Miss Franny refuses to enter her crate, even when it’s full of chicken. Since she must be confined while she recovers from surgery, I had to get creative. This is the space where the bedroom, bathroom, and living room doorways meet. By closing doors and baby gating doorways, I was able to create an uncrate for Frances. It’s not her favorite thing in the world, but she tolerates it.
One of the staples is a little wonky, but everything looks nice and clean and dry.
Legs akimbo!
Apparently this is comfortable?
She is having ups and downs. She’s not interested in drinking water, so I’m spiking it with tuna and boiled ground chicken and serving it to her warmed. Her appetite has been okay, but this morning she only ate half her breakfast, so it could be better. All that is to be expected, I think. She’s touching her toes to the ground a fair bit, which is good, but this evening, she started carrying her leg up. That worried me, but then when I took her out to potty, she put her toes on the ground again. Not the most fun roller coaster.
This is going to be a looooooooong 12 weeks.
This has never happened before. Never, ever, ever. Two of them in the tree at the same time, yes, but not all three.
She’s not supposed to be jumping on and off the couch. She’s sneaked up there a few times, though, and when she does it’s hard to tell her no.
My new dog, Frances, has torn her cruciate ligament. It’s a complete tear, so she’s going to need surgery. I have opened up an Etsy shop to raise funds. I’ve already sold a lot of stuff and am getting close to having the full amount, but am still about $800 shy. If you would like to get some awesome original art and help an awesome dog in the process, please go here: Red Paper Boat.
France’s is three years old. It’s also been almost three months since I got her.
ETA: More like six years old, the vet has decided. Given that an actual birth date was included by her previous owner on her shelter intake papers, I’m going to guess that her owner either lied or had no idea when she was born and just made up a date that sounded good. All adult shelter dogs are three years old, right?
It’s grey and rainy and cold and gross, so I took a nap. I woke up to find Franny and Piglet, sleeping back-to-back on the bed with me. Frenemies.
Piglet still hates Frances, but he’s decided that his hate is not strong enough to keep him from hanging out with me when the dog is around. Usually this means being on the floor, by my feet. Sometimes he naps, which is sweet. Sometimes he bites my feet, which is not so sweet. It is also kind of stupid, because the only thing between Piglet and the evil dog is me. Biting me does not make me very inclined to protect him.
Has there ever been a more pitiful sight? I do not think so! Miss Frances was a sick little girl last night. She’s all better now, though.
If you don’t let your dog on the furniture, you will never know the joy of having her head cradled in your lap while she snores sleepily.
red paper boat 