I’m not on Facebook that often. I used to be on it every day while my kids were growing up. But now I don’t think of it that often. I post my wildlife photos on Instagram and they automatically get posted to FB.
Anywho. I was surprised when my daughter texted me and asked why I had posted something about her pug Waffles on FB. I told her I didn’t. She said the post was getting comments including from my sister-in-law, moms from my kids’ grade school that I haven’t talked to since then. It was getting likes, hearts and hugs.
Next I got a phone call from my dad asking what in the heck was going on with Waffles.
“Nothing,” I said. “He turned 10 years old in August.”
My dad explained that he had seen a Facebook post and that Waffles was having emergency surgery.
Somehow this memory from 2021 was showing up in people’s feeds. I looked at my Facebook page and it wasn’t there.
Five years ago, Waffles had eaten a chunk of wood from a planter and it lodged in his small intestine. He had to have emergency surgery but is fine now except for getting older.
When Waffles was a pup.
Are you on Facebook and have you had an old memory pop up that people thought was current and commented on? If so, what was the post about?
How often do you use Facebook compared to years ago?
My kids celebrating a birthday with Natasha our rottie years ago in the family home.
We were looking forward to our son staying with us in the Santa Barbara area during our vacation. His wife had the start of the school year as a teacher. My daughter also had a new year beginning at UC Berkeley where she works. It was just going to be our son joining us, which would have been unique, because we rarely if ever have time alone with him.
But it was not to be.
He was out for a walk in his neighborhood when he called to tell us a huge Rottweiler came up behind him and bit him in the thigh. He was pretty shaken up and his wife was driving him to urgent care.
At urgent care he asked about rabies vaccines while they tended to his bite.
The staff at urgent care said there hasn’t been a case of a dog with rabies in eight years in his county, so it wasn’t necessary. My son was reading about rabies online. It’s fatal so he was more than concerned. I told him to call his insurance or animal control. He couldn’t get through to animal control but did reach the County health department. They instructed him to go to an ER, not an urgent care, and get rabies vaccinations. They had a dog with rabies two weeks prior.
Also, since the dog was a stray, there was no way they could track the dog to see if it had rabies or not. It might have escaped a yard. Or it could truly be a stray dog with no home.
The other thing that was scary besides getting attacked and bitten by a dog, was my son discovered online that if insurance doesn’t cover rabies vaccines, they are ridiculously expensive.
He got the first rabies vaccine which was extremely painful. He said the needle was like a needle on a sewing machine and the diameter of the syringe was the size of a nickel. They stabbed him five or six times in the wound to fill the area with human rabies immune globulin. Then he got a shot in the arm with the rabies vaccine. He had to go back for more vaccines — which just happened to be during the time he took off work to join us at the beach.
The good news is he received treatment. At first I suggested that he follow the urgent care’s advice and not to worry about rabies vaccines. That was first of all, because I trusted their advice, and second, that the costs my son found online were around $36,000 for the shots!
He called the other day to say he got the bill from the ER. His bill was about $2,000. His health insurance covered $85,000. Yes, that’s $85,000 for two shots! He hasn’t received the bill yet for the rest of the shots.
What are your thoughts about shots to save your life costing more than $85,000?
I made the executive decision to take Olive to the vet yesterday morning. I was waiting to see if she’d get better. Saturday she pooped after we got home. This was good news because the cat sitter said she had not done that in several days. She ate on Sunday. More good news.
Olive has an Rx for laxative and after a few doses, she seemed back to her normal self.
And then she didn’t.
She quit eating, drinking water, peeing and pooping. She’s been lethargic hiding away under the bed in the casita. She’d sneak out to vomit white foam. I didn’t think that was a good sign, so off to the vet.
Because this is a recurring issue with Olive — whenever we go on an extended vacation — the vet treated her symptoms rather than using diagnostic tools like X-ray, Ultrasound and blood work. This happened two years ago and they did all those tests. You should have seen the bill!
Now I’m waiting to see how she reacts to treatment. Waiting and waiting. The vet filled her with fluids, plus vitamins and a pain med. She’s drowsy and I’ll just have to wait some more.
I’m having a stressful day hoping Olive feels better. If she doesn’t get better, than I promised to bring her back for diagnostics.
Do you remember the old fashioned veterinarians we used to have? In our town, one vet would treat cats, dogs, horses and cows.
A new friend at the beach bringing a ball to my husband.
After our evening beach walk and swim, we were relaxing in beach chairs watching the waves. Suddenly, a small dog ran to my husband and dropped a ball at his feet. We looked around for his owners, but there was nobody close by.
My husband threw the ball. The speedy little pup raced after the ball and ran back to us, dropping the ball at my feet. It was my turn.
The pup alternated between the two of us for 30 minutes, never tiring of chasing the ball.
The dog is waiting in anticipation for the ball to be thrown. If you look in the ocean there is a couple out there.
Eventually the couple who were body surfing in the waves came onshore.
“Is this your dog?” my husband called out to them.
“No, he’s yours now,” the man replied. We all laughed. The dog trotted over excitedly to his rightful owners.
The dogs on the beach are so entertaining to watch. There’s a man who lives a few houses away from Kevin Costner, who walks his black lab every morning with a tennis ball launcher. That dog is so excited and jumps and circles, crying for the ball to be thrown. He runs back and forth chasing and retrieving the ball for an entire hour walk. We watched a pair of Vizlas chasing balls from their owner’s tennis ball launcher, leaping to catch the balls in the air before they hit the sand. Then there are dogs who pick up sticks two to three times the size of their bodies and proudly trot them down the beach.
Here’s a video of our new friend racing after the ball:
If you have a dog, do they like to swim, chase after balls or carry sticks?
What other creatures are as happy as a dog at the beach?
This is Waffles, my daughter’s pug in an ugly Christmas sweater I bought him. This story isn’t about Waffles, but Doggin, who my husband had growing up. But I thought this cute photo of Waffles was worth posting, since this about a dog.
I wrote a children’s fiction story called Doggin, based loosely on my husband’s dog. It was published in the Los Angeles Times section for kids, which unfortunately, they got rid of along with the wonderful editor who put me on contract.
Here’s the story:
‘Doggin’
BY ELIZABETH WICKHAM
One day after school, Billy found an empty kennel.
“Doggin!” Billy called. He had to find Doggin before Granny did.
Billy ran to Mrs. Fixie’s house.
“That hound of yours was here,” Mrs. Fixie said. “Look at my flower garden!”
In real life, Doggin did catch a burglar. I don’t believe my husband and Doggin made it into the newspaper though. My husband said Doggin was a hound dog mix. I wish I had a photo of him to share.
What is your favorite breed of dog? Or do you prefer mutts or mixed? Or cats?
I’m not in a good mood today. So I thought writing about and posting cute puppy pics would help.
Our next door neighbor is a single guy who loves his Malamutes. He’s always owned them. About a month ago, he knocked on our door sobbing and asked for my husband to help him get his dog into his car. He had decided it was time to say good-bye.
He asked my husband if he was making the right decision.
My husband looked at the dog laying on the floor, who was unable to stand, but its tail was thumping on the ground.
“Yes, you are making the right decision.”
Since that fateful day, we’ve seen our neighbor in his yard, watering plants during our early morning walk. He’s often in tears and apologizes to us.
This past weekend, we helped him with a puppy contract. I printed it out, he signed it, I scanned it and emailed to him.
His puppy Emma arrived from Canada a few days later.
She is adorable, loving and so darn cute! I’m so thrilled for our neighbor and that I’ll get to see this cutie on a daily basis.
So why am I in a bad mood?
For one thing, the pit bull was out walking today in violation of orders of quarantining for 10 days in the house. No muzzle. She was being walked by a man who said he didn’t care about the quarantine and ended our short conversation by calling my husband a prick.
Didn’t exactly get my day going in the right direction. But then I came home to see Emma and neighbor in front of our house.
We boarded Olive the cat for our vacation in Palm Springs. I got a call from the boarding place three days into our trip. Olive wasn’t drinking, eating, peeing or pooping.
It’s the first time she’s been at this boarding place, because the one we went to before closed. I was impressed with this new outfit. It was spanking brand new, had huge two and three level kitty suites complete with climbing towers and TVs! Cats can climb up and down through the suite through large holes cut in the platform levels.
I had left Olive with her Rx laxative, kitty soup and dry Friskies. She even had an old smelly t-shirt of my husband’s to make her comfortable. After a few phone calls, the boarding place said they’d take Olive to the vet if she didn’t settle down. They also put her in an empty bathroom, where she’d be all alone.
Our Olive isn’t exactly neurotic, but she’s a loner and trembles and gets frightened of new people and places. You’d think having a friend take care of her in our house would be the ideal situation rather than boarding her. But no, you’d be wrong. As long as my friend’s daughter took care of Olive she was fine when we lived in Palm Springs. The friend’s daughter got scared of Marco — our homeless guy who believed our house was his — so her dad took over Olive duty.
Olive doesn’t like strangers, but really doesn’t like men. The end result of the father taking care of Olive was a urinary tract infection — plus me purchasing two new comforters, sheets and mattress toppers.
I got a call five days into our trip that Olive was doing fine.
Now for the embarrassing part.
On our way home we stopped at the boarding place to pick up Olive.
They gave me her meds, foods and handed me her soft carrier. I insisted it was not the right one. Hers was black, I swore — and the one they tried to pawn off on my was gray with blue piping.
I had four frantic employees opening up every cupboard shelf searching for the black-sided carrier.
Finally, 25 minutes later, we came to the agreement that I’d take Olive home in their hard cased carrier and they’d deliver Olive’s carrier to our house once they figured out what happened to it. Maybe it went home with the wrong cat? Maybe the manager who was trying out new spaces to make Olive comfortable had placed it in a safe place?
Once home I decided to check on Amazon for my purchase of the carrier. This is what I discovered:
I had bought a gray carrier with light blue piping. Not black. I bit the bullet and called and apologized for being totally insane and a pain in the behind. Then I had to drive over there and exchange carriers and apologize profusely.
I realized my error. Waffles the pug and his carrier I bought six years ago. This is what I thought Olive the cat had too. She doesn’t get out much and Waffles get in his carrier daily.
Waffles the pug in 2016 with his black carrier.
Here’s to a New Year and sanity! What are your hopes for 2023?
