Sunday, August 28, 2011

Gromit Wensleydale is 2

It is my BIRTHDAY. [ rainbows and jellybeans ]

I'm two human years old now, 
a big boy. Dad's big boy. After a long sleep in a morning sunbeam, 
Dad went rock hunting (for me). (Some humans call this "fishing")
The rocks are for looking at, not swallowing. They are bigger than my head so I don't think I'm going to try to eat one. I'm going to lick them anyway..., . Besides, the peas have been good lately. 
Mum spent the day filling my big ears with tails tales 
of cheese flakes falling from the kitchen sky, 
and giving me barking allowances on the balcony...., 
then put me in the silly family birthday hat and took some photos.

I've slept some, barked some. 

 and I was given a squeaky kangaroo

Claire was given a pink flamingo,
and Clifford an ostrich,
(not from Australia)
but they're sort of mine too.
dogs toys,  day 2

..and, cheese did fall from the sky.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Home Security

Gromit, doing what he does best.
Back at home I have continued to heal and regain my strength day by day. I have returned to my duties as Guard Dog on the front balcony. I bark at the church-goers, street walkers, dog and human. When not barking I'm guarding (pictured above), at which I excel.

Today is Canada Day, and I expect there to be even more activity on the sidewalk below...which I suspect is why Mum hasn't opened the door to my balcony. All I can do is bark from the back balcony - which isn't half as interesting because all there is out there are birds and squirrels. (That's fine for girls like Claire, but not for a  guard hound like me.) I like the people - people who can applaud my work (Mum says they're laughing at me, but I know they are really cheering me on).
Mum has also tried to dress both Clifford and I in red and white kerchiefs. We looked like dorks and it just made me want to chew Clifford's neck, so she had to take them off us. Thank goodness her camera broke yesterday so we have no photographic evidence!

Happy Canada Day everyone!
Gromit Wensleydale

Friday, June 17, 2011

Another night in hospital..

I have to stay in the hospital another night because I haven't shown any interest in food. I'll have to stay on IV medication for now. Oh woe, ...I do regret swallowing those pebbles. :(

I swallowed two more pebbles...

It was sometime before Mum cut the rhubarb when I swallowed the pebbles. Perhaps the evening before, when Claire and I were being rascals. I was wondering if I should tell Mum and Dad, but after wondering for a while I vomited one up right in  front of Dad's guest and gave it all away. They looked at me sideways until the next morning, when Dad brought me back to the vet.
Sure enough, my other pebble showed up on the x-ray, so it was back to surgery for Gromit. I just had my staples removed from my last pebble removal, I'm all stapled up again.

Mum and Dad are pretty upset. They said I'm going to have to wear a basket muzzle because I can't afford to have more problems with my insides. I don't even know what a basket muzzle is yet, but this doesn't sound good - I wouldn't be able to put my mouth over Clifford's head if my mouth was covered up.

I don't mean to swallow pebbles.. ..they're just so..yummy..So are sticks, and flowers from the garden, and Mum's toes under her desk. I'm a Basset and I like to taste things; sometimes my attention is swayed and whatever I'm tasting slips down my throat. AaarrRrOoops. (I've never swallowed Mum's toes of course..)

I should be able to go home today. The surgery wasn't as extensive as last time, but still resulted in the same large incision. I'm very sore. :(
Dad's going to have to carry me around for a while longer, I guess.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Home Is Where the Hound Is

It's good to be home. I'm back to snoozing under Mum's desk, barking at the church-goers, and helping in the garden. My poop is looking good too. I still have 27 staples in my belly and a bald spot with a fuzzy patch where my Fentynal patch was, but neither really bothers me too much. I made and agreement with Mum and Dad that I would not lick my staples so long as they do not put that cone on my head. Basset Hounds do not wear the cone of shame (we are too handsome).

Dad shoveled every single rock and pebble out of the yard,; every edible rock is gone. At first I was, like, what!? now what will we get into along the side of the house? but this has all turned out for the better. Now instead of rocks there is soil - dark, soft soil which is awesome because it gives my cute floppy paws even more places to dig. I sank my chubby toes into it's richness and Mum scolded me saying it was for plants not silly dogs, which only means new greens things to eat are on the way. I can digest green things.

Apparently we go in on Friday to have my staples removed and to see Dr. Thomspon (who I have a little crush on...). I'm fine with a quick visit with everyone BUT I'M NOT STAYING THE NIGHT! As much as I like everyone there I like sleeping in my own king sized bed.


Wordless Wensleydale

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Recovery. Day 2

Gromit, May 29, 2011
Cutest sad Basset ever.

Gromit Wensleydale: Rock Eater

I wouldn't recommend eating rocks. 

I guess I was just curious. Dad and Claire have always taken a great interest in rocks, so I thought I would contribute somehow - in the name of science. 
My rock tasting experiment didn't go too well though, and at 5:00am Wednesday morning, while Dad was in the shower preparing to leave for his rock mine, I vomited three large pebbles off the edge of the bed. Mum couldn't believe what she heard, and only I knew the answer to her first question to me: 
       Gromit, are there any more rocks in you?

When Dad came back in the room Mum told him what happened and he could hardly believe it, but sure enough as he was cleaning my mess (he's the official dog-vomit cleaner in our house) he found one rock in my vomit (he's the official dog-vomit examiner in our house). Mum was quite sure she had heard more than one *plthunnkt* when my vomit hit the floor, and later that morning she looked again and found the other two more rocks which had rolled under the bed.

Dad put the rocks in a bag to bring to the vet, who could hardly believe her eyes when she saw my rocks. She kept them for the day to show all the other vets. When Mum and Dad got my rocks back the bag was labeled "Gromit"...which is how they will be kept forever in my memory box.

I wasn't well the rest of the day. I vomited a few more times - just grass and whatever food and water I tried to eat. My belly hurt, and every once in a while I would let out a sad little yelp, and Mum worried. She called Dad and said it was time to go to the vet..again. It was after hours by then, and the on-call vet advised that not much could be done until morning, so we spent the night snuggling with me tucked tight between Mum and Dad, who worried all night. I wasn't comfortable, and I vomited again in the night. 

As the vet office opened, Dad rolled the car into his personal parking spot. I rode on Mum's lap - if you can believe that ..heehee I'm 52 pounds of floppy Basset Hound! I squish her but she doesn't mind. She loves me. .....Dad picked carried me into the office, and was greeted by the front desk staff - who do not need to ask my name, just asked,"what did Gromit do now?"

We took a seat. I did not want to be there, so I tried to hide under Dad. A Golden Retriever who looked surprisingly like Claire came along and sat next to us. She had a hot spot - go figure
We didn't have to wait long...

Mum and Dad had to leave me there to have some x-rays taken, and when they came back they learned that I had two more rocks inside me. I could have told them that. ...At the time it didn't seem as though I had any distention or upset to the intestine, and the rocks were near the point where they could pass on their own (OUCH!), so they decided to keep me at the vet, give me intravenous fluids, some pain medication, antibiotics, and a laxative. It was about then that I started to really, really regret eating those rocks.

By the next morning the rocks had not passed and my inside Gromit parts weren't looking good on my x-rays. The vet called Mum to say that I had to have an operation to get the rocks out, who then called Dad (working hard at the rock mine, because somebody had to take care of my rather enormous vet bill..) ..she told me they were both very, very worried about me. 

They waited hours to learn more. The operation took longer than expected - 3 hours! My poor intestinal tract was all torn up. They had to remove 7 inches of me, and repair four other tears. They took the rocks out and sewed me all up. I have 27 staples in my cute Gromit belly holding me all back together.

Mum was finally able to come see me yesterday. It was so nice to have a visit and it made me feel a lot better. Our vet office is the best, most compassionate - and allowed Mum to stay with me for more than an hour. We lay on the floor together, and she kissed my cute Gromit nose and rubbed my floppy paw and amazing ears. I wagged my tail briefly - just enough to let her know I was happy to see her, but otherwise slept. I feel miserable, and need all the rest I can get so I can heal. Mum promised we would go to the lake as soon as I'm better so I can run around and bark at Claire. 

They gave me a green cast to hold my IV in place. I always look good in green. Mum also brought me my green frog blanket which smells like everyone in my family. 

I'm still in very serious condition, and my family is very upset.  Thank you to everyone on Facebook for your messages and concern. Keep sending the good vibes - I need all I can get. 

To all my dog peeps out there: 
don't eat rocks.