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Truffle's generally an amiable, cooperate dog, but when she gets a notion, she can be insistent. And vocal.
The vet had told me that Truffle was "pretty vocal" in recovery--that she sounded like a car alarm hat was winding down. That was a new sound, but she does invent new ones sometimes.
On our way out the door yesterday, she pulled me across the parking lot to the sidealk and started charging up the hill towards who knows what. I let her have her lead for a while, so she could have a bit of a walk before I took her home, but I put my foot down when she decided to try to cross the four-lane busy road in front of the vet's office. It's not safe even when your dog isn't wobbly and half-demented from pain and drugs.
Last night was really rough for her. I've mentioned before I live in a high-water house, five feet off the ground because we are located next to the wetlands and in the flood plain of the river and it used to flood here regularly. It doesn't anymore, thanks to civil engineering (and civil society, and taxes, and so on). No, it wasn't wise to buy here, but I didn't know that then. Anyhow, this means longish steps front and back. And in this case, it means Truffle needs post-operative help goin up and down those stairs. You may see the problems coming.
When we first got home she needed help getting up the stairs but once in the house she marched determinedly to the back. I followed with trepidation but she went straight to the deck and pooped and I thought I saw a clear solution to that problem. I really didn't mind cleaning it up. I figured, eh, this is what I'll do for the next few days. Or--we already had a deal that when she couldn't get outside because everyone was asleep and she was desperate, or it was rain ing buckets and she couldn't face the weather, she could use the tile floor in the "service porch" (that's what the nice fellow called the back room with the laundry and tools in it) and I wouldn't yell at her.
However, neither of these deals appealed to her last night. The next time she got up was hours later and she decided nothing would do but to march steadily (well, wobbily, but without hesitation) as far back in the yard as she could make it in the dark. Which was unfortunate, because she got herself stuck staring at the most recently-built planter bed and totally unable to figure out how to turn around or even turn right. She was pretty addled, pain and drugs still in effect. So I had to pick my way out there in the dark and lead her back. Also I had to help her up the stairs, mainly by patting her shoulders and hips to remind her where they are. Lifting her would be problematic with one person because of the long incision in her belly making it hard to find a place to grasp her.
Most of the rest of the night was her groaning and whining in crescendoes, getting up and wandering around and wanting to go outside. I didn't let her after that. But now, when she really really needed to, she didn't want to use the tile floor. Maybe she didn't feel secure on it with her wobbly legs.
For a while I sat on the floor next to her bed, petting her to help her calm down. Finally I climbed back in bad and tried to help her by shushing, which did help a little. I was trying to sleep when I realized that she had, completely against doctor's orders, climbed on my very high bed. I was really annoyed, and worried, because I knew the next thing she'd try to do is jump off again and I couldn't let her do that and I was way too sleepy to take her down safely. So I wrestled her into a position between me and the wall and held her collar with an iron grip until she fell asleep. Unfortuately, so did both of my arms.
Now it is morning and she's still up here, sleeping soundly. I tried to stay asleep myself but it is not possible. So instead I am going to try to work. My vengeful ghost story has turned into a locked-room mystery and I don't know what to do.
The vet had told me that Truffle was "pretty vocal" in recovery--that she sounded like a car alarm hat was winding down. That was a new sound, but she does invent new ones sometimes.
On our way out the door yesterday, she pulled me across the parking lot to the sidealk and started charging up the hill towards who knows what. I let her have her lead for a while, so she could have a bit of a walk before I took her home, but I put my foot down when she decided to try to cross the four-lane busy road in front of the vet's office. It's not safe even when your dog isn't wobbly and half-demented from pain and drugs.
Last night was really rough for her. I've mentioned before I live in a high-water house, five feet off the ground because we are located next to the wetlands and in the flood plain of the river and it used to flood here regularly. It doesn't anymore, thanks to civil engineering (and civil society, and taxes, and so on). No, it wasn't wise to buy here, but I didn't know that then. Anyhow, this means longish steps front and back. And in this case, it means Truffle needs post-operative help goin up and down those stairs. You may see the problems coming.
When we first got home she needed help getting up the stairs but once in the house she marched determinedly to the back. I followed with trepidation but she went straight to the deck and pooped and I thought I saw a clear solution to that problem. I really didn't mind cleaning it up. I figured, eh, this is what I'll do for the next few days. Or--we already had a deal that when she couldn't get outside because everyone was asleep and she was desperate, or it was rain ing buckets and she couldn't face the weather, she could use the tile floor in the "service porch" (that's what the nice fellow called the back room with the laundry and tools in it) and I wouldn't yell at her.
However, neither of these deals appealed to her last night. The next time she got up was hours later and she decided nothing would do but to march steadily (well, wobbily, but without hesitation) as far back in the yard as she could make it in the dark. Which was unfortunate, because she got herself stuck staring at the most recently-built planter bed and totally unable to figure out how to turn around or even turn right. She was pretty addled, pain and drugs still in effect. So I had to pick my way out there in the dark and lead her back. Also I had to help her up the stairs, mainly by patting her shoulders and hips to remind her where they are. Lifting her would be problematic with one person because of the long incision in her belly making it hard to find a place to grasp her.
Most of the rest of the night was her groaning and whining in crescendoes, getting up and wandering around and wanting to go outside. I didn't let her after that. But now, when she really really needed to, she didn't want to use the tile floor. Maybe she didn't feel secure on it with her wobbly legs.
For a while I sat on the floor next to her bed, petting her to help her calm down. Finally I climbed back in bad and tried to help her by shushing, which did help a little. I was trying to sleep when I realized that she had, completely against doctor's orders, climbed on my very high bed. I was really annoyed, and worried, because I knew the next thing she'd try to do is jump off again and I couldn't let her do that and I was way too sleepy to take her down safely. So I wrestled her into a position between me and the wall and held her collar with an iron grip until she fell asleep. Unfortuately, so did both of my arms.
Now it is morning and she's still up here, sleeping soundly. I tried to stay asleep myself but it is not possible. So instead I am going to try to work. My vengeful ghost story has turned into a locked-room mystery and I don't know what to do.
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