My Dog is Broken

Speaking of weekly vet appointments...

Last night Griffin came in from the yard with a limp.  I guess he had been playing with the big dogs (130 pounds to his eight) and maybe one of them stepped on him.  What ever happened, he was the loser.  For the rest of the evening, he wouldn't put weight on it or bend his knee.  His little tail was between his legs and he was generally pitiful.

I felt on his leg to find the place that was paining him, but no place seemed more tender than anywhere else.  When I bent his knee, it made a popping sound like when you crack a knuckle.  Eeek!  After that, I left him alone for fear of doing more harm than good.

Of course, we were off to the vet first thing this morning.  Diagnosis?  Luxated patella.  (Dislocated kneecap for those of you with healthy trouble-free knees.)  The vet said it was just slipping in and out like crazy.  And would require surgery to fix.  Gah.  The vet gave him a shot for the pain and said to watch him for the next two weeks.  It was possible that the ligaments would tighten back up.

Unfortunately, I know from personal experience that once a patella sees the world, it is very hard to keep it in its proper place.  I dislocated mine at 16 and it has been in and out ever since.  Picture a midnight trip to the E.R. on my twenty-first birthday.  Ouch!

I guess what they say about pets resembling their owners is true.  But in this case it is health related instead of appearance.  First Griff's thyroid pooped out, and now his knee.  Poor puppy!

They Cut Off My Fierce!

Normal women have standing appointments to get their hair done.  Or a mani/pedi.  Maybe a massage.  Me?  I have a standing appointment with my vet. 

I have been to the vet every Wednesday since school started.  Poor Griffin's skin condition - that I have been trying to cure for a YEAR - had reached crusty-I'm-afraid-to-touch-it proportions.  His ears had lost all the fur from the inside and the ick had crept from his elbows across his chest.  No fur.  Black flaking badness.  Resistant to topical medicines.  Shudder.

The vet took one look at him and told me I had to shave him (!).  And bathe him weekly in shampoo that cost WAY more than anything I have ever used.  And give him thyroid medicine.  And a fish oil capsule the size of his head.  Every day.

Here are my sweet pom poms in Colorado.  Izzy is on the left and Griffin is on the right.  Aren't they cute?

Here is Griff after his trip to the beauty parlor.

Could you just die? How cute is he? (Not a super picture, but it was hard to get him alone in the frame!) He looks like a little teddy bear!  He is now so woolly and adorable that I just have to pick him up every time I walk by him - like a thousand times a day!  It is really funny to see his little fuzzy self keeping gigantor Holly in line.  She jumps and cringes just like he was twice her size.  Hilarious!

The good news is that he is like a whole new dog after his hair cut.  More energy.  Less eye watering.  The crusty is clearing.  Yay!  T thinks that maybe all that fur was holding allergens that he couldn't escape. 

Take It All Off!

So.  A looooong time ago I mentioned something about cutting my hair.  Blah, blah, significant birthday blah give hair to charity blahbity blah.  There may have even been a poll?

Without further ado, the winner, Short and Sassy:

So even after the decision was made, I put off and put off actually doing it.  Finally, I couldn't stand it any more and chopped off 15 inches.  Myself.  In my bathroom.  In pajamas. 

And I grainily documented the whole thing for your viewing pleasure!  (No, I'm not mad in these pictures.  Just trying to figure out how to take a picture of myself in the mirror.)

BEFORE

 

DURING (I cut between the two rubber bands.  I read an article in Glamor 20+ years ago that said doing this was an easy way to give yourself long, easy layers.

AFTER!

Now, I knew this step would be temporary, so I wasn't worried about messing anything up.  I actually took another six inches off the back after this picture was taken.  It turned out to be a pretty okay haircut.  My curls were definitely curlier, but in a good way.  The downside was that if I put it in a pony tail, I'd have a kink from the rubber band until the next time I washed it. 

Last week, after both kids were back in school, I finally made it into the salon to get my official new hair cut.  The stylist didn't believe me when I told her I wanted it short, so we ended up re-cutting the whole thing twice.  Much blow drying and flat ironing later, it looked really cute!  Ironically, it still wasn't short enough.  I want it OFF my neck.  My stylist said to come back after I had lived with it for a while and we would tweak it to get it just right.

Then I washed it.  I had to see what it would look like if I didn't take time to fix it.  Oh, the humanity!  It shrunk (shrank?  shrinked?) right up into a puffy round grandma hair do.  All I needed to fit in with the biddies in my water aerobics class was a blue rinse.  My look went from mid-30's to mid-50's.  Swell. 

Face blurred for your protection!

UPDATE:  The next day I broke out a whip and a chair and was able to tame it into something resembling a cute style.  I had to buy a better flat iron and MANY straightening products, but even so, I was unable to get it as straight as the stylist.   So now the question is do I go shorter?  Take out a little of the bulk?  Or do I just wait it our until it is a little longer and the weight holds it down?  I am open to suggestions!