Easter puppies

This one was written when our first set of grandpuppies was born in April this year. I just couldn't gather the enthusiasm to put this up so far. Anyhoo...

Easter Sunday brought the best gifts I have ever received. I had called Phoebe into our bed in the early hours of the morning. She was panting heavily and I thought being with us would soothe her. I knew she would deliver soon, and was lazing in bed thinking of taking her for a round of pee so that she would be free to give birth. We woke to a wet spot on the bed, realizing that the first pup was on its way. By the time we could gather our wits, the boy was out and Phoebe had freed him of the cord. I barked instructions at the hubs to gather the supplies I should have kept ready in the first place. The mat and a bedsheet were placed on our bed just in time for the second one's arrival. It was a girl followed by another one. I called my animal-loving-soul-sister Apu to let her know that the most awaited event of this month was happening in my bed :P

Before the next one came, we moved Phoebe and the first-borns to her whelping area.
The fourth pup was a boy after which there was a gap in which Phoebe could rest a bit. Then came two girls in quick succession. Sadly, the sixth one was a stillborn. Phoebe licked it a lot trying to revive it, but it was clear that the pup probably never matured enough to be born alive. It was ghostly pale, as opposed to the others who were a very healthy shade of pink. We left the girl on a piece of paper on a table nearby. It took a while for the seventh one, a girl, to arrive, and Phoebe gladly had some water in the meantime. I had a hunch that the litter wasn't complete yet, so we stayed put in the whelping area. Soon enough, the last one arrived, another girl.

While the litter was making its way into this world, I kept helping Phoebe every chance I could... tearing off a couple of pups' protective sacs and helping them breathe. It just felt so... right. My girl did her job beautifully--tore off the sacs, cut the cord at just the right length, licked the pups clean and kept an eye out for intruders. Her instincts continue to amaze us. Mojo was pretty confused and kept popping in to quench his curiosity, but always remained at a cautious distance. The darling never troubled Phoebe in any manner. Maybe he dared not ;-)

When sufficient time had elapsed, I took Phoebe out for a walk, which was more like a mad dash to the road and back. She kept barking loudly at me, as if to tell me that we have to hurry. Maybe that's how they protect their young ones... by creating enough ruckus to ward off predators. She peed and pooped right in the middle of the street--quite unlike her--and ran back up the stairs at lightening speed.

I could have sat there all the time, but Apu called to say she was coming right over from Mumbai before she could even get home. Thanks to her, I gathered my wits, cleaned up a bit (thanks a bunch to the hubs for being so quick when it mattered, muuuuahh!) and even managed to have a bath in time. Apu and her husband could adore the pups only after Phoebe stopped barking in their face and settled down realizing that they meant no harm. Mojo had his fill of jumping around and running batshit crazy when they entered the door. This was the only time he got any attention that day. Except for the occasional appreciative nod and touch when hubs and I cooed over how non-nuisancy he was today.

I took Phoebe for a couple more poop-n-pee sprints, and then she had a few morsels of food at night, right beside the pups. Not being in that room was unbearable for her. Because the work week would begin the next day, I did not let hubs sleep in Phoebe's room. And rightly so. The little critters kept me up all night with their squealing. Although I did enjoy that too.

Setting off the sabbatical

I wrote this post in April when I quit my job, but I haven't had the inclination to upload it yet. So here goes...

The perfect beginning that didn't last

I doubt that many will understand this, but I was thrilled to wake up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning! It was just way I wanted my sabbatical to begin. I was so excited to be up at the time that the temptation to snuggle in did not even form completely in my mind. I thought of getting dressed and going for a walk, but my feet were hurting like they do on most mornings since several months now. So, I sauntered into the other bedroom and did some stretches in my night dress with the ceiling fan on full blast. I don't like getting sweaty right after I'm out of bed, but that's the big downside of exercise. Just one of my excuses for not getting into a healthy morning routine.

I was tempted to doze off again after the stretching and so I lay down on the floor, relaxing. Instantaneously, my dogs woke up and came barging from the bedroom sniffing and jumping over me. I took the cue, changed, and took them for a walk. We left the neighborhood and walk alongside the main rood today, and they were unexpectedly well-behaved. They didn't pull constantly, and I could control them with my voice and a few tugs at their leashes. We even saw a pack of puppies on the way, and one of them walked up to us ready to play but then chickened out suddenly. It was nice to see 'em all and their mum looking over her shoulder protectively. After we got home, though, we went to wake up dada, but snuggled in instead, like we always do, falling prey to his powers of sedation.

At this point, I succumbed to weariness and stopped writing. Didn't catch on for more than a week after. Through the first week at home, several things kept me busy, including lazing around and watching TV.

Come Sunday, the enthusiasm of waking up early and attempting to start and continue an exercise regime went right outta the window. I spent the morning gathering our apartment-related documents so that I could hand them over to the next office bearer. We had an annual general meeting planned for the evening. It went surprisingly well, and lasted only a little over two hours. I was the Secretary of the apartment association, but happily gave up the position in the hope that other members would take up the responsibility. The guy who was President gave up his position too, which surprised people. At least they said so.

Throughout the working week, hubs ran off to work as early as he could and came back as late as he could. Bugger's been taking advantage of me being at home to work longer hours. Not that I mind. I think he can use this opportunity to do some good work and get noticed. He's had to put in a fixed number of hours over the past two years so that I could work flexi-time and longer hours, and make multiple trips to the office if required. It worked for us, because my commute was almost half of his and I had to maneuver through only half the traffic. Also, the car was always at my disposal and I have been taking undue advantage of it. Sigh!

On Tuesday, I took Phoebe to the vet for an ultrasound, and we came to know that she had at least 6 pups in there. I've been waiting for their arrival all through the week. The same evening, hubs and I went to see a new pooch in the neighborhood. A girl who used to have a Dalmatian but gave him away because she couldn't manage to take care of him, has now brought home a month-old Rottweiler. Apparently her husband got cured of his dog aversion and wanted one that belonged to a big strong breed. It was a fun half an hour, where we let Bullet (yep, that's his name, but just "Bull" would suffice if you ask me... he's strong!) scamper around between our feet and over our heads, lick our faces, and chew our fingers and ears.

During the rest of the week, I did some cleaning up around the house, organized some documents, went grocery shopping, cleared the spare bedroom and created a whelping area for Phoebe. Took the dogs out on several short sprints, off the leash. I was too lazy to walk them around the usual track, and besides, they enjoy the freedom.

Good Friday morning was spent at me mum-n-dad's, where I clubbed a few things in one trip: I had to carry some warm clothes and tiffins for mom to carry during her upcoming old-ladies-gang trip to Kashmir. She had prepared my favorite food item. My dear friend Meg was in town for the weekend and we wanted to catch up. I had to drop mom off to granny's on our way back. Pawan was ok to be dragged around town and dumped at mama's place while I met Meg ;-)

Saturday was spent at home, zombie-watching TV. Except when I went to the bank and tried to check email. My internet connection played hooky through the week. Phoebe had began panting in the afternoon and continued through the night.

The obvious consequence of the uh-oh moment

... was confirmed today.

It's been 35 days and it seemed like the perfect time to take Phoebe for an ultrasound. We were hoping that there'd be fewer cuddly balls of spotted fun to grandparent this time, but that isn't to be. We saw 6 of 'em floating around in my girl's tummy. Hoping there are no more.

The hubs all but panicked, while I was secretly thrilled that I would be able to hold a few more of those delightful young'uns so soon. This time, though, I'll manage things better. Cherish my moments with 'em instead of turning into a shrieking banshee like I did a few months ago.

When I broke the news to the good lady who runs the pet products shop that we frequent, she couldn't wrap her head around the idea! It tickled her funny and we were both giggling at the prospect like tweens :)

In related news, a family solicited Mojo's puppy-making skills for their 2.5-year-old Dal named Lucky. She was a pampered brat, but I didn't mind Mojo passing on some of his baby-paste (Thank you, writers of 18 to Life!) to her because she was so fine-looking. She had perfectly spotted ears! Their progeny would be quite sought after. And, we get to keep one of our choice!

So all 1.7 of you people who happen to pass by this space every few days, pull up your sleeves, get the megaphones out and get prepared to yell at every passerby and demand that they take away my puppies by the end of January 2012. Go on, be good now.

11.11.2011

Yeah, I hate shortening it to make it look cool. Just wanted to note that mom enters her 60s today. She's locked herself up in her house in a pseudo-maun-vrat because she doesn't believe in birthday celebrations. Is it a surprise then, that I like mine to be small, private events, and I consider it to be a time of introspection and making resolutions instead of doing them on every new year's eve? This year I hadn't planned on any celebration, but had a surprisingly fun day.

Anyhoo... mom's obsessing over how she can take better care of her mom who's now in her mid-80s. That, when she doesn't even love her and does it out of a deep-seated sense of duty. Thankfully, I love mine. That doesn't stop me from having serious doubts about how I would be able to manage her old age. Three decades on this planet and I still refuse to grow up. Tch, tch!

Blessings and curses

One of the greatest blessings I have in life is the absolute freedom to make my own decisions about who and when I meet, and the absolute independence to go where and how I feel. This is in total contrast of the horror stories that we are made aware of via platforms like VAW and VU.

I couldn't help but feel grateful as I was returning tonight from an impromptu meeting with my ex-colleagues and now dear gal pals. It was midnight by the time I got home after dropping two of the other girls to their dwellings. I feel safe thanks to the 4 wheels under my bum and the metallic enclosure around me. I feel infinitely thankful to have a loving family (in-laws included) without having to ask for them. Not many people are as lucky.

I take a moment to think about the less fortunate ones and pray that they might all one day feel secure in their own homes and loved by those close to them. I am fortunate enough to not know many people in my surroundings who are in abusive relationships. For those that I know of, I pray for the ability to help them open up to me, and the courage to help them rise above their circumstances, in whatever way I can.

It's not okay to know that such things happen and let them be.

The uh-oh moment

... happened today.

People who are squeamish about animals or sex or a combination of both should stop reading at this point. You have been warned.

Phoebe (and thereby) Mojo have been in heat since the past two weeks. Prior to this, we used to put one of them in the crate on a rotating schedule so as to avoid accidents. Actually, that's quite unnecessary, because Phoebe is quite invincible... if I ever have a daughter, I want her to be strong and capable of defending herself like my bitch here ;-) In fact, we had to (you know, er...) help them conceive just a few months back.

These past couple of weeks, however, we have managed to keep them apart by just yelling at Mojo and threatening him. Also, it helped that Phoebe bared her teeth at him and also bit him at times. Yeah, we're twisted like that... we find that better compared to having to put them in the crate and get them out every hour or so.

Anyhoo. We're grateful that they sleep through the night without us having to sleep with them in separate rooms like we did before. This morning, as has been the routine for the past 3-4 days, we woke up to the cacophony that ensues when Mojo tries to screw Phoebe. (Squeamish folks, I told you so!) By the time I could go grab Mojo and push him out of the room or onto his bean bag, he'd mounted (I can't believe I'm using that word... the last time I used it, it was as a Linux / UNIX command) Phoebe. We thought of pulling him off but couldn't risk separating him from his (er...) little Mojo. Talk about making split-second decisions!

So it happened that for the next 20 minutes or so, we sat in bed contemplating the consequences of the recent events, while they gradually moved all over the room stuck at the base. Literally. Thankfully, after the first few seconds, there aren't any pelvic thrusts involved in this graphic sequence. (Any prudes reading so far? You've shown exceptional courage. Now go away.) At some point, Phoebe got tired of standing and decided that she wanted to sit in the bean bag. So she did. Mojo realized that he had no option but to accommodate her if he wanted to continue having his way with her. He was done a few minutes later, and I hurried to wash the bean bag clean. Talk about parenting.

The rest of the morning passed by peacefully, with Mojo banished to the crate, and without us bringing up the topic that we ruminated over individually. After the hubs went to work, I called up the vet, gave him the details of the events that transpired, and asked whether there was a chance that Phoebe would conceive. He said that it's rare that it happens this late in the heat cycle, but it's possible. The only way to know would be to check the Progesterone levels in her blood. That would give us a 90% accurate reading. He asked whether we wanted them to have puppies or not. I said no. (I actually meant "Oh God, no!") He said that there were contraceptive pills available but they didn't really work. He'd seen a few cases where the dogs still conceived. He suggested that we either operate her now to remove her ovaries or go in for an abortion a month later. The former is not an option now (the hubs wasn't keen on it when I asked soon after the puppies were born) and the latter is never an option. It saddens me to even write about it.

So now, we begin the anxious 4-to-6-week long wait to know whether we're gonna be grandparents again before the year is out. We're not keen on it, but if it does happen, we'll make arrangements for the pups to be cared for and taken away sooner. Wish us luck, folks, and pray that we don't need it!

PS: I've written things in this post that I never thought would escape my (er...) fingers.

PPS: Whatever happens, we still love our Mojo and Phoebe to death. They're the best. And they make the cutest couple. Folks at the pet resort attest to that in writing :P

For 'em pearlies

Warning: Explicit oral content. Read at your own risk.

A few weeks ago, I decided to try this mouthwash thing. I have very bad brushing habits, and thought of this as an easier way to keep 'em pearlies intact for a few more decades. I completely forgot about them while all our stuff was collected in a room and wrapped in sheets until the house painting job was over. Found them while arranging stuff back into the cupboards, and tried one of the three flavors (which was actually non-flavored, the others being CoolMint and FreshBurst).

A few days later, after habitually taunting the husband about his bad brushing habits, I suggested that he try the mouthwash I bought. Here's how it went...

Me: Didn't you just say you were going to brush your teeth?
Him: Done!
Me: Already?! But you were barely gone 30 seconds!
Him: How long does it take anyway?!
Me: Hmpf, no wonder you have all that plaque lining your teeth on the inner sides of your gums.
Him: Dude, that's the color of my teeth.
Me: What, brown?
Him: Huh?!
Me: You brush your teeth like you'd brush a baby's bottom. With soft bristles to boot! I think you should try out Listerine. I got it a few weeks back.
Him: What's that?
Me: 30 seconds of Hell in your mouth.
Him: :-| (a la Sheldon Cooper)

I decided not to elaborate. The ensuing scene that played out in my mind...
Me: You've got to rinse your mouth with it for 30 seconds. You can't swallow it. It stings. You can't drink water for a while after it's stung you.
Him: :-| (meaning "Now why would I ever do that my mouth?")
Me: At the rate we're going, largely thanks to our brushing routine or the lack thereof, we're gonna run out of teeth by the time we hit the 4-Ohs.
Him: I could live with that.
Me: Dude, missing teeth and hair! How are we ever going to rock our 40s?
Him (to himself): Drama queen!
Me: But dude, does it sting!
Him: :-| (translates to "And you're even bothering to recommend it to me. Are you out of your mind?!")
Me (to self): Why did I even bother?