Model prep
Posted: March 30, 2012 Filed under: breast cancer, pets | Tags: American Cancer society, Couture for the Cause, new boobs, preparing for a fashion show, psychological effects of cancer, survivor, Victoria's Secret models, walking the catwalk 4 CommentsThe American Cancer Society’s Couture for the Cause is fast approaching. As in tomorrow. I’m experiencing equal parts excitement and terror about modeling in the fashion show. Since this is my second time to model in the Couture, the excitement should be outweighing the terror, but alas it is not. Ask me tomorrow which feeling prevails. Hopefully it will be excitement. Sadly, all the fun and triumph surrounding this event are overshadowed by the unexpected death of our sweet dog Harry. It has been a long, hard day at our house, following a sleepless, sad night. I can only hope tomorrow is better. I’ll have a couple of my besties modeling with me this year, so it will be a great comfort to have them backstage and on the catwalk with me.
Getting ready for the show is pretty easy, assuming there are no big bumps in the road like the one we’re experiencing as we grieve for our dog. There’s the model survey to fill out (height, weight, hair & eye color, favorite designers, personal style, etc) and a full-length photo to submit. Then show up for a fitting of the outfits I’ll be wearing; show up for rehearsal with finger- and toenails painted red; and show up a few hours early for the event to have my face painted and my hair teased and tousled by a team of professionals. Oh, and procure the items on my “bring list,” which this year include a pair of brown platform sandals, a pair of black peep-toe platform heels as high as I can manage, and a strapless bra. Last year, I modeled between mastectomy and reconstruction, so there was no need whatsoever to bring a bra, strapless or otherwise.
In fact, last year I modeled having been sprung from the hospital just a few weeks before the big event. That nasty post-mastectomy infection damn near kept me from being able to participate in the most terrifying and most amazing experience I’ve ever had. This year, I’ll skip the hospital part and head straight for the show.
Last year, I had no idea what I was getting myself into but was coaxed and cajoled by some people I really love (that means you, Yvonne) and some people I’d never met but who assured me I’d be perfect, just perfect. All of the other models were cancer survivors, save a dozen or so real-life models to really showcase the outfits and lend an air of professional gravitas to the event. There were several other breast cancer survivors among the non-professional models, and they happened to be a lot farther along in the cancer “journey” than this fledgling model was. Every single one of them was done with reconstruction and didn’t bat an eye before showing me their results. Only at an ACS event would it seem perfectly normal to be closely examining a complete stranger’s breasts, but that’s how cancerchicks roll. 
Needless to say, last year I was a teensy bit unsure about taking the stage and strutting my stuff on the catwalk among hordes of people who’d paid a lot of money to get into this gig. My body was a train wreck, my mind was somewhere between blown and trying to follow along, and my emotions were all over the place. I’d managed pretty well at that point to wrap my head around the cancer diagnosis, but dealing with the infection that threatened to be an unsolved medical mystery — not so much. 
Hooray for being in a muuuuuuuuch better place this time around.
And hooray for actually liking the outfits I’m going to model on Saturday, and for hopefully not having a mink headwrap this time around.
While there is a lot of prep work that goes into pulling off a successful Couture show, thankfully most of it is done by others. I’m pretty sure there’s not another cause I’d be willing to model for, even though it gives me an excuse to buy new shoes. All this fashion show prep reminded me of a story Trevor shared with me a while back, about what the Victoria’s Secret models go through before their big fashion shows. Seems the Telegraph followed VS model Adriana Lima leading up to her fashion show. Lima is a bit more serious about prepping for her show than I am for mine:
She sees a nutritionist, who has measured her body’s muscle mass, fat ratio and levels of water retention. He prescribes protein shakes, vitamins and supplements to keep Lima’s energy levels up during this training period. Lima drinks a gallon of water a day. For nine days before the show, she will drink only protein shakes – ‘no solids.’ The concoctions include powdered egg. Two days before the show, she will abstain from the daily gallon of water, and ‘just drink normally.’ Then, 12 hours before the show, she will stop drinking entirely. “No liquids at all so you dry out, sometimes you can lose up to eight pounds just from that,” Lima says.
Say what??
I can assure you that I will most certainly not stop drinking entirely before my show. If anything, I’ll probably be drinking even more than usual. I will most definitely raise a glass and send up a toast to my sweet dog who is no longer waiting to greet me after my big event.
A dog named Harry
Posted: March 29, 2012 Filed under: kids, pets | Tags: children and grief, Gene Zion, grieving your dog, Harry the Dirty Dog, Houston Humane Society, saying goodbye to a pet, when your dog dies 21 Comments
There are some infamous phone calls you never want to receive. Like the one from the principal of your kid’s school, announcing all manner of bad behavior. Like the one from your doctor’s office to say don’t bother looking for a letter in the mail to say everything is fine after a test/scan/biopsy, because it’s not fine. Like the one from your best friend at bedtime on a Thursday night saying your dog, who he’s watching, seems to be dying on the living room rug.
Of those three infamous phone calls, the first example is the only one I’ve not received. On April 26, 2010, I got the call from the doctor’s office saying we need to see you ASAP because the breast biopsy results don’t look so good. And tonight, I got the call from Ed to say that Harry, sweet-crazy-loyal-kookoo-devoted-amped up Harry, was dying. 
Ed was kind enough to let Harry stay at his house for a week while our little piggie convalesced after being spayed. The old boy had been slowing down of late, for sure, but I certainly didn’t think he was that close to death, and by the time he made it apparent, both of my kids were in bed sleeping and Trevor is out of the country, so rushing over to Ed’s to be by Harry’s side as he breathed his last breath wasn’t an option.
I’m going to try really hard to not feel guilty about that.
And I’m going to try really hard to not feel eternally indebted to Ed for comforting sweet, old Harry in his last few minutes of life while giving me the play-by-play on the phone.
Harry was a sweetie. Crazy, but sweet. I wrote about his habit of snatching food here and about the trials & tribulations of his nervous stomach here. I’m sure that many thoughts and memories of Harry will come as the shock and sadness become fully realized in my brain. I’ll be calling upon the gods of parental wisdom as I break the news to my kids, who haven’t seen their big dog in a week and who likely hadn’t noticed how much he was slowing down, how rapidly he was aging. 
Leave it to crazy old Harry to die in a manner that is both the least troublesome to me yet the most complicated: at someone else’s house, out of my sight so the visuals don’t becoming permanent, searing bad memories; yet at a time of night that leaves me utterly clueless as to what to do.
I was already mentally rearranging my day tomorrow, so that I could go pick him up after getting the kids off to school and take him to the vet. Since his back legs went out just before he died, I assumed I’d have to carry him — all 60 pounds of him — into the vet so that he could be put down. Been there, done that, and while it’s certainly not pleasant, I personally feel a responsibility to my animals to be there, in the room and stroking their soft fur, as the vet administers first the sedative that calms them then the lethal dose that stops their old, sweet, full heart. Not saying that’s the right thing for everyone who finds themselves in that situation, but that it’s right for me.
I fully expected that that’s what I’d be doing tomorrow — standing next to Harry, who joined our family shortly after the crushing loss of my first and best dog Maddy, as our longtime vet reassured me that it was time and that putting him down was the right thing to do, before the suffering became too great and the indignities of a proud alpha dog became apparent to the rest of the pack. I expected to hold his white-with-age face in my hands and look into his brown eyes, speaking softly to reassure him that he’s ok, that he’s a good boy, that he’s loved. 
Instead, I will try not to wonder if he would have lived a little longer had he been at home, in his own environment. I will try not to regret that he spent the last few days of his life in his home-away-from-home instead of in his real home, surrounded by the two little kids who love him with all their hearts. 
I will try to figure out how to act normal for those two little kids in the morning, knowing that as soon as I see them off to school I will have to start thinking about what to tell them when they get home. I will try to reassure myself that it’s cruel and disruptive to tell them their dog died then send them off to school, that waiting until they’re home and at the start of a weekend is best.
And I will remember the day we picked him out at the Houston Humane Society.
Because of our love of the Harry the Dirty Dog series of books, Macy — age 4 — wanted a dog named Harry. How delighted we were to find a dog named Harry who greeted us with a wagging tail, a sweet face, and eyes that seemed to ask if we wanted to play.
Goodbye, Harry boy. You’re ok. You’re a good boy. You are loved.
Shuffling the Pack
Posted: March 25, 2012 Filed under: breast cancer, pets | Tags: beloved dogs, blue heelers, cancer recurrence, Lisa Gray, metastatic breast cancer, one in eight, probability of developing breast cancer, psychological effects of cancer, saying goodbye to your dog, when cancer spreads 5 CommentsAnother story from our fine local newspaper. Yes, it’s about cancer, and yes, it’s sad. Consider yourself forewarned.
Last month, there was a wonderful story called “Shuffling the Pack” about a woman, Tina Borja, and her dog Buck. 
Two years ago, Tina found a lump in her breast and became one of the the “one in eight” women in the United States to be diagnosed with the dreaded disease. She endured the all-too-familiar treatment of lumpectomy, mastectomy, chemo, and radiation to combat her cancer. During the misery that is cancer treatment, as Tina grew weaker, Buck took over as the pack’s alpha. According to Tina, it was no longer her job to take care of him; he decided it was his job to take care of her.
Reminds me of my sweet Maddy, the All Time Ever Best Dog in the History of the World. 
She and my sweet mama got sick about the same time, and both were going downhill fast: mom’s cancer was eating her alive, and Maddy’s advanced age (98 in dog years) resulted in some nasty degenerative problems that no pet owner should have to witness. Long story short, my mom knew she wasn’t going to win her cancer battle and was heartbroken about the idea of me losing her and my beloved dog at the same time. The vet gave Maddy a few weeks to live, while Mom was given a few months. Darned if that dog didn’t defy the odds and live nearly 6 months past her predicted expiration date. She held on for several months after Mom died, then quietly let me know it was her time, too.
But back to Buck. And Tina.
After enduring treatment, Tina was pronounced cured of breast cancer. Not “in remission,” Tina says, but “cured.” Big difference. And one that this cancer survivor won’t feel comfortable assuming, ever. As I’ve written about here and here, “cured” isn’t something I consider. To me, “cured” connotes a permanent state, while recurrence is always on the horizon.
Tina looked at it differently, and didn’t think about recurrence. After being pronounced “cured,” she felt safe. She probably figured she’d endured so much hardship that she deserved to have a big payoff, i.e., a long, healthy life. Instead, she was hit with what every cancer patient dreads: recurrence. One day, out of the blue, she started having trouble with fine-motor skills. Everyday stuff like typing and signing her name became iffy. After the all-too-familiar scans we cancer patients endure, Tina learned she had four tumors in her brain. Her breast cancer was not cured but in fact had spread.
Rush-hour circus
Posted: March 23, 2012 Filed under: breast cancer, pets | Tags: Dr Sylvia Borland, Fiat 500C, Juliana pigs, large animal vets, micro-mini pigs, NPO, pigs as pets, ranchpony.com, rush hour, worst traffic cities 8 CommentsA girl walks into a bar with a pig….
My latest adventure had all the makings of a great joke. Except it was reality.
Sheesh.
Our little piggy needed to be spayed. Not because we worry about roving male pigs bursting in on her unannounced and leaving a litter of bastard piglets, but because female piggies can come into heat at 12 weeks of age (yes, you read that right — 12 weeks old; talk about babies having babies) and because they can come into heat every 3 weeks. While there was no need for piggie hygiene products, being in heat was bothersome nonetheless; there was the uncharacteristic bitchiness and the restlessness and the excessive friendliness on her part.
Our quest for a piggie vet was long and complicated. You’d think that living in the 4th largest city would make it easier to find a pig vet, but you would be wrong. After a tiresome, stressful, mostly unfruitful search, we hit pay-dirt, and scheduled our piggie’s hysterectomy. Silly me, I thought the worst part of this process would be surviving the period during which Piper was NPO–that girl likes her chow. I was rather nervous about making the 44-mile drive alone with a ravenous pig on her way to a painful and permanent sterility.
So focused was I on getting Piper to the vet on an empty stomach that I didn’t even think about getting her home. That was a whole ‘nother ordeal. Getting her to the vet was surprisingly easy. She’s like a tiny baby — wait, she is a baby — who falls asleep as soon as she gets in the car. So even though her tummy was rumbling, she snoozed all the way across town to the vet.
The vet techs swarmed around her and nearly came to blows over who got to hold her first, so I left her in good hands and with minimal trepidation. Even though I knew she was going to have to endure an unpleasant procedure, she was going to get plenty of love, so it was ok.
The pig-crazed receptionist called after a few hours to say the surgery was over, the piggie was awake, and all was well. She would be ready to go home by 5:00. I’m not sure how it is where you live, but 5:00 in Houston can be scary and treacherous.
csm.com
It’s a big ol’ city, y’all. Stretching some 60 miles across, my fine city has some serious freeways, loops, toll roads, and beltways, but every one of them is jam-packed at rush hour. My 44-mile one-way trip from my humble abode to the piggie vet was a breeze this morning, but making that same trip at rush hour was a bear. A big, hungry bear with a slobbery mouth and razor-sharp teeth.
worldofstock.com
Much of the trip to pick her up was spent putzing along at speeds of less than 30 mph alternating with coming to a complete standstill. Any time an interchange loomed, the creeping and crawling slowed even more. I started to wonder why so slow? Don’t most of these drivers know where they’re going? Don’t they drive this route most every weekday? Don’t they know which lane to be in before they face the concrete jungle of freeway fly-overs?
Apparently not.
All right, fine, it’s rush hour, and I’m resolved to it. I’ve got some good tunes and a full tank of gas, and plenty of cool AC to combat the 86-degree spring day. I’m not in rush-hour traffic often, so a little bit of patience was easy to muster. After an hour and 20 minutes, I arrived at the vet’s office ready to collect my pig and get on my merry way.
After the money changed hands, I took my pig and bid the vet techs good day. I bundled Piggie into a blanket and placed her quite gingerly into the passenger seat. I thought I was a mere hour’s drive away from a cold beer and the beginning of the weekend, but instead it was a slow descent into hell.
Piggie decided that she needed to ride in my lap, as she is wont to do. Fine, but let me get the blanket too, so she’s comfy for the long ride home. Doh! I didn’t realize that the blanket gave her a cushy 12 inches or so to project from my lap. My arms struggled to get around her and grip the steering wheel. I looked like a T-Rex trying to steer my little car with Piggie and her cushy bed in my lap.
If my steering radius was bad, my visibility was worse. With the porcine dumpling in my lap, I struggled to turn my head and shoulders enough to see the other 900,000 cars on the road, all of which seemed to be whizzing by me and changing lanes abruptly. Between little piggie groans and snores, I navigated the traffic on my stumpy arms, cursing the slowdowns and flying through the open stretches in a balls-out effort to get home ASAP.
At one point, about halfway home, Piper started acting like she needed to use the facilities. With no facilities in sight, I began to sweat. If she relieved herself in the car, it would be a really long ride home. No sooner did I start worrying about her needing to go, then I began to worry about needing to go myself. The last thing I wanted to do was try to swivel my head around my porky parcel to exit the beltway and find a restroom. And then what? Take her with me? I couldn’t very well leave her in the car, but nor could I imagine hauling her into the gas station to request the ladies’ room key. Better to just hold it and hustle home.
While the trip home seemed endless, it did finally end, and both Piper and I made it without incident. In her groggy, anesthesia-riddled state, she was actually in better shape than I. A bit rattled and rather cramped from driving with the use of just 6 inches of arms, I was very happy to be home in one piece. Just a day in the life, people. 
Piggie’s day out
Posted: March 14, 2012 Filed under: pets | Tags: Beyonce, Charles Darwin, feed store, Lakewood Forest Vet, micro-mini pigs, On the Origin of Species, pig chow, Ranch Pony, Shakira, the Bloggess, Wabash on Washington, yard art 8 CommentsYesterday was a big day for our little piggie. She met her vet, Dr Borland, and returned to Wabash on Washington, the feed store where she’s a full-blown celebrity.
First, the vet visit. 
What a relief to find a piggie vet, after calling 19 different clinics in the greater Houston area. I was beginning to think they were all messing with me because I’d call one to be told, we don’t see piggies anymore but Dr So-and-So does. I’d call Dr So-and-So and say, Dr Whozit recommended you as a piggie vet, then Dr So-and-So would chuckle and say oh really? By the way, several of the 19 clinics recommended I call the vet school at Texas A&M. Not saying it’s an Aggie thing, but no one ever answered the phone. No answering machine, no voice mail, no human on the other end. Hmmmm. Those Aggies missed out on their chance to see Miss Piggy all dressed up for her doctor’s appointment. 
Big, big thanks to Cyndi at Ranch Pony for turning us onto Dr Borland. Everyone in her office was so excited to meet Piper. I felt bad for the lady who walked in at the same time as us with her adorable lab-mix puppy, who certainly was precious but didn’t get much attention with Miss Piggy in the house! Several of the vet techs wanted to take a picture of Piper, and one even wanted a pic of Macy’s t-shirt. Our little piggie got a good report from Dr B, and I’m sure Piper wanted to kiss Dr B when she recommended we increase Miss Piggy’s food rations a bit. Music to Piper’s ears!
We picked a day to bring Piper back to get spayed; gotta get the idea out of my head that it would be fun to let her have a litter. No! No! Walk away from the crazy idea!
After the vet visit, we trekked across town to Wabash on Washington, the feed store, to buy another bag of pig chow. Piper made a trip to Wabash about a week after we got her and was quickly befriended by the folks who work there. A couple of them remembered her from our last visit, and our little piggie was a lot more comfortable exploring the store. It didn’t take her long to find the doggie Cheez-Its, and we came home with a big bag. And two mesclun plants, because our piggie likes her some fancy lettuce.
Wabash is a super cool place–not just because they sell pig chow, but because they have some cool live animals, gorgeous plants, fun trinkets, and out-of-this world yard art.
We were greeted by Beyonce the giant metal chicken.
If you haven’t read this story about Beyonce the giant metal chicken, I urge you to do so now. Not because the Bloggess needs any more publicity, but because it’s hilarious. There’s a bit of cursing, so beware.
After the giant chickens, we spied this giant pig. The iPhone photos don’t do it justice. 
That is some pig. I must go back and discover what the handle on the side opens up to; a grill? a cooler? a hiding place? The plot thickens.
On to the fabulous yard art, of which I am a big fan. Most species are represented at Wabash. I’d be hard-pressed to choose my favorite, but if I had to pick just one yard-art species it would be the weenie dogs. 
Or maybe the flamingos.
Or maybe the peacocks. So proud. 
But which version? They’ve both fabulous in their own right.
But of course, we are rather partial to pigs in our house. The winged ones are just delightful, although the black & white ones with the long eyelashes look a lot like our piggie girl. 
Seeing as how we are in Texas, the longhorn would be a good addition to the yard (Hook ‘Em!).
If the full-size version is a bit much, there’s always the convenient smaller guy.
The “We don’t dial 911” signs don’t really do it for me, but I applaud the delivery and the sassiness nonetheless.
Piper enjoyed all the yard art species, too.
Almost as much as she enjoyed rooting in the soft, damp earth.
As if all the species weren’t enough, there are flowers and birdhouses, too. 
Tall & short, big & small, the flowering yard art on display made us smile.
The girl is there to give you an idea of the scale (both of the flowers, and of the piggie snacks).
What bird wouldn’t feel luckier than a dog with two tails to live in these houses?
Just when I thought we’d seen every piece of yard art, we spied this little guy, tucked into the corner of a pond. 
So cute!
Once we were sure we’d laid eyes on all the cute inanimate objects, it was time to move on to the real deal. With “Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry” playing in my head, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing these guys. I especially like the guy in front of the red feeder with the duck-fro. That is one stylin’ duck.
Next to the ducks were the chickens, a most beautiful color of chickens, in fact. I absolutely love that soft grey/beige/white combination. I’d always thought chickens were rather bland looking, but now I know better.
Next to the chickens were the roosters, and they were quite proud and preened for us. 
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear these two were having a conversation. I’ve no idea what roosters talk about, but I’d bet it has something to do with the broody hens they can peep at through the wire of their enclosure.
In between the chickens and the roosters, naturally, were eggs. Something about this simple line-up speaks to me. Each egg is a little different, whether in size, color, or the number of speckles contained on the shell, but they all represent some primal, untapped potential. 
The fantailed pigeons are lovely and a step up from the run-of-the-mill pigeons seen begging for scraps in an urban landscape. 
This guy didn’t seem to mind me snapping a pic of his backside.
While the brown & white fantail pigeon got our attention, it paled in comparison to its all-white neighbor. 
Wow. What a showy, feathery display. Beautiful. I wasn’t sure what fantail pigeons were all about, but a quick peek at wikipedia schooled me. They have 30 to 40 feathers, which is “abnormally more tail feathers than most members of the pigeon family.” The less-endowed pigeons tend to have a measly 12 to 14 tail feathers. There are two varieties of fantails, the regular (pictured above), and the silky fantail, which has more variegated feathers. Charles Darwin used the fantail pigeon as an example of the correlation of growth principle in an opening chapter of On the Origin of Species. Fantails are also used in training other pigeons, called Tipplers, that engage in endurance trials. Who knew that a Tippler can fly for 22 hours nonstop? Fascinating.
Stuffed full of pigeon knowledge, we can now move on to the rabbits. 
So cute! I was struck by how similar their markings are to our piggie girl’s. Dark face and body, with a white neck and a white blaze. 
I sure hope these two get to stay together. They look pretty chummy. And the feet on the reclining bunny…precious.
This little bun-bun was kinda shy. I’m not sure, but I think she whispered, “Take me with you!” Ok, but only if we can get this hutch, too. So beautiful (but I’ll pass on the cowboy dude).
It was naptime for this guy, so we didn’t stick around after admiring his extreme cuteness.
While making our way toward the door after a thoroughly enjoyable time at Wabash, a family walked in and exclaimed over Piper. The two young girls were smitten. Their mom told me that on the way to Wabash, one girl said she sure hoped she’d get to pet a pig there. Well, Piper was happy to oblige. Poor Macy was about to collapse from holding her piggie during the family’s Q&A session. They asked all the usual questions: where did you get her? what does she eat? where does she sleep? then the mom asked me one I’ve not heard before: how great of a mom are you for letting your daughter have a pet pig? Macy chimed in before I could answer by saying, “Pretty great!”
We were almost out the door and to the car when we were stopped by one more family, this time a young mother and her mom and a toddler girl clutching a green Care Bear. The moms were way more interested in Piper than the little girl, who eyed our piggie from a safe distance and the security of her mama’s arms. More questions, more ooohing and aaahing, and we were home free. As I was loading our purchases into the car, however, a man with his two tiny, fluffy dogs pulled up beside us and shouted out the window, “Wait! Don’t leave! I’ve got to see that pig!” Another parking-lot chat ensued, and he finagled a trade with Macy so that she had his two fluffy dogs, Shakira and the one who growled a lot, in her arms and he ended up holding Piper. His visit wasn’t complete without taking a picture or two, both with his “real” camera and his iPhone camera. Man, that little piggie is popular.
Finally, after our long, pig-filled day, we were safely packed into the car for the ride home. Piper had a belly full of Cheez-Its and lettuce and a snout full of dirt. The only thing left to do was nap.
Sweet dreams, little piggie.
Happy hearts day!
Posted: February 14, 2012 Filed under: kids, pets | Tags: adorable animals, baby animals, hearts and love, Juliana pigs, micro-mini pigs, teacup pigs, Valentine's Day 10 Comments
Because I love you all
so much…
today, 
on this day
of love and hearts,
instead of ranting 
about the injustices 
of the cancer world,
here’s a small sampling
of some of my favorite things,
which I hope will make you smile
and set your heart alight
and remind you
of all that is good
and all that is right
and all that is to be cherished
Happy Valentine’s Day!
And now, one last thing:
In stitches
Posted: January 9, 2012 Filed under: drugs, pets | Tags: dog bites, psychological effects of breast cancer, PTSD 10 CommentsI had to have a few stitches in my leg 10 days ago. Didn’t write about it because it involved a bite from a dog owned by our BFF, and he (the BFF, not the dog; she’s female) felt bad enough about the fact that his dog bit me, and I didn’t want to rub it in. I’m all for charity, but it takes a backseat to my shamelessness at mining any and all events for a blog post.
So here we are. Full disclosure.
In hindsight, I know that the circumstances surrounding the dog bite should never have converged as they did. I should have known better. If only hindsight and “should haves” meant something in the real world, where dogs tussle and humans intervene. So it happened, I handled it, and life goes on. I still love the dog whose canines ripped my flesh thoroughly enough to expose the tissue underneath, and I know that she didn’t intend to hurt me. I’m just glad our sweet little piggie didn’t get tangled up in that whirling dervish of a dog fight.
Of course the brawl happened late at night, and not during regular business hours. Of course it happened when Trevor was out of town, so that if I did feel the need to go to the ER, arrangements would have to be made for my favorite girl, who’s pretty awesome and very independent, but not at 10:30 at night. Of course I put on a brave face and reassured said favorite girl that everything was fine, despite the unceasing burbling of blood from my gashed thigh. Of course the stitches on the left and the paw-shaped scratches and bruises on the right required me to sit out of tennis and the gym for a few days.
And of course, I had to take antibiotics.
The idea of getting back into the abx routine was worse than the wounds themselves, worse than the 4 lidocaine shots into the gash, and worse than the stitches. I just finished the last of the Augmentin last night–hallelujah! After 267 straight days of oral antibiotics for my post-mastectomy infection, you’d think a simple 10-day course of Augmentin would be easy peasey, but for me, not so much. Maybe it’s PTSD. Maybe it’s that my body has a heightened awareness of abx after the near-constant dosing last year. Maybe I’m just a big baby. Whatever the reason, facing those drugs twice a day was tough, if only for 10 days. I hope it’s a long, long time before I need antibiotics again.
So the stitches were scheduled to come out today, but after a quick peek my doc said nope, that wound looks way better but it’s not ready to be sans stitches. Gotta leave them in until Friday, just for good measure. Because of how deep the gash was and because it’s on my leg, which moves all the time because I’m not one for sitting still, there’s still a chance it could open up again. Better safe than sorry, right?
I’m ok with the stitches staying in another 5 days. I’m tough, and in general I’m a fan of conservative measures when it comes to my body’s healing. But I struggled to maintain my composure when my doc warned me that the gash is going to leave a scar.
No, I didn’t cry at the idea of a stitched-up gash marring my leg. I laughed — out loud — at the idea that a inch-long scar would freak me out or upset me. That little bitty scar is nothing compared to the miles of track already laid.
Piggie FAQs
Posted: January 5, 2012 Filed under: pets | Tags: Fiat, Jensen Farms, Juliana pigs, micro-mini pigs, pigs as pets, postaday2012, potbellied pigs 28 Comments
In the 2 weeks since Piper has joined our family, I’ve fielded a lot of questions about the piggie lifestyle. Here I will attempt to answer them, but keep in mind I’m no expert and am learning as I go.
WHERE DID YOU GET HER? Macy did her research and looked at hundreds of piggies online. Her favorite was this little girl, from Jensen Farms (click here to go to their website, but be forewarned: there are a few typos and usage mistakes, so if you’re the kind of person who is bugged by that, peace be with you. I’m still trying to figure out a way to edit their stuff without coming across as a weirdo/know-it-all/grammar stalker).
HOW MUCH DID SHE COST? That’s kinda personal, but suffice to say that the price goes up in direct proportion to how big the pig will be when full-grown. In other words, be very wary of a breeding selling “mini” pigs for $200. Compare the price of a piggie to the price of a purebred dog or cat and it doesn’t seem so outrageous. Plus, with a lifespan of up to 20 years, you’re gonna get your money’s worth.
HOW BIG WILL SHE GET? This little piggie is estimated to be between 15 and 20 lbs when full-grown. The best way to tell how big a piggie will be is to look at the parents’ weights. Piper’s dad is 12 lbs and her mom is 20 lbs at 3 years old. Female breeder pigs (piggie mamas) are kept heavier than non-breeding females, though, so keep that in mind. A breeder can’t ensure a piggie’s final size, so beware of any such claims. Like all mammals, piggies’ growth is dependent upon food and exercise. Feed her a lot, she’s gonna grow. Exercise her a lot, she won’t get too fat. The age-old, simple equation of calories in vs. calories out applies. Be careful, though, because they are good eaters and are quite appreciative of treats & snacks, so combine that with their all-around adorableness and it’s hard to resist feeding them as much as they want. Tammy, if you’re reading this: no more cookies for Piper!!
WHAT DOES SHE EAT? Pretty much anything. We bought pot-bellied pig food in a 25-lb bag at a feed store. Prices are comparable to dog food. I’ve never had a cat, so I can’t speak to how pig chow compares to cat food price wise.
This one is by Manna Pro, and Purina makes one too. Check the nutrition label, though; the first bag we bought is for fattening up pigs to go to market. And that’s all I’m going to say about that. The pig chow has the right nutritional formula for her, but she also gets half a Flintstone’s vitamin every day. We have to chop it up and hide it in her food, but she’s worth it. For the pig chow, she gets 1/4 cup twice a day, along with whatever vegetable scraps we have around. Ok, the truth is, she gets a custom-blended tossed salad on top of her pig chow. When I’m making salad for lunch or dinner, I’ll throw the yucky parts of the lettuce, the stems of the spinach leaves, and the tops of tomatoes in a tupperware and save it for Piper’s bowl. She likes all three of the abovementioned veggies, plus carrots and cucumber. She doesn’t seem to like bell peppers or celery, but I’m guessing she would eat them if not offered her faves alongside. She loves strawberries and blackberries, and you haven’t lived until you’ve seen her eat an apple. I have videos of her eating but can’t figure out how to upload them. Stay tuned.
WHERE DOES SHE SLEEP? In Macy’s bed. Under the covers. Less-spoiled piggies can sleep in a crate or dog bed. 
WHERE DOES SHE DO HER BUSINESS? In the backyard, like a dog, or in a litter box, like a cat. She seems to prefer the backyard but doesn’t like to go out in the cold (luckily she lives in Texas!). Whether outside or in the litter box, she is very focused and takes care of business as soon as her feet hit the grass or the pine shavings. If you do use a litter box for a piggie, don’t use kitty litter or any kind of pelleted litter because they can confuse it with their pig chow and get sick. No one wants to see a backed-up piggie.
DOES SHE GET ALONG WITH OTHER ANIMALS? Yep. Our researched indicated that piggies get along well with any animal. Our dogs, and our doggie BFFs, were divided into two camps regarding Piper: the “couldn’t care less” camp, and the “I want to investigate/prove my dominance” camp. She’s a bit leery of the dogs but I expect they’ll become good friends in time.
DOES SHE PLAY WITH TOYS? Piper has several dog toys, and an activity box. The box is an under-the-bed plastic storage container full of wiffle balls and tennis balls. We hide a handful of grape tomatoes in amongst the balls and she pushes the balls around to find the food. Piggies love a sandbox to root around in, and the “hide the tomatoes” game would work in a sandbox as well. Breeders advise giving piggies a section of yard to explore. So far she hasn’t shown any desire to dig, but she likes to push the dirt around with her snout.
DOES SHE DO TRICKS? Piggies are very smart and can learn lots of tricks. Piper is learning to give kisses on command, and she picks up new things easily. She learned to use the litter box in a day. We videotaped her finding tomatoes in her activity box, and while Macy was watching the video, Piper heard us saying “find it!” on the video and promptly jumped in the box to start looking. I’m hoping to train her to do the laundry and load the dishwasher.
DOES SHE LIKE TO RIDE IN THE CAR? As long as she’s in my lap. I’m sure the sensible thing would be to put her in her crate for car rides, but she’s more of a lap-pig than a crated pig.
DOES SHE NEED VACCINES? Nope, just a dewormer. She will need to be spayed before she’s 6 months old.
DOES SHE SHED? STINK? Neither. Piggies have hair, not fur, so they don’t shed or have dander, which means they’re great for people with allergies. She doesn’t stink, either, which is more than I can say for the two dogs in our house. Our breeder said her pigs get a bath once a year, if that. Piggies’ skin is a little dry, so Piper gets a slathering of baby lotion once a week. She also needs sunscreen if she’s outside (don’t we all?).
IS SHE FILTHY? Not unless someone is eating tzatziki nearby, in which case she tries to dive into the container and cover her body with the tasty dip. Her snout gets a little dirty after she roots in the yard or if she has a particularly juicy blackberry, but a quick swipe with a baby wipe or paper towel fixes her right up. 
HOW EASY IS IT TO INCORPORATE A PIGGIE INTO YOUR LIFE? Very. She follows us around the house like a dog and loves to sit and nap in our laps. She can be left in her crate, or to roam Macy’s room, when we’re gone, and piggies like to go for walks on a leash. We’re working on the leash training, but so far she’s been easier to train in every area than the dogs. She was pretty needy the first day or so, but she’d been separated from her mama, had flown on a plane, gone for a long car ride, and thrown into a strange environment. I would have cried, too. 
DO PEOPLE THINK YOU’RE CRAZY FOR HAVING A PIG IN THE HOUSE? Perhaps. But who cares? Actually, the general response to her has been overwhelmingly positive. She’s cute, neat, non-stinky, well-behaved, and loving. What’s crazy about that? Some homeowners associations and city ordinances prevent piggies, so check into that if you’re thinking of getting one. If you really, really want one and your area prohibits it, remember the old “What they don’t know won’t hurt them” rule. But you didn’t hear that from me!
HOW DO PIGGIES COMMUNICATE? They make a variety of different sounds: up to 20 different sounds, in fact, from grunting and snorting to woofing and crying. Check out this excerpt from a breeders’ “Piggie Manual:”
Whining- well, that is pretty straight forward–they want food, someone made them mad, or is messing with them.
“Ahhhh ahhhh ahhh”– is a familial greeting. It means they see you as family.
“oink, oink, reeeeeee”- means they are searching for someone or something and they are a bit nervous.
“Woof”- it sounds like a bark. This has two meanings. Excited in a good way, they will bark and run and play. If they say it in a higher pitch it means DANGER and they will run away.
“Ooof” (while blowing air) – usually means annoyed, but can mean nervousness
“Rarararaa grumble grumble”- means I AM NOT moving off the couch!
Teeth grinding- can be confusing, it can mean they are teething and have discomfort, in pain, and some do it for contentment
Continuous oinking- I call this “echo location”- they are just oinking to see if someone is around,
Screaming- this means they are mad because they are hungry, confined, or can’t find you.
Grunts- they have soooo many of these…. Most are happy grunts, they have different sounding ones
that come with belly rubs, when you get the “right spot”, petting, happy I am eating food grunts, etc.
Piper makes a “chuff chuff” sound when we pick her up; piggies don’t like to have their feet off the ground, so the transition from standing to being picked up and getting settled in one’s arms elicits the chuffing. There’s the “I need to potty” grunt that has a different intensity. She makes another specific grunt when she’s following us and trying to catch up. If she’s unhappy, say if someone is eating and not offering her a taste, she will give a little screech. She sighs and sneezes, which is just about the cutest thing ever. She also wags her tail like a dog when we say her name, when she’s eating, or if she’s just plain happy. Then there’s the “piggie flop” she does when she’s being scritched in the exact right spot: we’ll be scratching away and all the sudden she flops over onto her side. Whump! Piggie down!
ARE THERE ANY DOWNSIDES TO OWNING A PIGGIE? We’ve tried really hard to think of one. Not that our family is a piggie brain trust or anything, but even after a lot of thought and careful consideration, the only thing I can come up with is that her pee stinks. 
Happy New Year!
Posted: January 3, 2012 Filed under: breast cancer, kids, pets, tennis | Tags: Animal House, breast cancer, Happy New Year, healthy diet, Kardashian sisters, New Year's resolutions, Newman's Own, pet piggies, postaday2012, teacup pigs, top 10 fattest actors 8 Comments
“We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called opportunity and the first chapter is New Year’s Day.” — Edith Lovejoy Pierce
I’m a couple of days late, but the sentiment stands.
Welcome, 2012. I have every hope that this year will be waaaaaaaaay better than the last. 2011 was a humdinger, and not in a good way. 2012 is bound to be better, just by default.
gocomics.com
I’m not one for making resolutions as a new year dawns, but I do like to set goals. I’ll leave things like world peace and matching-making for those pathetic Kardashian sisters to a higher power; I’m motivated, but am not a miracle worker. Without further ado, my goals for the coming year, in no apparent order:
drink more champagne (I’m sure some are wondering, is that even possible??)
improve my forehand (more depth and more angles, and quit hitting right to the person on the other side of the net. Sheesh.)
make my own salad dressing (no more Newman’s Own for me, although I want to figure out how to get his face on my bottle of dressing)
get my kids to eat more like Piper and less like John Belushi in Animal House, John Candy, and Chris Farley
take my calcium supplement (every day, no excuses, just do it)
That’s it. A simple list.
Happy New Year!
Meet Piper!
Posted: December 29, 2011 Filed under: kids, pets | Tags: Juliana pigs, kids' Christmas wish lists, micro-mini pigs, new pet, teacup piggies 25 CommentsIt was a most excellent Christmas at our house this year. So good that I’ve been rather busy doing all things festive and haven’t blogged in several days. I have a good reason, though, for my lack of blogs. A very good reason.
Meet Piper, the teacup pig.
She’s Macy’s big Christmas gift this year. If you’re inclined to tell me I’m crazy for letting my 9-year-old have a pet pig, don’t bother. I already know it. 
But spend just one second peeking at the look on Macy’s face and you’ll understand the craziness. The insanity. The absolute lunacy. 
Starting to understand, huh?
Here’s the thing: we need another animal in this house like we need a hole in the head. But Macy’s BFF is moving to Corpus Christi in the next couple of months, and my girl needed a distraction from the heartbreak that is losing your best friend because of a job relocation. My BFF moved to Dallas when I was a kid, and I’m still not over it.
Plus, my girl has loved pigs her entire life.
All 9 years of it.
When most little girls were enamored with horses or kittens, my girl was attracted to piggies. She’s always thought the swine is fine. We have every piggie gadget on the market: flashlights, key chains, tiny frying pans, magnets, bookmarks, sink stoppers, ink pens, Pez dispensers, spatulas, egg timers, egg cups, mugs…the list goes on. If there’s a pig-related product out there, my girl has it. People who know and love her see a pig-themed item and buy it for her.
For her 3rd and 4th birthdays, she had pig-themed parties.
One year we had a pig pinata, straight from Mexico. 
This girl has always loved pigs.
She’s wanted a teacup pig as long as I can remember. We always said, someday.
And now, someday is here.
My girl did her research. She looked online for weeks to find photos of teacup pigs for sale. She emailed breeders and called farmers to see if there was a pig that matched her criteria, just in case we said yes to the pig. She made a list of all the reasons she wanted a teacup pig. I admire her thoroughness and tenacity, but we really need to work on her spelling.
This is the breeder’s photo that made her heart go pitter-patter: 
Who wouldn’t want that little piggie?
You would think that deciding whether to add a teacup pig to an existing menagerie would be the hardest part of this equation. But you would be wrong. This time last week I was embarking upon the hardest part of the equation. It should have been quite simple, but it turned out to be a big ol’ mess.
See, the piggie my girl wanted was in Ohio. The breeder has a farm there and a farm in a small town about 75 miles from Houston. The piggie was going to fly from Ohio to Houston, and the breeder would pick her up then meet me to hand her over. Simple, right?
Not so much.
I was at the assigned meeting place on time and ready to take possession of the pig. I had a blanket, a beach towel, and Macy’s bathrobe, so the piggie could get used to her smell. The breeder had a drained phone battery and no sense of direction. None. Not even a teeny bit.
She texted me to say the plane was a little late but that she’d be at our appointed meeting place 30 minutes late, and that her phone was dying. She’d told me that she was driving a black Ram truck. I waited somewhat patiently in the Long John Silver’s parking lot next to the pawn shop and the Parrot Cove lounge with my bud Christy. Who knew that pawn shop was such a happening place 3 days before Christmas? A steady stream of cars, including 5 black Ram trucks, turned into the parking lot, only to head straight to the pawn shop. Not one of those trucks has a teacup pig in it. Two and a half hours later, the breeder finally called. She had no idea where she was and even less idea how to find me.
Long story short, our simple exchange took 5 and a half hours to conduct. Once we finally found each other and exchanged the pig, we had an hour’s drive to get her home. Poor little piggie had been yanked away from her mama and siblings, put on a plane, driven around in a truck with a directionally-challenged driver, then dropped into another car for another long car ride. Poor little piggie.
The stress of the exchange was quickly snuffed by two bottles of champagne shared round with great friends who turned out to meet the new addition. And the look on Macy’s face when I walked into the house with that little black & white bundle in my arms was priceless. At first she thought the pig was a stuffed animal and that I was “pranking her.” Once she realized that it was not only the real deal but also the pig she wanted most, she was overjoyed. 
The champagne drained and the friends departed, it was time to put the little piggie to bed. Her first night was a breeze and she slept soundly. The next day was a bit chaotic, though, with a trip to the feed store to buy piggie supplies as well as all the last-minute Christmas preparations, baking, and wrapping. Out of all the research Macy did on teacup pigs, it never clicked with me that it’s rather like having a baby in the house at first. Piper was needy, hungry, scared, and poopy. Several times a day. Thankfully the little zookeeper cared for Piper while I made the Christmas magic happen, and before the end of the second day, Piper had learned how to use the litter box. She’s a smart little piggie.
Details: she’s half micro-mini and half Juliana. We haven’t weighed her but I’d say she’s 3 or 4 pounds now, with an estimated full-grown weight of 15 to 20 pounds. She eats hog chow (dry pellets) and fresh fruit and vegetables. She’s eaten apple wedges, carrots, cucumbers, bell peppers, tomatoes, and uncooked oatmeal. That’s a way more varied diet than that of the 12-year-old boy who lives at my house. Cherry tomatoes are her absolute favorite, and she’s not shy about demolishing an entire bowl. Seeds squirting, juice flying: she’s a happy piggie when she has tomatoes.
She sleeps in Macy’s bed and prefers to be snuggled under the covers. That’s her backside and one rear foot poking out of the sheets. 
Piggies get along with all animals, and will walk on a leash like a dog. They love to snuggle and be part of “the pack” and be involved with the family. Our little piggie makes lots of different noises, from grunts and snuffles to sighs and chirps. She comes when we call her, and follows us around the house. She’s not the least bit shy about jumping right into our laps, and this morning when Macy was taking a bath, Piper jumped right into the tub! Teacup piggies don’t need baths, but they do need a little baby lotion once a week. Their skin gets dry from being inside. They don’t stink or shed (which is more than I can say for our dogs), they will use the bathroom outside, and they don’t need vaccinations.
Stay tuned for more piggie adventures. 
The Pink Underbelly 