Immediately after picking Tess up from the vet after her first heartworm shot last Friday.
Pupdate Time
Tessa came into my life as a sad, heavily pregnant dog I literally picked up off the side of the highway and placed in my car on February 26, 2020. The next morning, I took her to the vet to get her and the puppies checked out. Among other things,we found out she is heartworm positive.
This isn’t the first time we have been through a heartworm journey. Six months after adopting Beau, we found out she was heartworm positive. Beau has been heartworm free for two and a half years. With Beau, we were able to start the treatment right away because she was [as] healthy [as she could be outside of the heartworms.] In an ideal world, we would have started Tess’ treatment schedule the day we found out, but it isn’t. Tess was pregnant, and treating heartworms is not safe for the pregnancy or the puppies while she nursed. We also needed to build up her strength, weight, and health. Having been a street dog, she was not in any condition to take on or survive the treatment. We started her on Heartgard (heartworm prevention) immediately to keep her from getting reinfected. Our focus was on getting her healthy and having some babies!
With both Tess and Beau, we have chosen to go with the gold standard of heartworm treatment. It’s expensive and takes time, but for us, it’s worth it. Everyone’s heartworm journey and circumstances are different. The path we have taken starts by keeping Tess calm. She’s about a year and a half, loves to play with her rambunctious kiddos, and wants to keep up with Beau more than anything. So calm has been difficult. You want to keep heartworm positive dogs calm because it lowers the risk of the worms spreading throughout the body. Once Tess had weaned the puppies, we started with a month of antibiotics to kill parasites that live symbiotically with the heartworms. After that month, there is a month off of medicine to give her body time to recover and time for those damn parasites to DIE. After the month-long waiting period, there is a shot to start killing heartworms. There’s an x-ray to see how much damage has been done and to make sure the treatment is even worth doing. If the damage is too extensive, it’s better and more humane to give palliative care. Heartworm shots are like chemo. They are very hard on the body and some dogs don’t make it through the treatment. We almost lost Beau after the first shot. Once the x-ray has been done and the all clear has been given, puppy gets shot one. They spend the day at the vet for observation to make sure there are no adverse reactions. The first shot is the hardest because it does the majority of heartworm killing. There is a month of severe activity restriction, steroids, and in many cases sedatives. The second and third shots come a month later and are given 24 hours apart. Puppy will go in one morning and get the second shot, stay the night for observation, have the third shot the next morning, and go home that evening. Another month of restricted activity, steroids, and sedatives. Physical activity can slowly be worked into the routine a month after the third shot. Six months after the third shot, another heartworm test is done to make sure the treatment was successful.
Tess is starting to feel better. The head cock is back.
Last Friday, Tess had the first shot. We started her on the antibiotics on June 1. July was her month of rest, and she will go in for her second and third shots the beginning of September.
Before having the first shot, we had x-rays taken. The news was not as good as we hoped, but it could have been worse. With Beau, we caught it early, and the heartworms stayed in her heart. With Tess, the heartworms traveled into her lungs and set up camp. Her heart is quite enlarged. Neither is good news. Permanent damage has been done. Best case scenario, she will live a long and happy life. But there is a chance her years will be significantly lessened due to the damage. Whatever the outcome, we are doing everything we can to make sure she is happy, healthy, and loved for however long she is with us.
The first night went pretty well. Tess was happy to be home but extremely exhausted and lethargic. Day two and three were terrible. She was exploding liquid from all her orifices. She was so sick and couldn’t keep anything in her tiny body. She and I sat outside in the grass for three hours in the middle of the night on Saturday as she dry heaved into the grass. It’s so hard to watch, and it’s even harder because I can’t explain what’s happening or why she feels terrible. Her symptoms are normal and expected because the treatment is a lot like chemo: it makes her feel awful in order to feel better. Late Sunday night, she started to feel better, and her smile came back.
Tess has been a trooper. The pep in her step hasn’t gone away even though she is heavily sedated. Every morning, she wakes up excited to be alive and prancing outside to go potty. Every time she hears the pill bottle open, she comes running because she knows it’s treat time aka meds time. It breaks my heart not being able to play with her the way she wants to play; hopefully the next two months will go by quickly.
Heartworms sucks. It sucks a little less this time around because the process wasn’t foreign. In some ways, Tess is having an easier time than Beau did. Having the puppies and Beau has kept Tessa’s spirits high. The puppies are completely oblivious to the changes, but Beau is so concerned that her best friend doesn’t feel good. Tess is constantly surrounded by toys because Beau keeps bringing her toys and giving her get well soon kisses.
I’m lucky that we’re able to give Tess and Beau the best treatment available, but it breaks my heart that it’s necessary. As a street dog, Tess didn’t have anyone looking out for her. Beau was in and out of homes, and the shelter didn’t prevent heartworms.
HEARTWORMS IS COMPLETELY PREVENTABLE.
In the South, it’s not an if but a when your dog will get heartworms if you do not give them heartworm prevention. It is so very important. The treatment to get rid of heartworms is extremely expensive and painful and not a guaranteed fix. If you have a dog, put them on prevention all year round. It could save their life. There are options. Heartgard is a monthly tablet. ProHeart is a shot you can have administered once a year at their annual check up. Just do it. It’s cheaper than getting rid of them and saves your heart the pain of having to watch your beloved pet go through something this awful. Believe me, I KNOW!!!!
One of my favorite people to follow on instagram is Jamick Beck. She’s a brilliant photographer and a lovely human to watch live her life through my phone screen. She lives in the South of France. During quarantine she worked on an Isolation Creation project, where she created a beautiful photograph every day and documented it on social media with the hashtag #isolationcreation. It was so inspiring, and I loved following along.
Social media has been flooded with all these amazing people creating amazing things with their newfound freetime. They are really living out #isolationcreation. I love it. My quarantine feels like the opposite: A vacuum where creativity and productivity have ceased to exist. I have been in quarantine (to the best of my ability) since the middle of March.
Now is not the time to be trapped inside my house with me, myself, and my multiple internal narratives of doom for company. My anxiety is having anxiety over how much anxiety I have over being anxious about everything. On top of it, my depression has been a raging ball of sadness and defeat. It’s an excellent combination for sustaining minimal productivity and an endless drowning sensation.
My sweet Duke wasn’t supposed to stay, but here he is furever.
On the surface, my everyday life has not drastically changed. I work from home and don’t have tons of reasons to leave the house. I used to travel a few times a month, and I was always bopping out to have lunch with friends or grab a coffee with someone or something in the world. None of that has happened, which is good for health reasons.
My quarantine has not included any of the things I would have liked it to include. Considering I can’t travel or leave the house and work has substantially slowed down, I should have time to do so many things. But not true. I have not written my book or even a short story. I’ve not even tended to my blog, which is my job. I don’t read the way I should be. Nothing that needs to be done is getting done. Nothing I want done is getting done. I’m existing in this space of doing the bare minimum. Here’s what the bare minimum has consisted of for me over the last few months:
Finding a dog, helping her have thirteen puppies, bottle feeding them, making sure they go to the vet every few weeks, emergency vet trips, finding them REALLY good furever homes, keeping them safe, and sending them to their furever homes. (I’m exhausted just thinking about it all again.)
Finding and buying a house. (The literal worst.)
Moving cross-country with all the dogs because the house situation took longer because of COVID and we were trying to…
Not be homeless.
Working on the few projects that came my way. (So slow… who needs a writer?)
Sleeping whenever I could, which was hardly never.
Moving back across the country with the dogs to…
Finally move into the house.
Unpacking the house… Unpacking the necessary things; still working on the unnecessary bits.
Battling my anxiety and depression.
Fixing the house because it was NOT in the shape it was supposed to be in.
Makeda front and center where she likes to be. They loved laying in the laundry basket. Don’t ask me why.
Productivity and efficiency are my main modes of existing. I hate doing nothing. I hate inefficiency. I hate wasting time. In my mind, nothing has been productive or efficient during quarantine. It’s wrong. I know I have been productive and as efficient as one can be with puppies considering the circumstances of COVID-19, fifteen dogs, moving, and not living in my own house for two and a half months. There’s this anxiety/depression monster that lives in my stomach (head but I feel it in my stomach) telling me I’m the fucking worst and I could do more and be better and why is nothing done the way it could be??? The last four months have not been my ideal version of productivity. When I see time where I’m just sitting, that’s time I could have been working, unpacking, or doing something with my life to achieve my dreams in any and all the ways. I could have done more during quarantine, but I also couldn’t have. I’m dealing with life, puppies, work being slow, COVID, anxiety, depression, and that’s my version of #isolationcreation.
This was my cue they were done playing and wanted to go in for a nap.
Instead of creating art or finding my love of needle point (I’m actually already not bad at that) or getting in shape or learning how to speak Urdu, I’ve been creating fourteen healthy lives. My #isolationcreation is the puppies and their mama. I took her and the thirteen puppies in during a really difficult time. I made sure she had everything she needed before, during, and after the birth. We almost lost her, but we didn’t. I’m working on getting her healthy – she has already come such a long way. We were told to only expect eight puppies to live, but all thirteen are alive, happy, and healthy. There were several puppies who needed extra attention because they were small, weak, and/or sick. They made it through and are living their best lives. Nine found their perfect homes. Four are stuck with me, two of which have special needs (I call them my miracle boys), but I know they’ll be taken care of. They are almost potty trained. They know how to sit and stay. They’re well behaved and wonderful to be around. They’re the image of health, and they’re growing like crazy. They bring me joy and keep me busy. Life is never dull.
I’m hard on myself, but I always have been. Struggling is my main form of existing right now [always], but I’ve created good where there was sadness during quarantine. I didn’t create beautiful artwork for the world to enjoy like Jamie Beck, but I created something intangibly beautiful for the puppies and their furever families. I did what I could, and I hope it was enough.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
I did my very best for them, and I loved watching them grow and change.#isolationcreation
Binge watching Netflix and Hulu with the kiddos. | Pajamas | Slippers
The puppies are only four months old. We’ve been in the house for a month and a half. Even Tess has only been with us for four and a half months. It’s all still pretty new.
Everyday is a new day with new challenges because the puppies are growing like crazy. Four months old, and they’re all almost or over thirty pounds. They’re about as big as their mama; she doesn’t tower over them anymore. They’re huge puppies and not super well trained because they’re puppies and there are four of them. So we’re constantly puppy proofing and trying to teach them how to behave. While also keeping them from teething on everything and peeing inside. Their big toofers are coming in, and they look like they have people dentures stuck in their mouth. (Although, I’m not sure there’s any other kind of dentures, so I probably didn’t have to specy “people dentures” on that one.) It’s funny, but they don’t stay still long enough to get a picture of this phenomenon.
We definitely have our work cut out for us. But there is a routine, and they’re doing so well. They know how to sit and – kind of – stay. They sit, stay, and wait for their food… almost. They go into their kennels on command. They’ve learned not to bite/nibble/chew on people and furniture. Shoes are another story. We have only had one accident inside in the last three weeks. They know not to play on the couch; that’s for sitting and sleeping and cuddling. They are super smart, which is good and bad. They learn quickly, but they’re smart enough to figure things out that I’d rather them not. Sometimes I call them my terrorist infestation, but all of the time I love them with my whole heart. There’s nothing better than coming home and seeing all six fur-kids in the window.
Tess is an angel. She has truly come into herself over the last four months. She is less neurotic than Beau. I have no idea how I got so lucky with such a smart, good girl. Training has been such a breeze with her. We haven’t done too much, but she knows sit and come, which are the most important anyways. She also knows when she’s getting a treat; that one she learned very quickly. She doesn’t like giving kisses, but she loves snuggles, playtime, and just being with me. I can pick her up and carry her around like the puppies. She is wonderful.
Tess is heartworm positive. Now that she has weaned the puppies, gained some weight, gotten comfortable, and as healthy as possible, we have started the de-heartworming process. She’s a month and a half in. Next month, she will have her first shot, and hopefully it goes well. She just had all her vaccinations, and she’s getting spayed and microchipped next month. She’s on her way to being healthy. I cannot wait for her to be able to run and play unhindered. I didn’t know if she would be a runner or player when she first came home. Being as heavily pregnant and sick as she was, she was happy to just sleep. Not anymore, she is rambunctious. It’s going to be great seeing her live her best, healthy life in a few months.
Beau has finally accepted the puppies are here to stay. She loves Tess, but the puppies took some getting used to. They are absolutely infatuated with her, but that’s probably because Beau is completely ambivalent towards them. Beau has made it known that I’m her mom first and their mom second. I think she’ll love them someday when they’re less tiny and stupid.
I am the kind of person that likes to have everything unpacked and organized right away. That did not happen. I’m new mom, new house tired.
We moved in with most of the puppies, who were the main priority. Now that we have it whittled down to the ones we’re keeping, life is working into a new rhythm. I finally have time to unpack and start painting… Except I’m still exhausted. I have been sleeping more and doing as little as possible because raising the puppies was exhausting and draining. I have needed to take some time to recuperate. The puppies are the main priority. Sleeping has been the second. Work has been the third. House has come very last. So only the essentials are unpacked. I’m starting to get back to my old self, so hopefully things will start shaping up around the house.
For now, I’m gonna go back to binge watching Peaky Blinders or stand-up comedy with my children.
Celebrating PRIDE and the first few weeks in our house.Honestly, it’s amazing we made it through this year.
WE BOUGHT A HOUSE FOR OUR DOGS
I’m not even kidding.
We took possession and moved into our new home on May 29. I wish I could tell you that buying this house was a fairytale of magical bliss that brought us closer together. I would be lying.
IT WAS HELL!!!!!
If I never ever ever buy another house again ever, it will be too soon.
Dylan has been itching to buy a house since before we even met. I have been on the opposite side of the spectrum: I like apartment living. After three and a half years in an apartment, I finally gave in. He and I talked and talked and talked about it for about ten months. Should we? Were we ready? How would it work financially? Did we even like each other enough to buy a house together (the jury is still out on that one some days)? Also where would we buy a house? What did we want in a house? What did we NOT want in a house? In my mind, I’m nowhere near old enough to own a house. The bank disagreed with me, and gave us money to buy one eventually – more on that later.
This is a long and hellish story. Living it was something I hope to never experience again in my life. Granted, a lot of unique situations were at play.
In January, we found our realtor through my best friend. Michelle Miller is an angel. Honestly. She was sent to us by the great beyond to help us through this horrible experience, fight for us, assure us, keep us from killing each other, and be an absolute boss-babe Goddess. If you’re in Houston and wanting to buy a house, let me know, I will give you her information. She is AMAZING. I could write an entire love letter to her because I think she is just about the best human on this planet. We would not have made it through this without her.
I would not suggest EVER getting a mortgage through NAVY FEDERAL. Don’t do it. DO NOT DO IT. It was a miserable, horrible, terrible, anxiety-inducing, anger-filled experience. I cannot dissuade you enough.
It took us two months to get pre-approved for a mortgage. It should have taken a few days, tops. We kept getting denied. Which was very confusing because we were asking for less money than we knew we should get approved for. After changing loan officers, we found out the reason we weren’t getting approved is because the first one fucked up the paperwork SO bad. We were denied because he had tripled our debt and quartered our income. Well, obviously we didn’t get the loan under those circumstances because we wouldn’t have been able to afford oxygen. We eventually found out, the paperwork was saying the house wouldn’t be our primary residence… again, why would we buy our first house to not live in it? He was the WORST. Our second loan officer seemed better. We’ll circle back to her.
After two months of Michelle checking in to see how we were coming and two months of us being frustrated out of our minds because people suck, we were pre-approved!
It is now the end of February. On the day we received our pre-approval, I found a very pregnant Tess on the side of the road. We decided to keep her and take on the puppies because we knew we would be in a house within two months… (I’m rolling my eyes and face palming and sighing at my own naïveté on that one). We SHOULD have been in our house a month and a half lalter, but life had other things in store for us.
As happy and blessed as I am to have Tess and all thirteen puppies in my life, they made buying a house so much more stressful. I wouldn’t change anything because my life has so much more love in it, but it was hard and stressful. There was only so long we would be able to hide the existence of these puppies from our apartment complex before we needed to move into a house. The clock was ticking. Our lease on our apartment was also up at the beginning of April.
Dylan and I spent two days looking at the properties that fit our criteria. Which for me was: a space for a home office, a fenced in backyard for Beau and Tess (and eventually the puppies we were not planning on keeping but kept anyways!), and a Houston address. Dylan’s list included: two car garage, four bedrooms, a big house, updated, super awesome master bathroom, not a fixer upper, a place for him to game, room for his race car, room for his motorcycle, space in the garage to work, solar panels if possible, a big driveway, and more. He did actually get everything he wanted except solar panels. I got what I wanted too, which was easier because my list was short. We picked three houses to look at that would be perfect for us for the next few years. We were not looking for a forever home; we were looking for a fur-now-because-we-are-desperate house. We talked to Michelle, scheduled a day to look at houses and told her time was of the essence.
We’re in the first week of March. COVID was in the news. It was starting to be in the world, but it wasn’t a huge deal yet.
We looked at three houses. House number three was a four bedroom, relatively new house, with a decent backyard, recently renovated cookie cutter house in a newer subdivision. We didn’t really want a cookie cutter, new subdivision house. We like quirk. We like funk. We like trees. But, we needed a house. It was decently priced, and it had been on the market for just long enough, we hoped they would be happy to sell especially with the COVID shadow starting to loom. We put in an offer that day. They countered the next morning. We countered. We didn’t hear anything. We waited for four days… I had a feeling of foreboding the entire time, which has always been the precursor to bad news. The owners decided to go with another offer and never told us.
Michelle felt HORRIBLE. It wasn’t her fault. The sellers and their realtors were crapwads. Those four days were precious because the puppies were now outside their mama, and the clock was ticking. We weren’t heartbroken about that house because we weren’t in love with it, but we were in love with not being homeless. We needed a place to live, and our lease was up soon. Michelle told us to pick a gazillion houses and we would look at all of them the next day. So we did. We had wanted to be picky and keep the list small, but we were running out of time. I talked to the apartment and extended our lease three months. Thank God.
The next day, we looked at twelve houses. None of them were right. The next day, we looked at seven. I had almost made the executive decision to not go see the very first house on the second day, but Dylan said he wanted to. We walked through it, Dylan had the warm fuzzy feeling. I was being overwhelmed by anxiety and taken over by foreboding. Nothing felt right or good. Something was wrong or going to go wrong, I just didn’t know what that was. Dylan made a solid argument for the first house from the second day. I said “fine.” I didn’t care as long as we were going to have a place to live.
Our house had been on the market for 123 days when we put an offer in. The family that owned it were also military, so I played up Dylan’s 100% disabled veteran card a whole lot in our letter. I am not above using the truth to our advantage. Thank God I did. They liked us. They wanted to sell to us. After a little back and forth and Michelle being a badass, she got us an amazing deal in a super timely fashion. They accepted our offer. We had 45 days until we would take possession. That meant the puppies would be ten weeks old when we moved into the house. I would have to figure out somewhere for us to live for three-ish weeks once they turned six weeks old and were too big to be hidden.
We had the inspection done and all that jazz. Awesome. Things were moving along.
Pretty much as soon as they accepted our offer, COVID started being a really serious issue. Things were closing. People were staying at home. Quarantine was put in place. Masks were being mandated. Things were changing very quickly. Luckily for us, all the physical, in-person things were taken care of. We were assured nothing would keep us from moving in on May 4, our closing date. We had done everything we needed to do. It was the bank’s turn to get their ducks in a row.
The puppies and I and Tess and Beau and Dylan lived in our apartment until they were five weeks old and too old and big to hide and cover up the noise. There was a two pet rule in our apartment; we were thirteen over. Woops. I’m a rule breaker when I have to be. When it became too much for our apartment, we moved in with my best friend, Amanda the Saint, for three and a half weeks until we closed on the house and moved in on May 4! Yay…
Kidding.
COVID had turned the world upside down. We were lucky in a lot of ways, but it fucked some things up for us. Dylan did end up losing his job. The bigger problem was NAVY FEDERAL AND OUR LOAN OFFICER NOT DOING HER FUCKING JOB. Two days before we were supposed to close, we found out through a very round-about way that we weren’t going to close on time. We had to track down our loan officer’s boss – because our loan officer had a very bad habit of never picking up her phone and taking DAYS to call us back – to find out what was happening and why we weren’t closing on time. Also… I’m going to be fucking homeless with fifteen dogs in two days. Turns out, our loan officer didn’t do the paperwork she was supposed to do so we could close, which meant the potentiality of being homeless, living under an underpass with FIFTEEN dogs.
Michelle worked her magic and found a way to convince the sellers that we would move Heaven and Earth to figure this shit out and buy the house from them. They agreed to give us a three week extension. All they wanted was to sell their house and get their money. All we wanted was to buy their house and give them our money. But the bank didn’t want to do their goddamn job, so that they could take our money.
My dad flew down on Sunday to help me drive to Iowa with the thirteen puppies and Tess. Holy fuck, that was a horrible drive to Iowa. It was gross and disgusting. I should really write that story because yuck. I was going to Iowa for at least three weeks. If things didn’t get figured out with the house in that period of time, I would be in Iowa until we could figure something else out or find a new house. So you know… I would be living with my parents.
I was homeless with fourteen dogs. Beau stayed with Dylan, whose job was to pack up everything in the apartment. He got the luxury end of that deal.
After a really long and frustrating and fucked up process, we finally got the go-ahead to close on the house on Friday, May 29. I had been in Iowa for a month. My dad and I left Friday morning super early. We weren’t sure we were going to get the keys to the house that day, though. So we were driving to Houston on a hope and a prayer. Dylan got the keys at 5:00 pm. Dad and I were driving straight to the house and would get in at 10:30. Dylan would meet us at the house with Beau where he would have the air mattress set up for my dad, blankets for us, shower stuff so we could shower and go to sleep after a long day in the car. The movers would move everything the next day. We would hand over our keys to the apartment in the nick of time. Things would be golden.
Hahahahahahaha…
Dylan fucked that up.
After fourteen hours of being on the road, I called Dylan to see how things were at 9:30. He didn’t pick up. I kept calling. My dad kept calling. I just knew in my gut, he fucked up. I pulled into the house. The car was nowhere to be found. The lights were off. There was nothing in the house. I drove to the apartment. Keep in mind. We had been on the road for fifteen and a half hours with nine puppies and Tess. They were hungry and bored and ready to stretch their legs. So was I. I banged and banged and banged on the apartment door. He finally woke up. Turns out, he had laid down for a nap after getting the keys without setting an alarm. To say I was pissed is an understatement. I had spent the last three months NOT sleeping, taking care of puppies, and generally not having any kind of life. And on the ONE day I needed him to do ONE thing, he took a nap. When he finally opened the door of the apartment, I walked in to find NOTHING packed. I was ANGRY. Beyond angry. Like I said, I had spent the last three months taking care of the puppies by myself, going without sleep, giving up my life, moving out of town, being homeless, and a whole lot of other things. His ONE job was to pack the apartment. Our lease was up the next day. How the fuck was he going to get it done? He had planned on having the movers do everything, and I was never supposed to know because I was going to be busy at the house with the puppies.
Honestly, it’s a little bit of a miracle that we are still together. I was livid. I was fucking pissed. And tired. Really, really, really tired.
I took the key, the puppies, Beau, Tess, and my dad to the house. We let them run around the backyard and put some food in their bellies. Dylan finally showed up with the air mattress and towels and shower stuff. I looked at Beau. She’s white, but her skin has black spots. It looked like her spots were moving…. The backyard was INFESTED with fleas. I have terrible PTSD that is triggered by bugs. We were laying on the floor in our bedroom, so our bedroom was now infested with fleas. It was pretty much my worst nightmare. It was the exact opposite of the thing I needed that night. I didn’t get to sleep until 3:00 am. The puppies woke me up at 6:00. It was a hellish day.
Dylan and I ended up having a very long conversation, and he apologized for his stupidity. We’re fine now, but I was very upset. He was dealing with his anxiety and depression. He’s not just a lazy, good-for-nothing fuck noodle; he’s got his issues. Between COVID and all that went wrong with the house, we were both basket cases. It was a hard three months for everyone. But it was not the happy closing day where we left all the bad shit behind us that I had hoped for.
We have spent the first month living in our house dealing with life. COVID has made things difficult. I am the kind of person who likes to be unpacked immediately. That didn’t happen here. We’ve had basic life things to deal with like vet check ups, health issues, buying necessary owning-your-first-home items, catching up on sleep because I went without for three months, getting the dogs and puppies acclimated to their new life, and more. A week after moving into the house, four puppies went to their furever homes. The next week, two more went to their furever homes. Two weeks after moving in, we found out one of our A/C units and the furnace needs to be replaced. Three weeks after moving in, the water heater went out. We didn’t have a washer or dryer for the first three and a half weeks, which was terrible because I have a gazillion puppies that make a lot of laundry. We spent three weeks deinfesting the backyard and house of fleas, which we are now flea free. The plumbing had some issues, which cost more money. We need new windows because well yikes. Nothing has been painted, and it desperately needs paint because it’s this horrible purply-gray-taupe color with terrible stenciling. It has been a VERY expensive month. There are still boxes everywhere. The bed isn’t on it’s bed frame. The house is a mess. But we’re not homeless! We love our house and what it will be. The neighborhood is great. Life is starting to get into a new rhythm of normal.
Our family consists of Dylan, Beau, Tess, Makeda, Knight, Bear, Duke, and I. We were only going to keep three puppies, but no one wanted Duke. Which makes me so sad because he is the sweetest little cartoon of a puppy. He has a serious overbite that will take some money and work to make him better and let him live a full and happy life. We love him very, very much.
We took family pictures in front of our house a few weeks ago. All the puppies (except Duke because we didn’t know he was ours at that point), Beau, Tess, Dylan, and I in our rainbow PRIDE outfits, flying our rainbow flag and our Marine flag. We are a military family. We also believe in inclusivity and living your truth. We are a family full of disabilities. Our home is welcoming to all. We accept everyone as they are. Rescues, strays, pregnant mothers, and everything in between. Humans are welcome too. Our home will always be open and loving. It has been a journey getting here. It was hard and stressful. There were a lot of tears and fights, but we made it. Five months ago, we had one dog and lived in an apartment.
Today, we have a house with a big yard that we bought for our SIX dogs.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Let sleeping dogs lie, so this is the picture we got today for the post. I love this water bottle!
Who rescued who?
Please rescue me!
Just kidding. Kind of. It’s been a long week, and it’s only Wednesday. A lot of things out of my control have gone to shit all of a sudden. It’s been stressful as fuck. Having thirteen puppies is not a regret, but it is, for sure, making everything harder right now. Life is weird in the chaos of the pandemic, and like many, many other people around the world, it has started affecting me and my family. It wouldn’t be quite so devastating if it weren’t for the puppies. Taking care of them is the first priority, and I will do anything and everything to protect and keep them safe. The best thing I can do for them is to love them fiercely, and that’s what I will be doing through this frustrating time. Puppy cuddles may not be a cure to all ills, but they definitely help.
I love the saying ‘Who rescued who?’ In so many ways, it’s true. Rescuing Beau was one of the best choices I ever made for myself and hopefully for her. I don’t know what would have happened to Tess and the babies had I not saw her on the side of the road. Hopefully, someone else would have helped her, but I was able to. The other day it started hailing. All I could think about was what would have happened to them in the horrible weather. I can’t imagine what Tess would have been going through. It makes me sick thinking about it, but I’m here for her and her babies. I was able to rescue them all, and they have given me so much hope and purpose in these crazy times.
Still, feel free to send someone to rescue me right now.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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I love the puppies more than life itself. They bring so much love and happiness into my life. There is more laughter and cuddles and smiles and playtime and kisses than I’ve had in years. Each and every one of them is unique with their own preciously perfect personality. They are a blessing. I don’t regret for a second the choice to bring Tess home or keep her knowing she was expecting thirteen puppies. They are joy and sunshine incarnate.
The struggle is real.
I cried in the rain on Sunday morning. Utterly defeated. I plead with thirteen itty-bitty puppies with tears streaming down my face trying to keep a smile in my voice asking them to be still for just two seconds. Of course, they didn’t listen. I was trying to bring them inside after they ate breakfast, when it started to rain suddenly. They’re so big, I can only carry four in a laundry basket up the stairs at a time without the risk of dropping their wiggly, squirming bodies. I had woken up at 4:45 when Tess nudged me awake to walk down the hall with her to check on her babies. They were content in a clean pen. I was up an hour later to thirteen puppies howling, covered in poop, with their sheets looking like Jackson Pollock showed up with a puppy poop inspiration. It was warm enough outside, I let them out into the backyard as the sun came up with their mama. It took me two hours to clean the sheets, pick up the puppy pads, sanitize, and re-set up. By 8:15 in the morning, I had gotten two and a half hours of sleep (not at once), cleaned, fed, and cried trying to not step on one, keep them out of the rain, and get them back into their upstairs room without waking up Amanda and her husband.
Sunday was a bad day, but it is also the norm.
All jokes aside, it really is a good thing they’re cute. If they were ugly demon-spawn, I don’t know if it would be worth it.
Most nights, I get three hours of sleep, non-consecutive. If they don’t wake me up, Tess does. She may be their mama, but I’m her mama. Less than two months ago, she was living on the streets, pregnant, and alone. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore. She wants company wherever she goes, and she’s tired from nursing and taking care of thirteen puppies. I don’t blame her. She’s young and has had a really tough life; I’m her person now. I am running on empty. I am exhausted. Dylan can’t help because he’s at the apartment with Beau. Amanda and Andrew help, but they’ve already opened up their home to us; it’s not their responsibility.
I’m at the vet’s office about once a week. I think we’re keeping them in business during COVID-19. Check up, dewclaw removal, puppy strangles, more check ups, and other things have made us regulars. Today, I had to take Tess because she suddenly developed hot spots around her neck under her collar. It was terrifying. I felt horrible. She’s so laid back, she didn’t even let me know she was hurting. Luckily, a week of twice-a-day antibiotics and steroids should clear it up, but we’ll know when we go to the vet [again] for a check up next Wednesday.
Instead of having weeks to plan for one new dog or even puppies… I had five days. There was no money set aside for this. I’m a planner. I like to have a plan and savings and a contingency and more savings. That was not possible here. Luckily, Dylan and I are in a position to take on this responsibility financially and spatially, but it’s drained those accounts, and we’ve even put some on our credit card, which I hate to do. But it’s what we had to do because I was watching Oryol gasp for air, and a little debt was not going to stop me from saving his, Athena, and Knight’s lives. Tess has a lot of health issues to take care of once the puppies are weaned and she’s recovered. Thirteen puppies is a big litter, which means a bigger price tag. They’ve had health issues, which adds to that even more. Paying for vet bills, tests, x-rays, ultrasounds, emergency ER visits, steroids, antibiotics, vaccinations, etc. Not to mention the 36 puppy pads we go through, the two loads of laundry I do, the half can of puppy formula, the six pounds of dog food EVERY DAY. Plus teething toys, sheets, towels, fences, troughs, and all the miscellaneous items we’ve bought to make their lives easier. Amazon has limited the number of puppy pads we can buy because of coronavirus, so I’ve had to ask friends and family to send some to me because we need them.
They’re big puppies. Now, they’re big enough to run, jump, and play. It’s so fun to run around with them and watch them hop like awkward deer. It also means a swarm. A swarm under foot and the risk of stepping on one and hurting them, which means I’m always barefoot. I can’t feel what’s under my feet in shoes, so I don’t wear them to know when I can put weight on my foot and when I can’t. A running swarm means they rush to any open door, person, or thing they want. It means I have to create barriers, which they’ll find a way passed. I have to let five puppies in while I get down on my hands and knees to push and hold them back so I can close the door so they don’t get hurt so I can take them upstairs so they can be safe without having the rest of the puppies loose to roam free pooping, peeing, and wreaking havoc on the ground floor. It’s amazing what can happen in a minute and a half. The swarm means getting frustrated to tears because I can’t put their food down without spilling it all over them and myself and wherever we are. The swarm means mountains of poop and pee. The swarm means never being able to keep up and keep track. The swarm means letting go of showering, organization, and folding laundry. The swarm means accepting the new stress wrinkles they’ve gifted me. The swarm means I have gotten very, very good at counting to thirteen (five times) because I’m terrified one will be forgotten. The swarm means when one starts howling, thirteen start howling… day or night. The swarm means I’m one step away from complete anarchy.
My life is so completely filled with love and happiness. That love and happiness comes with a price. I’m not complaining, but thirteen puppies is a lot of physical work and a huge financial responsibility. Instagram and cute pictures do not show the late nights, the tears, the frustrations, the isolation, the debt, or any of the other hard bits. Not to mention, I’m always finding poop on my clothes and skin. When I don’t have poop on me, there’s a phantom poo smell haunting the depths of my nostrils. They are absolutely wonderful, but it’s hard. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I took care of a human baby for a long time. So don’t let Instagram fool you. My quaranteam is not bliss. It’s heaven if heaven were coated in poo, tears, and exhaustion.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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