He's here!


Actual text about our adventures in picking him up to come, but until then, pictures!!


Looks pretty comfy in his new home, no?

Leo in the garden

Exploring the garden jungle.

Leo with a toy

Learning about toys.

Leo after a bath

After his much-needed first bath.

Isn't he cute? So far he's an absolute joy, but I'll fill in the details later.


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Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince CoverI am a Harry Potter-phile. Certainly not to the extent of some people (today has been my first troll around the fansites, for instance), but I'm a fan. I pre-ordered the book, I read it in two nights, etc. I've only read each book in the series once (though I have seen the first and third movies twice each, but that's more circumstance than anything else), but I have a pretty good idea of the general mythology. I think these books are Lord of the Rings for our generation, and they thrill me.

Which is why, now that I've gulped down book six, the second-to-last book, by most accounts, I am suffering from some post-Potter depression. I want more! I don't want to wait two years for it! I don't want just one more book! Wah!

Thinking about this last night, and about how lame it is that my joy at having just read book six and how good it was is overshadowed by what basically comes down to greed. Wanting more. I didn't take time to savor what I had, but rushed through it to get to the end, and now I'm sad to be done. It's one of those things I was supposed to learn better about when I was 5, you know?

And that got me thinking about Chance, and about how grief is, at least in part, about wanting more. It's about focusing on not having more time, rather than focusing on the time you had.

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Monday meme


Yeah, I know, it's Friday. But this is last Monday's meme, from here.

1. What is your favorite song of all time? Does is bring back any special memories?
Probably Simon & Garfunkel's Bridge Over Troubled Water. Unfortunately, the memory it brings back is from the memorial service for a girl I knew slightly (I was friends with her brother) in high school who died in a terrible mountain climbing accident. So it's not exactly a happy memory. But I guess it's not exactly a happy song.

2. What song do you like the best of those released in the past year?
I am hard pressed to name a song that was released in the past year. I'm not really much for the popular music and I can't think of a new CD I've bought that was released in the past year...I like that Sugarland song, "Baby Girl." I'm sure I'm forgetting something.

3. Have you been to many concerts? What was your first? Which were your favorites?

I've been to quite a few shows. My first, I believe, was Paul Revere & The Raiders at the Douglas County Fair. Heehee. All I remember is him making a joke about CDs (new then) being "little tiny records that won't play on your turntable." I must have been about 6. Willie Nelson, also at the fair, but ten or so years later, was a great show. Ani is nearly always good. Dar Williams is nearly always good. I had a great time seeing Billy Bragg. I like to watch Greg Brown. Locally, it doesn't get better than Eliza Gilkyson. Getting to see Kris Kristofferson was a complete dream come true and something I'll never forget...I could go on, but I'll spare you.

4. If you were a musician, what genre of music would you preform? What would your band be called?
I'd be a folk singer/songwriter. No band name required. Too bad I can't sing. Or play the guitar. Or write songs.

5. Recommend 5 songs to your friends:

This is simply too broad a question. Which friends? What kind of music do they like?

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Flea has a really great post up, talking about bullies, in reference to both her own childhood and her kids. It's something I've given a lot of thought to, having both been a bully and been bullied for so much of my life. The sad conclusion I've come to most recently is that it never stops (looks like some of Flea's commenters agree). Sure, as adults we get a bit more sophisticated in our bullying, and we call it other things, but it's still bullying. The tactics are the same: ostracism, humiliation, the intentional denigration of someone else's self worth in order to bolster your own. The effect is the same, too: feeling humiliated, assy self worth, extreme sadness. In all honesty, I don't feel any more equipped to deal with bullying now, at 25, than I did at 15, or at 10, or at 5. Sorry kids--it doesn't get any easier.

Maybe it should, though. As a kid, your circle of friends is defined by a lot of forces that are completely outside your control--your neighborhood, your class in school, whatever. As an adult, you have the freedom to move through different circles. As Flea so eloquently points out in her entry, she just wanted to play. And I think that's one of the reasons a lot of people--adult and child alike--put up with bullying. We just want to play. We want to have friends, have things to do, be part of things. As a child, our opportunities for that are limited. As an adult, they are far less so. If we are bullied in one circle, we can find another circle. If we are treated poorly by one friend, we can end that relationship and find another friend. Only in our families and our workplaces are we forced to interact with people who treat us poorly, and even there "forced" is too strong a word. If we don't like how we are being treated, we can change it.

Why is that such a hard lesson to learn and such a difficult thing to do? While I have some pretty unpleasant memories of childhood bullying, if I'm honest, the most hurtful episodes are from high school and beyond. And they are almost always repeated instances with the same people treating me badly over and over again. The reasons I've allowed this to happen over and over again perplex me even now, but I know that my own low self-worth, my thinking that maybe I deserve it, is only part of the equation. Another part, a part that is talked about even less, is that I put up with it because I wanted to play. I didn't want to be left out, I didn't want to admit defeat and go inside. And while that makes sense as a kid, sad as it is, it just doesn't make sense as an adult. There is no shame in being left out of a group that treats you poorly, and it is better to be alone (or better yet, to find new friends) than it is to remain in the company of someone who makes you feel like shit about yourself.

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Pet Insurance, a PSA

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When Mark and I first adopted Chance, we considered getting pet insurance. I'm the type who likes to insure things (as well as ensure things, I guess), so I assumed we'd get it, but we'd heard it didn't cover routine stuff (shots, yearly exams, etc.) and Chance was young and healthy, so we decided against it without ever really doing any research.


This week we will be paying a total of about $5,200 in vet bills, all incurred over the space of four days. Just like hospital bills for humans, these are pages of itemized expenses. The two surgeries were around $1,000 each, there were lots of medications, hospital stay fees, and everything else under the sun. Emergency vet care expensive.

We are now about to adopt a dog who, unlike Chance, has excellent probability of needing a lot of vet care. Leo is older than Chance and his breeds are known and know to be high-needs in the vet department. His chances of getting the gastric tortion that killed Chancey is excellent, as are hip problems and cancer. And that's all aside from the regular vet care needs of a dog his size (larger dog=bigger vet bill, especially since most animal medications are prescribed by weight of the animal and priced accordingly).

So I am researching pet insurance, and I'm floored at what I'm finding. It's not very expensive! Looks like we'll pay somewhere between $300-$400/year for pretty comprehensive coverage for Leo, and that's without lying about his age or his breeds, both of which raise the prices on the quotes. There are still some co-pays, or caps on how much the insurance will pay for a given procedure, but most of those look to my eyes to be pretty reasonable. For example, the VPI Superior Plan pays about $2,000 for a gastric tortion surgery. Chance's first one (the one that was actually a tortion surgery) cost $2,700 altogether. Putting Leo on this plan would cost $306/year, with an additional optional $99/year for vaccination and rountine care coverage. I find that to be very reasonable.

The take home message is this: if you have a large breed dog, or an old dog, or a dog whose breed predisposes it to medical conditions, or hell, maybe any dog at all, really look into pet insurance. I wish we had. It's hard enough to lose your pet without having to worry about how you are going to pay for it as well.


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Leo and the one that got away


Leo lying down

I just talked to the woman who runs the rescue where Leo is. We are going to adopt him. I am so, so happy. It feels very right, adopting a dog his age (they are now guessing him at closer to 6 than 4). We will be able to give him the spoiled, mellow old age that we weren't able to give Chance.

Like all things, though, there is some sadness in this. Specifically, I also heard back about Cookie, the Bernese (now called Caroline by her rescue, which is a much better name, I think). She sounds delightful as well, and is, as you can see, quite beautiful in a goofy puppy way. I would have loved to have her. Mark and I even taked about taking them both (they both get on well with other dogs), but decided that Leo needs some time to adjust to us and to living inside and everything else before we get another dog, especially a fairly hyper young dog. So someone else will have to make a good home for Caroline. I hope that they do.


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#1: My fat feet

I went to the doctor this morning, to inquire about the fact that my feet and lower legs have been swollen and painful for the last two weeks. It started when I had to spend two days in airports and on planes, which is understandable, but it hasn't gotten much better since then, so I got concerned and went in.

She said I need to lose some weight and build up my calf muscles.

After a very well-reasoned discussion of why it's unlikely that I have heart failure, or hypothyroid, or diabetes, or any of the other things this could be a sign off, she gently told me that I am carrying extra weight on not-that-well developed musculature, and that given those things, it's not that surprising that this happened and that I wasn't able to spring back from it as quickly as I might have otherwise. So the prescription is to build up my leg muscles and lose some pounds (I'm down 6 lbs from my high point already, but haven't lost anything in the past couple of weeks).

Gee, that felt good. Nothing like expecting to be sick and turning out to be just fat. I know I should be thankful--after all, this is much better than a chronic illness, and it is something that I should be able to deal with without drugs or anything, but damn, it's hard not to wish I could just take a pill.

#2: Vegetarianism

Several weeks ago, it occurred to me that given all the ranting I'd been doing about what amazing creatures dogs are, my meat-eating was out of hand in its hypocrisy. Sure, I didn't ever eat dog, but I ate pig, and pigs are just as great as dogs. And what makes cows, or chickens, or even shellfish any less special? So I took the plunge and went vegetarian. This isn't the first (or second, or third) time I've done this, but it is the time with the best articulated and most morality-based reason. So...yeah. I guess I'm a vegetarian now. So far it's actually been more difficult than I expected--not in the craving meat way (I don't crave it at all), but in the wanting to eat things that happen to have meat in them way. Maybe I'll learn to cook. Probably not, though.

#3: Sewing

I grew up with a very concrete idea of what I was good at and what I wasn't, what I could do and what I couldn't. There were things that were not appropriate for me because I Didn't Have the Patience, or things that I shouldn't do because I Didn't Have the Coordination. I was Not Artistic, Not Musical, Not Athletic. Whether this was my fault or a product of my environment or what I don't know and wouldn't venture to guess, but it led to me being very uneasy with and unwilling to move outside of my comfort zone (a zone which mainly consisted of me going to school and reading books and mouthing off). I know there is a notation on one of my elementary school report cards that says something like, "Gracie is easily frustrated with things that do not come naturally to her." No fucking kidding. And it's gotten worse more than better as I've gotten older.

However, as I've gotten older I've realized that being able to move outside of one's comfort zone and try new things, even things you might not be good at, is a really important skill to have. So I've started to make the effort. My success has been mixed. I still can't do calculus, and honestly I haven't made a good faith effort to change that, either. On the other hand, I took a pottery course I absolutely loved, after I got through the first couple of classes feeling stupid, and even though I never got very good at it, it was fun and I learned a lot (more about myself than about throwing pots).

My newest endeavor is learning to sew. This one has particular resonance with me, as it's something I grew up around and never learned. My mom sewed all the time when I was a kid, and I know she tried to teach me at least once, but it was a disaster ending up with a butt-ugly pink shirt that I didn't end up doing any of myself. In the past few years, however, I've really wished I could sew, both to do stuff for the house (curtains, pillow covers, etc.) and with the eventual dream of making some of my own clothes (that will actually fit me). So I bit the bullet a few weeks ago and signed up for a sewing class. Last night was the first class.

So far we haven't done enough for me to really fuck anything up, although my lines aren't as straight as I'd like them to be in cutting out the fabric, and I my inability to properly pin a pattern is probably record-book worthy. I learned how to thread the machine and fill the bobbin, pin and cut a pattern, etc. Next week we'll get to the actual sewing. The first two classes are focused on making a pillow, the next two are for an elastic or drawstring waist skirt, then pajama pants, then a pajama top. I'm still a bit trepidatious, but I'm excited.

And of course I'm chomping at the freaking bit to buy a sewing machine now...


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Mark and I have started looking for a new dog. There's a lot of controversy about whether or not that's a good idea at this stage--Chance has only been gone for a week--but it definitely feels right to me, and I think it's beginning to feel right to Mark as well.

We haven't met anyone yet, but I've been in touch with some fosters and rescues and we have some contenders. One is a 1 year-old female Bernese named Cookie. I don't have a picture of her yet, but her personality sounds great, if a bit on the hyper side for us, and I absolutely love Bernese Mountain Dogs. She's at a rescue in Dallas, and I am communicating with someone there to get more information about her.

Anther contender is Leo. Leo is an Irish Wolfhound-Pry mix. He's at a rescue north of Dallas. He is estimated to be around 4 years old, whch is a bit older than we would like. It sounds like he has a great personality--very gentle, very loving, very mellow. He hasn't shown any signs of abuse or fear or aggression issues. He was found living by an abandoned mobile home in the middle of nowhere, nearly starved to death. He's now healthy and is weighing in at about 120 lbs.

Isn't he a beautiful boy?


A bit close to home (just over at the Williamson County ASPCA), we have Maddie. We don't know anything about her yet, but isn't she gorgeous?

Mark and I are going back and forth about whether or not it makes sense to go three hours to rescue a dog when we could rescue one right here in Austin. Why look for specific breeds and such when there are so many wonderful dogs being put down right here every day? It's a legitimate question, but we both feel drawn towards very large dogs, and there don't seem to be any in the Austin rescue circuit currnently, aside from a number of Great Danes. I'd be happy to adopt a Dane myself--I think they are super cute and they tend to have great, mellow personalities--but Mark is adverse to them.


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How I wish you were here


These past few days have made something really crystal clear to me: I am far too far away from the majority of the people I love.

This is not at all to say that I don't have some great friends here--I really do. They are small in number but by far make up for it in amazingness, and I am really, really lucky.

Most of my friends, however, and all of my family, save Mark, are very far away. Several times in the past 24 hours I've heard on the phone or read in an email, "I wish I were closer..." And y'all, I wish you were closer, too. Or at the very least, I wish you were in one place, so I could go there, too. But you're all over the place, and that's the worst thing.


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In Memoriam


For those who have been so kind as to email me and ask, this is the rescue who pulled Chance out of the kill shelter, and anyone who wants to donate in his name, we'd be happy if you'd send your money here.

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There will never be another


There will never be another dog like this dog.


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My baby is gone. Sudden heart failure this afternoon, after living through surgery #2, to repair a several inch diameter hole in his stomach. They did everything they could do, there was just too much damage. His stomach had been leaking into his abdominal cavity, which caused infection and a fever spike. They went in and fixed what they could with surgery this morning. We saw him briefly before he came out of the anesthesia, but were supposed to go back this afternoon when he was awake. The doctor called a couple of hours ago to tell us that he died in his sleep.


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The rest of the story


It all started at 6:30 AM on Thursday, when the alarm went off to wake us up to go to the airport. Actually, it started before that, about six weeks ago, when my job was making me crazy and I was yelling "I need a fucking vacation!" at the top of my lungs every 30 minutes or so. After some discussion and exploration of ticket prices and possibilities, Mark and I decided to take a long weekend vacation in Boston in early July. Some of our favorite people in the world happen to live there, so it seemed a good idea. The tickets were ridiculously expensive, but we decided to do it anyway. Fast forward back to the alarm Thursday morning. We got up and got to the airport alright, and our plane from Austin to Dallas only left about 30 minutes late, which was close enough to on-schedule that we didn't have any connection worries. So far, so good.

Right after we landed in Dallas, the weather turned to shit. Thunder and lightening meant that no planes were going out or coming in. Knowing we'd be delayed, we decided to have breakfast at the airport T.G.I. Friday's. Yeah, I know, bad idea. But what really turned me off was not the absolute disgusting nature of the food, but the TV. Bombs in London. Tens of people already confirmed dead, hundreds injured, and nothing but ridiculously macho statements from the relevant politicians. Shit. Bad things were happening.

As the lightening seemed to be subsiding, Mark walked over to our gate to see how delayed our flight, originally supposed to take of at 10:45, was going to be. Just as he stepped up the counter, the gate agent got on the intercom and announced that the flight had been cancelled. Since Mark was first in line, we got seats on the next Boston flight, due to take off at 12:05. Good stuff.

But not so much. After being shut down for over an hour, the airport was backed up. Our gate was backed up, flight crews weren't arriving when they were supposed to, and it was delay after delay. Our second flight, originally supposed to leave at 12:05, finally started boarding at 5:15. Because the airport was so crowded, there were no chairs to be had and we spent the waiting time either standing or sitting on the concrete floor. My legs began to swell.

And then things got a lot worse.

As we were boarding the plane (finally!), Mark noticed a message on his phone. When he listened to it, the look of horror on his face told me it was something serious. It was the kennel. Chance had been taken to the vet. He had bloat.

I didn't know much about bloat (do now...), but I knew it was life threatening. I started shaking as Mark called the kennel back to get the full story. He had bloated, but they got him to the vet and got it stopped before his stomach turned. This is very good. He seems like he is doing OK now, they have him separated from the rest of the dogs and are watching him carefully. No, we don't need to get off the plane and come home. The plane door was closing as we decided that they knew better than us and that we would go ahead with our planned trip to Boston. We call our friend S. and ask her to go and check on Chance, and she says she will.

Fast forward four flight hours, and we land in Boston at about 10:00. We are thrilled to see our friends M. and H. are at the gate to meet us (they let you do that in Boston--how cool is that?). We call S. and she tells us that she saw Chance and he seems bummed out, but OK. We relax a bit. H. has brought her car so we don't have to take the T--looks like our shitty day is finally changing. We go to their house, where our other friend, also H., is waiting with fresh-baked cookies. We relax, have some food, sit around and talk. It seems like things are going to be OK.

As we get ready to go to bed at about 12:30, Mark notices another phone message. He checks it. Chance has bloated again and been rushed to emergency surgery. His stomach has turned this time. Mark calls the vet and is connected with the surgeon. The news isn't good--a large part of his stomach was choked off with no blood supply and is now black and necrotic. They are going t have to remove it. When the surgery is this intense and large parts of stomach have to be removed, the procedure is about 50% successful. What does not successful mean? It means he will die. Mark is sobbing as he hangs up the phone and tries to tell me what the vet said. I can't believe this s happening. I can't believe we stayed on that plane in Dallas and our boy is going through this alone.

I get on the phone to American Airlines and change our flights back. We are headed home at 7:00 AM. It's now 1:30. We wait for the surgeon to call back. We are both inconsolable, but H. and M. do their best and are, as usual, amazing. They make plans for a taxi to take us to the airport at 5. They even pay for it.

About 2:30, the surgeon calls back. The news is better. After they got the stomach untwisted, blood flow returned to the areas they thought were necrotic and color returned with it. They may be OK. After attaching some stomach to abdominal wall, which will help to ensure the bloat doesn't reoccur, they closed up without removing anything. This is better than expected, but it doesn't mean Chance is out of the woods. Besides the general risks of any surgery (which are greater in dogs than in people), we also have to worry about possible infection, especially if there was more damage to the stomach than they thought. If there are signs of this, they will have to go back in and do the removal, which will seriously diminish chances of survival. There is also the possibility of sudden heart failure, spurred by the toxins built up in the body while the stomach was twisted. There are lots of things that can go wrong. We need to get home as soon as we can to see him, because it's still very possible he could die.

At 5, we leave for the airport. Logan is a nightmare. The changes I made to our reservation last night are fucked up somehow and we have to stand in multiple lines to get things straightened out. We make our plane on time, however, and by 10:15 we are back in Dallas.

Dallas is a shorter repeat of the day before--our first flight is cancelled, but we are lucky enough to get tickets on the next plane. At 2:30, we are back in Austin. By 3:30, we are at the emergency clinic and can see our boy.

He looks rough, but not as bad as we thought he would. His belly is shaved and there is some leakage from his suture, so he's wearing a big bandage around his middle. He's hooked to an IV and is getting fluids, antibiotics, and morphine. He's hooked to a heart monitor because his heart is arrythmic. This is normal, we're told, and not yet cause for concern. He won't eat or drink, but that's not surprising. He's happy to see us and wags his tail. We sit and pet him for a few minutes, then he gets a booster shot of morphine. A few minutes later his eyes get glassy and he's drooling. Time to put him back in his kennel for more sleep. The vet who is caring for him is in surgery, but the tech tells us that he's doing as well as can be expected and that no news is good news--they will call us only if something bad changes, otherwise we can come seem him at 9:30 in the morning, and the vet will talk to us then.

We spend the evening worrying and attempting decompression. We get some food. We jump out of our skins every time either of our phones ring, but there is no bad news. The doctor who performed the surgery (a different doctor at a different clinic than the post-op) calls to check on him. The kennel owner calls to check on him. Our friends call. Our families call. The post-op clinic blessedly does not call. At 10PM I feel sure enough that my phone won't ring that I get in the shower. I either black out or fall asleep rinsing my hair and fall out of the shower, but I'm not hurt. After turning our phone ringers up all the way, we go to bed and both sleep like the dead.

This morning we get up and go immediately to visit Chance. Before we see him, the vet comes out to talk to us. She's amazing and I am immediately at ease. She is also very positive. She says he's eating, his heart arrythmias have died down enough that she's comfortable removing him from the ECG, and she has changed him to all oral meds. Once they stopped trying to give him the nasty prescription food and offered him some regular dry kibble, he even started to eat. This is an excellent sign. While he is still not out of the woods, things look much better. We are close to 36 hours post-surgery now, and she says that generally if anything bad is going to happen, it will happen in the first 72 hours.

Then we get to see him. It's better than yesterday, because he isn't hooked up to anything and can come to an exam room and sit with us privately, rather than us having to sit next to his kennel in the open room of recovering and invalid animals. He is so happy to see us he does his usual butt wiggle. His bandage is off, so we can see how bad his incision is, and it's bad. They split all the way from his chest to his genitals, and it is closed with metal staples. His stomach is shaved and there are shaved patches on both his sides where his heart monitor electrodes were. His capped off IV tubes are still attached to his leg. But bad as he looks, he seems like himself. He sniffs all around the exam room and then comes to us to be petted. After a few minutes, he lies down on the exam room floor and goes to sleep, lifting his head periodically to make sure we're still with him, then resting some more. This time, we can stay for about an hour and a half, so we do.

The tech who is helping us is fantastic. He tell us that the sleeping is very normal, both because of the drugs and because of the stressful environment. It's good for him to have us near and feel safe so he can get some rest. He is also obviously fond of our boy. He says they did muzzle him while they were removing the bandage and taking his temperature, because he growled at them, but goes on to say that he doens't think Chance is at all mean, he's just scared, and you can't blame him for that.

We leave feeling better than we have in days.

It is now 9:00 PM and we haven't heard anything, which is good. There are no visiting hours tomorrow, unfortunately, but the vet's assistant comes in and does rounds, and there is always someone there to watch the animals. We are to expect an update phone call tomorrow morning, and then, if everything continues to go this well, we will be able to bring him home on Monday.

Home care is going to be fairly simple--he just has to be kept down and not run or jump or get too excited until the sutures are removed (about two weeks). I'm sure he'll need meds for a while, as there has to be some pretty significant pain and he'll need a full course of antibiotics to fight off infection. We will need to watch him closely, but it is very likely that he will make a full recovery.

These have quite possibly been the most stressful three days of my life. As I've been saying a lot lately, this dog is part of my family and I love him very, very much. I cannot fathom losing him, and I particularly couldn't fathom losing him without even being there to be with him and to say goodbye. I feel horrible that this happened while we were gone, and that we didn't turn back when we originally go the call. It has to be said, though, that we were lucky this happened when it did, as the kennel staff did an absolutely excellent job monitoring him and getting him excellent care as soon as he needed it. It's quite likely they saved his life.

It's also quite likely that I will never attempt to go on vacation again.


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Chance is in at the emergency vet. He had surgery late last night for bloat. His stomach was completely turned and it is not yet 100% sure if parts of it died off or not (they did not think so when the did the surgery, so nothing was removed). If he lives through the next few days without complications, he should be fine (we are currently told the chances of this happening are 80-90%). If there are complications, it likely means that part of his stomach is dead and there could be infection. This would mean another surgery and his chances of living through it would be very decreased (50%, possibly lower depending on the extent of the damage).

This dog is my family. Please, please if you believe at all in praying or sending good vibes or whatever you do for animals, do it.


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This afternoon I went to the dentist. It was just a (three month overdue) six month cleaning, not a big thing. I'm not particularly dentist-phobic, but I'm also not fond of having my mouth scraped to shit, and I am not a flosser, so cleanings always include bloody gums and a sore mouth for a couple of days. All in all, not the most pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

So I'm reclined in the chair, having my mouth scraped, and I'm reading the posters on the wall. Lots of ads for teeth whitening systems and adult braces, nothing particularly surprising. Then my eyes landed on what looked to be a BMI chart. Great, thought I, even the dentist is in on the "you're fat and you're going to die" plot. At the bottom of the poster (I couldn't read most of the writing), I noticed a label for something called "DDS System." Wonder what that is, I thought?

So I came home and looked it up. And now I am going to have to never go back to my very nice dentist, who I like very much, because I don't need to spend my time or dollars in any profesional health care providers office who advocates this shit.

DDS System is a "behavior modification system that retrains your eating habits without rewriting your menu."

Huh? And it has what do with the dentist?

Well, it's a "new, patented approach to slow down the eating process!"

Yup. It's a "discreet oral insert" that reduces the size of your mouth, forcing you to take smaller bites.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I have a very, very small mouth. So small that in order to get actual dental work done, it has to be held open with blocks. And yet I'm fat. Why? Because the size of my mouth has absolutely fucking nothing to do with it.

And even if it did, who the fuck thinks that the answer to eating too quickly is a custom-fit piece of fucking mouth hardware? Way to circumvent the actual problem.

And it gets better. This magical mouth-filler costs $400-$500, plus the cost of your initial dental exam. They want you to pay $500 for something to shove in your mouth while you are eating. And why? Cuz you're fat. You're fat, the BMI says so, so you should pay $500, shove this thing over your soft palette,and never enjoy another meal. Good fucking idea.

Another thing? Almost every picture of on the DDS System website is of a woman. And almost every one of them is thin. So there you go.


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Worth a thousand words


Cuddly Bow and Chancers

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Another argument against BSL


This is Sahara. She is somewhere between 2 and 3. She's half Pit Bull, half Boxer. She was rescued within minutes of being put down.


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