One year later

Yesterday was Boden's first birthday. He might have grown a little bigger in the course of a year, but his personality is the exact same as the day we met him. We couldn't have asked for a more cheerful, loving and sensitive pup. 

True Minnesota spring

In true Minnesota fashion, the tiniest glimpses of spring we got have been interrupted by another snowstorm. We received a blanket of snow overnight that has yet to let up today. Thatcher and Boden are ecstatic the blustery winter weather has returned. I let them out into the backyard this morning and then poured myself a cup of coffee. When I glanced out the door to check on them, they were both just lying in middle of the yard, contentedly munching on the fresh snow. I bundled up to trek with them to the fields up the street. In fresh, fluffy snow like this, walks end up taking double the time they normally take because every four seconds either a.) the dogs are lying on the ground trying to dig the snow clumps out of their paws; b.) the dogs have stopped to scoop up a few mouthfuls of snow; or c.) Boden is digging out a buried stick or branch.

While on our way to the fields this morning, Boden unburied what looked like a pretty solid stick and carried it for our entire walk. He pretty much always has a stick in his mouth on our walks, so I didn't really pay much attention - not that I could see well anyways with the blowing snow in my face. He frolicked around with this stick the whole time at the park and all of the way back home. As we got back to our yard, I noticed something unusual about it. This stick was actually a shovel. A small, metal gardening shovel. He was so proud of himself, he wouldn't let me or Thatcher get near it. He just pranced around happily, flipping it up into the air and swinging it around. My apologies to the poor neighbor who's now missing their little shovel. Feel free to come claim it, if you can manage to get it away from my proud little puppy.

Elevated what?

Yesterday Boden was supposed to get neutered. I brought him into the vet around 7am and went through the check-in process. Because of their large size, the Newfies get a little special treatment. Instead of having to wait in kennels like other dogs, they usually get an entire exam room or the surgery recovery room to themselves, even just for basic check-ups. So the vet tech took Boden and set him up to await surgery in his own exam room. I filled out the paperwork and the techs told me they'd call when he was ready to be picked up later that afternoon. One item checked off my to-do list.

I went back home to walk Thatcher and feed him breakfast, then headed off to an eye appointment. Feeling good about my morning and everything I was getting done, I arrive at my appointment and begin filling out the required forms. My phone rings, but I didn't know the number so I ignore the call. A moment later I receive a voicemail from this random number. I keep filling out the paperwork with one hand and pick up my phone with the other hand to half-heartedly listen to the message, expecting it to be a telemarketer or my old college asking for a donation. Instead, I hear, "This is Dr. so-and-so. I just looked at the results for Boden's pre-surgery blood work. I found some abnormalities that I need to speak with you about immediately. We'll be postponing his surgery until I am able to speak with you regarding my findings. Please call me back as soon as possible." Wonderful.

Immediately worried, I step out of the eye clinic to call the vet back. In a whirlwind of information, he basically runs through the abnormal findings of the blood tests. I am completely overwhelmed, and only a few words register, "Elevated levels...parathyroid organ...cancer...cholesterol...". I freak out. He asks me if Boden's been acting out-of-the-ordinary at all or if we've been seeing any symptoms of anything. I tell him that if we had been seeing anything weird we would've brought him in sooner. The vet explains that he needs to run some additional tests to try and pinpoint what's going on. Until we know any results (next week), the neuter will have to wait. I tell him to go ahead and run the tests, and he promises to call me when Boden's ready to go home.

I walk back into the eye clinic in a daze of confusion and worry. I honestly can't remember much about the appointment, but right after I leave, the vet calls and says Boden is done. I drive straight over and practically run in the door. The vet tech calmly shows me the bill, and several hundred dollars later, brings me over to the exam room that Boden is happily waiting in. He sees me through the window on the door and dances with joy. Besides the bandage on his arm from the blood draws, he's the same cheerful dog I dropped off earlier. As we're leaving, the vet tech explains that the test results will take a few days, so they'll call us as soon as they know anything. When J. got home from work later that day, I try to explain what is going on, but realize I really have no idea. He decides to call the vet to get more details. This time I am prepared to listen and armed with a notebook. 

Boden's blood work showed elevated levels of bilirubin (can signify liver problems), cholesterol and calcium. According to the vet, the combination of these abnormalities mean it's one of three scenarios. 

1. Problems with the parathyroid organ, which, among other things, regulates the amount of Vitamin D in the body. An elevated calcium level is one of the main signals of this. There are usually no noticeable symptoms, except for what shows in the blood test.
2. Some cancers. The vet thinks this is the least likely, since Boden is so young.
3. These abnormal levels are just normal for Boden.

Obviously, we're crossing our fingers for number 3. But we'll find out more once the test results come in. Until then, we're supposed to just keep an eye out for any unusual symptoms like vomiting, increased drinking, etc. We've been watching Boden last night and today, and he seems to be his normal, spunky self. Let's hope the test results agree. In the meantime, instead of recovering from being neutered, Boden is just rocking a tiny shaved patch on his arm from where they put the needles in.

Lazy fights

Our Newfies take laziness to a whole new level. They play lying down. The ultimate goal: do not get up unless absolutely necessary. Most fights escalate into one or both of the dogs having to stand to get some leverage. But I spend many mornings sipping my coffee, with the background noise of quiet, playful growling while Thatcher and Boden roll around on their backs, pawing each other in the face. If they are using a bed or couch as their battleground, they've both agreed that the "safe zone" is mom or dad's lap. I've spilled countless cups of coffee from Boden suddenly scrambling up into my lap, hiding from Thatcher's attack. Nothing like hot coffee and a 100lb puppy being dumped into your lap at the same time. 

Training: Week 2

Boden waiting with mom for class to start.

Training was much less stressful than last week, mainly because we knew what to expect and how the dogs would react to the environment. The trainers require that we use leather leashes and some form of a training collar. Most of the people in our class use prong collars, but we decided to go with martingale collars - nylon collars that slip over the head, with a loop of chain that can tighten when the dog pulls. We had these on the dogs last week, but did not have them fitted tightly at all, so the effect was useless. This time, I was prepared. I fitted the collar properly on both dogs, and prepared to correct Boden each time he pulled. So despite my hands being a little raw from leash-burn, the night went smoothly. We worked on healing on-leash, sit-stays and down-stays. Thatcher breezed through most of it with J., but Boden did surprisingly well too. 

When the trainer asked for a doggy volunteer to demonstrate sitting and staying, I immediately raised my hand. We have not worked on stay at all with Boden yet, so I was interested to see how he would do. The trainer's first reaction was slightly unsure, "Ok... I see one of the Newfies volunteered. He's not going to drag me around the room, is he?" Of course, I couldn't guarantee that. She proceeded to take the leash from me and show the class how to teach a dog to sit and stay on command. She had Boden sit by her left side, then commanded him to stay as she took a few steps to the right, out it front of him, then back to the starting position. I watched proudly as he performed nearly perfectly. The last part of class flew by as we practiced what we learned. Towards the end, Boden was mentally drained and just kind of stared around the room in a daze. At home, like last time, they passed out the minute we stepped into the house. Another week down.

Orphans

There is one constant in my life: when I eat, my dogs are right next to me. They would be sitting in my lap if allowed. All dogs beg, I know this. But Thatcher and Boden play mind games. They look so alarmingly sad, that it makes you want to give them your food. Like it's your idea, not theirs. I know that they are never hungry. I'm usually the one to feed them. So why do I always feel obligated to save my last bite of toast crust for them? It's ridiculous. Anyhow, tonight they performed their normal begging routine while I enjoyed some ice cream. This is when something terrible happened. Boden officially started drooling. Granted, he's extremely sloppy and always has crusty gunk on his fur from eating or drinking anything, but tonight it was genuine begging drool. The kind that just hangs there and grows longer with every bite a human takes. He, thanks to Thatcher, has perfected the "I'm just a sweet, starving puppy" look. So I now lose the last two bites of every meal to my little orphans. And I end up with double the drool on my lap because of it.

Hoping for a bite of ice cream

Hoping for a bite of anything

Training begins

Ready for bed after training class

It's long overdue, but we finally started obedience classes with the Newfies. Due to a lack of foresight on our part, the first class landed on Valentine's Day. Super romantic way to spend the evening. Anyhow, we finally admitted to ourselves that we've been letting way too much slide with the dogs the last few months. Boden especially. When we got Thatcher a couple of years ago, we spent countless hours working on training essentials like heeling, greeting people politely and coming when called (although he never quite mastered this one). He was an only child, and we spent a lot of our spare time working with him. Boden has been quite a different story. It's difficult to find time to work with just him, because Thatcher gets jealous and interrupts. So this has lead to having one basically untrained puppy, and one adult dog who gets away with more than he used to. Admitting the problem is the first step to success, no? Cuteness can only go so far.

We enrolled both dogs in a beginner obedience class. Thatcher won't be terribly challenged, but for the sake of consistency we thought it best to sign them both up. The training facility is in what used to be a commercial office space, and has several classes going on in different training rings simultaneously. From the moment we walked in the door, I felt stressed. Thatcher and Boden were nervous and excited by this new environment that was full of noise, people and dogs. I was holding Thatcher's leash while we checked in and J. had Boden. The dogs were both extremely anxious, and kept pulling and whining, making it difficult to focus on the required paperwork. After we signed in, the lady pointed us to the training ring we should head towards. As we were walking past the registration desk, a dog that was lying behind the counter by the lady lunged out and attacked Thatcher. The lady pulled the aggressive dog off of Thatcher quickly, but after those brief moments of thrashing and biting, my nerves were shot and my stress limit at capacity.

That incident passed and we headed over to our assigned training area. We had agreed beforehand that I would primarily handle Boden for our sessions, and J. would work with Thatcher. So we swapped leashes and I waited with Boden. In our normal daily routines, the dogs don't have many opportunities to act up. They're confident and well-behaved on our walks around the neighborhood, at home and at the dog park. But remove them from their regular environment, and they are like different dogs. Thatcher has always been cautious by nature and new situations tend to exacerbate this. He was a little nervous at training, but did pretty good with J. by his side. Boden was a nightmare. It took me about 3 seconds being in the facility to realize that he's officially stronger than I am. If I was even slightly distracted, he would literally drag me several yards in the blink of an eye, to try to get to another dog or person. It was extremely alarming and a really powerful wake up call. I can only imagine how much worse that feeling of helplessness will be if I don't buckle down on his training now.

After the excitement of being in a new place wore off a little, the class went pretty well. It was mainly just an introductory session, as the trainer talked about training equipment they use, the 8-week syllabus, etc. Then we worked on "sit" and "down" commands. This, of course, was a breeze for Thatcher. He even started showing off and doing his "army crawl" without even being told to. Boden knows "sit" really well, but does not consistently lay down on command. It usually takes a few times of us repeating "down" for him to sink to the ground in a painfully slow motion. We'll get there with some extra practice. The best part of that whole night was how soundly the dogs slept. The whole situation must have been too much stimulation for them, because they walked in the door at home, followed us upstairs, and fell asleep in a matter of seconds in their favorite positions - Thatcher guarding the doorway to our room, and Boden on the bed with us. Both snoring.

Don't own a dog unless...

The dog park we bring Thatcher and Boden to borders the Mississippi River. It's several fenced-in acres of woods, trails and beach. Being a "balmy" 30-something degree day, we decided to trek over to the dog park and let the boys frolic around with the many friends they come across there. In typical Saturday fashion, the park was full of life. This was a nice change from the last time we took them there. It was a -10 degree morning, and we were literally the only people dumb enough to be there. Anyhow, Thatcher and Boden don't get as much social interaction in the winter, aside from our trips to Petsmart or the neighborhood dogs we cross paths with on walks every now and then. So they were thrilled when we arrived and they realized where we were. 

We usually take the same route through the park. We walk through the woods on a trail that leads to a peninsula on the edge of the water, a 1-2 mile hike. Then we loop down and walk the beach the whole way back. Along the way, Thatch and Boden enthusiactically romp around with the other dogs we encounter. Boden, ever the social butterfly, makes sure to greet every living creature in the park - humans and animals alike. His best friend of choice today was another 7-month-old puppy - a goofy pit bull/lab mix. They chased and jumped on each other much of our walk, until Boden finally got distracted by new friends and ran ahead. Thatcher is much more concerned with investigating all of the scents. He trots around like a hound dog, his nose to the ground, snorting like a pig. Occasionally, he'll become sidetracked by another dog's ball. He'll say hi to the other dogs, being sure to puff up his chest to look big and tough, but then goes back to his investigative work.

So we hiked through the woods and got the peninsula, then started back on our normal route along the beach. The water close to the shore was frozen, but the ice was clearly pretty thin because of the last few warm days. Boden really hasn't had the chance to be around water a whole lot yet since he was born towards the end of summer. He clambered over to the edge of the river and took a few shaky steps onto the frozen part. Knowing the ice wasn't steady, we immediately called him to us, but it was too late. His front paws broke through and he fell head-first into the icy water. He panicked, thrashing around and whimpering for help. We were standing probably 10 yards away when this happened, and J was moving before I could even really react. He sprinted over to the edge to pull Boden to safety in a matter of seconds, soaking his own legs in the process.

It all happened in less than a minute. Being so close to shore, the water couldn't have been much more than waist-deep (on a human), but it was still scary. We thought Boden would be traumatized and shivering, and we still had a very long walk to get back to the car. But our worries were unecessary. He recovered in about half a second and went back to merrily running down the beach. Unless you felt him, you wouldn't even know he was wet, because he did not act cold in the slightest. Now, where was Thatcher during this short ordeal? Was he by our side concerned about Boden? No. After Boden was safely back on solid ground, we quickly looked around trying to make sure Thatcher was still alive and safe too. Where did we find him? About 100 yards away, cheerfully playing with another group of dogs, not even noticing what had just happened. 

So the moral of the story is this: Do not own a dog unless you are willing to jump into the icy Mississippi River to rescue him. I'd like to think our puppy has also learned his lesson and will be more cautious in the future. I fear, though, that the only lesson he learned today is to be even more brave, because mom and dad will save him no matter what situation he gets himself into. Oh well. He's snoring on the (now soaking wet) bed next to me, and I can't help but smile and think about all the crazy things we do for our pets. 

Boden sleeping off "the incident"

Home and happy

This past weekend we travelled out of state to visit my brother and sister-in-law. Because my niece is still pretty little, not yet two years old, we thought we'd leave the Newfies at home so we could spend more time with her and less time worrying about them getting into trouble in their house. It was Boden's first time without one of us, and Thatcher has only been left a handful of times. Right from the start, it was a little bizarre not having the dogs. We set out on the road, and eventually realized we didn't have any reason to stop. Usually on road trips, we take breaks at rest areas to let the dogs out to stretch and run. Instead, we were just forced to stop for snacks every hour or two. Once we were there, we had no dogs waking us up early in the morning, no excuse to sneak outside for fresh air, and nothing to worry about when we were out late. Not to mention we only needed to pack half the amount of stuff we normally pile into the car. It was weird.

When we got home on Sunday, the dogs had different reactions. Thatcher ran over and gave his happy growl, then just expected a walk immediately and kept barking at us to take him. Boden was just ecstatic. He is a lot less independent than Thatcher and literally cries with joy when he greets us after we've been gone for a long stretch of time. It's really kind of pathetic and cute at the same time. Even when I get home from work, he rushes over and buries himself in my arms, whining and wagging his tail at the same time. So for the rest of the day Sunday, the dogs did not let us leave their sight. They are not planning on letting us sneak off on another trip without them again anytime soon.

On a bright note (for Thatch and Boden, at least), we have gotten snow three days in a row now. The dogs have been delighted to tromp around and gobble up the fresh snow. Anyone who knows anything about Newfies can relate here. The more snow they are covered in, the happier they are. I sometimes wonder if they even feel cold.  This morning, when I called them in, they just flopped themselves onto the snow and pretended they didn't understand what I was saying.





Keepaway

Boden is always so proud of himself when he finds a treasure before Thatcher does. These "treasures" can be anything really, a dead mouse (luckily this has only happened once so far), a long-lost bone, a piece of food someone dropped in the snow, or in this case a simple chunk of wood. Wood and sticks are his favorite, and he'll happily prance around all of us in circles when he finds a good one. Thatcher, of course, has picked up on the game. In typical big brother fashion, he's learned to pretend he's not interested in whatever Boden has. Boden, seeing he can't get a reaction out of Thatcher, will end up getting bored and will drop the object. This is Thatcher's cue to swoop in and steal it. We watch countless variations of this game on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis. It never gets old.

Night owl

Boden sleeping. A sight that is rare these days.

Boden has turned into a little monster at night. He wanders up and down the stairs clunking bones and toys around, looking for trouble. I don't know what's gotten in to him, but I feel like the parent of a newborn baby. Every couple of hours, he'll come over to my side of the bed and shove his face in mine to wake me up. When he's certain I'm awake, he'll hop up part way onto the bed to be pet for a few minutes. Sometimes he has a toy in his mouth, sometimes not. The first few times he did this, I assumed he was trying to tell me he had to go potty. So I begrudgingly trudged down the stairs to let him out, only to discover he just wants to play and has absolutely no need or desire to go potty.

Well last night, I let the dogs out at 11pm for the last time. After I climbed back into bed, I heard him banging around in the living room downstairs. Really loudly. I figured he was probably just dragging around a bone or knocking something over, so I tried to fall back asleep. The loud thumping continued for awhile, then stopped. Just as I was starting to drift off again, the noise started. I decided to go check on him downstairs and at least make sure no one was breaking into our house or anything. I get out of bed and accidentally step on Thatcher, who's sleeping on the floor next to me. I walk downstairs and into the living room, and Boden is nowhere to be seen. Then I hear the thumping again. I stand there, puzzled, until I realize he has accidentally shut himself in the bathroom. Not the first time this has happened, I might add.

I open the door and let him out of the prison he created. He sprints into the living room happily, and I see his cheeks are bursting because he has something in his mouth. I reach out to grab him , and he dances away playfully, clearly proud of himself and whatever's hiding in those jowls. We've caught him running around with toothpaste and shower gel (separate occasions) before, so I wanted to make sure whatever he had in his mouth wasn't going to harm  him. I finally catch him, only to discover it's just the empty cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper. I throw it back in the bathroom garbage, shut the bathroom door, and head back to bed. He was already attempting to wake me up again about an hour later. I should have just left him in the bathroom, then maybe I would have gotten a full night's sleep for once.

Never be late

Just when you think you can trust them. This happens. Then you realize you're the dumb one for trusting dogs with garbage. That's down at their level. Out in the open. 

Since getting Boden, we've had to keep bathroom garbage cans on top of the back of the toilet, because he would constantly tip them over and play with the trash. I stopped doing this recently because we hadn't had any terrible instances of him shredding things for a while. I got home later than normal tonight, and the dogs were so crazy with excitement that I forced myself to bundle up and take them for a night walk. I fed them and played with them after the walk, then tromped upstairs to take a shower and get ready for bed. As I turned the hallway light on, I noticed a piece of trash on the ground. Then another. As I stepped further down the hallway, there was an actual trail of trash leading into the bathroom. I turned on the bathroom light, and to my delight, found that the dogs had gotten back at me for getting home late. With the parents away, the dogs will play. Needless to say, trash will be going back up. 

Playdate

I'm listening to both Thatcher and Boden snore right now. Our nieces spent the day with us yesterday, and watching over two little girls for that long really tuckers a dog out.

We bundled up to play outside as soon as it was light out. The girls ran around and twirled in the snow. Boden frolicked after them, looking for (and causing) mischief. The Newfies always tend to gravitate towards the youngest kids, so Boden was practically the 3-year-old's shadow. Which resulted in him clumsily bumping into her and tipping her over into the snow, then smothering her with kisses while she was down on the ground. Thatcher, on the contrary, spent most of his time following the girls around with a worried look on his face. He really wasn't sure that they should be rolling down the tiny snowy hill by our driveway, so he stood watch vigilantly at the top of the hill, not taking his concerned eyes off of them. 

Later we walked a couple of blocks up to the local neighborhood park. Our 7-year-old niece insisted on walking Thatcher, and though I was a little worried he might accidentally pull her or cause her to slip on the icy sidewalk, he behaved like an angel. He proudly pranced and led her along, holding the leash in his mouth as if he was guiding her. One neighbor we passed by laughed and said, "That's a lot of dog for a little girl!". Once we got to the park, instead of happily playing, Thatcher kept trying to grab onto one end of his leash to pull us away to safety.This is what he does whenever he senses danger or feel uncomfortable. 

By late afternoon, the girls (and the Newfies) were more than ready for a nap. I tucked the girls into one of the beds and turned on a movie for them to relax to. When I came back upstairs a little bit later to check on them, I walked in to see Thatcher and Boden monopolizing the bed, with the girls squeezed in between them. 

Thatcher standing watch

Boden "helping" her down the hill

Boden "helping" her up the hill

Awkward stage

Boden is almost five months old and weighed in at 66lbs today. He's starting to look a little lanky and awkward, as his limbs grow longer and his head gets bigger. Since I see him every day, it's hard to notice how much he really has grown. But when I examine him in the photos I take, it's quite clear. He's no longer a tiny ball of fuzz. If only he would realize this too.

Although he is almost as tall as our bed is high, he doesn't seem to understand how easily he could hop up onto it if he wanted to. Instead, he'll run and take a really big leap, only to land with just his front arms on the bed. He'll then stand there looking at you, waiting for someone to boost him up the rest of the way. Thatcher thoroughly enjoys this, and uses the bed as his one true escape from Boden. Whenever they are fighting over a toy or chasing each other, Thatcher will zoom up the stairs and onto the bed, staying just out of reach of Boden, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Gator

I forget how much puppies love toys. Thatcher has always had plenty, and many of them have been around since he was a puppy. Worn out and missing limbs, but still alive. When we got Boden, we didn't really prepare like we did for Thatcher. We already had toys, food dishes, leashes, etc. So, in typical second-child fashion, he received Thatcher's hand-me-downs. Lately we've been trying to make up for this by buying a new toy every week or so. It's hit or miss, finding out which dog will take the new toy as "his". The first, a blue fuzzy dog whose four legs squeak, Thatcher claimed. He carried it around constantly for the first couple of days, even bringing it along when he went outside to use the bathroom. Well this weekend, we picked up another new toy - a furry yellow gator who is made of squeaky compartments. Boden and the gator have been inseparable ever since.

Winter appears

We woke up this morning to the first real snowfall of the year. Hardly any, but a light dusting is covering the ground. Saturday was nearly 70 degrees and Sunday, yet today is cold enough for that little bit of snow to remain. Being born in July, this was Boden's first time experiencing snow. When I let the dogs out earlier this morning, Boden tiptoed down the back steps, confused as to why they were covered in all that cold white stuff. But he quickly discovered the joy of eating it. On our walk, every few steps he would scoop up a mouthful of snow and happily chomp away. He hasn't mastered ice yet though. At one point, he slipped and belly flopped onto the sidewalk. He flailed around like a seal for a few seconds, unable to get his footing, then found his balance and continued on his merry way. Meanwhile, Thatcher, the snow veteran, stood there waiting with an exasperated look on his face. This will be his third winter, so he's already spent many a day tromping through knee-high snow and climbing up snow mountains created by the plows. I just let them out a minute ago to use the bathroom, and Thatcher was already rolling around in the snow.

There goes the puppy fuzz

Boden is starting to lose all his soft puppy fuzz. The last week I've been noticing the dog hair all over the carpet has been really bad. I've been vacuuming literally every day, and I still can't keep up. It took me a while to realize it's coming from Boden. You can pet him, and large tufts of his fuzz float off into the air. So this morning I thought I should brush his fur out to try and minimize the number of times I have to vacuum. With how much fur came off him, you would think he'd be bald. But alas, plenty of fuzz still left for the carpets.

Vote

Not the most pleasant morning. I woke up to the dogs jumping onto the bed and smothering me. We went downstairs, and while they usually sprint down the stairs ahead of me, they trailed behind this time. I knew something was up. I entered into a living room full of potty accidents. Five, to be exact. I kept myself calm and continued to the back door to let the dogs out. We then made it to the entry way, which was covered with shredded garbage - coffee grounds, paper towels, banana peels, etc. The entire garbage can had been completely torn apart. I know who the guilty party is. Thatcher hasn't done anything like this in at least a solid year. But of course, when I scolded them, he acted just as distraught as Boden. So I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning up garbage, opening windows to air out the smells and scrubbing the carpet. Fun way to kick off the day. But on another note, we're very excited it's election day! I'm getting ready to head to the polls and am interested to see how close this race turns out to be.

Allergic reaction

For the first time in my life, I called in sick for work. We woke up yesterday to discover that Boden had some sort of allergic reaction overnight. His eyes and jowls were all puffy and swollen. He seemed pretty lively overall, and wasn't having any difficulty breathing. But I immediately called the vet to see when I could bring him in. Of course, come to find out the vet doesn't get in until 9am. This was at 6:30am. So for more than two hours, I sat and monitored him. We gave him a little dose of Benadryl, which didn't seem to help. He was walking around, drinking water, playing a little bit. But whenever he would lie down, he would just paw at his eyes and whine. I don't think he was in pain, just extremely uncomfortable. Even Thatcher knew something was wrong. He stayed right next to Boden keeping him company.

When we finally got to the vet, they agreed that it was an allergic reaction. They recommended hospitalizing him for a few hours, giving him a couple injections of antihistamines and monitoring him to see if the swelling subsided. I went back home and tried to keep myself from constantly worrying about Boden. My mind tends to play out worst-case-scenarios, I can't control it. Finally, around 1pm, I decided to call them and check on Boden's progress. The vet said he was doing great, and most of the swelling had gone down. She explained that we should keep him on Benadryl for a couple of days just to be safe. So Thatch and I scurried out the door to go pick up our puppy. He seemed perfectly back to normal the rest of the day, even slightly more crazy than usual.

Two worst parts about this whole incident though. 1. We have no idea what caused the reaction, which makes it impossible to prevent this from happening again. We couldn't find a single thing in the house that he could have gotten into, so my guess is that he ate something outside. Otherwise, it could have even been some kind of bug bite the vet said. We'll just have to be observant. 2. They used a catheter during his hospitalization. So all afternoon and evening, he just leaked pee everywhere. He wasn't even trying to go potty, he just literally couldn't control it. It was kind of funny, but only until you accidentally stepped in a spot he dribbled in. That was our adventure. I'm very glad that Boden is back to normal, because my emotions could not have handled anything else.

Forty pounder

Boden and I ventured to the vet this morning. I thought the appointment was at 8am, so I pretty much just woke up, swigged a cup of coffee, let the dogs out to use the bathroom, then jumped in the car with Boden. After rushing to get there in time, we walk in only to discover that the appointment isn't until 9am. Boden was acting really nervous, whining and frantically pacing around me in circles, so we just got back into the car and drove home. I had time to give him and Thatch a walk, have another cup of coffee, then run out the door again. 

He was a trooper though, and didn't even flinch when he got his shots. He absolutely adores all of the reception ladies and vet techs. They were all shocked at how much he's already grown. The last time they saw him, three weeks ago, he weighed in at 29lbs. Now he's just over 40lbs. I've really taken note of his size difference when I go to give him a boost onto the couch or our bed. He still hasn't found enough coordination to hop onto furniture, so he will just stand with his front paws up, waiting for you to lift his back end up. Hopefully he figures out how to work his muscles before he gets a whole lot bigger. Sometimes he refuses to get out of the car. The 1.5 foot drop to the ground is just way too dangerous, so I'm forced to lift him out. That's when I really feel those extra pounds.

Later today, the dogs got a nice treat - our nieces and nephew stopped over to visit. The littlest one, who is 3 years old, referred to Boden as "Cottonball." I kept hearing, "Come here, Cottonball. Here, Cottonball," and would look over to see Boden attacking the kids with kisses. All of them kept bringing toys outside just for Boden, but of course Thatcher would not allow himself to be overlooked and would confiscate any toy Boden even glanced at. They had lots of fun, and it was a win-win for all of the human adults. The kids were tuckered out for the car ride home, and the dogs napped the rest of the afternoon.