A Doggy Update

Small One (Jeph) is asleep right now, with no idea that he is getting shots this evening. I don't know who will cry more: him or me. Our vet is the actual best vet, though. Absolutely wonderful woman who really knows her job and puts the animals first and her own thoughts, feelings, etc. second. She answers any questions we have clearly and concisely. It's something I don't think I could ever do without. Our older dog goes to the base vet right now, who is also the most amazing guy. Super knowledgeable, never over-diagnoses and definitely never brushes off our concerns. Between the two of them, our dogs have an excellent care team here. 

Jeph is nearly completely potty-trained! So far, no accidents today. The only problem now is he pees when he wants attention. If I'm on the phone or haven't played with him for a bit, he will bark at me and stare at me and pee very intentionally. We're working on that behavior. 

Riley is beginning to listen to me again. And when she doesn't, I use my "mom" voice and she knows right away that she messed up. Down go her ears and her tail. Poor girl has such a huge sense of guilt. The good news is that she is adjusting well to Jeph and listening to me and having a lot of fun playing with her little brother. She is absolutely exhausted at the end of every day, having worked all day for me and played hard for hours with Jeph. She is more focused at work now, as her extra energy is completely depleted by the tiny alive fur squeaky toy. He keeps her on her doggy toes. 

Jeph also appreciates that Riley has taught him how to open sliding closet doors. It is not uncommon to hear a rustling noise from the pantry after I've closed the suspiciously open door. Riley also helpfully opens other doors for Jeph. She can't understand why I'm not thrilled that she lets Jeph in the laundry room, bathroom, extra bedrooms, etc. when he asks her to. She doesn't get punished for it, as she is trying to be a helpful big sister. 

They both got reprimanded, however, when they discovered the weak points in the dirt under the fence and dug several holes just big enough for baby Jeph to wiggle through. Thankfully, Jeph is terrified of the neighbors' dogs. Every time he starts under the fence, they bark and he goes running back into the house. He only made it entirely out once, and thankfully I caught him right away. He has gone through a growth spurt in the last week and cannot get out of those holes anymore. I found them inspecting the holes together yesterday, as though they were little architects planning a renovation. I sprayed the holes and fence with bitter apple spray, and they decided to take their hole-digging operation to the other side of the yard. 

We are also working on the chewing of the furniture. We got a new table and chairs and benches for our dining room and already there are visible teeth marks on the legs of one of the benches. We got Jeph some new toys to help with this, as the poor baby is teething and isn't entirely responsible for his natural need to chew. We got the toys yesterday, and today Mr. Jeph has not chewed the bench legs, opting to try to destroy a tough toy instead. 

Dogs are awake and laundry is beeping, so I've got to be done with this post. Until next time, friends!

Check out my Instagram (thegrandadventuresofabby) for daily pictures of baby Jeph and Ms. Riley!

Also follow me on Twitter (@TheGAofAbby) for updates and some lovely stream-of-consciousness.

It's Back

Riley is refusing to listen inside the house, and Jeph for sure is at the right age for some intense training. Because of this, the dreaded (for me) and much-anticipated (for the dogs) FANNY PACK is back! That's right, folks! The treat-filled fashion accessory from hell is firmly around my waist, waiting to treat well-behaved dogs. So far, the little puppy has "sit" down alright, but his "leave it" and "come" commands are really shaky. And Riley is suddenly realizing that I'm preoccupied with Jeph and just looks at me with her tail wagging like, "I don't have to do what you just said and you won't reprimand me because you have your hands full of wriggling puppy." It makes me annoyed. You are a fully-trained service dog, but you think you don't have to listen inside the house because there's a little one who knows nothing? No. Not gonna fly in my house. Of course, she is well-behaved outside of the house. She does her job extremely well when there is no little brother casually chewing on furniture. Hence, the fanny pack.

I have my work cut out for me. Especially with Jeph. He needs the basics down before we can do any sort of special training for my needs. And he might not be well-suited for service dog work, but I won't know until I get the basics down with him. The issues I get to work on with Jeph are: biting, chewing inappropriate things, talking back, barking at meal times, sitting, lying down, leaving things when told, coming when I call, scratching, and understanding the word "no," and what it means. Also, he keeps eating clumps of grass and dirt and running away from me when I try to get it out of his mouth. He's being a typical puppy, but it is time for training so he can become a happy dog. Riley just needs to understand that it is time to grow up and be a good listener. She is not a puppy, and cannot act as such. Certainly, she can enjoy play times with her brother, but she needs to be available to do her job in the house.

I will begin by doing short training sessions multiple times a day. I am currently needing a lot of rest, but the best way to train a dog is during commercial breaks of TV shows. That way they have 3-4 minutes of training and 10-15 minutes of running around and playing. This keeps them engaged and doesn't exhaust you as much as a whole hour of training would. Dogs have short attention spans, and they will get easily bored and tired if you try to do intensive training for a long time.

A cute moment: the other day, I put Jeph in his kennel. I then couldn't find Riley! I was terrified, running around the house and looking outside and in closets and then I heard it. A large sigh that has become Riley's trademark response to when I am doing something she thinks is silly. And it was coming from Jeph's kennel. I thought perhaps she had taught the little one to sigh! But then, as I checked in on my little fur son, I saw it. Check out the photo below:

How cute is that? Very cute. Extremely cute. And if you think Riley looks a little annoyed in this photo, it is because I woke her up with the camera's flash.

Rock Bottom?

(Because I know many of my readers suffer from things similar to what I am writing about today...TW: Trauma, Medical things, Mental health. Read safely, loves.)

There was no post yesterday because my body decided it was done. I had a full physical breakdown. I slept for fourteen hours and when I finally awakened, it was because my angel of a husband physically shook me awake. He knew I was dehydrated and hungry, even though I could feel nothing but the severe pain. He helped me sit up and forced my reluctant body to take pills and drink water and eat food. He helped me to walk to the couch where he could keep an eye on me. I had a few good hours where I was awake and coherent. Then, suddenly, I collapsed again. Apparently, Husband spent an hour warming me up with blankets and heating pads and tea while massaging my convulsing limbs to get my blood flowing properly. I remember hardly any of it. I am so incredibly grateful for him. He is amazing.

I'm going to be brutally honest here. I know I have a lot of young people who I have taught in past years who look up to me and who will read this and be shocked, as they think of me as upbeat and a positive person. And the number of people who know I have mental illnesses is very low. I'm sorry, guys. I'm human. And I'm scared.

I'm terrified. My mental health is severely slipping. I've begun losing hours of my day as a routine thing now. Instances like suddenly realizing I am at the grocery store with my husband and having no memory of the day prior to that is a normal occurrence. The voice inside my head that tells me to die is getting louder and more insistent. The panic I fight is becoming an overwhelming tidal wave that is rendering me incapable of going a single day without hysterics. The medication that I am on is helping me hold on to my mind by the fingernails. I've begun dissociating very noticeably. And just the other day, I realized that the voices I have been hearing are not going to go away. They've been getting louder. There are three of them, and so far they just say my name or "Hey," but my word, it is terrifying. If I had a dime for every time I have broken down sobbing in front of my husband, saying, "what is happening to me?" or, "you're not real. This is a dream," I could pay for mental health reform in America. And the flashbacks? Let's just say that my service dog Riley is definitely earning her treats. I finally called my EFMP (the program the military has for disabled family members) sponsor and told her I need to see a psychiatrist ASAP to get a proper diagnosis and proper treatment. The asshole who "treated" me before (in 2014) literally sat down with me for three minutes, didn't let me talk, and then laughed at me outright when I told him I was having flashbacks. He told me that doesn't happen and young women like myself are usually prone to anxiety. He then called my therapist in (who was in the same building) and, laughing, told him that I was having flashbacks. The two of them openly giggled together. And I still had to go see that therapist, as he was my only hope at not killing myself. When I told him that I could never trust him after seeing him laugh with my "psychiatrist," he was shocked and told me he didn't realize that would offend me. I should probably pray about that, I was told. He himself did not believe me that I actually was ill until he witnessed a flashback. When I came to, I told him I wanted to die. He suddenly realized I wasn't a "hysterical female" and demanded I be on medication and possibly permanently institutionalized if it got worse. From 0-100 in less than 60 seconds. Impressive. He hadn't ever seen anyone actually go through something like my episodes, and was completely at a loss as to what to do for me. He also was not aware that people could go through more than one trauma in their lifetime. Worst. My only experiences with mental health professionals before that was countless (at least 10) psychologists and therapists who were hired by my insurance company to get me to say that the physical illnesses I had were all psychosomatic (i.e. I was doing it to myself because I was an attention whore. One counselor's words, not mine) so they wouldn't have to pay for any of my medications or treatment. Spoilers: I have three debilitating chronic illnesses that are worse than they would be because I wasn't treated properly for 25 years. Here's hoping that this upcoming experience with mental health professionals is better.

I don't know how much longer I will have my mobility. My next doctor appointment, I'm going to be talking with a physician about getting a wheelchair. I haven't danced in months. I haven't been able to drive a car for any distance by myself for two years now. And yesterday, the pain was unlike any I have ever had (with the exception of the pain from surgeries, because holy shit that hurt). My body is telling me that I am doing too much. And I'm upset and terrified, because all I am doing is sitting on couches or sleeping on beds and yes, I'm cleaning and taking care of a small pup but my goodness, that's nothing compared to what some people do and here I am completely unable to even do the smallest of tasks? It's upsetting.

I get these urges to just do stupid things to my body because who the hell cares, right? What is it going to matter if I drink myself to death or smoke until I have cancer? Or eat until I throw up? Or go walking in a bad neighborhood by myself at 3 AM? Or smack my head into a wall until I see blood? The self-harming voices are getting loud. Thankfully, I haven't done anything yet. I have a service dog who recognizes the spiraling thoughts and comes to jar me out of them. And she's teaching little Jeph to do the same. Human hasn't spoken or moved in a bit? Time to lick her. She's already taught Jeph to climb on my lap and lick my tears while she licks my hand. And my husband refuses to let me get away with saying everything is "fine" when he knows damn well it isn't. If I didn't have them, I would have been dead by now.

So here I am, on a Sunday morning, having not showered in days. I'm completely exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. My service dog has "grounded" me at least six times while I was writing this. I know I might lose people. I know I might only have three views. But I have to be honest.

Stay safe until tomorrow, friends. And I will try to do the same.

Time Out

Today, I am exhausted. There is pee on every blanket we own except for two that are currently on the bed. These two are totally inadequate for sleeping under, but you do what you have to when you're hopelessly behind on laundry. Thank God for my husband who spent three hours cleaning our house with me tonight. All that is left to do is the mountain of laundry before we have friends over this weekend. Jeph had no accidents on the floor today. But the bed...oh, the poor bed. He had a shower today (he prefers them to baths) and was so upset by how cold the world outside the shower was that he just couldn't keep control of his bladder. So while I was getting a new towel for the shivering pup, he cried and walked slowly around the entire bed, peeing a trail of sadness. I of course did not blame him. Showering is a pretty big deal for the little guy. And he watched his poor sister get subjected to a bath before his shower. Tonight, he learned the command, "Quiet," with copious amounts of treats. After that, he was just so exhausted that as we were cuddling he looked at me with pure guilt and whimpered as drops of pee spurted onto the new bed covers. So now here we are. Late at night with all the blankets and sheets in the laundry with some form of dog pee on them.

Sometimes, Jeph or Riley will get too wild or too demanding or just plain too wolf-like and they get a brief time out. But they are not the only ones. I've noticed that when I take my own time outs, I can handle the stress of puppy parenting a lot better. My husband has been insisting that I take my baths that I am told by doctors are essential to my healing. So every day this week, he has taken Jeph to another room and I have sat in a muscle-relaxing, toxin-sucking bath. Riley is my service dog and she stays with me during baths in case I need her, but she is very quiet when she is working and it is easy to relax and to try to calm my nerves. I also have been relying on Riley's older sister skills. I have been letting Jeph and Riley outside and actually closing the door behind them and only glancing occasionally through the window to make sure they have not tunneled under the fence. Riley is taking pride in taking care of Jeph and teaching him how to play and investigate outside. She also has been using him as her own personal itch-reacher. When she cannot reach a spot, she indicates it and he bites into the spot until she licks his head. It's adorable and weird all at the same time. But I digress. Anyways, when she takes Jeph on an outdoor or indoor adventure, I get a few minutes to breathe and re-focus my mind. These "time out" moments are heavenly, and I hope to continue to find them.

Videos Of My Dogs!

Would you like to see my cute dogs doing cute things? Don't be silly, of course you would.

Here is my channel:
The Grand Adventures of Abby

Just have time for one cute video? Here is the latest:
Riley and Jeph have a Pillow Fight

And in case you really cannot watch a video at the moment (you're supposed to be working, aren't you?), here are a few pictures of my pups to get you by:

                                           Bae caught me sleeping. No, seriously. I was asleep.

                                  Rare photo of Jeph and Riley sleeping together on the couch.

                                           Not so rare photo of Jeph sleeping on the couch.

                     Seriously, why is he so tired? Is being adorable all the time really that hard?

Small Battles Won

This morning, Jeph and I had a little battle of who could be more stubborn. I wanted him to pee outside, and he wanted to play inside the house with his older fur sister. After an exceptionally long time of picking him up, turning him around, and setting him back on the grass, he finally took care of his business. He glared at me the whole time. Now he's asleep, the horror of realizing that his mummy can be more stubborn than he can having taken its toll.

Ms. Riley likes to pretend she can't hear me when she wants to play with Jeph. She has discovered that I am very quick and can catch her and scold her faster than she can say, "I was going to listen eventually."

Today, I enjoyed a morning free of bites. Jeph has stopped biting me altogether. I also have no new scratches. It seems my methods of yelping like a tiny puppy when he bites have been effective.

Jeph sits upon command now. I've only had the little fella for a week and a half and already he knows his name, "sit," and "come."

I feel accomplished. And my little baby boy still lets me scratch his tiny tummy to put him to sleep. And Ms. Riley still cuddles up to me every afternoon and demands I hold her like I did when we first met. I am loved by two dogs and my husband. I have won, and will return again to fight tomorrow.