No More Drama

I don’t do/like drama.
I accept that shit happens. Sometimes bad shit. When it does, if there’s something to be done about it, I take action, because that’s part of my Aries nature. If there’s nothing to be done, I try to subscribe to the “what is” way of life rather than the “what if” way of life. “What if” leads to anxiety and/or regret, and neither of those is a state I want to be in.

All that being said, 2006 is definitely going to be remembered as a year of drama at The Compound: mainly, dog drama.

We began the year with River’s health problems and his death. Even though I could rail against the careless, cruel people who didn’t take care of River at the beginning of his life, I prefer to think about what River found for the last few months of his life. With Tim, he had a companion who loved him and provided all the care River should have enjoyed from puppyhood. Those two were so lucky to have found each other and shared what they did, even though it was for a brief time.

The River dog.

Our grief for River was intense, but out of it came two positive things. The first is Rex. Tim understood that Rex’s family simply didn’t have the time or energy that a willful, robust dog like Rex needs, so Tim opened his home and heart to him. Rex is not River; he never will be. And that’s okay. He enjoys all the benefits that a human companion like Tim has to offer. And Tim gets to know that he’s making a wonderful difference in another dog’s life.

The other positive thing that River gave me personally was inspiration for A COVENTRY CHRISTMAS. Without River, there’d be no Rip the greyhound and no Dr. Michael Boone in Coventry. The veterinarian and staff who took care of River were extraordinary. They provided a level of care that went beyond just medical, and they inspired me. Dr. Ward in particular said something about River that was the catalyst for a key part of the novel and which I quoted: Every one of his scars has a story.

Three different clinics are in the acknowledgments of the novel: 249 Animal Clinic, who took care of our dachshunds Pete and Stevie their entire lives; Sunset Boulevard Animal Clinic, who took care of River (and now, Rex); and West Alabama Animal Clinic, who takes care of Margot, Guinness, and Lazlo. Whether dealing with doctors, techs, handlers, or office staffs, these three facilities have consistently provided outstanding care or referred us to specialists who are equally excellent. And when the best and most humane option has been to let our dogs (and one cat) go, these professionals’ kindness, patience, and understanding are extraordinary.

If you read Tim’s LiveJournal, then you already know what happened Saturday. Margot got hold of a piece of rat bait. Tom flushed out her mouth. Tim got on the phone to ASPCA’S Poison Control center, and I followed their instructions and induced vomiting. We then opted to also induce vomiting in Guinness as a precaution. Margot had traces of the bait in her stomach. Guinness didn’t. Thanks to another outstanding vet on the other end of the phone at the ASPCA, we were able to stay calm and focused. We were reassured that based on the poison we thought Margot chewed on, we had plenty of time for treatment.

By Saturday night, I think all of us had passed “deal with it” mode and moved to “what if” mode. What if Tom hadn’t caught Margot in the act. What if Guinness got some, too, and we didn’t see it. What if Rex found it. What if there’s more we can’t see. Whatifwhatifwhatif… Enough to drive anyone mad. But we’d done all we could for the time being. We had a case number for Poison Control and could call them back any time, either if we saw symptoms or just needed reassurance or questions answered. We’d left a message for the exterminator and knew they’d call us back at eight Monday morning. We were monitoring all three dogs.

On Sunday, we addressed everything we could on The Compound property. Lindsey, a/k/a The Bag Bitch, came over, and the four of us got to work. We bagged the rest of the leaves. Completely cleaned out flowerbeds. Cut back ferns and other foliage that obscured our view of the places the dogs like to explore. Everything got raked and examined for any traces of poison. Trees were pruned away from the house and apartment to give future rats and squirrels less access to our roofs. We worked until the sun went down, then we got cleaned up. Lynne wasn’t able to come in to watch the Survivor finale with us because she was keeping her granddogs for the evening, and we figured her dogs and granddogs didn’t need to be sniffing around in the dark at The Compound anyway. Rhonda and Lindsey came over, we ate takeout from Ming’s, then we got our three-hour TV fix while the dogs snored next to us (or shoved Lindsey off the couch). (We were Yul fans, but we were really pulling for Ozzy to win. Dammit. Still, congratulations to Yul.) It was a low-key end to a stressful weekend, and I’m grateful to Rhonda and Lindsey for being here, and to all of our friends who called or checked in with us via e-mail or LiveJournal to make sure the dogs were okay.

This morning, Hazel at NW Pest Patrol was immediately responsive to our call. She faxed information on the rodenticides to our vet. She called her company’s business owners to let them know what was going on. She got in touch with our Pest Control Operator (PCO) to find out exactly how much bait was left in the area we were sure it came from. It’s a separate area at the back of the house, unconnected to the attic. There’s a fan up there with a lip on it (a leftover from the old days, when the house was cooled by an attic fan–way before our time). What we speculate happened is that a rat sat up there in a comfortable place to chew on the bait. The bait fell off, landing in the flower bed below. That’s where Margot spotted it and picked it up. Stupid rat + inquisitive Margot = DANGER!

Once Tom knew the exact bait Margot had ingested, he called Poison Control and got more information to give to our vet. Then he called West Alabama Animal Clinic to get them up to speed in advance of my taking the dogs in for an appointment.

Both girls were little troopers at the vet. They got their blood drawn for a PIVKA profile. Then to be safe, they both got Vitamin K injections and 10 days of Vitamin K capsules to take. You can read what this particular poison does here and understand why this is not something that can go untreated in hopes it will go away.

Am I mad at the exterminator? Not at all. He took the precautions he was supposed to, and it was just one of those “shit happens” things. Yeah, I worry for my dogs, and I didn’t need an expensive vet visit at this point in time. But I appreciate the response of our pest control company. I’m grateful that when I got back from the vet, I had a follow-up message from Hazel. When I called her, she said she’d been so upset she wanted to drive here and help us this morning. She told me the story of her Pomeranian who she lost after nineteen years. Hazel gets it, and she cares.

I also know we did the right thing by getting rid of the rats quickly and thoroughly. Rats are a health hazard, too, for the dogs and for us. I will recommend to the PCO that in the future, he write down the exact name of the forms of rat bait he uses, because they work in different ways and have different antidotes (or in some cases, no antidotes, so immediate care is critical). For some reason, shit happens mainly on the weekends when offices are closed, so it’d have been helpful to have that information written down for Poison Control.

Right now, all dogs are safe and snoozing away a rainy day. There’s been no rat noise from the attic in several days. I just want all of this to be over, and I’m promising myself that next year: NO MORE DRAMA.

Here, for your viewing pleasure, are some gifts that came in the mail from Marika and Dash in New Orleans. (There are more gifts from Lisa, Sophie, and Phoebe in Iowa, but those don’t get distributed until Christmas, when there’ll be MORE photos!)

Margot, playing the “I ingested rat poison” card, tries to hog all the toys.

Guinness, playing the “I’m the good dog!” card, has a toy from Margot’s stash given to her.

The Dog Whisperer thinks he deserves a toy, too.

Rex does not agree.

Rex wins!

And if you’ve ever wondered if the Universe has a sense of humor? Tom grabbed lunch on Sunday from McDonald’s. I told him I wanted a cheeseburger Happy Meal. He had no idea what toy they dropped in the bag. But here it is.

A freakin’ Madame Alexander Mickey MOUSE boy doll, tail and all.

Thank you, everyone, for checking up on the dogs. And on the plus side, all three vet clinics I mentioned earlier have now finally received copies of A COVENTRY CHRISTMAS as a thank-you for their splendid work.