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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Lately, I’ve been feeling like the struggle bus would drive right by me.
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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This may come as a shock to you, but I read a lot. I think story time is important for everyone, including puppies.
They’re six weeks old today. They love playing outside, eating all the food, gnawing on plants, pooping everywhere, and taking naps. I can’t wait for them to learn how to climb stairs. Carrying thirteen heavy, growing puppies up and down the stairs four plus times a day is exhausting. Although, I’m going to have a great butt when this is all said and done. They have loved running around Amanda’s – read this post if you don’t know what I’m talking about – backyard and laying in the sun. Today, they spent nine hours outside; 70° couldn’t be better for them. They’ve also found a love of playing in water. When it gets warmer, we’re planning on filling the kiddy pool, the one they were born in, for them to splash around.
Whenever I sit down, all thirteen fuzz-butts come running and volley for a place in my lap. It’s heaven. They always sit so cute, I thought it would be a great time to read them a book, or, at least, pose with a book for a super cute picture. It did not go quite so smoothly. They were too excited about literally anything else to crawl in my lap. We’ll try again another time, but we did get some cute photos and a lot of bloopers.
I bought When You Love A Dog by M.H. Clark from a store here in Houston back in February before the puppies and Tess arrived on the scene. A week later, my house had fifteen dogs instead of the one. When you love a dog, you take on a lot of responsibility and tasks you probably wouldn’t otherwise, like not sleeping, cleaning poop, doing laundry at 4:00 am, bottle feeding every two hours, spending thousands on emergency vet runs, moving in with your best friend so the puppies can be safe and happy, making stinky puppy food at 1:30/5:30 am, and so many more things. I took on Tess and the circus because I love Beau with my entire heart. Tess needed someone to love her and help her through this time, and that person was me. I knew it the moment I stood in the field coaxing her into my arms. I’m exhausted, broke, homeless (not really, but it kind of feels that way), and I couldn’t be happier. Loving dogs has always been the best part of my life. Now I can love thirteen puppies and help them find their furever homes so other people can love a dog too.
When You Love A Dog is a cute little book perfect for any dog owner. I can’t wait to decorate one of the rooms in my home with pictures of all the puppies, Tess, and Beau and fill that room with sweet little books like these. “When you love a dog, someone waits for you, with a true and joyful heart.” It couldn’t be truer. My life is hectic and exhausting, but I have never felt more loved by my fur babies and my friends. This has been an incredible blessing.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna + Tess + The Circus
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Title: When You Love A Dog Author: M.H. Clark Illustrator: Tatsuro Kiuchi Publisher: Compendium Publishing Copyright: 2018 ISBN: 9781943200986
Welcome to the family Tess, Siren, March, Knight, Hardy, Duke, Nosky, Hera, Boudica, Makeda, Lily-May, Athena, Oryol, and Bear.
No this is not an April Fool’s prank. This is real life. Sorry I’ve been keeping it from you, but we wanted to find some equilibrium before announcing it to the world. Here is a cliff notes version of a much longer story.
Exactly five weeks ago, I was driving to an event in Houston on a frontage road during rush hour when I saw a small and seemingly very pregnant dog on the side of the road. Nothing pulls on my heartstrings more than a homeless dog. I was driving too fast to stop. I quickly flipped around and stopped traffic in high heels and a skirt to make sure she made it across the road to safety. I knelt in a fallow field as people sped home to their families, holding out my hand, wishing I had dog treats in my car, crossing my fingers my car didn’t get hit all while looking at a very skittish dog, hoping she wouldn’t run away. It took thirty seconds before she picked up a mutilated bird wing and dropped it at my feet. My heart broke as I touched her head for the first time. A minute later, I took a calculated risk by picking her up. Instead of biting me or struggling to get free, her body relaxed into mine as I carried her across the field to place her in the back seat of my car. She immediately curled up and let out the biggest sigh.
Once I was back on the highway, I called Dylan. “Hi, honey. I have a dog in the car.” “I didn’t know you took Beau with you.” I paused, “It’s a different dog, and she’s pregnant.” He paused for even longer, “Oh. Well. Okay. I’ll be home soon, and we’ll talk.” Then I called my bestie, Kelsey, and asked, “What the fuck did I just do.”
Before I brought this new and unknown dog into the house, I put Beau in her box to make sure both would be safe and quarantined. It took ten minutes to bring the new dog through the front door. She was scared and didn’t know what a doorway was. I didn’t want to push her or make her feel uncomfortable, so I sat down, petting her head until she walked far enough in so I could shut the door. I laid a blanket down for her with a bowl of water and food. She drank two full bowls of water and nibbled on the dog food before she laid down and closed her eyes. Her belly was huge. Her nipples were about to burst. I could see the movement of tiny puppies in her stomach. My family had a litter of puppies when I was fourteen, so I knew the signs and what to look for. We had maybe a week before the puppies would arrive.
Dylan walked through the door and made eye contact with the cutest stray you ever did see. I saw his heart melt. We talked for a long time about keeping her or contacting a rescue. Taking on a stray is a big commitment. Taking on a pregnant stray is a HUGE commitment. I knew she would be ours in the field, but I didn’t want to push Dylan into that decision if he wasn’t comfortable with it.
That night we [I] gave her the name Tess. We decided to lengthen it to Tessa because Dylan likes that a little better. Her name comes from the titular character in Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. The plot mimics Tessa’s own story, in a way, but with a happier ending. We gave her a bath, fed her, and loved on her.
A call to the vet happened immediately the next morning. We kept hoping she would be microchipped by a home with someone desperately searching for her. No such luck. Dylan and I knew at that moment, we had a second dog. We spent three hours at the vet running a full panel of tests, x-rays, blood work, ultrasounds, and more to make sure Tess and the babies were healthy as can be and, at least, not contagious before we brought her home to Beau. After a once over, we found out Tess is maybe a year old. The vet came in with the results from all the tests, and it wasn’t all great news. Honestly, it was mostly bad news. Tess had hookworms and tapeworms. We put her on pregnancy safe dewormers to take care of that problem. As expected in a street dog, she has heartworms. We won’t be able to treat that until she has weaned the babies, but she is on heartworm prevention to keep it from getting worse. That will be a process to take care over the next year. Then, the vet told us we were expecting THIRTEEN puppies. Tess isn’t very big. She weighed 52 pounds pregnant. I didn’t think she could fit more than eight babies in her tummy. The vet pulled out the x-ray saying, “Here is where the pellet is.” My brain didn’t register it at first. My dog. My pregnant dog had been shot in the spine. I don’t understand. I can’t understand it. It makes me want to cry thinking about it. I was trying to register and process that this small, young, helpless dog was full of fleas, worms, heartworms, a pellet, and thirteen babies. Other than that, she was healthy, and sweet. The vet prepared us to only have nine puppies survive because of the amount of puppies in the litter and the fact she had been living on the street for probably ever. Oh, and the puppies could arrive any time between now and a week. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Tess looked at me with the most soulful eyes and the biggest, pointy ears, and I knew we would do everything in our power to make her happy and healthy.
After paying a small fortune at the vet, we took her home and made her comfortable. Then we headed to Petsmart where we spent another small fortune to get puppy formula, crate, blankets, collar, leash, dog food, dog bowls, puppy pads, bottles, flea collars, flea baths, flea bombs, puppy shampoo, and more. We bought a kiddy pool for Tess to whelp in, syringes, thermometers, and more at Target. Then we hopped on Amazon to order towels, blankets, bleach, sheets, and more. Normally, people have two months to prepare and spread out the cost of puppies before they arrive. Not only did we not have days, we also had to get everything for our new dog. Those first eighteen hours were very, VERY expensive .
What made this whole thing harder was the fact I had to leave town two days later. Dylan had never whelped puppies. I had, but I had agreed to watch my cousin in New Orleans a year prior to this. I couldn’t back out. Dylan had to work that weekend, and he was stressed out of his mind trying to be a prepared doggy daddy. We tried to board Tess at a 24 hour vet office to make sure she was taken care of while Dylan was at work. That ended up being a complete nightmare, I will talk about that more in another blog post. Instead, we bought cameras to watch Tess in the puppy room and relied on my best friend, Amanda, to come over and lend a hand. I headed to New Orleans, hoping Tess would wait a week to have the puppies. In the meantime, I watched the cameras like a crazy person.
Five days after I brought Tess home, she went into labor. Fourteen hours later, Siren, the first puppy, arrived at 3:45 in the afternoon. It took seventeen hours for all thirteen puppies to arrive. My best friend, Amanda, came and helped. I was on Skype, as Overwatch, the entire time, letting them know when a puppy was coming and what to do when they needed help. We almost lost Tess between puppy ten and eleven, but she made it through. The three of us were up all night; it was exhausting and stressful. Dylan and Amanda were absolute champs. With every squeaking puppy, we let out excited cries. All thirteen puppies survived.
At two weeks old, we had a huge scare. Oryol, Athena, and Knight’s necks started to harden and swell very quickly. The swelling started at their necks and worked towards their faces, closing their eyes. It looked bad, but what was even worse was the swelling was cutting off their air supply making them wheeze and cough for air. We loaded Tess and all thirteen puppies into the car with blankets and pillows to head to the Blue Pearl Vet in Spring, a 24 hour animal ER, at 8:45 at night. We were prepared to stay as long as we had to with credit cards in hand willing to pay whatever price we needed to. All the puppies came with because the swelling came on so suddenly, I couldn’t bear to leave the puppies at home and risk another one getting sick. The Coronavirus hysteria had started, so we weren’t able to go inside with our three sick puppies. The vet was baffled by the case. They went on a regimen of steroids and broad spectrum antibiotics to take care of anything it could be because it would be days before pathology could confirm if it was viral, bacterial, or autoimmune. We were hoping it was an autoimmune disease; the other options meant a possibility of losing the entire litter and even Tess. After pathology and all sorts of other small fortunes were spent, we found out it was a wildly atypical case of the rare autoimmune disease: Puppy Strangles. It doesn’t occur in puppies younger than three weeks, which is why it was such a rare case. The fact three puppies had it at the same time in the space of an hour made it even more uncommon. Normally, it is not lethal, but because they were so small, had we waited much longer they would have strangled to death. They’re still on steroids, but they’re doing great and should be off them in a week!
Coronavirus sucks. Honestly, it couldn’t have come at a better time for me, though. I was supposed to go on a three week trip to Europe, which was cancelled because of the pandemic. Also because of the pandemic, work has been very slow, and Dylan and I are stuck at home with the puppies all day. It’s an amazing way to spend our quarantine, and I’m not in Europe missing out on this preciously short time.
Tess is the sweetest dog you ever did meet. Beau and her love each other. They are becoming the best of friends, taking on the other’s habits and falling asleep snuggling. Tess is becoming exhausted and drained from all the nursing, but she is doing an amazing job. Thirteen teething puppies with only eight functional nipples does not make for a happy mama. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, but we’re loving her fiercely through it all. Beau is obsessed with the puppies. Whenever they squeak, Beau runs in to check on them. Tess sees Beau taking care of things and lays back down. They’re coparenting, and it makes my heart so happy. Beau is torn between being enamored and terrified of the puppies. She wants to play with them so badly, and they’re now old enough they have started to play back.
My thirteen poop factories keep me busy doing laundry. And I mean a LOT of laundry. I’m a laundry goddess. They are the cutest things in the whole world, which makes it all worthwhile.
Last week, at three weeks old, my bestie, Jenn, took family pictures. We wanted to capture all thirteen babies, Tess, Beau, Dylan, and I before they’re zooming all over the place in complete and utter chaos. They turned out so cute. I will treasure them forever.
They’re officially one month old today. It’s an amazing age. They are walking and talking and playing. They mimic Beau’s boxerish play tactics. A herd of puppies run to me whenever I get near. I spend all day cuddling them when I’m not cleaning up. They are perfect and delightful and too good for this world.
The only reason I knew I could bring a heavily pregnant dog home off the side of the street was because Dylan would have done the exact same thing. When we started dating, he knew this was the kind of person I am, and he signed on anyways. He had been pushing to get a second dog for the last two years. I have been very resistant to it because dogs are a lot of work and a lot of money. I love them to death, but it is hard to travel with one dog let alone two. The Monday before Tess came home, I had told Dylan we were absolutely NOT bringing a second dog into the house. By Wednesday we had two. A week and a half later, we had fifteen dogs. I guess I was wrong. I couldn’t be happier about our circus.
Beau will go down in history as the best Valentine’s present ever. Three years ago today, she came home with me. We have been through so much in the past three years, but I wouldn’t change a day of it. I love her with my whole entire heart. She is my world. If you know me or met me, you already know this. She is at the heart of my life and my happiness. I don’t know what I would do without her.
For as obsessed as I am with Beau, it’s a surprise I have never made her homemade dog treats. I did this year!!! She LOVES them. They’re completely safe for puppers and humans. Dylan tried the dough and the biscuits. He says they taste like peanut butter and pumpkin, which makes sense. Even if you’re not celebrting adoption day with your dog, the puppers in our lives deserve some Valentine’s love too. Honestly, they probably deserve it more than the humans in our lives. I love the humans, but I love the dogs more. Beau is perfect, so I made her some homemade dog treats and cut them into hearts because she cares so much… I don’t usually do hearts, but it’s Valentine’s season!!!
Dog Treats Recipe
Ingredients
1 cup Peanut Butter – safe for doggos 1 cup Pumpkin Purée ⅓ cup Vegetable Oil 2 Eggs 2 ½ cups Whole Wheat Flour 1 teaspoon Baking Soda
Directions
Preheat oven to 350°
Mix peanut butter, pumpkin, oil, and eggs until well mixed.
Add in dry ingredients. It will be a stiff dough but very oily.
Roll out on a floured mat. For little dogs roll it thinner. For bigger dogs, roll it thicker!
Cut out into whatever shape you want!
Place on cookie sheet. For a smaller biscuit, bake for 12 minutes. I baked mine for 15 minutes. For a hard biscuit make until there is no give when touched.
Let cool.
Then generously hand out to the dog in your life!!!
If I can’t see the world, that means I’m successfully hiding. Beau is not convinced. | Pajamas | Sweater | Hat | Sheets | Bed Frame |
Every once in awhile I basically disappear from social media. I don’t consciously decide to take a break; it just happens. I won’t post for a week or two. It doesn’t mean I’ve quit, I’m just having an accidental social media detox. This is the first post in a week and a half; I was kinda done with life and needed to disentangle myself.
I have a life, and I get busy. When life is happening, I don’t have time to post.
Being present with my loved ones and all the people I choose to spend time with will always be more important to me than posting at a certain time.
PTSD is a bitch. When I’m in the throws of a bad day or a bad week or a bad month, being a successful blogger is on the back burner. I’m just trying to hold it all together and not be a human puddle.
Traveling sucks up my time. When I’m behind the wheel, I’m obviously not going to post.
Sickness. I hate working when I’m sick, so I don’t.
BURN OUT!!! It’s real. I’ve been dealing with some burn out lately. Not necessarily because of Instagram or social media. Just burnt out in general on a lot of things. When the burn out hits, though, I’m gonna take a break. It can strike at any time.
Migraines are horrible. I refuse to stare at a bright screen when my head feels like home to a mutiny.
I’m lazy.
Work takes up way more of my time than I would like it to. When I’m busy, I literally can’t stop the word flow to post. It can be hard to hold onto thought streams as a writer, so I refuse to interrupt it.
There are periods of time where I lose all brain activity and have zero original thoughts. At least, it feels like that is true. It’s hard to be an enthusiastic content creator when I don’t feel like I’m creative.
I’m not in the mood to deal with the fucking algorithm. The algorithm sucks, and I don’t want to deal with it. Instagram hates me, and I don’t want to deal with the shitty, shitty interaction percentages because NO ONE sees what I post because Instagram withholds them because Instagram hates me.
I’m never going to feel bad about not posting because it is my life and my feed. Being present is more important to me than having a plugged in and constantly curated social media existence. I love my job. I love being a blogger. I love connecting with everyone. I love sharing my life with each and every one of you. Sometimes, I need a vacation or mental break from being present all the time.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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