Retrospective

I still miss Brogan from time to time, but I'm glad we helped him find another family. He was a lot of work. A puppy and a toddler who's rough on puppies plus a wife who is nervous about big dogs (especially around toddlers) was not a good combination. Separation anxiety and two full time jobs weren't the best for Brogan, either. It feels like he was here longer than he really was, but it was only a couple of months. I bonded quickly, so I guess that's why.

The same thing happened with Ranger (the cat we had to give up due to my allergies). I didn't want to let him go, but in the end it was clearly for the better.

Min and Max have been thrilled, though. Max was crawling around Carrie's head on the couch earlier and wrapping her tail around my wife's neck. Min now sleeps in places closer to the ground where Shane finds her and stuffs his face into her fur (here's to hoping he doesn't inherit my allergies).

We're going to stay a two cat and a boy family unit for the time being. If Carrie tries to bring a fish or gerbil home one day, I'm going to make her take it back!

Good Bye, Brogan. You will be missed.

My dog has joined another family. It didn't work out for him here, but the breeder told Carrie she had a family friend who was looking for a "puppy who was not a puppy-puppy." Brogan fits that billing perfectly. We wish him the best.

Brogan started off like this....

...and left us closer to this.

He's still got a lot of room to grow.

I took Brogan for a final walk the night before, and said my final farewell the day of. I wanted to remove his name-tag as a memento before he left. I was upset to find that he'd somehow lost it in his many jailbreaks from the backyard (the stupid-smart dog). 

Thankfully, I found it yesterday in the far corner where he always escaped. Now it hangs with my keys as a reminder he once lived here.

My Stupid Dog Isn't So Stupid

Brogan got in trouble today for eating Shane's crayons (again). I scolded him and put his sorry butt out back. I quickly returned to the living room where Megan and Shane were reading a book. Moments later, there was a noise in the garage. I was holding Shane, so Megan popped up and opened the door.

Brogan scrambled in as she leaned her head out.

The dumb dog found a way out of the back yard! I can't literally call him dumb, but I feel like I'm morally still in the right. I can't leave him in the backyard to run any errands now, because he can get out and may run off looking for me. He's going to have to be crated since I can't trust him not to pee in the house.

Oh, Brogan. Maybe he's just training me for when Shane starts trying to crawl out of a window when he's a teenager, heh.

Knock, Knock, It's SHANE!!!

There I was in the bathroom again. My pants were around my ankles and I was enjoying a moment of peace and quiet.

The life of a parent is far from glamorous and even mundane matters like a trip to the bathroom can be less than private and/or awkward. Carrie and Genevieve were both at the house, so I thought I was safe.

Shane, in his usual manner, charged the door and started knocking. My boy cannot stand a closed door. I sat confident my business would be uninterrupted.

Then the door opened.

Shane smiled and stepped through.

Was Carrie pulling a mean trick on me? I didn't hear any laughter!

Shane turned around and shut himself in with me. "Closed!" Shane said.

I tried to open the door to usher Shane out from my perch. Instead, Brogan charged in and Shane shut the door again. "Closed!" Shane said.

Now, I had a dog licking my knees and my son running around all closed in with me while I did my number 2. Carrie came from the kitchen to help, but then she started laughing and left me on my own.

I don't know if I should be proud or scared.

My son can open doors!

(Sometimes).

Mourning the End of Summer

Today is the last night before work begins anew. I intended to mourn/celebrate, but the day had other plans.

First, Shane woke up at 6 AM. It's not horrible, but it's not the sleeping in until 7 AM I dream about every night.

Next, Shane woke up after an hour nap...wailing. He would've been inconsolable if not for the garage door (Thank God for automatic openers).

Fearing a third ear infection, Carrie and I took Shane to the Urgent Care. There's not a lot of other places open on a Sunday afternoon. We signed in at 1:22 PM and a receptionist appeared 3-4 minutes later to tell us it was a two-hour wait. There was a woman there with an infant who told us she'd been there since noon (eventually, she would be called back at 2:30ish).

My intrepid and unsatisfied wife discovered the Minute Clinic at CVS around 2:30 PM. We were in and out before they called our name at the Urgent Care. I don't think I'd go there for anything serious, but it was convenient to get an ear check and walk from one counter to the next to file our son's prescription.

The verdict? Ear infection number three was starting in the left ear (or was it the right?). We're going to need to see an ENT. Shane hasn't napped longer than an hour in three days and he wakes up in pain every time. If the ENT suggests tubes, those suckers are going in.

When we finally got home, our dog looked like someone had dipped his lower half in mud. I wish I took a picture! Brogan was coated. Our long absence must have sent him digging and wallowing in mud under the deck for comfort. I filled up our doggy pool and it turned to 'chocolate milk' when I threw him in. Come to think of it, I hope it was only mud!

Finally, our AC pooped out. I was on a walk with Shane and Brogan when Carrie tracked me down in the Prius. She was running to Home Depot to replace our thermostat from 1977 in the hopes that would solve the problem.  Thankfully, Dan knows AC units. He just needs to get home from NYC so I can get his opinion on if it's an easy fix or I should call in professionals.

What I need/want to do is finish my write up for Matt and Renee's wedding. It was an great wedding and great time to see family and friends. That makes for a lot to write about which makes it harder to write up. Brevity is not always my strong suit.

On the plus side: there was time to be silly with Carrie and talk to our neighbors when Carrie borrowed electrical tape. Shane squealed happily when we picked him up from Sunday school, my parents dropped off roses for my wive's birthday and a grill from Jama's house, and Brogan got a bath....all of these things are harder to write about in a way that's entertaining for someone who's not me to read. I just wanted to highlight that there are always two sides to every coin, so don't think that the day was so bad I'm ready to call it quits. This blog post is helping keep me up while I wait for Dan. I threatened Carrie that I'd run to 7-11 and buy some energy drinks and come back to bounce on the bed, but writing seems less likely to get me in trouble or break anything.

Boy and Pup at Play

People ask "Does Shane enjoy playing with Brogan" all the time.

For once, I was able to catch a good moment on video.

Did you notice how Shane charged me at the end? That's when he officially noticed the iPad. That's normally what happens whenever I try to take a video or pictures these days. I was thrilled it took him that long to notice me. This was also the first time I've ever seen Shane kiss the dog. My heart leaped when I realized I caught a first moment on camera.

May the boy and his dog grow up as best buddies.

Oops

Brogan's dog training class was tonight. He missed the past two weeks when he got snipped and when he had explosive diarrhea (AKA he wasn't on holiday).

Carrie took him to the first three classes and encouraged me to go to the fourth. I went, but I left the dog treats at home.

It's very hard to train a dog without treats. Especially when all of the other dogs in class are getting fed for rewards. Thankfully, the trainer spotted me a couple of handfuls of her treats. Brogan never knew the difference (or if he did, he liked her treats just fine).

Today, I was determined not to forget the treats. It was a long day, but I started to take care of business before class. I let Brogan out to hit the yard, I found his leash, and I quickly grabbed a bag of treats from his drawer before loading him up in the car.

I pulled up in front of the dog store with one minute to spare. The day drained me, but I felt good I got this part right. I grabbed my rawhide chews....

Wait....rawhide chews. Those are not treats.

D'oh!

I seriously thought about turning around and driving home for the treats (and maybe skipping class). Running solves nothing, so I said a prayer for strength and went in after a minute to psych myself up. Thankfully, I had a little cash on me from Matt's groomsmen gifts. I walked in, bought some turkey treats, and Brogan had a good class.

Just a quick update. I need to do an epic update for an epic wedding weekend, but those take a lot of time and energy to write (I do have a draft).

Until next time!

Am I missing something?

What is so exciting about my bathroom pit stops? I had two cats keeping me company and a dog guarding outside the door.

This is my throne room. This was the best picture I could get with the iPad.

Max popped up on the window sill,


















Min took over the sink,

and Brogan knew the cats had things under control, so he guarded the exit.

I feel like Dr. Doolittle. It's a tiny bathroom when it gets that crowded. Shane was sleeping or he'd have sent all the animals running.

I'll write a real entry tomorrow. I wanted to fiddle with picture alignment tonight while Carrie and I are watching the Olympics.

Mornings with Brogan

Brogan is set on winning over everyone he meets. I suspect it's partly out of fear and a survival strategy (he is a bit of a wuss). On the other hand, he is a real lovebug and genuinely wants to please. Carrie taught him how to shake hands in under an hour. Now that Brogan knows it pleases her, he randomly thrusts paws at her throughout the course of the day.

He's a good boy. Even Jama says so! Brogan gets high marks in attitude, friendliness, gentleness, and looks. I'm really enjoying his addition to our family...when it's not bedtime or first thing in the morning.

That was a first

I've never had a large dog crawl into my lap and then pee on me before.

Thanks, Brogan!

Shane's been a sicky

It started Friday at the doctor's office.

Shane's temperature read at 100.9 degrees. He showed no discomfort, no symptoms, no anything. The doctor decided to hold off on Shane's vaccinations, though. After the appointment, I called Carrie to let her know about everything and mentioned the fever to her. She had hoped in her own car for a business trip shortly after I strapped Shane into mine for his appointment.

Saturday morning at 5:30 AM, Shane woke with a fever. I could tell without a thermometer. His whole body was hot to the touch. The thermometer reading only came in at 101, but still the boy showed no signs of any discomfort. I worried I was missing something. I never had any aptitude for reading fevers from foreheads with my palm, but I could feel heat radiating from my son's entire body. I broke out the Toddler 411 book for research and steeled myself for an eventful day.

The dog crapped on the floor about an hour and a half later. (No, that doesn't have anything to do with Shane's fever, but cleaning up wet, gooey dog crap while your son is crying and mad you won't let him play with it is an ominous way to start a Saturday. Plus, I think it's a funny interjection.)

By mid afternoon, Shane's temperature was 102.9 degrees. He still wasn't showing any symptoms, and the doctor cleared his ears, nose and throat on Friday. My baby books and the internet told me "don't panic." I went ahead and called my doctor for an expert medical opinion and heard the same thing. All the sources corroborated with each other: baby temperatures can run higher than ours, symptoms are more important than degrees, and DON'T PANIC! Carrie got home that evening, I relayed the information, and life went on.

2:30 AM Sunday morning, Shane woke up with a panicked cry and dry heaving. Carrie and I were out of bed in jiffy. I got their first and swooped Shane up so that he could puke on me if need be (I'm easier to clean up than beds or carpets). Carrie yelped when she tried to give Shane a reassuring back rub.

He was burning up.

Temperature: 104.1 degrees.

Separation Anxiety

There's a lot I could write about today, but I'll start (and maybe finish) with the easy stuff.

Brogan has separation anxiety. If Carrie or I move a foot from him, he scootches in to close the distance. If we leave a room, he follows. If we go upstairs, outside, or in the bathroom he whines. If Brogan is locked up in the kitchen or his crate for the night, he howls out his pains. Whenever I first come down in the mornings, Brogan acts like he hasn't seen me in ages! I've learned to let him out on the back porch before I pet him, because if I acknowledge him too soon I'll get a yellow stream of joy/submission.

Hopefully, this will ease as time goes on. He's showing less resistant to the crate, but the moment you act like you're going to leave...well, it's a good thing Shane is a sound sleeper. My wife is hit or miss in that department. If I let her go to bed first, she'll sleep through the howling. If she's awake and he starts howling, it gives me trouble going to sleep having a stressed wife next to me who clinches the sheets with every howl! It hasn't been a week since Brogan was introduced to our home, so there's still hope he'll adjust. If not, we'll have to speak to the vet when it's time to get him 'tutored.' (That's a reference to an old Far Side comic. If you got it, you're cool.)

The separation anxiety also may go hand in hand with Brogan's personality. He's a total sweetheart, lovebug, cuddler...and ball-less (and he hasn't been snipped yet!). Our tiny cat, Max, figured out early on that she doesn't need claws to be in charge. She snacks from the dog food and will block a hallway off from Brogan if she pleases. Min has taken much longer to adjust. She didn't want to come downstairs for the first several days. I would drag her down and drop her off at the cat pot to make sure she was dropping off her mess. She's walking around downstairs now, but she's still cautious of Brogan. If he gets too close, she hisses and he splits. As long as there's no conflict, I could care less. I want them all to get along at some point, and Brogan not chasing after the cats is the first step in them accepting him.

Min has a tendency to hide under couches, though. Brogan sometimes likes to lay up against couches (especially if i'm sitting on the couch). A few minutes ago, my dog made the mistake of trying to smell under the couch next to me. There was a loud yelp. Brogan flew back from the couch and skidded and slipped on to his belly before running out of the room. A hiss told me exactly what happened. I couldn't find a mark on his nose, thankfully. I flipped up the fabric at the base of the couch and sure enough, there lurked Min poofed up, scared, and ready for action. I flipped the fabric down too quickly and Brogan startled and sprinted out of the room again!

That's my scaredy-cat dog. I hope his bark is deep enough to warn off any intruders before they traumatize him by trying to say hello!

EDIT: In Brogan's defense: he DID bark when one of the dishwasher guys came in. Carrie was proud.

Dog Update: Brogan

Houston, we have a dog update.

Our hound's name is Brogan.

Carrie came up with the name first, so I immediately resisted it. At the time, I'd just had a new dog I wasn't sure I wanted sprung on me and I figured I should at least get to name him. Plus, brogans are a type of shoe.

I did some internet research and thought about Flynn, but after praying and thinking on it I had to admit: Brogan had a nice ring to it. For one, it allows for nicknames like "Bro" and "Bro-gee." For another, this dog lives underfoot. He is so attached/insecure that he's constantly tripping me up. If I move more than a foot, he pops up and moves right along with me. It's endearing and...underfoot. The name Brogan fits perfectly. Carrie called it and I'd be a fool to resist a better idea than any I've got. Genius is recognizing when to go with someone else's idea over yours.

When it comes to dog names, I'm going to claim to be genius.

Welcome to the clan, Brogan.

Surprise Part Two: Fleas!

Our new puppy came packing new houseguests! My wife was shocked.

Carrie's never been a dog-owner, but I've done this song and dance before. Carrie treated the dog with Frontline, and half a day later I gave him his first flea bath. It's going to be wash-rinse-repeat until it's time for the next Frontline treatment in a month. From there it should be clean sailing until winter. Nothing kills fleas better than a nice freeze, IMO. I'll never forget how horrified Carrie was when she brushed the puppy and saw a flea hit the kitchen floor. Then she saw there was more than one! I popped them all for good measure.

With our first dog in Texas, the fleas got so bad I had them as a kid for a little bit. My parents had to flea bomb the house and the little bloodsuckers kept coming back! We moved to where there was winter, threw the dog out in the snow, and POOF no more flea re-occurrences. That was before Frontline, though. This stuff seems to work really well, so there's a good chance it's game-over for the wee nuisances already. If it doesn't work, we just have to hold out until winter (assuming winter is an actual winter and not just a late fall with all of the 100+ degree weather).

It was after this discovery, my wife asked if she'd jumped into dog ownership too quickly.

I disagreed.

To begin with, my wife does not like dogs. She picked out Indiana for my parents, but she's always been uncomfortable around her. Indiana is high energy and weighs less than Shane. She's harmless, but she can jump in excitement. This bothers Carrie. My wife used to work at an animal hospital. She's wrestled much larger dogs than Indiana, but wrangling scared and aggressive dogs has left it's mark. I've always figured I would have to find an angle to work if I ever wanted a Fido.

When we bought the new house, I started teasing my dog-fearing wife that "We can own a dog! We have a yard now!" It was not appreciated (but then again, that helped make it funny for me....I'm bad).

A little over a week ago, we talked about how much Shane loved Indiana and how I thought dogs were a great companion for little boys. I then said "We aren't ready for a dog, period. Puppies are a lot of work. Shane needs to be older. Maybe some time after your boss retires, and if you're a stay-at-home mom. Two to three years?"

Carrie, no longer worried I would be bringing a dog home or forcing the issue for years, started to do research on what type of dog she'd be okay with. She did a ton of research on her own. Several days later, we talked and looked up a breed or two together. One of the breeds was the Burmese Mountain Dog. I believe Carrie then mentioned something about "maybe getting a retriever, because they're good with kids."

Saturday was the perfect storm. Shane and I were out of the house. Carrie ended up working from home. The mysterious call for Carrie to show a horse from someone Carrie had never heard of came. Carrie showed the horse. The puppy was at the barn being manhandled by a two-year old. The puppy is big enough and old enough that Shane couldn't kill him.

The rest is history.

My mom is ECSTATIC, btw. I told her I wanted a dog at some point, but the plan was years from now! Nana had this quote for me, "God laughs at the plans of men." Ain't it true? I think this is one of those situations where everything happens so perfectly, you would have to be a stubborn fool to fight against the flow of events.

I wanted a dog one day. I got him yesterday. I decided to be happy about it.

And I am.

Surprise!

My wife's done it again.

Today started off as a Saturday. A day of rest, right? It ended up being over 100 degrees and I mowed the back lawn and then drove an hour to help a friend move into a third floor apartment with no elevator and many, many stairs. In my rush to make the schedule work, I did not drink the appropriate amount of morning caffeine to sustain my addiction. The constant sweating probably accelerated the withdrawal symptoms.

On my way back from helping my friend move, I was exhausted and tried calling Carrie to see if she could pick up Shane from my parents (who so graciously watched him so that I could help my friend move). I called multiple times (because I was that thoroughly soaked in sweat), but Carrie didn't pick up her phone. I couldn't risk Shane overstaying his welcome, so I scooted over to get him from my parents. He threw a fit when he saw me, as usual (keep this in mind...it may be important later). My head started to throb from exhaustion, caffeine, or some unholy combination of the two when I finally heard from Carrie.

To make a long story short, someone had a sudden need for a talented trainer to show off horse for a sale and they called my wife. It was a two-hour drive away, but she jumped at the chance. Our phone conversation was "I can't talk, I have to ride a horse to sell. Love you! Bye!" I was dying for a break, but it sounded like a good opportunity for Carrie. I didn't mention I felt like crap, brought Shane home, and watched him in a half-daze until 6:30 PM.

That was my state of health and sanity when Carrie first arrived. I was eager to pawn the boy off, so that I could change out of my still damp with sweat clothes (truly) and shower. Instead, she wanted me to bring the boy outside so she could show him a surprise. I like to think God built me with a lot of patience/endurance so I groaned and went with the flow. I spotted a yard tool I'd left out this morning and it was vexing me anyway. While Carrie was putting on Shane's shoes, I picked up the tool and went to put it in the garage.

Surprise! A dog was in my backyard.

The puppy is a Golden Retriever mother crossed with a Burmese Mountain Dog father. He's four-months old. Shane loves him. The dog is extremely docile. He lets Shane sit on him and try to ride him like a horse. Shane is not docile when Dada worries about the boy squishing the puppy and forces him to not ride said dog like a horse.

The story goes while at the barn Carrie saw this little guy being extremely docile amidst a two-year old manhandling him playfully. The owner of the horse offered Carrie close to a 60% discount since she helped secure a sale, and BAM! Instant dog-ownership. I'm amazed my wife had a checkbook on her. Carrie had been researching dogs early in the week and we'd both looked up Burmese Mountain Dogs. We read some facts Carrie was a fan of. All these happy coincidences coincided and my wife said something like "Who am I to overlook all these hints. It was meant to be!"

Apparently, Carrie didn't remember how the first episode of surprise pet worked out. Dogs are way better than cats, and this is a nice one. I did want a dog at some point, but I told Carrie it would be years down the road. I wanted an older boy, and her to not be working to be able to give the dog proper care. I'm still not sure how annoyed I should or should not be about this situation.  

I'll figure it out tomorrow....along with an official name for the fella. It's looking like Flynn.