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.

The Saga of Stupidface.

After establishing that Stupidface is indeed a Walker Coon Hound. I began on a Internet based journey of discovery. Mainly I discovered that that Walkers can travel up to 50 miles in one night. Stupidface could be from anywhere. Although why the owners would not have been calling all the vets offices in that radius and leaving a note, I have to wonder.

They probably dislike Stupidface as much as I do.

On some level I feel bad for her. She got lost, whether this was a deliberate thing on the part of the owners or not, she found somewhere that she wanted to stay, only to find that the new people have to keep her crated on the porch all the time or else she will go after their animals.

On the other hand she was so hyper it hurt to watch her.

Scott's overtures to keep her died when we realized that she is impossible to walk. She wants to be on that scent and nothing NOTHING will stop her. Not you, not the leash, not yelling or pleading, nothing. Scott had to carry her out the woods the last time he took her in and since then we only walked her in the fields.

I also learned that you need a six to eight foot tall fence in order to keep one in your yard. So ha ha that will never happen in a million years.

Luckily, we managed to get through to the local animal shelter who said they would take her. Unfortunately this is after she chewed through one of my leashes. As soon as they said they would take her Scott threw the phone down and ran out to the truck while I grabbed the one remaining leash and got Stupidface. We didn't even wait for her to get in the truck, instead Scott picked her up and tossed her into the cab.

We wanted to get her down there before they changed their minds.

While Scott was gone I began on the days tasks, cleaning the chicken coup and washing out the dog crate where we had Stupidface until I heard the sound of the truck pulling back into the drive. I peered around the corner of the shed, fearing that I was about to see her white and tan head poking up above the seat.

But she was gone.

Gone. Gone I tell you. After a week of barking and baying and yelling and chewing and peeing on things Miss I-have-never-been-trained was gone forever.

So once again silence reins on my little farm, except for the crowing of the roosters and the wind in the grasses.

So peaceful.

So dogless.

Me, A Backhoe, Some Mud and Some Poo

So last night it turns out that the dog must have eaten something bad for her, because she crazy pooped all over the bedroom floor. I did not not discover this until oh, about midnight. Because life is unfair like that. Then this morning I discovered that she had also risen at some point during the night to crazy diarrhea poop in my office. At that point I was pretty sure that life was giving me the finger. So, it was about noon before I staggered out of my poop smelling house to go do things with my day.

You know that point where you think you are getting a handle on things? Like maybe you have denailed some boards, and then maybe you have moved a load of rocks for your future house and felt like you were doing good despite setbacks?

That was about the point we got the backhoe stuck in the lawn.

Everything was going great. We used the front backhoe bucket to collect some big rocks, and then we attempted to drive them over to the wall* we were building. Which was across a field and also across the lawn. The last bit didn't go very well. You ever seen a full size backhoe just slide three feet and then become hopelessly mired in black watery muddy poo like earth? Because I have.

Scott yelled something I didn't hear at that moment, spun the tires again gently before getting out and coming to stand next to me. Curse words were uttered. Ideas were floated. Since waiting until late summer when the ground gets real dry was a less then stellar option, I suggested that we use the front bucket to pull it out of the hole because I had heard of it being done. On a forum. Once.

At least Scott thought that was a good plan.

Have you ever seen a backhoe dry heave? Because I have. I don't meant to imply that Scott wasn't operating it well, he was.** It's just that there is only one way to describe that set of motions.

Now you would think that just digging the front bucket into the earth and pulling the arm back in wouldn't be enough to drag the whole machine forward, but it totally is. The key is that the stabilizers weren't down. Once it became clear the the hoe was leaving the earth and clawing it's way into the parking pad we all went crazy. Scott pumped his fist in the air and I jumped up and down and high fived the dog but she was too excited and splashed mud all over my face but none of us cared because dignity is for people that don't have backhoes.

Then I thought everything was going to be alright and then my sandwich caught fire in the toaster oven and now my house mobile home smells like burning dog poop. Some times I hate my life.

Stupid motherfucking life.

* The dry stacked stone walls will become the house someday in case you were wondering.

** Scott is one of those rare people that is good at things he has never done before. This was only his third time driving a backhoe and he made it look like he had been driving one all his life.

A Mousetrap, My Dog and Why TV sucks.

Sooo, my dog got her tongue caught in a mousetrap today.

It was not her proudest moment. 

We were visiting Scott's parents, who I might add are wonderful friendly people who don't mind watching our dog when the need arises. Somehow, my clueless doggy found a mousetrap they didn't even know they had out in the basement, and wham! 

Now she's not eating. 

Yeah, I don't really know what to say now. I'm tired, as I spent, oh let me think, 6 hours in the car today. I sort of drifted from activity to activity this evening, unsure what to do with myself. 

I kinda wanted to put in a movie, but I suck at watching movies. I can never decide on one, so I just end up watching the first ten minutes of a few films before giving up entirely and just mindlessly surfing the Internet. This is where TV would come in handy, except, I don't have TV, and I'm developing the same problem with the TV, in that all the shows suck and can't hold my attention.  

Let me explain it this way, every time I get put in a hotel for work on a business trip I flip on the 'ol TV and am confronted by, basically the same 7 shows: 

Daniel Tosh- where he talks about the internet on TV which I think is creating some sort of wormhole of stupidity. 

A stand up comic special I remember from 4 years ago when I had cable. 

The same 15 stations that do nothing but show either news or sports. 

A reality show. (These are like getting a root canal if your tooth was somehow located in your eyeball) 

Ice road truckers: or as I know it, Watching people drive: the anthology. This is gripping entertainment here people. 

Animal Cops: This show makes me both sad and bored. 

Modern Marvels: you will never eat or use any of these products again if you knew how they were made. 

That's it. Now obviously I'm not watching the tube in the middle of day, but that's my point. I am watching cable during the hours that most people in this time zone are watching cable and there is nothing new on. Isn't this bad? 

I swear to god, every time I get back to my room late at night and want to watch something funny the only thing on is Daniel Tosh's show. Why? Why does this show even exist? I can watch funny internet videos, on- oh I don't know - the internet. Anytime I want. I can even- get this- go to sites where I can have the videos mocked and made fun of for free, whenever. Amazing. 

I think I hate him now.