One Flew Over the Crackpots Nest

I’ve been called many things in my short life…

First, my adoptive parents who saved me from the kill shelter in Tennessee – bless them – called me Dancer…which is quite fitting as I love to dance (and jump).

Then I moved to Illinois to live with my family and my name was changed to Montana Tornado (or Mo-Tor).   I have a lot of other nicknames which I’ve talked about over the last year or so of my blogging life.   However, I may have omitted Crackpot – since I don’t find it flattering in the least bit.   Kind of makes me sound crazy.  And if there is one thing I’m not it is crazy…at least most of the time.  Granted, I can get a bit wound up now and then, maybe chase a tail or chew on a back leg but I don’t think that really constitutes as crazy.   Right?

I also like to chew on things … not attached to my body.  Or to be more specific, SHRED things.  Sammy is much more the power chewer that will crush something that gets within reach of his mouth.  On the other hand, I embrace any object that can be ripped piece by piece (say a pair of my fathers socks).  Once again, I can hardly see how this would relegate me to the world of the cuckoo-bin.

A recent case in point was a plastic chicken my parents got for me at the local toy store (they also get food and treats for us at this magical place).  Anyhow, after a few nights of making a lot of squeaky noises with the aforementioned chicken, I decided some shredding was in order.  The result:  a pretty much faceless chicken that could no longer talk back at me as I chewed on it.  Not sure why a couple puncture holes would stop anything from squeaking, but then again I am no physician.

Since I started to ignore the voiceless plastic bird, my father decided it was time for some cosmetic surgery.  The result was not a pretty sight (I would recommend those faint of heart to stop reading at this point).

Here is the chicken immediately after the surgery:

Two things:

1. Why would my father choose Duck Tape to fix a chicken?  And they call me a crackpot…
2. Although I said I wasn’t a physician that doesn’t mean that I don’t have some stellar bedside manner…

As you can see from these ICU pictures I am nothing but compassionate.

Take that Nurse Ratched.

Mo-Tor

ps – Sammy is doing great.  He hasn’t allowed me to participate in his recovery but I am OK with that as I was the one who diagnosed his condition in the first place!  He is taking his antibiotics without any fuss and not messing with that nasty hot spot.  Thankfully “we” (me) caught it before the infection got deeper than the superficial wound that he now has.  We’ll keep you posted on his progress.

And the Sniffer Award Goes to:

ME!

Once again I have demonstrated my above average abilities and won yet another Sniffer Award!  This time it is for a slightly different reason though.

In case you are new to my blog, awhile back I won the Sniffer Award AND the Golden Bone for my first ever movie.  It is shown below:

Obviously, I won those awards based on my acting abilities – and of course my athletic abilities.  I have been called by some (one) the the Ester Williams of the Twenty-First Century… Dog Movies.  Yeah, I wasn’t in the water in this particular trailer but my jumping skills would certainly translate to synchronized swimming.

Anyhow, this time I got the Sniffer Award for my medical diagnostic skills.  Things would have been a lot better for Sammy if my parents took my cues a few weeks ago when I sniffed his side.  And sniffed his side.  Oh… did I mention I sniffed his side?  AND SNIFFED HIS SIDE?  How obvious can one be… I sniffed his side while staring directly at them…  Anyway, they finally only caught on when after sniffing his side on one of our walks I ended up with a nose full of his fur.  Once we got home, my Mother was finally aware enough to investigate the area I had been checking out.  Luckily, for Sam, they caught on early enough so that his “Hot Spot” was still not very advanced.  In fact, from what Sammy related to me when he and Dad returned from the vet, “they” diagnosed the problem at the beginning stages so the resulting skin damage was purely superficial.  I am still a bit confused how they think they caught it “early” when I had known about it for weeks!?!?!  If they had listened to me then maybe Sammy wouldn’t look like the patchwork dog that he is now:

He really doesn’t seem to mind though.  He was even laughing at the whole event while at the vets:

I wasn’t so happy to be left behind when they left for the vets – after all, I was the one who originally diagnosed his condition, but I was rewarded with a number of things:

1. A walk with our dog sitter – yeah it was in the rain and all but we both powered through it and I got to pee and get some good sniffs of the non-medical variety
2. We got some good treats when Sammy got home (see below)
3. And of course my SECOND Sniffer award

No offense, but the treats may have been the best reward.

I do wonder when you people will become aware of the power of the dog nose for diagnosing medical conditions such as cancer, cystic fibrosis, seizures and of course bacterial infection.  Once you all figure that out then you might not feel as guilty as my parents did for the big patch of bare skin that is now exposed on Sammy’s side.  Of course I am just a dog and may be missing the “strategic big picture” you folks like to talk about.  Count me in as a detail girl.

Mo-Tor

-FYI: Sammy is doing great!  He doesn’t even have to wear his lamp shade since he isn’t obsessing about it; he is completely ignoring the entire thing.

 

Weeding Day

So apparently yesterday was the 8th Weeding day my parents have celebrated.  I must admit this confuses me to no end.

1. My dad got out the lawnmower and ran around the yard once (both front and back) – but he did no weeding what-so-ever.
2. In the short time I have lived with them I have seen them weed more the 8 times.  In fact, sometimes when we are going for our morning or evening walks my parents will stop – before we even get off of our sidewalk – bend down and pull some nascent trees or infiltrating grass from our flower beds.  If it wasn’t obvious to you, this is a VERY annoying behavior.
3. I am sure there is a third point I had but I got distracted by my (and Sammy’s) insistence that we go for a walk…NOW!

….

So we are back, and I am still confused about Weeding day.

Apparently, what they were rambling on about is that it was their WEDDING anniversary.  The whole weeding day thing was based on a card they got from my mother’s cousin’s child.   To be fair to the kid, they were only 3 or 4 years old AND my parents did get married at the Chicago Botanic Garden (and don’t think it is the “botanical” or the “gardens” or you will sorely be mistaken).   Anyhow, you can understand how the kid got confused.  Although I still have no photographic evidence that this error (typographical of conceptual) actually occurred I’ll have to take my parents word on it.

I’ll spare you any of the actual photographs from their wedding – neither of them are photogenic (and Sammy, Banshee, Boomer and Has weren’t invited). but I will leave you with these photos of the “best man” and “brides maid” and the portraits of the above mentioned children!

Mo-Tor

FYI – those aren’t our siblings…just our friends next door – or across the street depending on the year (kind of like leap year but different).