GSD

Meg’s Diary– 8 Weeks

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The first week with Meg was exhausting—mainly because I needed to learn her, and I daren’t trust her for a moment alone. I also really hate poop in the house, so I was constantly watching to see if she needed to toilet. She was actually really good at this, and very quickly learnt what ‘Be quick!’ meant, so pretty much can pee on-demand in return for a treat. We managed to have only 2 accidents, and those were within a few hours of arriving home. It’s surprising how two adults can be so focussed on a small puppy’s bladder.

Sleep has got better. She goes out at midnight, and then sleeps until 6 am. We will gradually increase this, as her bladder gets stronger. She now is used to her crate, and knows she must sleep when put in it.

I found really helpful lessons online: Absolute Dogs, on Youtube. They teach all the things that the breeder also recommended, and it’s really helpful (especially for a clever breed). So I hand-feed Meg her food (which creates a bond—because I really need her to pay attention to me, or we will be doomed!) I also keep part of her meal in my pocket, for regular treats to reward good behaviour. This week we have concentrated on a few lessons.

Meeting Grandma. When I go out, I take Meg with me. Mostly she is good.

Most importantly, Meg comes when I call. I love to watch her short legs leaping across the garden! She also knows to sit, and that she will not receive her treat unless sitting. The main lessons (which will take a while) are that not everything is her business, and being calm is good. The first of these is super-important for a gsd. Although she’s gorgeous now, and everyone wants to touch her, in a few months she will be a big scary dog. She needs to learn now that bounding up to people is not the right behaviour, instead she should ignore everyone, and focus only on me (and the treat in my pocket!) This applies to people, children, and animals—she has to learn to ignore them. The cat, Millie, who comes in the house regularly, is helping with the training, and Meg is learning that interfering with a cat is a bad idea. We are still working on not chasing the poultry (and the cockerel has to learn not to fight the puppy—but that’s harder to teach).

Being calm is also difficult, but she’s getting better. I bought some toys to chew, and she does, on occasion, lie at my feet and peacefully play. However, she views Husband as a hugely exciting game, and whenever she sees him all ‘calm’ disappears and she becomes an uncontrollable force. Unfortunately, there are no online lessons for teaching husbands to be calm. Though he assures me that he is trying.

It was my daughter’s wedding blessing this week, and Meg was introduced to being in a crowd—while ignoring everyone. I walked into the room, carrying Meg and feeding her treats while talking softly, trying to ensure she concentrated on me, and not everyone else. Apart from her tail (lots of mad wagging) she did very well at ignoring the crowd.

The main game she enjoys is collecting all her toys into a heap. So I throw a toy, she runs to get it, then takes it to the doormat. I repeat with the next toy. I guess it’s the puppy equivalent of herding sheep. She does the same with sticks, and the back step is now covered in sticks.

I feel this week has been about learning each other, and settling into a routine. She seems very clever, and very strong-willed, and I am hoping to be the boss before the teenaged-rebellion starts. There’s a long way to go, but we are making progress. And she is completely beautiful, which helps. Hope you have a good week. Take care, and thanks for reading.
Love, Anne x

Travelling is not her favourite thing. But she has stopped being car-sick, so that’s good.

I will let you know how Meg develops. I am writing this postscript a few weeks later, and you will see from the photo below, that this dog is possibly too clever for me! This is what happened at 12 weeks, when I told her to ‘sit!’ (She’s not allowed on the furniture.)

A New Puppy

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Meg’s Diary: First Day

We drove to near Northampton to collect Meg. You might remember from an earlier blog, that I was looking for a German Shepherd puppy, and learnt that working gsd are a very different strain. They are shorter, stockier, and generally have less health problems and nervous issues—so they are less likely to react badly due to fear. They also tend to have more energy/focus, which I worried might be a problem (as I don’t have sheep to be herded, only a few poultry) but we requested one, and I started reading. ‘Being calm’ was going to be an important lesson.

When we arrived, all the puppies were outside, in a pen. All my worries disappeared and I realised that I really really wanted a puppy—or maybe several! They were gorgeous, full of life as they chased each other and played with an empty milk carton and tried to leap the fence to say hello. Nearly all of their ears were up (a show strain gsd has floppy ears until they are several months old) and they had stocky little legs and nice straight backs and you could tell they were going to be strong dogs.

I asked to see their mother—because that seemed sensible. She was still lovely, though looked more tired than when I had seen her previously!

The breeder recommended Meg, as I had asked for a darker sable, and she knew I didn’t want a pup who was ‘very driven.’ Not that any of them looked particularly calm.

We paid and put her in the car. (£2,000 in case you are interested—a big increase from the £450 we paid for Kia when she was a puppy—but comparable to other reputable breeders. You have to divide that between 16 years, and then it’s worth the price.) The price covered her first vaccine and worm-course, a chip to identify her, and half a bag of dog food. I thanked the breeder (because she had sold me the best thing ever) and we left.

Meg started to cry as soon as we left. I really wanted her on my lap, but I wasn’t sure of the law/view of breeder (and gsd breeders are very fussy, and will refuse to release their puppies unless they are certain the new owner will be sensible). However, I also felt that the two-hour trip would be a good bonding time. So we stopped (like naughty children, as soon as we were out of sight!) and I transferred the puppy onto my lap.

She was easy to control, and I had piles of towels to hand in case of accidents, and I hoped she would just sleep. She didn’t. But she was settled, and she snuggled into me and watched Husband drive. A couple of times she was sick, but I am pretty nifty with bags after years of baby-vomit, so it was fine. By the time we arrived home, we knew each other.

I took Meg into the kitchen and put her on the floor. She ran round, knocked over a plant, tried to eat the plant, tried to eat me when I started to clear up. She has super-sharp claws and very pointy teeth. A friend had kindly leant me a puppy-pen. The first time we put Meg in it, she leapt at the sides, managed to get half-way up, and tried to leap the rest of the way. I worried she might either fall backwards, or climb over—either way she would be hurt. Husband managed to find a super-large crate at Argos, meant for a Wiemaraner but perfect for an energetic gsd puppy.

The first night, we did as the breeder had suggested. When we went to bed, we put Meg into a small crate, turned off the lights, left her. She cried, barked, sounded like she was being murdered, and then fell asleep. I slept within earshot. When she woke (2am) I went to her, didn’t turn on the lights or speak, took her in the garden to pee, returned her to the crate. She made a fuss, but fell asleep after about 10 minutes. When she woke again (4:30) I repeated. I got up at 5.30, and we started the day (I am usually up at 6ish, so that was fine). Whenever Meg toileted outside, she was praised and given a treat. She’s really clever, and we only had two accidents in the house. She cannot be left alone for a moment (unless she’s in her playpen-crate, which I don’t want to use too often). She seems very happy. I am exhausted.

Thanks for reading.

Take care.
Love, Anne x

***

Did You Know There Are Two Kinds of German Shepherd Dog?

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I didn’t!

A Happy Young Kia

Ever since Kia died in January, I have missed her. This house feels very empty without a dog, but I needed to wait a while, so that I was emotionally ready for a new dog rather than trying to replace Kia. Because I can never replace Kia.

Kia was  German Shepherd Dog (GSD) and I don’t think I would want a different breed after owning one. I began to search the Kennel Club website, and I joined a few Facebook groups, and generally started to ‘ask around.’ I won’t be ready for a puppy until the winter, so I don’t want one immediately. This proved difficult, as most breeders breed in the summer. If necessary, I will wait until next year.

I am also fussy about the shape of GSD, as I don’t like the ‘sloping back’ that many show dogs tend to have. Someone told me that there are two strains of GSD: a ‘show’ strain and a ‘working’ strain, and as I wanted a straight-backed dog, I should look at the ‘working’ strain. I assumed this is what Kia was, as her back was straight. I was wrong.

We drove to meet a breeder of working GSD, and her dogs were completely unexpected! A ‘working’ GSD is almost like another breed, they are very different. The breeder taught me a little history:

GSDs were originally herding dogs in Germany, and a chap called Max von Stephanitz started to breed them for work. He chose dogs with good temperaments, high intelligence, and strength—because he needed them to be able to run for a long time.

These are very different to ‘show line’ GSD, which are the ones we tend to see. Kia was a ‘show line’ and therefore a big dog, with a fairly long coat, and distinct markings (a black ‘saddle’ and chestnut fur). The working dogs are smaller, and stockier, and they have short fur. Working GSD basically come in two colours—black or sable. They have lots of energy (think GSD on steroids!) and are confident—which means they are less likely to snap (because a nervous dog will snap when frightened). The police tend to use working GSD, because they need confident dogs to chase criminals, and a secure dog that is comfortable in schools surrounded by children.

The breeder I found mainly breeds dogs for the police and army—but they like males, and I want a female. I have seen videos of her dogs attacking people, and searching for hidden objects, and climbing over walls—but I wanted to check they weren’t aggressive. When we arrived, I was surprised by how small the dog we met was (about the height of a Labrador), and by how stocky it was (I am used to a lean GSD, this one was all muscle!) However, all the dogs were super-friendly and affectionate, and happily came for attention.

The breeder showed me a little routine with her dog – telling it to walk to heel (it was glued to her side) and then to sit while she walked away, then to run, then to lie down and wait. It was incredibly obedient (not like Kia) until the breeder came to remove the ball from its mouth. No way was that dog going to let her take its toy! They discussed it. (This was very like Kia!) I was rather pleased to see that even a highly trained GSD still has opinions, it will obey when it wants to.

I listened carefully to the breeder’s advice, because her dogs are very energetic. She said to read all the advice on Google—and then do the opposite! Apparently, a GSD should not be encouraged to play with lots of puppies, should not be exposed to lots of stimuli all at once, should not be petted by every child that wants a cuddle. Instead, they should be taught to be completely owner-focussed. Yes, they should meet other dogs—but their attention should be on their owner, not the dogs. They must learn to quietly walk past all distractions, watching only their owner. Then, when they are big scary animals, they won’t go bouncing up to scared people and terrify smaller animals—they will ignore them, and stay close to their owner. The breeder made her dogs completely dependent on her—even hand-feeding them, so they relied on her for everything, and it was in their interests to please her. They didn’t have eyes for anything else.

(There is a lesson here: Maybe if I was fully reliant on my God, all the ‘rubbish’ of life, all the trouble with people and politics, would matter less. I would still notice, but my focus would be on what is important.)

Luckily, the puppy I want does not yet exist, so I have plenty of time to learn how to train it properly. I need an obedient dog, who will help with my poultry (and not eat them!) I am considering training it as a support dog, so when I have one of my funny migraines and can’t see, I will have some support. More research needed. I will let you know what I learn.

Hope you have all the support you need this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

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anneethompson.com

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Wearing a Cone. . . and other dog problems with humans

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Thank you to everyone who sent kind messages about Kia, following her operation for a twisted stomach. Things are progressing mostly well, though we did have a set-back last week. I will tell you about it from Kia’s point of view:

It was about a week after the operation, and things were getting better. Anne had stopped forcing pills down my throat after every meal, and seemed to have got the hang of providing decent food. I was aware she was still smuggling my normal kibble into the bowl, but she was managing to disguise the taste pretty well with a variety of meats and fish, so I had decided to eat it. This seemed to please her, which was nice.

The only really annoying thing was my wound, which stung like crazy. I was licking it regularly to keep it clean, and had managed to scrape off some of the nasty wiry stuff they had sewn into me. I did this at night, because the first time I started to give it a really decent lick, Anne saw me, and made all sorts of worried noises, and used that ‘don’t mess with me’ bossy voice which I really do not like at all. Better to clean it at night, when she was safely out of the room. But then one morning, I heard them say they were taking me back to the vet, and that’s when things started to go badly wrong.

Now, I was not particularly worried about meeting the vet again. True, one had stuck needles into me, which was pretty horrid. But there was also a very nice girl, who fed me pieces of fish and took me out for short walks, so I was hoping we were going to see her and not the nasty one.

There was bit of a kafuffle at the vets, because they were all talking about a virus, and only one human was allowed in at a time, so Anne went to sit back in the car, and the husband took me in to see the vet.

I was unlucky; we saw the nasty vet.

This time she made the husband hold me, while she fiddled around with the wound. She was removing the rest of the wiry stuff, and I figured she’d be glad that I had made a start already, but I could tell from their voices that they weren’t very happy. Afterwards I was put in the car with Anne, who seemed upset and kept stroking my neck, but I didn’t know what all the fuss was about. We drove home.

After supper, Anne gave me more pills. They were pink this time, and tasted awful. I have become quite good at holding them in my mouth for a really long time, but she seems to have sussed this, and holds my mouth closed until I swallow. I am trying to think of a new tactic. However, the pills weren’t the main problem. What came next was much, much worse.

There I was, waiting for my praise for having finally swallowed the awful pink pills, when the husband arrived with this weird plastic cone and put it round my neck.

It was such a shock, I can’t tell you how awful it was. The collar came right up over my ears, so all the sounds of the house were distorted, and Anne’s voice seemed very far away. When I looked sideways, all I could see was fuzzy images through plastic. How was I going to keep the family safe if I didn’t have clear all-round vision? I just sat there, not moving, waiting for them to take the stupid thing off again.

But they didn’t. They went upstairs, to the upper room attached to the kitchen, and started to watch the news, saying they would check in a few minutes to see if I was used to it. ‘Used to it?’ That was never going to happen. They had clearly made some mistake, or left this thing on me as some sort of test. I would do my best to remove it.

I spent ages trying to remove it. The outside was slippery, so using a paw to force it off didn’t work. I tried jamming it between a chair and the wall, and moving backwards to scrape it off. That didn’t work either, it simply made the edge dig into my neck. I attempted to roll, but that hurt my wound so I stopped that pretty fast. Knocking it against walls, rubbing it on chairs, hooking it under my water bowl—nothing worked. The thing was stuck fast.

This was clearly a mistake, so I decided to go upstairs and find Anne, so she could see that she needed to remove it. The stairs were difficult. At each step, the collar caught on the step above, so I staggered, nearly fell, got my balance, attempted the next step. . I could hear voices above me, the television announcing that some people should stay inside, Anne and the husband speaking in tense voices about shops being empty. I tried another stair, the cone caught on the step, I staggered, regained my balance, took another step. Half way up, I realised Anne had heard me, and was coming to meet me. She made a little gasp, and rushed down to where I was, then steadied me, and together we continued up the stairs.

There was a discussion at the top. Apparently, I was not supposed to climb stairs yet, and they were unkeen for me to walk down again. The husband said he would carry me. This never works very well, and I tried to wriggle away, but he held me fast, Anne walked in front, we slowly descended.

At the bottom of the stairs, back in the kitchen, I waited for Anne to remove the collar. She didn’t. It began to occur to me that maybe, for some terrible reason, the ghastly device was here to stay. Did they not realise it made hearing difficult, it limited my vision and even running was affected? How could this be? A wave of genuine terror washed over me, my legs began to tremble, my sides shook, my teeth chattered in my mouth.

Anne put her arms round me, holding me as close as she could around the sides of the horrible collar. I felt her warmth, and the trembling subsided. I heard her praying for me. She has done this a lot recently, asking God to make me better, to let me have a bit longer, to not be frightened—it wasn’t working, I was frightened. Maybe God would explain that she needed to take off the collar. But she didn’t. She put her head inside the collar, right next to my cheek, so I could smell her skin, feel the damp of her tears on my own face. She held me for ages, her voice low and soft. There was something calming about that voice, and I began to relax, and lay down.

At one point, a long time later, Anne started to leave. I wasn’t having that. If she couldn’t take off the collar, she would have to stay until someone came who could. I jumped up, and started to follow her, the collar bashing into her calves as she walked towards the door. She turned round and came back, collected her coat from the cupboard, and I thought perhaps she was going out for a walk—but she wasn’t. She used the coat to make a sort of bed next to me, settled me down again. I lay down, feeling her slippers against my back. I slept.

When I woke in the morning, Anne’s slippers were still against my back, but her feet were gone. The collar was still in place. I was no longer frightened, but I was quite determined that it needed to be removed.

***

A few days later, and things have settled down. They have still not removed the collar, but I am beginning to get better at coping with it. Drinking was difficult, as the cone kept bashing the wall behind my bowl, but eventually Anne noticed the problem and my water bowl is now in the middle of the floor. The husband steps in it regularly.

There was also a problem with the grumpy old cat who lives in the utility room. The first morning, when I went to give her her usual morning kiss on her head, I forgot about the collar. I licked her head, raised my head to walk away, and the collar caught her neck and nearly took her head off! Whenever she sees me now she runs and jumps into her box. But I figure it’s just payback for all those scratches I got when I was a puppy.

I am managing to hear; I simply have to turn my head to face in the direction I am listening. Eating is fine, as long as Anne remembers to give me the correct size bowl, as some are too wide to fit within the rim of the collar. I have learnt to approach at the correct angle, so the cone fits over the bowl and I can eat normally. I do sometimes forget to allow for my extra size, and bash into furniture, getting momentarily stuck. But it’s not scary any more, because I know I can reverse, adjust my angle, try again. Anne does complain that I walk too close, and I regularly bash her calves. But I do this in the hope that she will realise the problem and remove the cone. It is taking her a frustratingly long time.

The problem with the pink pills continues. I have tried several strategies, and my best one was to shoot them quickly into my cheek, where they could remain the entire time Anne held my mouth closed, and then I could spit them out in the corner later, when she wasn’t looking. But she managed to notice this, and now clamps my mouth shut way too fast, so the pills remain on my tongue. Then she places delicious smelling food near my nose, so my mouth waters, and I can’t help but swallow. I am trying to think of something new.

There is an added procedure now, when twice a day my wound is washed. I am assuming they now are attempting to do what I was doing before all this malarkey with the cone started. Anne holds me still and speaks in that low comforting voice, while the husband baths my wound with something that smells sharp and astringent. I can tell from their voices that they’re still worried, but occasionally they reassure each other, saying it’s not getting worse, or it looks a little better today, so they seem satisfied with the activity. I hope they’ll get bored with it soon and we can all get back to how things used to be. Another annoyance is that Anne insists on washing my bedding every day, muttering things about keeping the wound clean. It means my blanket doesn’t smell of me anymore, it smells of detergent. I am unable to remedy this by rubbing into nice smells in the garden, as Anne comes out with me each time and calls me away from anything dirty.

But I don’t like to complain too much, and I am definitely feeling better. Today I noticed the sheep next door had lambed, and I started to go and investigate. Anne called me back, before I could squeeze through the bush and check them all properly, but it’s now on my ‘to-do’ list. As soon as the humans realise this stupid cone is stuck and remove it, we can start to get back to normal. Let’s hope it won’t be much longer.

***

Thanks for reading. Don’t forget, my Invisible Jane story continues every Tuesday and Thursday, my blogs are posted every Monday.

Stay safe, and have a good week.

Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
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Now is an excellent time to read a new book. All my books are available from Amazon — have a look today. The link to my author page is here.     

Now is an excellent time to read my travel book. Happy adventures from around the world.
Available from Amazon.

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This is the story I always promised myself I would write ‘one day’ while I was teaching in an infant school. A light-hearted novel about 3 teachers.

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A Completely Horrible Night

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We all have bad days, I think last Sunday was one of my worst, though it might have been even worse. It began just fine, Bea was here for the weekend, and we’d all had dinner and watched a film, and I was preparing to go to bed. I’d fed Kia and put her out for a last wee, but I had forgotten to sort out the heating for the night, so popped back downstairs. Bea and Jay met me in the kitchen, and said something was wrong with Kia.

Kia was pacing, looking uncomfortable, and stretching her neck as if about to vomit. I had earlier dropped an egg in the garden, and I wondered if she’d eaten it, especially as when moments later she was sick, the result was what looked like uncooked meringue. Maybe she was allergic to egg? But then my mind began to process what was happening, and that she had been fed an hour earlier, and yet none of that food had come back up. Plus, Kia was now panting, stretching out her neck as if she couldn’t catch her breath, and when I felt her stomach it was as hard as a rock. I had read about symptoms like these on one of the German Shepherd Facebook groups I belong to—Kia was showing all the signs of a twisted stomach. And that is often fatal.

I woke Husband and said I thought we needed to go to the vet. We are very fortunate—in a nearby town is a 24 hour veterinary hospital, and they have an out-of-hours casualty department for emergencies. This was an emergency. At least, I thought it was. But when I put on my old dog-walking coat, and collected the lead, Kia seemed suddenly fine. She started to wag her tail, and trot around excitedly, ready for a walk.

“Could Kia simply have had a bad reaction to something she ate? Was I overreacting by rushing her to hospital?”

Possibly, but the facts were that if she had a twisted stomach, she needed to be operated on as soon as possible or she would die. If she had simply eaten something bad, the vet would tell us the visit was unnecessary, we would apologise and return home. The risk of not rushing to the vet was too great. We rushed.

Kia was okay on the journey, obviously uncomfortable, but not in agony. We arrived, I explained the problem, and the vet agreed it sounded suspiciously like a twisted stomach, which is quickly diagnosed with an X-ray. I signed the consent form, Kia was led away, we waited.

Within a few minutes the vet returned. Kia had a twisted stomach, the vet could operate, but Kia is an old dog (12 years old, which is old for a GSD) and the operation was a major one. Did we want to take the risk and spend the (considerable) money? It was all too quick.

Pause for a minute with me, and try to imagine the situation. An hour ago, Kia had been fine, all was peaceful at home. Suddenly, everything had changed, and my completely healthy, very fit dog (lets face it, one of my best friends) was now about to die. What to do? Was I committing her to months of pain, to never properly recovering, because I didn’t want to let her go? Or should I give her a chance, should I decide that she is remarkably healthy for a dog that age, she had every chance of a full recovery and a few more years of active life, and I should not deny her that. What was the right choice? As is often the case, I have no idea. There was no time to take a moment, to pray for wisdom, to test how I felt. The decision had to be now.

I chose to operate.

I then went to sit in the car, leaving Husband to listen to the potential risks and to sign the release forms, because all the sensibleness had deserted me, and a hot fountain of tears was about to escape and I wanted to be somewhere private. I sat in the car, aware of how much I love that opinionated, determined, faithful animal, and how much I was losing if she died; and I cried.

Husband returned, and we drove home. The vet said that if, during surgery, there was too much internal damage, then they would phone and ask permission to put her to sleep. (We were unable to give consent prior to surgery; I don’t know why.)

At 4 am, the vet phoned. The surgery had gone well, Kia was in recovery, but the next 72 hours would be critical.

At 7.30am, the vet phoned to say Kia was awake, and seemed remarkably well. By the evening she was able to walk outside to toilet, and was drinking, though she still had not eaten.

Monday morning, the vet told us that Kia still had not eaten. This didn’t overly surprise me. She has always been a picky eater, and at home she will only eat when I eat. If I put her food down in the morning, it will sit there, untouched, until she sees me eat my evening meal—then she will eat. The vet suggested that if I was comfortable giving all the medication, Kia would be better at home, as she needed to eat. We collected her (and a suitcase of pills).

As I write this, Kia continues to improve. She is still very weak, and is eating lots of little snacks rather than a proper big meal. But gradually her strength is returning, and she is relaxed at home, as long as she can see me, she is happy. The drugs make her drowsy, and her shaved tummy needs to be kept warm, but I think she is going to be all right.

I am so grateful to the dog owners who described the symptoms of a twisted stomach so that I recognised them. I am grateful to the vet, who reacted so professionally. And I am grateful to God, who allowed me to keep Kia for a little longer, even though we never know how long that will be.

Thank you for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and non-fiction books. You can find her work in bookshops and Amazon.
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You can read more about Kia in my travel book (though she was only invited on the English holidays!) You can read it free if you have a kindle. Also available in paperback–a lovely Mother’s Day gift.

Now is an excellent time to read my travel book. Happy adventures from around the world.
Available from Amazon.

UK link Here