Life in the Country

Last week we celebrated Batman’s actual birthday on Wednesday with his favorite dinner:  white chicken enchiladas.  He first tasted these wonders at Grandpa Vernon’s, and when he was choosing his birthday meal he asked not only if we could have them for dinner, but could we please have Grandpa Vernon make them, “So they’ll be good.”

Ah, the appreciation of children.

I knew that Grandpa Vernon was very busy during the week with his own (biological) grandchildren, so I convinced Batman to let me make his dinner.  It actually turned out pretty well, though Batman was way more focused on his second birthday celebration: a family bounce party scheduled for Sunday.

Ever since I made the mistake of had the fantastic idea of renting a bounce house for Batman’s birthday party last year, and then again for Annabelle’s celebration in September, a birthday is not a birthday around here until we have blown all the circuit breakers on the property trying to get a large plastic house inflated in our front yard.  We follow that up with big kids bouncing on little kids until someone is crying and most likely bleeding as well.  Then we light off a bunch of rockets in the attempt to keep our small-town firefighters practiced up with a grass fire or two.

Oh, and we usually catch the horses so that Reno can break free from his handler and give some poor toddler the ride of his life running loose like a wild mustang with several adults chasing frantically after him.

Yep, that’s how we do birthdays around here.

Since we had no choice schedule-wise but to hold Batman’s party on a Sunday this year, I decided to scale back the size of the shindig.  It really is fun to have tons of kids running around like crazy, but since it was a school night at the end of a very busy week, and the day after Annabelle and I were to be horse-showing all day, I kept the guest list to just family (and a couple of adopted family members).

The result was a smaller, quieter celebration, but the kids still had a blast bouncing, riding the four-wheelers and chasing after a rocket or two.

The day dawned sunny and clear, a perfect day for a birthday party.  Of course the highlight of the morning was the arrival of the bouncy.

Which the nice young attendant from the bounce house company efficiently inflated with nary a circuit breaker flicker.

The day was off to a good start.

And it just got better.  Cousins slowly trickled in from around the valley.

I admit that I didn’t get many pictures of the party this time.  I took advantage of the reduced scale to, well, actually mingle with the guests and enjoy myself.  It was divine.

The bounce house was put to good use.

After a couple of hours, Desperate Hubby grilled up some burgers and dogs for an early dinner, then it was cake time.

We decided to sing happy birthday on the back porch, and with the slight breeze it was a challenge to get the big orange “5” candle burning.

And to keep my hair from sticking to my chap stick.

I had taken Batman to Costco earlier in the week so that he could pick out his cake.  He was very disappointed that Costco did not have a cake featuring a decoration of worms.  Being in the fishing mode right now, Batman is very interested in worms.

But wait…..the people at Costco are nothing if not accommodating.   Though they did not have a worm cake, they did have a cake pattern with a cute, smiling caterpillar on it.

After some discussion with a decorator and very specific instructions on the part of Batman, the cake person agreed to make a cake with the caterpillar form, out of all-brown frosting, with no legs and small antennae.

And just like that a Worm Cake was born.

I was pretty excited about this particular birthday development, and couldn’t wait to see the cake when it was finished.  On Saturday afternoon, after a warm day spent at the Ontario, Oregon fairgrounds showing at the Gem State Stock Horse Association show, I loaded up Batman and headed over to pick up the cake.  We left Annabelle sleeping in her bunk bed, exhausted from awakening at 4:30 am and then riding all day long in the hot sun.

We searched through the cake stand located in the cold produce room for our cake.  Though there were a dozen other pastries there waiting to be picked up, we saw no sign of our special-order Worm.  We strolled back to the bakery and saw two nice young gentlemen washing the floor with buckets of soapy water and brooms (which Batman found quite fascinating, having never seen a floor washed like that at home before).  The closest worker approached me and asked how he could help. I explained about the missing cake, and he said “No worries.  It is probably in the cooler.”

Fifteen minutes and three separate searches later revealed no cake.  I was disappointed, and hoped that Batman wouldn’t be too emotionally scarred by the failure of his much-anticipated Worm Cake to appear.  I looked at him pensively as I explained that they must have lost his cake order, and would it be all right if he chose a cake from the case and the nice young janitor/cake decorator put his name on it?

Batman only sighed, and barely short of rolling his eyes said  “It’s just a cake mom.”

So there we were.

After he blew out his candle, with a little help from the wind, Batman sat and enjoyed his cake and ice cream.  I’m not sure if he was thinking about the Worm Cake or not.

Anyway, after the cake was finished DH fired off a few rockets.  We sent Annabelle and Kampbell into the park next door to retrieve them.  One of the them disappeared over the fence into the (locked) baseball field of the school next door.  Oops.

Finally the moment all the kids were waiting for arrived:  present time.

Batman was spoiled by the largesse spread before him in the gift department.

Some of the gifts were so large they required teamwork to unwrap.

Batman received many wonderful things.  He loved all of his gifts, but the present I personally found most creative was a roll of bright green duct tape.

Batman used some leftover pipe cleaners from his sister’s school project to make this “robot” which stands on it’s own legs and measures about 15” high.

Was that a great present or what?

Among the many other cool presents was a little set of real golf clubs from grandma and grandpa.  Batman spent most of the evening arranging his golf bag with all the balls, “little sticks that you put in the ground to hold the ball,” and the extra large driver he had gotten from Uncle Mike.

The next evening as soon as DH came home Batman dragged him out in the front yard for some golf lessons.

The next day after that DH signed Batman up for real golf lessons with a pro from one of the courses in Eagle.  He starts this Saturday and boy is he ever excited.

So is Batman.

When the party was over even Winston was dog tired, snoozing away on the porch couch.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

Thank you to all our family who came over to make Batman’s birthday party so fun.

And by the way, Costco Cake Department called bright and early on Monday morning.  “Why didn’t you pick up your Worm Cake?”  the nice young lady asked.  I just sighed and told her the whole story.  She apologized profusely for the lost cake, explaining that it had been in the cooler the whole time.

I just laughed. “It’s OK,” I said. “It’s only a cake.”

I promise that even the most obnoxious and rude, kid-jumping, face-licking, toy-chewing, hat-stealing dog can be changed forever into the world’s most perfect pet.

All you have to do is run over him.

Here is our story.

The subject of this tale is of course Winston. At once revered and reviled.  An 82 pound bundle of bad-smelling fur and glove-eating, hole-digging, cat-chasing fury.

And the most loving, cuddly, kid-adoring family pet on the place, all at once.

Friday night the kids and I returned home from riding at a friend’s place.  We put the horses away and fed.  I unhooked the trailer and jumped in the pickup, headed for the house to make dinner.  Batman was riding in the back of the truck, sitting on a wheel well for the 300-foot drive.  Annabelle had stayed behind and was cleaning out the back of the horse trailer with the wheelbarrow and manure fork.

As I turned the left-hand corner from the grassy trailer parking area to the gravel drive that fronts our house, I looked in the  mirror to make sure that Batman was still seated.  He was.  Immediately after my turn I felt a huge bump under the left rear tire of our long bed Duramax.  I’ve run over a curb or two in my day, let me tell you, but this was different. It was a very large bump.

I had not seen anything in or beside the road when I turned, so I was confused and disoriented for an instant.

A loud panicked yelping immediately ensued.  I threw open the door of the truck and with the engine still running jumped out to see Winston frantically turning in a circle near the back wheel. His mouth was completely engulfed in dark red blood, and I could also see a patch of blood on his left side.

The kids started screaming.

And crying in despair.

And yelling at me.  “Why did you run over Winston, Mom?!!!  Why didn’t you stop?!!!  Why are you so mean?  Is Winston gonna die?  I don’t want Winston to die!!!”  We have to take him to the vet!!  Is he gonna die?!!!”

I tried to console the children while simultaneously doing a quick evaluation of our pup.  His mouth was bloody, but it didn’t appear to be actively bleeding.  He was walking stiffly, favoring his left side, but I could immediately see that the blood on his side was from his mouth, where he kept turning and nipping at his ribcage.  His ribs felt fine; no obvious breaks, and his legs were in good working order.

About that time, DH came out of the house and walked a little ways down the driveway.  He asked me what had happened and I told him.  He said “Well, you must have just bumped him, because he looks pretty much fine.  If you had run him all the way over he would probably be dead”  “No,” I told him.  “I ran over him; all the way.  I felt it.”  That changed his expression some, and I could tell he was blaming me too.  He called Winston, and Winston walked slowly down to him. I got the kids calmed down enough to come to the house, though they refused to ride in the truck with me.

When we got inside we saw that DH had brought Winston in and put him in his crate.  The dog was lying down, and the blood was mostly gone from his mouth.  DH had checked him over too, and said he looked basically okay, just really sore.

Then Grandpa Vernon arrived.  Grandpa Vernon has cared for a dog or two in his day, and I was relieved to see him walk through the back door ready to lend his aid. He knelt down in front of Winston and gently opened his mouth.  After feeling around for damage, he checked the capillary refill time of the dog’s gums to see if he could detect any internal bleeding.  While he looked our dog over, I called our friend and vet Dr. Danny on the phone.

Dr. Danny answered his phone immediately  I could tell he was out amongst people, but he listened carefully as I quickly detailed what had happened.  Dr. Danny knew exactly what I really wanted to determine – since it was past closing time for any local vet, was it necessary to load Winston up and take him to the emergency clinic in Boise or could he wait until morning?  Danny asked a few questions, then he advised a conservative approach: keep Winston in his kennel overnight and watch him carefully.  He described the same gum-test that Vernon had performed to monitor for shock and internal bleeding, and told me what would necessitate immediate transport.  My gut instinct told me that was the right approach.

I hung up the phone and the kids mobbed me, pulling at my clothes.  “Are we taking him to the vet?  Is Danny coming over?  What are we going to do?”  I told them we would watch Winston overnight to make sure he wasn’t in mortal danger, and take him to our local vet first thing in the morning to be looked over.

My grief-stricken youngsters immediately let me know that this was not an acceptable approach.  Annabelle cried piteously.  “I LOVE Winston!  Winston is a member of our family.  We HAVE to take him to the vet!!”  I wavered but stood firm.  Grandpa Vernon backed me, although I knew if Winston had been his dog he would have sought immediate veterinary care.  DH obviously thought the dog was going to be OK, and I knew he was in favor of waiting until morning too.

I tried to get the kids calmed down.  Although Batman was the most upset, he mellowed more quickly when DH got him to come sit with him and look at some fishing videos on the computer.

Annabelle was steadfast in her despair and lack of support for my decision to wait it out.  Every crime against children ever committed by the rambunctious bird dog was instantly forgotten.

He was the best dog ever, and I was the MEANEST MOM IN THE WORLD for not taking him to the vet.

We all sat and watched the dog until 10:30 or so.  Winston was obviously very sore, but he was alert and his eyes were bright.  He methodically swept his long pink tongue over his legs and feet cleaning up any drops of blood that had flung from what I assumed was his bitten tongue.  When I finally did go to bed I couldn’t sleep.  I checked Winston a couple of times, and he seemed to be sleeping quietly.  I still had an awful feeling in my stomach, though, and I wished all night long I had just taken him in to the vet.

When morning dawned I was up early and walked down the hall with trepidation.  I didn’t know what the kids would do if Winston was dead.  Well, actually I did.

But he wasn’t dead.  He was very, very sore, but he did climb gingerly out of the kennel to go outside.  He kept stopping every few steps to nip at his side, but I still couldn’t feel any obvious trauma when I ran my hands over his ribs.  Annabelle got up while I was in the shower and she let Winston back in and put him in his crate.  The kids and I got dressed and  we were quickly ready to head out.

DH had agreed to help get Winston into the back of our SUV.  I didn’t think he could probably jump in under his own power, and I was also sure I couldn’t lift him.  As I rounded up everyone to leave, my hubby was trying to coax the pup out of his crate with a hot dog.  Winston just panted and looked at him, refusing to even try to get up.  A wave of panic went over me.  If he was ignoring a hot dog he was really hurt.  Then inspiration struck.  I reached into the basket on top of the kennel and pulled out Winston’s red leash.

As soon as he saw the leash, Winston was like the paralyzed ringer who rises from the wheelchair at an old-time tent revival.  He stood and practically bounded out of the kennel, stopping a couple of times to glance back at his sore side.  He trotted out to the car, albeit a bit stiffly, and put his front legs up on the back to get in.  DH lifted him gently the rest of the way and we were off.

When we arrived at the vet our shaggy brown friend jumped from the car unassisted and walked spryly into the office.  When we had filled out his paperwork he happily accompanied the technician back to the exam room for his checkup, tail wagging cheerfully.  I was completely unsurprised when I got the phone call a couple of hours later to come pick up our pet.  He was completely fine; no x-rays were even necessary, said the vet. She would send him home with some pain medication.  He was obviously sore, but the only real damage was a small contusion on his lip where he had bitten himself.  That would heal on its own, the sweet young doctor said.

I was relieved and exhausted.

As for the kids, they finally forgave me, and are still talking non-stop about what a good dog Winston is.  The best dog ever.

All we had to do was run him over to realize it.