Coffee heat rising

Pets

How to Make Dog Food

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In the past, I’ve written about cooking up real food in the kitchen for Cassie the Corgi. Making your own dog food is really very easy, especially for a small dog, and there’s no question in my mind that it’s better for the dog than kibble, which is made from some very suspect products.

The idea of making dog food came to my house during the late, great melamine scare, when unknown numbers of American dogs (possibly thousands) were poisoned by tainted ingredients from China used by almost every major American pet food manufacturer. At the time I had an aged German shepherd and a greyhound. With almost every brand tainted or suspect, about the only thing I could see to do was research what dogs need to sustain them and fix my pets’ food myself.

Well, the Ger-shep was very decrepit, indeed, by this time in her life. She could barely haul herself to her feet and hobble around the house; I didn’t think she had many more months left in her.

To my amazement, shortly after I started feeding her a mix of real food—meat, veggies, and starch—she began to pep up. After a couple of weeks on this regimen, one day she was able to chase her neglected ball around the back yard. It was as though she had bought back two or three years of doggy  life.

Well, cooking dog food for a big animal, let alone for two of them, isn’t very practical. However, for a smaller one, it’s very easy and doesn’t cost any more than premium commercial food.

Dogs, having evolved with humans for the past 16,000 years, thrive on approximately the same foods that we thrive on, with a few exceptions.

• They need a slightly higher proportion of meat to vegetables and grains: about 1/2 meat, 1/4 vegetables, and 1/4 starch
• They can profit from cruciform veggies such as broccoli and cauliflower
• Other root vegetables are good for them
• Dogs are not nuts about leafy vegetables, although a little spinach now and then is OK
• Some berries such as blueberries are well tolerated
• Whole grains like oatmeal are healthy and provide roughage
• Brown or converted rice is pretty good for them; potato is also good
• Most dogs love sweet potatoes (yams)
• This stuff should be cooked, not fed raw. It is not true that dogs are magically immune to pathogens such as salmonella and E. coli that live in raw meats.

Certain foods must be avoided, because they’re toxic to dogs. These include

→ Onions: DO NOT FEED!
→ Garlic: DO NOT FEED!
→ Chocolate: POISONOUS TO DOGS; DO NOT FEED!
→ Grapes and raisins: DO NOT FEED!
→ Bones, raw or cooked: DO NOT FEED!
→ Corn: Indigestible and allergenic: AVOID!
→ Fish: One of the most common allergens for dogs: USE SPARINGLY OR AVOID

With those facts in mind, just about anything else goes.

I usually look for the most inexpensive meat available—right now, chicken thighs are cheap, and it’s easy to remove the bones from thighs. Pork also often comes on sale. If beef prices ever come down (right now beef is too high even for me to eat, much less to feed to the dog!), some stores put certain roasts on sale, and you can have the butcher grind the meat into hamburger. This, BTW, is much tastier than the pricier burger that comes preground in packages. Ethnic markets are good places to seek out low-price but wholesome meats suitable for your dog.

Oatmeal, converted rice, and brown rice can be had very cheaply in bulk. Look in markets like Sprouts or ethnic stores that sell bulk products.

A mix of frozen veggies that contains no corn or onion is perfect for dogs. Costco markets such a blend in large bags as “Normandy Style” vegetables. In the wild, a dog would get vegetable matter from the gut of its prey, partially digested. Thus cooking vegetables lightly and then chopping them fine approximates the form in which this food should be most digestible for a predator that is not an obligatory carnivore (as is the case with dogs). Microwave the frozen veggies until they’re just barely cooked through—they should not be soggy. Then run them through a blender or food processor to chop finely.

Sometimes I combine these ingredients as we go, creating a fresh meal for Cassie each time she eats. However, the other day I decided to fix an entire pot  of ready-made dog food, containing all the ingredients in one product. It turned out surprisingly well—tastes like thick chicken stew and contains everything the dog needs.

Here’s how it went together:

1 large package of chicken thighs, preferably boned (about 5 pounds)
1 yam, cut in chunks
1 cup converted rice
2 or 3 cups mixed frozen vegetables: broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots

Place the chicken in a large pot. Add the yam and rice. Cover with water, bring to a boil, and then immediately turn the heat down to a slow simmer. Cook until the yam is soft and the chicken is cooked through. Remove and discard bones.

Meanwhile, microwave the veggies until just slightly cooked and then chop them finely in a food processor or blender.

When the chicken, yam, and rice mixture is cooked (the rice will swell up and absorb most of the water), turn off the heat and mix in the chopped vegetables. If you used bone-in chicken thighs, remove and discard the cooked bones. Allow to cool before feeding to the dog, obviously.

The finished product

Batches of home-made dog food can be stored in plastic containers or baggies and kept in the freezer for future use. The potful shown above will feed my 25-pound pooch for at least a couple of weeks, and probably more like three weeks.

The amount to feed depends on your dog, its age, its size, and its level of activity. Some sources advise feeding about 2.5% to 3% of the desired body weight. Determine what a normal weight for your dog should be (ask your vet). Then weigh the animal regularly to be sure it stays on that target. I feed the corgi about 6 ounces twice a day (morning and evening), or a little less than a pound a day. She’s neither sedentary nor overly active; her weight stays stable at 25 pounds.

The beauty of cooking your own dog food is that you know what’s in it and you know how it was prepared. If you feel any concern that your concoction may not supply all the animal’s needs, simply drop a dog vitamin pill in a bowl of food each day. Use veterinary vitamins, which are better proportioned for a dog’s needs than supplements made for humans. I rarely add them and have found the dogs thrive on real food with no added, expensive vitamins.

Cassie the Corgi
The Queen of the Galaxy

Charley and the Ferocious Corgi

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CharleyCassie, late the beaten-down 25-pound victim of the gallumphing Charley the Golden Retriever Puppy, has come into her own. All of a sudden one day it dawned on her that even though he weighs three times more than she does, she’s bigger than him.

The astonishing thing is, he thinks so, too. She actually chases him around the yard, around and around the trees and back and forth in a great steeplechase. Haven’t managed any good photos of these antics, because they’re very fast and digital cameras are very slow. Cassie moves like a rocket; the only reason Charley can outrun her is that one of his strides equals about eight of hers. And, I think, she lets him outrun her—that’s part of the game. In any event, attempts to photograph them end in brown and white blurs.

Cassie cultivates an absolutely terrifying wolf-like growl. Addressed to a human, it would make you or me climb up the nearest tree. Charley thinks it’s hilarious. He rears back on his hind legs, assumes a goofy grin, and waves his front paws at her. This causes her to charge him, growling, roaring, and snapping. She never makes contact—clearly she has no intention of biting. But you couldn’t prove that by me.

In addition to the dawn steeplechase, we have the daily Bully-Stick Competition. Dried bull dongs are to dogs as diamonds and rubies are to humans. Except humans don’t eat diamonds and rubies. This morning I realized Charley is deliberately baiting Cassie with these things.

Usually I give each dog a bully stick (gotta be fair around here). Instead of one dog going off in one corner and the other to another corner to chew, Cassie drops hers on the floor and charges Charley, growling and barking. She takes his away from him. He walks over and grabs the other one. She drops her prize and goes after him again. He jumps up in the air and waves his paws around. And so it goes, loudly and boisterously, for 15 or 20 minutes. Often Cassie loses interest in the object and comes into my office to sleep under the desk. Charley then ends up with both of them.

Yesterday when he was here he left one of these pricey toys—which cost about as much as diamonds and rubies—in the back yard. So when he went out on the porch for his morning policing of the property (he has to be sure everything is still in its place), I handed it to him. Cassie was in the kitchen glaring out at him. He picked it up and threw it at her. Well of course she emitted a lupine roar and charged out the door like a wild beast in a Roman arena. A huge “fight” ensued, with much bouncing, barking, growling, and lunging. Ridiculous!

Sometimes these encounters end with Charley standing four-footed in front of her and emitting a long series of monotonous barks: warf! warf! warf! warf! warf! warf!… “SHUT UP, DOG!”

Apparently in Dogese “warf!” means “mine!” Or maybe “give it back!”

At any rate, from the Human’s perspective, it’s a relief to see that she now can hold her own with him. Clearly he’s not going to hurt her. And it’s interesting to consider how long it’s taken for them to come to this accommodation. Maybe it’s because he was such a young puppy at first…possibly female dogs have some instinct that prevents them from beating up on little pups. Or possibly a pup has to achieve some maturity before it learns how pack hierarchy works. Whatever, now that he’s about seven months old, she has unmistakably established her primacy.

Charley in hot pursuit

How Do You Spell “Puppy”? c-h-a-o-s

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Make that c-h-a-o-s-! The exclamation point is part of the spelling, when the term applies to puppies.

Holy mackerel! What a morning. And it’s just starting. While I wait the 20 to 40 minutes it will take to make the decrepit iMac (the only computer in the house that will speak to the printer) scan and store two clients’ checks and then upload them to the credit union, let us entertain ourselves with Charley’s antics of the day. So far.

So I get a little bit of a late start, in spite of awaking at 4:30 a.m. I’ve dawdled over the online news and my favorite time-killing games until ten after seven. Not only does Cassie need to be fed, but I like to have had my own breakfast before the young dynamo shows up around ten to eight. If Cassie and I don’t get going by seven, breakfast is going to be hurried.

She’s bolted her Queen of Sheba breakfast and I’m about to sit down to my three slabs of bacon and dry toast when I hear the blower running outdoors.

Gerardo! Have to unlock the side gate so he can get into the backyard, and also confer with him.

He wants to know when M’hijito wants him to show up at the downtown house (an assignation my son has  put off, put off, and put off some more, mostly because the yard needs little maintenance that he can’t do, plus with a six-month-old pup excavating, there’s not much point in paying a yard dude. Now, having accrued a fine mess, he wants it cleaned up before his New Year’s party). I say Pup has destroyed a bunch of planting there that needs to be removed but I don’t know what to tell him exactly, it not quite being my house, and but M’hijito will show up in half an hour and they can speak directly.

Now, as a matter of fact I know M’jihito will be flying through like a rocket, because he’s chronically late to work, and I know he’s not going to want to talk to Gerardo. But when he shows up, I make him go out and confer.

This means I have to stand in the kitchen with what remains of my miserable little breakfast congealing atop the table, coffee turning cold, and HOLD the writhing, frantic Charley, because the old bathmat I put in front of the door to the garage (through which my princely son has exited) is all wadded up so I can’t close the door, and I can’t bend down to move it or shove it with my foot without losing my grip on Charley, who is already powerful enough to draw Santa’s sled. And of course M’hijito has left the door from the garage to the backyard open, and Gerardo has left the side gate open, so under no circumstances can I let go of Charley because he will head for Yuma on a dead run.

Conference over, my son pushes the rug back into place, shuts the kitchen door, and races out the front door, even later for work than usual.

I sit down to finish my congealed bacon and now cold, limp toast.

A slurpy little noise drifts out of the kitchen. What? Charley walks out, smacking his lips. I figure the noise was him lapping something off the extremely dirty floor, which as usual I haven’t had a minute to clean in weeks.

I finish eating, look up, and notice Cassie has shat (again!) under the desk in the family room (thank God for tile floors!). So I get up to retrieve some paper towels to pick up that mess. Rummage in the under-sink cabinet; can’t find the spray bottle of Simple Green; start to cuss when I realize I am standing almost up to my ankles in a YELLOW PUDDLE!

Ah yes. That was what the trickling noise was…

Charlie has pee’d a sea of pee all over the kitchen floor. The soles of my shoes are covered with it; he has tracked it all over the kitchen, and now I’m tracking more of it all over the kitchen. And I’m out of paper towels.

Out to the garage, tracking pee behind me. Open a new package. Swab up the piss, after a fashion—it’s raining here and the air is wet (not to say damned stinky) and the stuff isn’t drying and so I have to swab and swab and swab and swab to get enough of it up to matter.

Pour a pail of hot water liberally laced with Simple Green concentrate (never did find the spray bottle, but this job is beyond spray bottle help).

Start mopping the kitchen floor.

Gerardo whacks on the Arcadia door. He’s done and wants to be paid.

Wrestle Charley into his nest. Lock him in. Cassie is hiding in the bathroom, having been terrorized by heights to which the decibel level of the cussing has risen.

Confer with Gerardo. Refrain from telling him that Mike will remove the Devil Pod Tree early next month, knowing that Gerardo will want to do it, that Gerardo will underbid Mike, and that I absolutely positively do not want Gerardo and the Slapstick Sunnyslope Seven taking down a 60-foot tree that abuts my house. He will be offended, but let’s at least wait until after Christmas to offend.

Hand Gerardo a check for twice what he charges: Christmas bonus.

Finish mopping the kitchen and family room floors.

Coffee has gone stone cold.

Free Charley. Watch little dance to spring.

Let Charley into the back yard.

It’s like letting a colt into a pasture! He takes off at a gallop, thudding across the freshly raked, very wet crushed granite, digging it up with every stride. Dump the pissy mop water, wash the mop out, hang it outside.

Pick up the four-inch-deep pile of paperwork that’s accrued on the dining-room table; carry it back to my office to add it to the six-inch-deep pile that’s been building over the past month.

Smell a smell.

One helluva smell.

Go in search of the source. Charley has deposited a gigantic bratwurst right in the middle of the throw rug by the bed.

Why do dogs and cats ALWAYS search out a soft spot to pee, shit, and barf? Have you ever noticed that? If there’s one throw rug in a houseful of hard floors, that is where the animal will go to make a gigantic, stinking mess!!!

What a stench. What a mess.

Takes two plastic grocery-store bags to clean that up. I can’t wash the rug because it’s raining and my dryer doesn’t work. Throw it on the floor in the garage.

Fortunately I can’t afford to run the heater, and so it doesn’t matter that I now have to throw open the Arcadia door in the bedroom and the front door and turn on the overhead fans in my office and the bedroom to move the gagging stink out.

Hate the scanner function on this flicking HP printer. Hate the way the ancient iMac barely works. It’s scanned one side of one check as I’ve written this. Can you imagine how long it’s taken to write this? I could’ve driven to the damn credit union by now. And I can tell you for certain that after all this, the CU’s e-deposit software is going to announce that the back side is a different size from the front side and refuse to accept the check, so I’m going to have to drive up there anyway.

Charley is in the garage going berserk. He’s barking frantically and fiercely. WTF?

Hit “scan” again. And again. Spinning mandala comes on. Traipse out to the garage. Cassie takes up the cry. Both dogs are now berserk. Open the garage security door. Charley tears out like an enraged Rottweiler. He’s looking up into the air and barking.

Two guys are on Terri’s roof. They’re trying to figure out where it’s leaking.

Lure maddened dogs back into the house. Come back to the scanner, hit “accept.” Hit “save as…”

Charley will not be dissuaded from telling the workmen what for. Ah, God, they’re barking in parts: Charley tenor, Cassie soprano. Fortissimo!

My son forgot to bring dog food today, and I’m out. So to avoid having to buy a $30 bag of dog food, which I can NOT afford (damn it, I can’t even afford to buy food for myself!), I’ll have to drive all the way down to his house and then all the way back up north and over to the west side to get to the flicking credit union. This will consume about 90 minutes of my time, maybe more depending on the traffic.

But that of course is not puppy chaos. It’s just ordinary daily chaos.

 

Rain Puppy

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Rain + Puppy bred to swim around in lakes after ducks =

Charley in the mud

LOL! Says M’hijito: “Five unsupervised minutes for him to take a leak…”

Must’ve been five minutes of computer-gaming standard time. When Charley was discovered in this frolic, he’d excavated a hole about two feet across and two feet deep, spread the dug-out dirt around the flowerbed, and packed it down into finely crafted paw-stamped paving. Dog joy!

When next seen by moi and Cassie the Corgi, he was fully laundered and dried and brushed and drop-down-dead gorgeous.

Who would think that this…

…could strike this pose?

Charley in the car
"To the theatre, Jeeves!"

Today’s Holding Pattern

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Thanks to everyone who tested the audio file I loaded yesterday. Looks like the results are mixed, suggesting this won’t work for a class. And special thanks to Sam for the lead to the Audacity freeware. I’ll try that out.

Busy weekend but rather fun. After the Friday shindig, which I hope will be productive (still haven’t had time to call the people I met there—been in class or in front of the computer most of the day)—it was an active day in choir: the usual Sunday morning songfest, and then in the evening we revisited Fauré’s Requiem, a lengthy and interesting piece.

We’d sung it with the choir of St. Barnabas on the Desert for the anniversary of 9/11. Since it went over well, their choir came to our digs to reprise at an Evensong commemorating All Souls (and Veteran’s) Day. Well, the whole passel of singers professional and amateur just packed the choir loft. Sure was glad we’d already done it, since over the past month I missed three rehearsals because I was too sick to sing. But it all came back to me, thank goodness.

For reasons unknown to moi, we sang traditional spirituals during the morning service. They seem strange, after all the Latin, Renaissance, and 18th- and 19th-century music we usually sing. But some are quite lovely. The chamber choir, which consists solely of professional and near-professional singers, did a rendition of “There Is a Balm in Gilead” that was absolutely gorgeous. I just love to listen to these people sing…can’t think of anything more uplifting.

Would that any of them could do this, though:

Gosh.

Well, moving on. Worked from 7 till 11 this ayem; then out the door to meet the little McBoingers. After that, dropped by the Costco on the way home to buy a couple of chickens, a cost-effective way to feed me and Her Majesty Cassie, the Goddess of the Galaxy and Queen of the Universe.

While there, I discovered Costco is peddling unadulterated turkey for just 89 cents a pound.

w00t! That underprices and overqualities a certain Safeway supermarket of our acquaintance by several orders of magnitude. This weekend I dropped by there and was told prices would not come down off nearly $2 a pound for icky “flavor”-infused frozen birds. Price for the unadulterated “organic” carcasses was beyond my ability to register.

Costco’s cheapo turkeys are not organic, but according to their labels, neither are they soaked in saline solution or pumped full of fake “Butterball” fluids. So I grabbed a 20-pounder, which I intend to roast tomorrow (they’re not frozen!). This meat will feed me and the Queen of the Universe through the holidays, I think. Well: the Queen’s servant will get a meal off it. The rest of the meat will be removed, cut up or shredded, and frozen in packets to be available at Her Majesty’s behest.

This is good. Tonight Her Majesty and I will have some nice chicken (there’ll be enough that we could invite the human belonging to His Lordship, the Prince of the Universe, for dinner). And by tomorrow afternoon we’ll have a mountain of meat and a giant pile of bones with which to make glorious chicken/turkey stock. Yum!

We’re going to the the Prince’s human’s friends’ house for the annual Thanksgiving get-together. This will be fun…I do enjoy M’jihito’s friends and their various children, parents, and in-laws!

One of my favorite clients, a recent Ph.D. in psychology, just sent another of her endlessly entertaining case studies for edits. Ohhhh what a refreshing change from freshman comp papers! Now come, O lovely young woman, and get yourself a job that pays what you richly deserve, and then I can start charging you what I richly deserve.

🙂

Before sitting down to cope with the moment’s deluge of e-mail, baffled students’ petitions, contracts, and legal arcana, I go into the kitchen to pour a fine bourbon and water to accompany a bowl of cashews.

A large white head appears on the kitchen counter, accompanied by a pair of massive white paws.

Owner of massive head and paws

Hm. Uncivilized Prince of the Universe.

Human: Grasps PofU by the gigantic paws and swivels His Majesty away from the countertop. Gazes deep into the imponderable princely brown eyes.

Human: Off.

Prince: Gazes back, apparently either entranced or oblivious.

Human, placing gigantic paws on the floor: Off!

Prince: Assumes “sit” position, gazing up at human in awe and adoration.

Human, surprised: Yes! Good dog!

Whaaa? Is it possible that we got that? Or are we looking at yet another attempt by the PofU to train the human to his will?

Human and Royalty retire to office, Human bearing booze and cashew nuts. Queen acquires ripe chew stick, appropriately softened and made disgusting by several hours of chomping. Prince takes up position on Royal Mattress, gazing soulfully at Queen.

Prince: WHOOOOOAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

Human: Holy Gawd!!!!

Human studies Prince and notes him gazing soulfully at Queen. Human gets up, walks into other room, and hands over brand-new chew-stick to Prince, who returns to office bearing it as a prize.

Queen glares at Prince. Human resumes seat in front of computer. Prince resumes position on throne, chowing down on new chewstick.

Queen: GrrrrrrrrrRARF! RARF!

Queen charges Prince. No damage is done, because Queen is dwarfed by Prince and incapable of inflicting real harm. Probably. We hope.

Prince: Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! Warf! War…

Human: eNUFF ALREADY.

Human gets up and walks into kitchen, followed by Queen and Prince. Once there, Human persuades Prince to “Sit” and “Stay” long enough to retrieve cooked chickens from oven. Prince does not try to climb onto the 350-degree oven door. Miracles do happen.

Human and Royalty return to office. Queen takes up a position over the new chew-stick. Prince has misplaced the small, infinitely preferable ripened chewstick in the fray. He snags the large new one.

A “terrible fight” ensues, with Queen feinting fake bites and Prince WARFing joyously and vigorously. This goes on for 10 or 15 minutes. Finally Prince flops on the floor in a stupor, dropping chewstick under the human’s chair. Queen flops on the other side of the chair, emits an ostentatious growl, and goes to sleep.

And so, to work.

A Prince and His Chewstick

D from H, Redux

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Wednesday, November 9, 2011

6:00 a.m.: Student turns in late paper, with a viable excuse.  A new raft of papers scheduled to come in today, this paper must be read now to prevent total melt-down later. Naturally, it’s the most difficult paper of the entire set. Takes forever.

7:15 a.m.: Knock off reading paper so as to get breakfast and feed Cassie before M’hijito shows up with Charley the Pup.

7:16 a.m.: Out of food. Make Costco list. Scrounge breakfast from leftovers; cook pasta to throw over leftovers and add to Cassie’s pittance.

7:40 a.m.: Go back to reading impossibly tangled student paper.

7:45 a.m.: M’hijito shows up a little early. Pup is berserk.

7:50 a.m. forward: Sit down, go back to reading student paper, get up, deal with dogs; sit down, go back to reading paper, get up, deal with dogs; sit down, go back to reading paper, get up, deal with dogs…repeat, ad infinitum. Realize I can’t answer all the e-mail pending; triage. Squeeze in a bath and hairwash.

10:45 a.m.: Out the door.

11:30 a.m.: Meet 101s. Lecture.

12:30 p.m.: Meet 102s. Lecture.

1:30 p.m.: Counsel student on life/career/education strategies.

2:00 p.m.: Meet another set of 102s. Lecture.

3:30 p.m.: Let 102s out early; head for Costco to replenish larder.

4:45 p.m.: Return home. Let pup out of crate. Pup is berserk. Let him out into the yard to destroy things while I unload car. Return La Maya’s phone call; tell her I can’t go with her to a Scottsdale estate sale and then dinner because I have choir.

5:00 p.m.: While explaining this over the phone, pull a leg off the Costco roast chicken; parboil and butter some asparagus. Notice a smell. Clean up Cassie’s shit from under the family room desk, while still talking on the phone. Continue to chat while walking outside to see what the pup is up to and see…Charley standing over the shrubbery vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. Dog is clearly distressed.

5:16 p.m.:  Get off the phone to attend to dog. He staggers off. Look of fear dissipates from animal’s face. He seems more or less O.K. Goes in and drinks water. Get hose and spray back at least a gallon of vomit, with little luck.

5:20 p.m.: Put food on table. Tie fractious dog to doorknob so as to break loose enough peace to bolt down piece of chicken and asparagus.

5:20:30 p.m.: Dog is pawing at eye. Dog paws at eye and ear. Dog frantically digs and scratches at throat. Not good.

5:21 p.m.: Leave food and beer on table. Throw dog and wallet into the car and race for the vet’s office.

5:30 p.m.: Reach vet. Drag dog into lobby. Vet’s office is full of people with dogs and cats. Pup goes berserk. Wrestle animal under control and explain what’s going on.

5:32 p.m.: Get parked in a waiting room. Pup hates vet and is frantic to get out. Throws himself against the door repeatedly trying to escape. Nothing calms dog. Tell my story to the vet’s technician. Get left to wait for the vet. Dog continues to throw self against doors.

6:00 p.m.: Vet appears. Have to repeat the whole damn story again, for the third time.

6:05 p.m.: Vet observes dog. Vet believes dog has been bitten by a spider or bee and is suffering an allergic reaction. I remember the plant growing between the damn palm trees that is a member of the deadly nightshade family…damn! Should’ve pulled that thing out of there before Pup ever showed up at my house! She thinks he would have thrown it up before it did much harm. She sticks to her theory that it’s an allergic reaction to insect or spider venom. She proposes to shoot him up with an antihistamine and another shot.

6:15 p.m.: M’hijito shows up at the vet’s, just as the vet is about to haul Charley off to be medicated. Repeat the whole story again: fourth retelling. Vet describes her theory and how she proposes to treat it. M’hijito looks at dog, notes swelling on jaw, notes  bouncing behavior.

“Nothing is wrong with this dog,” says he. “I don’t want him dosed with medications if it can be avoided. Also, we can’t take the financial hit. Is this really necessary? I doubt it.”

Vet wavers. Vet lobbies for shots of antihistamine and whatever.

M’hijito stands firm.

Vet looks at me. “It’s his dog,” I say. “It’s his decision.”

Vet now fesses up that probably if the dog were going to go into anaphylactic shock, it would have done so by now, although there’s still some risk for the next two hours. Vet’s office is open until 10:00 p.m. She suggests giving him Benadryl and watching him closely. If he gets worse, come back.

6:30 p.m.: Exit the vet’s office, $45 lighter. Drive Charley to M’hijito’s house. Drag him inside and wait for M’hijito to return from the Walgreen’s with a bottle of Benadryl. Chat for a few minutes.

6:45 p.m.: Drive to choir rehearsal. Practice singing for two hours.

9:15 p.m.: Arrive home. Feed Cassie. Make sandwich out of congealed chicken. Throw out stale beer. Wash sandwich down with a stiff bourbon and water.

9:30 p.m.: Pick up kitchen, wash dishes, try to restore a little order to the chaos. Let Cassie out. Put heating pad in bed and turn it to “high.”

10:00 p.m.: Answer a few e-mails. Read Google News. Celebrate exit of evil Russell Pearce, recalled from legislative office by hordes of angry voters; celebrate election of several Good Guys to city council. Has the electoral worm turned?

10:30 p.m.: Dope self with Benadryl. Crash in the bed.

Tuesday Thursday a.m. [jeez…how distracted AM i? I can no longer tell the difference between Tuesday and Thursday!]: Benadryl worked—slept a nearly unheard-of seven hours. Am now late for Tuesday Thursday a.m. meeting. Tuesday Thursday agenda:

7:00 a.m. meeting, Scottsdale
9:30 a.m. meeting, Scottsdale
11:30 a.m. meeting, Tempe
1:00 p.m. hair stylist appointment, Tempe
2:30 p.m.: arrive back here. Spend rest of afternoon struggling with dog and trying to grade papers.

Ain’t retirement grand?