outside so we could stare at the dog who had these scabs all over his head and was missing hair all over his legs and looked like he had been through some sort of crazy adventure while we were gone. I briefly considered that he had been on some sort of National Treasure style hunt and these were just marks from his narrow escape and that he had secretly buried the ancient golden artifacts in the lawn but then I realized that was probably not the case. Mostly because he was gnawing at his own forelegs, but also because he is kinda dumb.

Then I told Scott that we should call the vet and then we figured out who was going to pay for this round and we decided it was going to be Scott.

And by “we” I mean “I.”

Of course it was like after the vet was closed because that's how life works so then I had to call the vet the next morning and try to get a same day appointment before Jack scratched one of his own limbs off or something. Or got like, mange. I dunno. Bad skin ju-ju. Okay the Internet was down so I was hazy on the details and Jack was fucking itchy as fuck all and I felt really, really bad for him.

Luckily the next morning at 9 O' 5 because waiting is for suckers they asked if I can make 11 and I am all like, yeah that would be great sure fantastic and then I rounded up the pet crate and a towel and some paper towels for the inevitable vomit and Jack's leash and the husband and then Scott was all like hold on I have to put the bullets in the car and I'm all like WTF and he's all like I am taking these to the gun store and then I was all like that is not how gun stores work and we have to get going because Jack could have mange and he could have been getting mange germs all over our bed for weeks and Scott was like that is not how mange works and I sold the gun that takes these rounds and the gun store is out so they offered to buy these boxes and then I look and see that not only does he have two cardboard boxes of bullets but that they are beer boxes and then I wondered if there was any way we could make this more suspicious and then I just decided to get in the damn car and then we were off.

So then we get to the vets and they do their stuff and then I tell them he doesn't have fleas and they act really skeptical and then the vet lady recommends the mites and mange test thing and Jack is looking more and more like he was having a day where he never should have got out of bed and then we tell her to do the test and then she disappears. Then the other vet lady person takes a flea comb to Jack like maybe I am super lying to her but then she doesn't find any fleas and I am all that's right motherfucker. We are flea free up in this bitch.

But I didn't say that part out loud.

So then the real vet lady comes back in and says Jack has no mites or mange so the problem is most likely allergy related and gives up some steroid pills and some antibiotics and then I also ask if bathing him will help because his coat was like super really greasy and he is a hound dog so he kinda smelled like a minotaurs butt hole. And then she recommends some of there fancy dry skin vet shampoo they have out in the lobby and on the way out I grab some of it and then do that married people thing where we ask questions with our minds and Scott gives me this look like well if you have to and then we bought the damn soap.

And by 'we' I mean 'Scott.'

So we get home and decide to give him his first round of pills and the container says “give with food” and I am all like IT'S A DOG HOW THE HELL ELSE ARE YOU GONNA GET PILLS IN IT'S FACE and then Scott is like quit shouting and help me so we shoved both pills into his face and did that thing that parents do when you make your hands into cups to catch spit up and in the end we had to hold his mouth shut until he swallowed and then we fed him like a crap ton of pepperoni.

And then I was all like, whelp time to give him a bath. So I start the water and get out the two towels, one for him and one for me and I drag him in there and put him in the tub and grab some of the super fancy as shit vet soap and lather him up and then I realize it smells really freakin weird. And then I was all like WTF and I read the label while Jack shoved his soapy head into my torso and discover that it's pina colada scented.

Okay.

So he pretty much spent the rest of the day smelling like a Caribbean party. He was less then thrilled. And of course it would be the greatest shampoo ever and make his coat feel like clouds made out of softness and his dry red skin would be all like smooth and the redness would go away because now I know someone somewhere is going to be all like, “why does your dog smell like booze?”

And I'm gonna be like “you don't get to judge him he's sick!”

And then they will probably call PETA.

Anyway, the good news is that after the evening dose of meds I discovered that the steroid bottle says that the pills increase appetite so then I started sticking those damn ginormas pills into hot dogs because Jack has suddenly become a treat hound like whoa.

In a way it's like the problem almost fixes itself.

But it is all worth it to see Jack not scratching himself down to nothing. Even if it means controlling my drinking problem is a tad bit harder when my dog smells like a girls night out.

Jack is Home!

After nearly two weeks, two weeks in which I called and looked and then began the slow sad descent into acceptance that he was most likely dead, Jack came home.

It was like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.

I had just got home from an evening at Grandmas and was locking up the chickens. My shirt was wet and cold because it had been pouring at her house and I hadn't thought to bring a rain jacket. Thunder was rolling off in the distance, and I just wanted to shut the chickens up and head back inside for a little quality time with my video games.

Except that when I turned around I saw my two kitties were lined up at the edge of the drive begging for dinner. So I petted them and reassured them that they were the best most fierce hunters in the whole world and began to follow them over to their dishes. It was about then that I saw something skirting the edge of the flash light beam.

My first thought was oh my god it's a bear I'm gonna die.

Followed by, I should have brought the gun and not died like an idiot.

Which was then followed by the shape stopping and looking back at me. I was smart enough to not shine the light directly into it's eyes and it was then that I realized it was Jack. I called to him and he took a few steps towards me that turned into a trot when he heard the far off thunder. He didn't seem to want to enter the flash light beam so I switched it off and stood in the near darkness and called to my dog.

Without thinking I went down on one knee and instantly Jack was their in my arms licking my face like he had thought he would never see me again. I didn't even think to grab his collar, I just held him to me and petted him and told him everything was going to be okay. Again without thinking I pulled off my belt and looped it though his collar and walked him back to the house.

Apparently Auto-pilot-Holly is an extremely efficient and well thought out person.

Unfortunately I can't seem to tap her at will and I am stuck with Kinda -doesn't-think-things-through-all-the-way-Holly.

But I digress.

I got Jack inside and called to Scott and he came running and got us a towel and got Jack some wet food and all I could do was hug my dog to me and repeat that he had come home over and over again until it really sunk home and I smelled like wet dog.

Then their was the flurry of calling and texting all the people that were worried about him and of course the farm sitter who was probably feeling kinda bad that the dog got loose on his watch even though these things happen in life but nobody could have predicted that he would have been gone so long.

But at least I have a dog to sleep at my feet again while I am typing.

He might be skinny and starved and covered in ticks but he's home now.

He's home.

No Sign of Jack.

Jack has not yet returned. So I find myself dogless. Which is not something I particularity enjoy. I feel like I had come to depend on having a dog. For emotional support and the whole barking when something is not right thing. However I don't want to rush out and get another dog when there is a possibility that Jack might come back.

The whole thing is kinda fucked up is what I'm saying.

I still feel like there is a possibly that Jack might return when he hits the desperately hungry stage. Also, I am beginning to suspect that the nice lady that runs the dog shelter might not be believing us anymore. You know that Razzle died from a snake bite a after we had her only a year, and now I am claiming the poorly socialized dog we adopted ran off after we had him for less then three months.

Look, I'm not saying that she believes we are running some sort of dog sacrificing cult, but the evidence is not in our favor here.

Of course all this would be moot if Jack would just get it through his think skull to home to that land of napping on blankets and getting wet food every afternoon. I miss my little doggy boy. Sure he might have been paranoid that everything was out to get him, all the time, and he might have been just a touch fearful of all people, all the time who weren't me, but dammit he was my paranoid fearful emotion train wreck of a dog and I want him back.

I miss having him sleeping at my feet while I am on the internet, I miss the way he would be frantic during storms unless I read to him, and I miss out daily walks where we would explore the woods together and when we totally reenacted the scene from Calvin and Hobbes where they find the snake and run around in circles except this was a nest of bees that didn't want to hurt us but still scared the shit out of us anyway.

Maybe it was the fact that Jack was an older dog with signs of having an emotionally abused past, but when we would go for walks or he would be hanging out with me I got the impression he was doing this less because it was what was expected of him and more because he had decided he enjoyed these things.

Let me explain.

Razzle was a younger dog, maybe a year old, and our relationship reflected that. I was Razzle's parent. I had to lay down the laws and make sure they were enforced, I had to stop her from testing my rules and I had to make her understand why doing certain things was good and others were bad. But with Jack, I got the impression that him and I were friends. Except for a few things, like sitting before going out and taking baths, Jack acted more like an adult human roommate.

Except I never could get him to pay rent.

He would eat his meals in his room, but when he spent time with you, it wasn't because you were the much loved parent who-must-not-be-let-out-of-your-sights-lest-she-disappear, and more the sense that he thought what you and he were doing was an enjoyable activity.

So I dunno. It's hard to imagine that Jack's natural aversion to people will cause him to wash up on our doorstep once he fails to find a kibble dispensing tree, but I am still hoping.

Hang in there little guy.

Hang in there.

Dogs.

So my dog Razzle died. She was bit by a snake. It was awful.

We will miss you, little girl.

 So much for going quietly in her sleep.

Well, Holly's coping methods are kinda limited, so I went out and got another dog.

Meet Jack.

The pumpkin king?

I swear if anything happens to this dog I am going to stand outside and pump rounds at the sky to get back at the cold uncaring universe. Asshole random events.*

We basically went back to the same lady we got Razzle from and picked out another dog. She also remembered Razzle and expressed her sympathizes. Which was somehow both touching and also the most sad thing ever.

We decided that we wanted a dog about Razzle's size so that we could use the crate and carrier we already had.

What? I'm being practical people.

So we wandered around the kennels looking at dogs. There was the normal hyper but none to bright dogs, the attention whores and the laziest dog I have ever seen. It was a fat yellow beagle lab mix that went to sleep while we were looking at it. We looked at all the dogs in the size that we wanted.

Jack stood out because she described him as lazy. He liked to get up, run for about a minute, and then he was done. Perfect. Also, he was the just the right size.

When we said we wanted to see him the dog lady went in to get him. He acted extremely confused.

“What? Me? The lead? Go OUTSIDE? What? Really?”

Even the other dog that was with him seemed confused. After pulling him out with her she explained that Jack had been there for two years and that nobody ever asked to see him.

Which pretty much meant I had to adopt him on the spot.

Apparently, he had been adopted by one family briefly but they had returned him because the father had wanted a dog to go jogging with him, and Jack does not jog. He had reported that Jack would get about halfway along the route and then want to go home and lay around on the floor.

Hey I like sitting on my ass too! It's like it was meant to be.

It also turns out that he had been there so long that he was free.

So we filled out the paper work and took him home.

I have to state here that many people have said 'remember your new dog won't be Razzle.” And I can tell you straight up that he is not Razzle. Because he spent the whole car trip back sitting calmly on the seat. (we didn't bring the carrier although we had our doggy seat belt rig in.) He didn't try to get in the front seat, he didn't throw up, he didn't try to shove his nose out the window. If I hadn't been looking back periodically to check on him I never would have known there was a dog there at all.

He also walks on the lead correctly. Hey, I can walk the dog without it trying to pull my arm out of my socket! That's wonderful.

However, unlike Razzle, Jack appears to spending his first weeks with us by being terrified of everything. Scott gave him a bath when we got home, and now he treats Scott like he is a demon from the ancient world that has come to sacrifice him on the terrible alter of “Bath.”

He slinks around the house, trying to fit himself into small safe places. He even crawled under the bed. Hell, the cat had problems getting under the bed.

I'll be sitting in the kitchen and I'll see a head slowly creeping around the corner. I say “Hi jack watcha doin?” Head disappears. Head reappears a moment later. Repeat until I leave the kitchen. I'm still disciplining him, as it appears he has had almost no training whatsoever although it does appear that he is housebroken. If I ask him to sit I get a blank look. If I ask him to lay down I get an even blanker look.

I can almost here the wind sailing between his ears.

He's not Razzle. He's Jack.

But I needed something to plug the terrible gaping dog shaped hole in my life.

So I just plugged another dog in my life.

Seems to be working.**

Aww.

*Being an atheist really limits my ability to blame everything on God/Satan.

** My logic is that I won't see the half full food dish as oh my god Razzle is dead and she is never going to eat that food again *sob* and instead I look at it and go, oh it's Jack's dish, that's okay then.