Are We There Yet?

Before I got Kilo, I had these big dreams about traveling. You know: zooming across the road, wind blowing in your hair, ipod blaring, open horizon miles ahead and faithful companion at your side type plans. This past weekend reality struck. I now realize that my dreams of packing Kilo up for a casual outdoorsy weekend were just that: dreams. Pipe dreams to be exact. There is nothing casual about packing Kilo up; as I found out when I began to gather his things for going to grandmas. First of all the crate absolutely, positively must go anywhere Kilo goes. He simply cannot be left alone without it. The crate is gigantic. The crate alone makes packing Kilo up hard work. On top of that he eats five cups a day which means an entire bin of dog food has to tag along. Add in all the necessary toys, treats, and emergency supplies (because you know there’s going to be one) and you have one very un-casual trip. In fact, the dog has more luggage than I do. Or my mother. Even with both of us combined the dog still requires more space. I tell myself that eventually he won’t need the crate or all the toys and then it will be simpler, but I’m not going to hold my breath.


Mom and I weren’t exactly looking forward to a twelve hour drive with Kilo. You can’t really blame us though can you? All indications, based upon Kilos past history, pointed towards a very dismal road trip experience. We left Saturday. Friday night Kilo was beamed up by a couple tiny aliens and given an experimental sedative. At this point in time I’m attempting to establish communication with them. Whatever Kilo was on that day, I want more. The road trip went by wonderfully. Kilo was perfect. He forewent all bad behaviors and passed the day peacefully mouthing his toys or napping. Mom and I were, needless to say, quite shocked. In fact we spent most of the day commenting on his sudden personality change. Can’t believe it? I couldn’t either. So I have proof. Please feel free to consider the evidence before you. Please also realize that once the road trip was over he turned into a whirling dervish.

Exhibit A: Kilo peacefully slumbering

Exhibit B: Kilo wedged between the front seats.

Mouthing his favorite doggy while sleeping.

Tiny Tim vs. The Hulk

Kilo: 70lbs Luke: 19lbs

Please take a look at the above picture. After you've studied it then tell me who you think would win in a fair fight, Kilo or Luke? Now, don't answer too quickly, feel free to take your time; but, I'm guessing that you're not going to pick Tiny Tim.

This week at our quietly peaceful home, Tiny Tim took on The Hulk. Tiny Tim now looks like a caricature out of a Tim Burton film, with half his head shaved, a rainbow of bruises and a couple staples for authenticity.

Remember when Kilo had to go on a rabies watch because he and Luke got in a scuffle and Kilo bit the referee? Yes, well this time the referees didn't get them separated before a foul occurred. Kilo is now entering into his angsty teenage stage. He is the smartest, strongest, and the supreme head honcho. Or, at least in his head he is. If you've ever read dog training articles you've probably noticed that some people claim that by being our dogs leader we provide them with the stability they're craving. I've decided that's a white lie told to us to convince us we're doing the best thing for our dogs. Kilo would be perfectly happy ruling the roost and bossing the rest of us around. The trouble is that none of us would be able to live with him, and so I plow ahead, attempting to assert control in a loving compassionate way. Even though sometimes I'd really just like to wring his furry neck.

Luke is, unfortunately, too stupid to realize he aught to tuck tail and run when Kilo snaps at him. Instead he snaps right back and then Kilo gets revved up and they both end up in a loud, snarling heap. Let me tell you, it's not fun. The bills, the stress, the pain. None of it. I look at Kilo, and wonder what I got. I think he's really a human child wrapped up in a bear coat because every single complaint new parents give, I have experienced. Medical bills, stress, worry, bankruptcy, sleep deprivation - if I turned Kilo in as a scientific phenomenon how much money do you think I'd make? You just think I'm joking . . .

Tomorrow, the dog and I go see our sick Grandma to lift her spirits and make the world better. Ok, ok, so I'm going to try and be comforting and Kilo's going to chew on stuff. What're you going to do?

Cell Phone Grain

No, you're eyesight isn't failing you. The pictures really do look that grainy this week. My real camera is in desperate need of a new battery, the current one only lasts about an hour at a time, so it spends most of it's time being charged instead of being used. Kilo was inconsiderate this week and chose to have his two moments of cuteness during 'dead camera time'. Hence, grainy cell phone pictures.
One of Kilo's necessities in life is an evening walk. Though, 'necessity' doesn't quite cut it. It's more than a necessity. In fact, I don't think there is a word that fully encompasses the imperative need the family has for Kilo to get his daily constitutional. Lets just say that without it, I'd have a lot less hair on my head and my parents would just be plain bald. The above photograph is what happens when Kilo does get a nice, long walk. Peace, quiet, contentment - a well behaved dog. I'd post a picture of what he looks like without the walk, but I don't want to scare anybody. Just take my word for it. Or, turn on your tv and watch one of those demolition shows, then you'll have an inkling of what it's like.

Since Kilo is in trouble more than he is out of it, he still wears his leash. Everywhere. At all times. Rule number one in our house is, "Don't unleash the dog." You let him off his leash, you get to deal with whatever catastrophe he causes. In all seriousness though, the leash is quite handy to get him out of stuff and keep track of him. Don't see the dog? Then you can probably see the end of his leash disappearing around the corner. Sometimes however, the leash can be a source of amusement. Say like when Kilo spots the end of it as he goes around the table, and tries to catch it. You and I realize that Kilo will in fact never catch it. The table's too large, the leash too short. But it's highly amusing to watch him run around the table again, and again, and again. Sometimes he even stops and stares at it like "Now, it's right there. If I creep up on it maybe it won't see me. . . ". But! It never works! Mwa ha ha ha ha ha! Oh. Excuse me.

This week I will attest to the fact that Kilo weighs every one of his 63 pounds. How can I do such a thing when I can no longer pick him up, you ask? Well, because this week Kilo decided that I looked like a pretty comfy pillow. I'm not exactly sure what possessed him. One second he's playing with a toy, the next I'm gasping for air.

Lets Play A Game

Lets Play A Game. Lets guess what Kilo and I did this week. I'll show you a picture & you answer the question. . .

Question: Where Are These Inviting Benches Located?

Answer: If you didn't guess the 'vets office' then you obviously haven't read any of my past posts. Those would be the wonderfully comfortable benches located in the frequently visited vets office, all of which I have most likely paid for at least once over. This would be the same vets office we ended up in again on Monday. Stitches came out Saturday, Kilos 'normal' stomach rash spread farther down his stomach and in lieu of letting him chew his skin off I took him in again. We have more medicine, some benadryl (which blessedly does make him 'drowsy') and a diagnosed skin infection.

Question: How Many Toys Does It Take To Entertain A Leonberger?
Answer: Too Many. I no longer try to number his toys. He's been given and inherited so many he has an entire pile of them. Usually they're strewn all over the house. Mom & I collect them all, pile them up in once place, and then Kilo comes in eyes as big as saucers and proceeds to run off with them, one at a time until they're once more littering the floor. Think of a nice neat playroom and then insert three two year olds. Yeah, it's about like that.

Question: Where Is The Air Vent?
Answer: Come on, this one was too easy. Under the dog of course. More specifically under his rib cage/back. Kilo got up with me at 5:30am for work and when we got home looked like this for several hours. I've convinced him that mornings are the enemy. At least he's managed to learn something.

Freedom!

Last Friday, I yelled uncle. Kilo on Tramadol was, well, a nightmare. I called the vet pleading for a new pain killer and found out that he was having a paradoxical reaction to the medicine. Oh. That's nice. Now give me new drugs! Kilo not on Tramadol was manageable. But an entire week with limited exercise and the 'cone of shame' was, to be honest, kind of like this:

Like falling down a set of stairs would be a welcome relief. I managed to talk Kilo out of going through with it. A broken bone = vet visit = cast = CONE OF SHAME.
He saw my point.

Today we got up early and ran to the vet. The stitches are out, the cone of shame off, and life is once more full of wonderful possibilities. Even though it's been raining today, we went to the dog park. I mean, what was going to happen? We'd get even wetter? Apparently, we were the only people desperate to have an exhausted dog today because we had the whole park to ourselves. Kilo spent the first five minutes running and jumping around like a dog who'd just spent the past week imprisoned. Oh, wait. . . So of course we had to try out everything, including the agility equipment:

Then we went to greet the wonderful pond. Where a dog can run and swim and tackle his owner to his heart content. Kilo immediately went down to the waters edge and . . . expressed his bladder . . . then he took a couple big mouthfuls of the algae colored liquid. Yup, that's my dog. Eventually he decided it might be fun to use the water for its intended purpose, but didn't really start swimming until we enticed him with a stick. It figures that he'd choose the yucky stick over the floating toy we bought for him. There's just no accounting for taste.In the above photograph you may notice that Kilo is actually swimming! What we don't have a picture of is how far he eventually got from shore. Because Kilo is new to swimming we've tried to keep him relatively close to us but still where he could build up some muscle and have fun. My good intentions were thwarted today. By a stick. Yup, a stick. That would be because while trying to retrieve the limb, he knocked it farther away from him and then swam in circles searching for it as it drifted farther off to the right. The whole time he's doggedly searching for his stick, I'm yelling and jumping about trying to get the stupid hound to turn back towards shore. My stolid mother turns her back on us saying, "He's going to drown - I can't watch!" while I try to calculate how deep the water is. I finally convince him that I'm the best option and he starts towards me, only to spot that wretched stick a couple feet away. Well, of course, he has to go after it. What dog wouldn't? I'm standing there trying to decide if I need to wade in to save his exhausted hide while yelling, "Ok, go for the stick! Get the stick! Good boy! Now come on! Good boy, don't drown! You're so stupid! Without me this would be natural selection!" . . . Sigh . . . On the way home we made a detour and bought a life jacket. Kilo will no longer be going anywhere near a large body of water without it on. He's just too stupid for his own good. I'm thinking about not even letting him in the bathtub without it.

No adventure with Kilo is complete without a little adrenaline rush and some mild panic. Luckily, he seemed completely unfazed by the experience, if a bit out of breath, and after a much needed bath, fell asleep on his air vent, content at last. Here's some more pictures of the day pre near-drowning:

Kilo is 70 inches long this week, nose-tail
25 of those inches belong to his tail

'Cone of Shame'

Kitchen air vent: covered

This week was 'the dreaded surgery' week. It had to be done though, I mean, have you read this blog? If any dog needed a little less testosterone - it's Kilo. Not that I expect it to cure him of all his bullheadedness, but it certainly can't hurt! Besides, it's for his own good; no one in the family would be able to put up with him otherwise and I seriously do not want to end up with a bunch of little Kilos - I'd never be able to find them homes. People would ask me about the fathers temperament and I would have to mutter and shuffle my feet before trying to change the subject. "The dad? Oh . . .he's around somewhere. Probably saving small children or something." Psh. Yeah, that's gonna work out for me. No, best to have him fixed so that I never have to encounter that nightmare.

Living room air vent: covered

Kilo hasn't really appreciated my decision. If dogs could talk I think I'd probably be getting told off every time the 'cone of shame' whacked into something. My mother had the foresight to buy him a cloth cone - expensive, but well worth it. We'd be minus some paint and nursing a lot more bruises if she hadn't. I had blindly hoped that the pain killers Kilo is on would, as the vet tech said, 'make him drowsy'. That, like most things in Kilos life, has not gone to plan. He is most decidedly not drowsy. In fact, I'd say he's as active as ever only now he has a giant cone on his head that inhibits his ability to drink, eat, play and frankly won't even allow him the courtesy of picking out a nice place to go potty. Stupid humans. I tried taking it off, to give him a break and actually let him have the use of his paws and mouth at the same time, but two minutes later I caught him licking at his stitches. Here comes the cone! . . . Just ten more days till the stitches come out . . . surely we can make that . . . right? . . . Feel free to answer anytime now. . .

At least the surgery hasn't taken away all a doggies privileges - the air conditioner vents are still fair game, though I have to admit I was surprised he could still wedge himself over this one (cone and all):