Yesterday I had a great morning/early afternoon working dogs at Dianne's house.  I worked Pat and Jen, they worked great, both.  The key with Pat is being quiet and not making him frantic.  He's a sweet dog who wants to do the Right Thing.  The key to Jen is that she patronizes me.  I have to be a little more insistent with her and I have to take into account that I've let her get a little out of shape so getting her to cover her sheep is harder for both of us if I'm not on top of it at all times.   It's challenging to go from one dog to the other with their opposite working styles, but its also really good for me.

Jen dreams of a world where I crawl to the post in heels. Pat dreams of me in a crate while he and Dianne go to lunch. 

 

Zeke Finley

Yesterday afternoon I took Zeke Finley on a long run in the foothills. About 45 minutes into the run he ran off across a ravine and thru a creek after a deer and when I called him back I heard scrambling, a splash and YIPE YIPE YIPE.  In the end, he'd fractured his right front leg.  So, after an hour or so walking out to the car with Zeke either limping on 3 legs, or me carrying him for brief stretches, we spent the evening in Animal Emergency where everyone else's night, except Tanner's owners, was way worse than mine. (Euthanasia, Dog ate poison, dog peeing blood in the foyer).

Tanner's owners carried him in, claiming that he couldn't walk.  Tanner was some sort of small long curley-haired house dog. He was the fattest dog I've seen in quite some time.  Two women (mother and daughter, I assumed by the MATCHING DEER AND GAMEBIRD SCENE fleece coats, although they looked roughly the same red-meat and gravy middle-age) and a man in a Railroad Union jacket.  The women talked at the same time. 

"Tanner won't walk"

"Tanner can't walk"

"Tanner hasn't walked all evening."

The man stood there, holding Tanner. He agreed,

"Yup. He's not walking, that's for sure."

"Put him down so we can look at him," the vet tech instructed.

The man put Tanner gingerly down, as if he were loaded, and Tanner promptly shook his mussed coat out and then waddled over to the vet tech, wagging.  Tanner jumped up on the tech's legs. Then turned a portly little circle, wagging.

"WULL I'LL BE…" the women said simultaneously, then,

"He HASN'T WALKED ALL NIGHT! HE WASN'T ABLE!"

and "No. Not a STEP!"

The man added, "Tanner you fucking shit bag."

Anyway, I was relieved to have something worth laughing at.   I was there for HOURS while they took x-rays of Zeke's leg.  In the end, it was determined that he had a 'stable fracture' and more x-rays should be taken to see if Zeke needed surgery and to have his fractured bones pinned.  I asked what my other options were, since I'm fairly opposed to surgery unless absolutely necessary, (I.e pissing blood in the foyer or having eaten a railroad spike). 

I took what was behind door number 2, waiting and seeing how the next few days play out.  Already Zeke is better. His swelling went down and he's not, visibly anyway, in pain.  

Tanner was walking on his fat hind legs for milkbones when we left.