14 years ago, we got a call from a friend about a dog. He had adopted a sweet puppy, but couldn’t keep her because she was just a little too high energy for him. I had met her a few times and there was no way that sweet yellow lab puppy was going back to the pound, so the Hubs and I (mainly me) decided to take her. I mean, look at that face…

We brought that ill mannered smooshy face home the week after Christmas and discovered two things very quickly:

1. She wasn’t very bright. At all.
2. She was allergic to a lot of food.

We discovered the first thing when we realized that the name she came with sounded way too close to the word “No” for her to be able to tell the difference and the second by cleaning up some seriously disgusting messes. So we renamed our pup Abby, enrolled her in training and quickly found a diet that worked.

All went along as swimmingly as life can with a yellow lab puppy until Abby was 2. That is when her thunder phobia set in. She made the dog in Marley and Me look like an amateur – this crazy dog tried to chew off door knobs, eat her way through dry wall, hide on your shoulders and once even managed to knock herself out by tipping over a shelf on her head in her frenzy to escape the thunder. We tried thunder capes, desensitizing her to the sound, and watching Rambo movies really loudly during storm. We lived and died by the weather forecast and lost so.much.sleep. staying up with this pup- most of the time with her panting and draped your neck.

Things got so bad that the summer the Bean was born, I tried to rehome her. I was exhausted from having a 2 year old and new born and I was at my limit. Oddly enough, no one else wanted a crazy dog, so she stayed part of our clan. Finally our vet recommended that we take Abbers to the major veterinary hospital within driving distance and see a psychologist.

We were desperate so we did. That is how my 6 year old lab ended on daily Prozac and Xanax during storms. We were officially as crazy as our dog. But it worked and we all got some peace back.

Through it all, Abbers was the sweetest dog. She loved my kids wildly, thought the snow was the best thing ever and tolerated our kitties. She loved meat, but bread (her other love) gave her ear infections. Walks with the Bean were the best thing ever up until about  a week ago. She was pampered and loved each and every day.

She never learned how to do any fancy tricks and would beg shamelessly for your food. She had the most soulful eyes and the sweetest disposition. Her ears were silky soft and her tail never stopped wagging when she had your attention. Nothing made her happier than being touched- a pat on the head or an absent minded rub of your foot when watching TV.

Abbers started to get sick a little over a year ago when she was 14. We knew she had cancer of some sort, but we all agreed that putting a 14 year old dog through invasive tests was cruel, so we concentrated on keeping her comfortable. And we did a great job of that until about a week ago. Everyone had always told me that I’d know when Abbey’s time was up, and we did. She stopped wanting to eat or go outside. Walks didn’t make her happy and treats were often left uneaten.

So we gave Abbers a week- a week where she got unlimited chicken and other treats. A week where we loved on her and said a million silent goodbyes. We warned the kids and had talked all week about how little time Abby had, but last night we told them flat out what was happening today. There were tears and questions and hugs- but ultimately understanding that it is our job to make sure Abby doesn’t suffer and that sometimes that means making really hard decision.

The kids said their last goodbye’s this morning and we all cried on their way to school. Shortly there after, the Hubs and I took Abby to the vet where she passed away with cookies in her belly and people who loved her dearly around her.

Goodbye, my crazy girl – thank you for loving us with your whole heart.

There are a ton of awesome things that happen when you’re a pet owner. But you want to know what’s not awesome? Realizing at 9:30 pm, after finally getting home after a day of work, an evening of soccer practice, dinner out, Family Reading Night for your kindergartener and putting the kids to bed (only 1 successfully thus far) that you haven’t seen one of your very social cats in over 10 hours. Boo, the cat in question, loves people and loves being fed so when I poured her food in her bowl that night and she didn’t come running, I got nervous. She was acting a little funny- hyper and jumpy- earlier in the day but I didn’t pay that much attention.

I pulled out the big guns and opened a can of tuna.  She still didn’t come. Normally Boo would cut you for tuna, so I was more then a little freaked so I got the Hubs.   We then tear about the house (all the while trying to get the Bean to go to sleep already!), trying to find said cat. We finally located her under Scorch’s bed- the one bed that the one sleeping kid in our house in it. Because where else would she be?? I’m shining a very weak flashlight under the bed (because there is no way I’m turning on the lights and chance waking up Scorch) and I couldn’t tell if she was breathing so I panicked a little bit and worked frantically to get the crap out from under the bed to see the cat better all while not waking my kid.  I finally saw that Boo was breathing, but she’s wasn’t coming out. Thankfully I’m married to man with freakishly long arms and the stealth of a ninja and he was able to pull the damn cat out by the scruff of her neck to see what’s going on.

We carried Boo to the kitchen only to see that she has a big old piece of poop with a ribbon from a balloon in it is hanging out of her butt. I don’t know much about cat health, but I do know you’re NOT supposed to pull the ribbon- so we call the emergency vet to figure out what the heck to do. Boo is eating the tuna, but not letting us hold her or pet her and the Hubs is started to flip out a little. After much discussion with the emergency vets, they say to bring the cat in. At 10 pm. Keep in mind, Boo 1) hasn’t ridden in car in NINE YEARS because she’s such a freak show and 2) has to be sedated to be seen by our vet that comes to our house because she won’t let the vet examine her otherwise. It’s been so long since she’s ridden in a car that we don’t even own a cat carrier. So the poor Hubs has to run to Wal-mart to get one all while I sob because I CLEARLY suck as a cat mom.

The Hubs got home within 20 minutes with this cheap-o made-of-recycled plastic carrier that doesn’t shut right that we slap together and throw the cat in. Boo doesn’t even make a SOUND, so I know she’s dying. I gave her a kiss while trying not to smell her stinky ass and sent her on her way with the Hubs.

I can’t sleep, but I got into bed anyhow and stared at my cell phone willing it to ring with an update. 15 minutes after the Hubs left (not enough time to get to the vets), I get a text message that simply says “Am covered with mud, coursing with adrenaline.” I freak out, wondering what the holy heck is happening, trying to figure out what’s going on. The only thing I could imagine was that the cat got sick in the carrier and escaped into the night while the Hubs was trying to clean her up.

Nope…cat was fine. Turned out, a car traveling opposite the Hubs flipped over 3 times in front of the Hubs and landed in a ditch. The Hubs immediately stopped to help. After getting the driver (who was thankfully largely unhurt) out of his totaled car, calling 911 and talking to the Sheriff, the Hubs was a muddy, wet mess who still had to take his sick cat to the vet. 

By the time they got to the vets, it was after 11 and no one else was in the emergency room.  The Vets rushed Boo right back in to be looked at, but not 5 minutes after they left, an elderly gentleman came running into the vet ER screaming for a gurney. One of the vets helped the guy get a gurney and went out to help him get his animal inside. The Hubs assumed the guy had to have a big animal with him- otherwise why wouldn’t he carry the animal in himself? Nope- the gentleman had a cat he was bringing in, only the cat was in an oxygen tent. The poor man was babbling about how the cat arrested twice on the 2.5 hour ride to the animal hospital but he was able to get him going again (how? the Hubs didn’t ask). The cat was 18 and lived in an oxygen tank but the man wanted the vets to do whatever they could to keep the kitty going. Never underestimate the love of a cat owner, people.

Finally, almost an hour after the Hubs got there, Boo was finally seen. I’ll skip over the gross parts- Boo was ultimately fine and got home with the Hubs around 2 am that morning.  We were supposed to be checking on her every 30 minutes the following day, but that cat was pissed at all the indignities from night before- the car ride, the carrier, being seen by a vet, being sedated- that she hid from us for the next 24 hours.  Thankfully she managed to get over herself long enough to come out when tuna was offered, so I know she’s on the mend.

The moral of the story: 1) balloons are the devil’s toy and 2) don’t forget about your cat for 10 hours, nothing good will come of it.