A fantastic Fall weekend

We didn’t have any big plans heading into last weekend, which is a good thing. Because as much as I love being social and going on fabulous adventures, sometimes it’s even more lovely to wake up on a Saturday morning, eat one of my husband’s delicious weekend-breakfasts, read the paper and then say, Hey, What should we do today?

Another reason it was good that we weren’t scheduled for any events was because Luke somehow forgot that nighttime is for sleeping. Yep. For the past four nights we’ve been up every two hours with a fully awake giant-baby. It’s almost like the Universe is slapping my wrists for complaining that he wasn’t sleeping through the night yet. So, You are so unhappy about waking up ONCE a night, huh? Let’s see how you do with FOUR times. Awesome. And all I’ve got to say to that is, Thank God for COFFEE!

So other then make a few impromptu runs to Starbucks, we basically lounged around the house and spent as much time in the fantastic, Fall sunshine as possible. We took advantage of the warm weather to give Ruby a hose-bath in the front yard and then let Taylor walk her around the cul de sac.

We played, and watched, some football.

We spent a little time at the park.

We picked out our pumpkins.

We basically just had a wonderful weekend. I mean, with kids this cute, who needs to sleep?

Deja Rubes

A few weeks ago I got home from the pool with the kids and Chris met us in the driveway with a grim look on his face. He then told me that he had been throwing the tennis ball for Ruby in the front yard when he heard her shriek and come back gimpy with the ball, hobbling around and not putting any pressure on her back right leg. And we just looked at each other like, Oh no. Not again.

Right after Taylor was born, Ruby injured her left leg and went into a period where she would hide under the guest beds and refuse to interact with us. At first we thought she was just peeved about the baby coming and knocking her down a notch on our attention totem pole, but then when she started walking on three legs, we took her in to our vet and he diagnosed her with a torn ACL. We were lucky to find a reputable canine surgeon in the area who operated on our four-legged daughter and replaced her knee with a titanium hinge. And after three months of recovery, which included six weeks of extremely limited activity, followed by six weeks of leash walks and no running, Rubes was healed. And back to her previous, hyperactive self.

So after her recent leg injury, we held our breaths and said a few prayers that it was just a sprain. But it didn’t heal. And last week, our fears were confirmed when Dr Crouch once again said that she tore her ACL and needed the exact same surgery she had three years ago. So tomorrow morning we’ll take our eight-year old canine child in to get her second bionic knee put it. We know what to expect this time around, and it’s going to be hard to keep her inactive and confined while her new knee heals, not to mention budget the mind-numbing cost of it into our finances. But we don’t have a choice. She’s a part of our family. And we will do all we can to nurse her back to her normal, spastic self. Wish us luck.

Ruby the ferocious beast

For the past six months, every time we would let Ruby out into the front yard she would run to a patch in front of our flower garden and hunt and dig for a few persistent moles that started inhabiting our property. And every time I would catch her in the act, I would yell, RUBY! NO! Because she would dig, dig, dig these awful eyesore patches out of plush, green yard.

Well now the grass is starting to brown and the flowers are dead, so I’m less likely to blow a gasket about her digging. And yesterday, after all those attempts and furious, sneaky digs, my ferocious seven-year old chocolate lab FINALLY got her kill. And Chris said that when he found her with the mole, she was batting it around, half-dead, in the yard and being all, Yeah THAT’S RIGHT, Mr. Mole. This is MY YARD. Property of the RUBES.

Don’t worry animal lovers, Chris put the fat little rodent out of it’s misery before she could get too Jack Bauer on it. And when he told me about the bloody scene after he disposed of it, I was all, What? I wanted to see her with her kill. And he looked at me weird and said, Um. It was pretty gory stuff. Plus, with you’re hormones, you were crying at a Disney World commercial last night. I didn’t think you would have gotten excited about a dead animal. Well, I’m excited enough to blog about, my friends. Good job, Killer.

The Ruby not-so-Blues

So somewhere between my weekend trip to Sewanee and re-landscaping our entire front yard, my four-legged daughter had a birthday. Miss Ruby Blue turned the big seven late last month, marking her close to 50 in dog years. And even though she’s got some gray on her chin and belly, not to mention a titanium hinge for a knee, she’s still got all the spunk and sass she did when we brought her home with us seven years ago.

And maybe it’s because she is getting up there, or that I know how happy this makes her, but Ruby has officially become a car-dog. So whenever you see us driving around town with the windows down, there’s a pretty good chance the Rubes is in the way-back, dog-watching, smelling the fresh air and hope-hope-hoping that Taylor shares some of her snacks with her.

And I don’t know if it’s that Rubes has finally realized that, after two years, Taylor is indeed a part of this family and not leaving anytime soon, or if it’s that she’s actually warming up to the idea of having a two-legged sister, but both of my girls have been getting along just fabulously. And that makes my heart smile.

Earning her Dora the Explorer gummie snacks

The ugly side of show business

When Taylor and I were visiting my parents in Iowa this past fall, my Mom insisted, INSISTED, on taking Taylor toy shopping. And when I reminded her how spoiled her grandbaby already was, not to mention the lack of space we had in our returning luggage, she simply turned her head, mumbled something under her breath and proceeded to stroll T through the toy aisles, chirping, Pick out WHATEVER you want, baby girl. Your Ya-Ya is going to buy you a special toy. And, of course, Taylor’s eyes and arms darted to the most obnoxious toy in the entire store, a mini-music machine, complete with keyboard, microphone and barking-dog joystick. And my Mom smirked and put it in the cart, as if it was retribution for me picking percussion in band when I was younger. Because nothing’s worse than living under the same roof with an eighth-grade girl who releases her teenage angst while practicing snare drum in her room. Alright, I get it now. Are we even yet?

So Miss T played with her revenge-toy for a good week, and then in typical toddler-fashion, moved onto another treasure to covet for a short amount of time. And after residing quietly in the bottom of the toy-bin for a few months, Taylor pulled out her music machine yesterday to give an impromptu performance for Ruby and I. BUT, someone wasn’t in the mood.

And like any artist who has been heckled or interrupted during a show, Taylor reacted in true diva fashion.

I guess we’re gonna have to work on this sensitivity thing before trying out for American Idol, or else T’s gonna be the kid sobbing her way through the cameras outside the audition, and I’ll be the crazy stage-mom going after the judges with my drumsticks.

The face of persistence

Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? How 'bout now? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? How 'bout now? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Huh? Huh? Huh? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch? Wanna play fetch?

Baby it’s cold outside

So we’re finally getting a blast of winter weather in Asheville, which means we have to say goodbye to temperatures in the sixties and say hello to socks and winter hats. We’re even supposed to get – gasp! – SNOW this weekend, so this afternoon I took the girls outside for what could possibly be one of our last afternoon romps in the yard this year.

Our little helper

So I mentioned earlier how Taylor is always trying to help us do things. And by HELP, I mean getting right on top of us while we are trying to complete everyday tasks and, therefore, making it pretty darn difficult to get anything done. Well, here she is trying to help Chris brush Ruby yesterday:

Too bad she doesn’t need any help with being cute, huh?

The running of the Rubes

Looks like we got a thrill seeker on our hands. Which is reason number-72 why we will never let her go on a spring break trip in a foreign country without us. Well, at least until she’s 30. We’re not THAT strict.

My girls

RUBY: Let’s get this straight. The only reason I tolerate your existence is solely because, A. THEY told me I HAVE to love you. And B. You’re a messy eater. I generally score two-to-three good bites after every meal you have. Other than that, I’m over this. You take up all of their attention and now that you’re super mobile, you think it’s HILARIOUS to chase me all over the place and try to take my tennis ball. And don’t even get me started on these TANTRUMS as of late. You always seem to pick MY naptime to throw your screaming body on the ground in front of me. NOT. COOL.

TAYLOR: But you get to lick macaroni and cheese off my face.

R: Well. I guess you got a point there.

T: Let’s hug it out.

It’s fun to pet the Rubes

So Chris and I have been logging some serious hours trying to train Taylor to be gentle when interacting with Miss Ruby Blue. And even though, overall, the Rubes has been 68% sweet, 32% annoyed with baby-T’s existence, we don’t want to give our four-legged daughter any excuses to become 100% miserable. And now that Taylor is moving, grooving and a bit more excitable, she’s been known to take that pent-up baby energy and smack Rubes across the nose or pull her ears. And don’t even get me started on the plastic golf clubs Chris got T for her birthday. Yes, that was a brilliant idea. The minute she reaches for the driver, Rubes vacates the room.

So for the past few weeks, whenever Taylor feels like attacking Ruby, Chris and I intervene and show her how to properly love on her sister. And, as you can see, it’s starting to soak in.

So, yes, it’s a process. But a fun one. Oh, and the video also shows some of Taylor’s celebratory, arm-swinging dance moves, and my super-annoying rendition of the dancing Zebra song that echoes throughout our house constantly. And, yes, Taylor is still OBSESSED with her plastic sandwich bag full of baby spoons. It's her most favoritest treasure of the moment. Other than Ruby.

Ruby & Me

So the other night Chris and I finally got around to watching Marley & Me. And by watch, I mean I cried uncontrollably throughout 40% of the entire movie. Super sad. And it’s not like I didn’t read the book, follow the reviews or hear everyone else in the world talking about it and reiterate over and over again how sad it was. I knew what I was getting into and I STILL looked like I got punched in the face afterwards. I’m talking tears streaming down my face and hiccup-sobs. Serious bawl-fest. And after I was able to breathe out of my nose again, of course the first thing Chris and I do is tackle Ruby to the ground and remind ourselves how much we love our four-legged daughter.

And while I’m sure that everyone related with the characters and their adventures and mishaps with Marley, Chris and I felt a special connection and almost eerie resemblance to the story of a young, newly married couple trying to raise their first dog. Both labs. Both absolutely nuts. Ruby’s totally pulled each of us down while taking her on walks. She’s chewed up more than a few pairs of shoes, underwear, reading glasses, pillows, chairs – and the list goes on and on.

But we love her. And even though she’s gotten less and less attention over the past 14 months, that horrible sad movie helped remind Chris and me to take some extra time in our day for the Rubes. Even Taylor’s kicking-in with the Ruby love-fest.

Because Taylor touched all of her tennis balls

Rawhides? Ha! Rawhides are for little sissy dogs that wear sweaters and have bows in their hair. Real dogs eat trees.

My girls

Now that spring has officially arrived, we've been spending lots of time outside enjoying the beautiful mountain sunshine. And my girls couldn't be happier.

The final hurdle

It was no big surprise that Ruby was rather unhappy with us when we brought home her new sister almost 11 months ago. And in addition to the major knee surgery she endured during the first few months of sisterhood, the lack of attention and restricted couch time resulted in one peeved pup.

But after Ruby’s knee healed and Taylor became mobile, we saw some affection from our four-legged daughter to baby-T. First Taylor was scratching Ruby’s tummy, then she was throwing avocado over the side of her highchair. And now this –

BFF.

It’s not you, it’s me

While we were pregnant with Taylor, one of our big concerns was how Ruby would handle the addition of a baby to our house. We were pretty optimistic about it. All of our friends with newborns kept assuring us that their dogs were wonderful and totally accepting of the baby. Ruby’s a good dog, she’ll be great with the baby. Not so much.

And while I’m not saying Ruby’s BAD with Taylor - She hasn’t tried to bite her or sell her to the neighbors - She’s not exactly thrilled with her new sister. In fact, she pretty much wants nothing to do with her. And I totally understand where she’s coming from. Taylor takes LOTS of our attention away from her, plus Ruby’s still healing from her knee surgery. So it makes sense that our four legged daughter is a bit resentful of this new, squirmy, smelly addition to our family.

But now that Taylor is getting more and more interactive, she is absolutely fascinated by Ruby. She’ll just sit there and stare at her, whooping and screeching at Ruby to get her to look at her. It’s pretty pathetic.

I know this rift won’t last forever. I have a feeling Ruby will come around. And when Taylor’s old enough for the highchair and throwing solid food on the floor, I believe that she and Ruby will become best friends.

Future bionic dog

Chris took Ruby for a consultation with Dr Crouch yesterday, and before the appointment we received some info on him that I thought could work to our advantage. Other than being well known for his mad dog-healing skills, this doctor received his veterinary degree from Iowa State. So I thought it would be a good plan that as soon as Chris walked into the guy’s office he should start spouting off about how Iowa is the best state in the world. Period. And then see if it would be possible for us loyal Iowans to pay him for this procedure via barter-style with golf lessons and homemade guacamole. And if he said No, I wanted Chris to punch him in the stomach and say, Typical Cyclone. Hawkeyes rule!

Well, big surprise, Chris didn’t take my advice. Cyclone or not, he was super impressed with Dr Crouch. He’s apparently the Michael Phelps of canine orthopedic surgeons, and has done 1400 of these ACL procedures. And of that number, only nine haven’t taken. And of those nine, six were chocolate labs. Because chocolate labs are what they call High Energy dogs. Oh really? We hadn’t noticed. We thought all dogs did hot-laps around the living room when they heard the word Walk.

The big challenge with this whole drama is going to be the healing process. From what I understand, in two weeks Dr Crouch is going to put a metal hinge in Ruby’s knee, and for six weeks - SIX WEEKS! - after the surgery she is not allowed to do any sort of activity. No climbing on the furniture. No running up the stairs. Nothing. And after she makes it through six weeks of immobility, then only leash-walks for an additional six weeks. I can’t even explain to you how hard this is going to be, and I’m pretty sure the only way we’ll make it through the next three months is with a crate and lots of doggie tranquilizers.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the cost of this whole thing is like a running kick in the shin. But there isn’t an alternative. If we don’t do it, she’ll be an official tripod-dog in less than a year. And she’s only five years old, and we LOVE her. Oh, and far as the Iowa loyalty discount goes, it’s not going to happen because he’s not even from the great corn state. He’s from Illinois. Which means he’s both a Cyclone AND a Bear’s fan. Typical.

A conversation between my two kids

Ruby: Alright. I will only tolerate you living here as long as you stop crying and start feeding me treaters. Also, please refrain from puking on the couch. I'm sick of the throw pillows smelling like sour milk.

Taylor: How about I just start petting you?

Ruby: Deal.

Bum wheel

The mystery of Ruby’s funk mood has been solved. My four-legged daughter has a torn ACL. She had been limping around on-and-off for the past few months, most noticeably after a day when she ran a lot. Yesterday was a marathon day for her - Two walks and lots of tennis ball time. Ruby runs like a Clydesdale, very hard and very aggressive. Last night before bed she wouldn’t put any pressure on her back left leg, and this morning she was still tripoding around. Chris took her to the vet and they diagnosed her with a torn ACL, and he’s going to have a consultation next week to discuss surgery. Until then we’re on strict orders not to run her, and she’s on a cocktail of joint medicine and painkillers. And treaters. Lots and lots of treaters.