Remus/Brian bonding...

Back to wolfhound stories. Remus broke the collar for his electrical fence, meaning, he no longer gets zapped when he leaves the yard. At first, he didn't notice, as long as we put the broken collar (taped together) on his neck, he stayed in the yard. All good things must come to an end, however, and Remus soon figured out he could wander wherever he pleased, and his wanders got increasingly farther from the house. We tried tying him on multiple occasions, but he chews through every rope we've tried. I keep him inside unless I'm walking him, but we needed some way of containing him so I could sleep during the day and he could still go to the restroom. In desperation, we found the chain Brian had originally purchased to secure the lawn mower. It is a THICK chain, but we're hoping to keep this desperate measure to a minimum.

SO, being a conscientious dog owner, I decided it would be a good idea to test out the chaining process while I was still around. We gathered the chain and Brian secured it to the deck. I knew we were in trouble when Remus, who was beyond hyper at having both of us outside with him, would jump around and approach the chain and Brian would flick it, sending Remus skittering backwards. When we finally hooked Remus to the chain, he looked bewildered at the extra weight dragging at his neck and more than a little apprehensive about this thing following him around. But then, Brian picked up a stick, and Remus, chain completely forgotten, launched himself at full gallop towards Brian. The rest was classic, the chain caught, he flipped around airborn and landed with a yelp of surprise. Brian was almost on the ground in hysterics laughing.

I was concerned for Remus, but he got up without any apparent injury, although definite fear of the slithering chain. I spent the next ten minutes walking him around at the edge of his chain so he got used to it (which is what I had intended to do from the start) while Brian continued to act out Remus's spectacular mid air sprawl and gasp for breath between laughs.

Brian made it up to Remus by playing a non stop game of fetch for the next ten minutes (Remus off the chain), although it was a little one sided. Brian would pick up a stick and throw it, Remus would run after it in mad gallop and run back with it in mad gallop, and Brian would already have a different stick launched and Remus would chase after that. Brian also threw a rock, and a pinecone, and pretty much anything else and Remus dutifully, tongue lolling, brought them all back.

Oy.

To whomever it concerns...which isn't many...

SO. I know this blog is supposed to be all about Remus, which it is, mostly, but I think I'm going to expand topics. A.) Because as cute and goofy as Remus is, I'd much rather be playing with him than writing about him and B.) Because other aspects of my life make more interesting and varied reflections, i.e., the fact that I run around on an ambulance all night. Also, on the more traumatic calls, writing about them helps me "deal".

Very tentatively then, I would like to include some Paramedic-ish-ness stuff on here. I will, of course, not use any names or locations or even dates on any call stories I reiterate, and I'll also try very hard to leave out any pt descriptors. Why do I feel compelled to write all this down? Well, because it's what I do and it seems shockingly misunderstood at times.

To begin. I live in a rural county. The EMS system is on a 24 hour shift basis, the Paramedics ride around in "Quick Response Vehicles" (QRVs) which are SUV's with lights and sirens, and meet the first responder EMT Basics on the ambulance on scene. In the rare case that the person actually needs a medic, the paramedic rides in the ambulance and one of the basics drive the QRV to the hospital. I rode clinicals out here and several times in a 12 hour shift I had no calls, or 1 call. A "busy day" in the county I live in, is 4 calls.

I WORK in  one of the busiest systems in the nation.  The city we serve is very densely populated and so are the surrounding areas still in the county. We work on 12 hour shifts, because it's too busy to work on 24. A light night shift is 4 calls, though I have had a night with only one call. It was bizarre. A  busy night is 8-12 calls. A light day I don't think ever happens, and a busy day can hit 11-14 calls depending on whether we're working interfacility transfers. Oh yeah, transfers. There is a seperate EMS system that is supposed to handle all interfacility transfers. If we had to handle all the emergency calls AND all the transfers, the entire system would bog down and we'd have Alpha calls waiting for hours for a response.

I work nights. Why? Because  the call volume is lower on BS (though we do get plenty of drunks), there are more psych calls (my favorites!) and most of the Gunshot wounds/stabbings/drunk driving accidents happen at night- at least in my limited experience. In the summer it's also cooler, which is a plus, though it sucks in the winter.

I suppose I should explain some abbreviations and "technical terms" that I'll use frequently.

Code Purple: When the hospital has literally run out of beds. Meaning, it's not just the ER that's full, the upstairs floors are all full as well which means people who are admitted through the ER are stuck in the ER until an upstairs bed is opened, which bogs down the ER. It is not uncommon for wait time in the ER to be over 6 hours and us to leave pt's on hospital beds in the hallway in front of the charge nurse with a paramedic crew doing holding.

Holding: When Code Purple goes into crisis and in order to free up medic units (i.e. Not have us stuck in the hospital for hours waiting to move our pt to a bed and transfer care to a nurse) we move our pt's to any available beds in the hallway and transfer care to a medic unit who then monitors vitals, etc., until a room and a nurse free up.... sometimes this seems highly ironic to me. If the hospital is full to bursting, why is it so important that we get "units back in the field!" as quickly as possible just to bring in more pts for whom we have no room?

Pt: Patient

SOB: not a very nasty person. It stands for Shortness of Breath.

MVC: Motor vehicle collision. (There is no such thing as an accident!...according to EMS charts that is...)

CAO x3: Conscious, alert, and oriented to person, place, and time. (I actually never use this abbreviation in my charts for legal issues, but this isn't charts)

Cold call: No lights and sirens
Hot call: Lights and sirens.

EKG: A type of monitoring of the elctrical activity in the heart. You know, like on all the medical shows. It indicats heart beats in spikey lines and has a really annoying beep. Technically it should be ECG but apparently that's harder to pronounce that way so people say K instead of C. Either that or it was originally designed by Germans. I'm not sure, someone else look it up.

12 lead: a much more indepth picture of the electrical activity in your heart. The standard EKG monitors in 3 leads, the 12 lead shows, well, 12- and views the inferior, septal, anterior, and lateral portions of the heart. This is where we can diagnose...anything that needs diagnosing. The EKG is pretty worthless on leads II, III, and aVF (take my word for it if you have no idea what I'm talking about) for any diagnostics except rhythm changes.

15 lead: move 3 electrodes around to view the R ventricle and posterior portions of the heart.

STEMI: ST segment elevation myocardial infarction....i.e. heart attack. I think I'll explain any other cardiac terms in context with the story.

Pads: refer to the cardiac pads, large sticky gel pads wired to the monitor. Used for defibrillation (I'm clear, you're clear, we're all clear? Shock!), pacing (like a pacemaker, just on the outside), and cardioversion (heart is in hysterics, we've got to "slap" aka "shock" it across the face. BUT it can't just be at any ol' time-otherwise we'd just defibrillate-because if it happens at a certain time in the heart's electrical conduction we could kill the pt. So the monitor "syncs" with the heart first, and THEN slaps it out of the hysterics,)

"Working a Code": means doing CPR and pushing appropriate drugs in a cardiac arrest. We don't always work codes. Yes, I have called time of death on scene.

I think that's enough for tonight. I've got plenty of stories back logged and I'm headed to work again tomorrow night so I should never run out of inspiration, (though I've got to figure out a way not to give out any pt indicators.) Plus, I will continue to include Remus stories. He's a part of what keeps me not just sane, but happy. Hopefully this way I won't bore people in every day conversations by constantly bringing up Remus OR EMS. If you get bored reading, you can always stop and I won't ever know :)

Pictures

 Good picture to show his size in relationship to furniture. Judging by his shaved leg he was around 8 months or so.

Aww. My mother-in-law buys him a new toy (or three) everytime we visit.

Now, Remember that post about Remus jumping in mud puddles? The following pictures are taken through a window so it's kinda hard to see.

Pathetic, isn't he?

His legs were solid muck. You can kinda see where the hole is that he was playing in; it's hidden by the stair railing, but you can see all the water surrounding it. It's a low spot in the front yard already, Remus just made it into a complete swamp.

He travels well :)

That's all I've got for now!

Raven Rock! Part II

I took Remus to Raven Rock! Again! And since it was a dreary miserable day, we had the entire park to ourselves when we first arrived. SO after making sure we were significantly down the path of choice, I let him off his leash. We also discovered that creeks, although maybe not friendly, don't bite when sniffed and can be crossed without injury even if paws get wet. I think the jury is still out on water as a whole being "non-dangerous/scary" but we've made a truce with creeks. Sort of.

Remus was tired out (it was a 2.5 mile hike) but awake enough to whine anxiously at the group of men and teenagers who had appeared at the end of the trail measuring trees of all things. That whine turned to an out and out snarl, a first for me to hear from Remus, when one of the men approached to say hello. Remus meant business, he stationed himself in front of me, head up and ears twitching and then lowered his head and snarled when the man came up to us. I jerked on his leash and told him to knock it off. Instant puppy remorse and confusion followed with a lot of heartfelt whining and cowering behind my legs. He then made friends with the man (far easier than he had with the creek I might add) and as I was loading him into the car, revelation hit. He wasn't afraid of the man-or at least, he hid his trepidation in his aggressive stance- he was afraid of my reaction. Not that I beat him, but that he wanted to please me and when his protective snarl got a quick rebuff he was confused and anxious. I made up for any hurt puppy feelings with cheese on his food when we got home, but I'm going to have to figure out how to channel my puppy's natural aversion to strange men and his insistence on protecting me. I don't mind, it just needs to be controlled.

Ah well. More posting later.

Raven Rock

I took Remus to Raven Rock today! Nothing really exciting happened, but I figured this being a blog mostly about him I should post about it. Oh, he is terrified of the river. It's going to be intersting introducing him to the ocean later this summer...

He's tuckered out now, just like I like him...asleep.

changing a flat...

A few days ago, one of those numerous talk radio shows was having a discussion with a lot of feigned shock and surprise over things people DON'T know how to do. The radio host started with a story of an middle aged lady confused by the gas pump because she had never had to pump her own gas, her husband did it for her and he was away on a trip. It quickly flowed into the ever popular theme of girls and cars. Girls who couldn't pump gas, couldn't check their oil, couldn't check their tire pressure, and of course who couldn't change a flat. I was a little piqued because I knew all the mechanics of changing a flat, and indeed had had two very recently, but I was always stumped on one little tiny part. Lugnuts. It doesn't matter how hard I jump up and down on the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts, I can't physically break the air gun tightened seal. Irritated, I changed the radio station.

Prophetic? Perhaps. Yesterday driving home from work, I had ANOTHER flat. This time my Rear Right tire, it was a puncture that cut through the tread and wire on the inside of the tire. FANtastic. Thankfully my partner for that night was driving behind me and she stopped to keep me company. I say keep me company because we got the jack in place, got the spare out, got the tire iron and both of us could not get the lugnut seal to break. We jumped and stomped and kicked and heaved, and the blasted things would not move. Finally, in the midst of me perched precariously with both feet on the tire iron and hopping up and down, a stranger walked our way and offered his assistance. He, too, had to resort to jumping on the tire iron with a jump kick kind of motion that still took multiple tries, but was eventually successful. He also weighed probably 60lbs more than me. After that, I can do the rest, but he of course followed through on the job and apart from putting two lugnuts back in place on the dummy tire, everything was done with very little hassle to me.

SO stupid radio station. It is not from ignorance or from being "sheltered" that turns me into a very annoyed damsel in distress, it is the simple matter that my 120lbs is not sufficient to break the seal on a lug nut that has been tightened with an air gun. I am very thankful for everyone who has thus had to help me change a tire; shout outs to my husband, one of the supervisors at work, and of course this random stranger. I would be even more thankful if I could just do it myself and avoid the embarrasement. Oh, and every single person who has had to help has also had to jump up and down on the tire iron, except Brian managed it with a back kick for a few of them. Stupid lug nuts.

husband....

Brian is currently passed out on the squishy chair in the "man cave" where I'm typing this. Earlier, while I was combing and trimming Remus he was passed out on the couch. All day today he's been drowsy, partially due to the Actifed he took to try and tame his sinuses and mostly because he drove me to VA beach yesterday morning, spent all day by himself in the car and then drove me back home. Almost 9 hours of driving and we didn't leave until the beach till1030 in the evening. He drove me because he was worried about me being tired while driving, because otherwise I would've been running on 6 hours of sleep in 48 hours.

3 cheers for my tuckered hubby :)

In other news, Remus's ears are trimmed and I am enjoying usingthe slicker brush and comb I bought to keep his coat tamed. It's work to keep him clean and brushed, but it's work I like. :)

Lions and Tigers and BEARS oh my!

"You have a BEAR in your car!" This was the very shocked exclamtaion which made the lady at the McDonalds drive-thru almost dump my tea through the window. She was staring off into the distance when I first pulled up, with the vacant expression found on most full time fast food workers, the cups for my small water (for Remus) and the large tea empty in front of her. She pulled her self together after a few seconds, pasted on a false smile, repeated my order "A large tea, small water and apple pie?" and moved the cups to the respective drink filling machine. She handed me the water, barely glancing at me, and then as she was handing down the tea she noticed Remus, panting so hard the entire Prius was shaking, watching her every move. Thus, the exclamation. Followed by her hailing one of her co-workers to see the size of my dog. With lots of "How old is he?!" "He's still a puppy?!" "ONLY 102 lbs...Only.." "WHAT is he?" and then the succinct "No one must bother you..." from the male coworker who had been hailed to view "the bear", I finally succeeded in securing my apple pie, politely declined the lady's offer to give Remus chicken nuggets, and pulled into a parking slot to let Remus sate his thirst out of the tiny water cup. I couldn't help but laugh. I'm so proud of my big fuzzball :)

We were at the drive thru because we just left PetsMart where Remus got a pedicure and I picked up some other necessary grooming items. A fellow PetsMartian told me that apparently Remus was bigger than his Dane. Really? Remus is tall, but he's such a lanky goofball it is VERY difficult for me to assess that he's big. He did stand on his back legs to give my face a thorough washing in the aisle. He gets nervous when people are around and apparently getting as close to me as possible is preferable. I let him have his fun, his paws are on my shoulders when he stands now. Apparently he's somewhat of a celeberity and since we don't go all that often it's like an Elvis spotting. We were greeted enthusiastically by the employees and the own groomer who had Remus for his puppy cut last time seemed to take secondary ownership, keeping Remus post nail trim laying at the groomers feet at the front desk while waiting for me to finish my purchases. The check out lady stated "We love your dog." To which I laughed and replied that he loved everybody here.

Remus is much happier for the outing. I took him on a walk yesterday and a shorter one today. Hopefully he'll be pronounced fully healed soon so I can take him to the dog park. I love the scruff faced doofus (sp?). I like peoples reactions to him, too, haha. :)

Puddle Puppy

I woke up to overcast skies and rain. We need it, we are still technically in a drought, but it makes me dreary anyway. I fidgeted, I wandered the house, I read a book cover to cover and then fidgeted some more. I hand tacked lace onto the baby blanket for Emma (still don't have my machine) just for something to do; technically it's completely unneccessary since I'll sew it into the blanket when I get my machine back, but it holds the lace in line better than pins so it might be kinda worth the effort. As I was putzing on the computer, actually, while writing the below post, I heard Remus give his "happy" bark.

 It's the bark he uses when he's playing or wants us to play with him. It's usually directed at his toys as if to encourage them to fight back when he paws at them. I got up and snuck to the window by the door to see all 100lbs of puppy head dive into a mud puddle.

These mud puddles are hand crafted by Remus himself as he continues to excavate our front lawn in search of ancient artifacts. Or gold. Or bugs. Or...more dirt. One of the largest holes, convieniently placed by the corner juncture of sidewalk with driveway, was the object of Remus's happy bark as he continually pawed and splashed his way through the muck. He'd rear up on his hind legs and literally face plant into the muddy water, then jump back and paw at it like he could get the water to behave. He bit at it, sniffed at it, jumped and twirled around it, and occasionally barked at it. At first I was horrified. I smacked the door with my open hand and his dripping face jerked up, ears perched on his head, and he launched himself in two quick bounds from puddle to porch. (bed confinement, HA!) I had no intention of letting the mud and rain soaked puppy inside, I just wanted him not to get any dirtier. He waited at the door for approximately 3 seconds, his head turning from door back to puddle back to door, a classic sign of reluctant indecision. He leaped off the porch and head dived back into the puddle. I repeated the door smack, he came back on the porch, then back to the puddle. I smacked the door every time he came close to the puddle. He tried another puddle, I smacked the door again. After the tenth time on the porch, he slowly padded down the ramp to the yard and settled himself forlornly on his haunches in the soggy grass. He laid down, oblivious to the rain, and watched our driveway with boredom. Poor puppy.

I finished writing, I got up and was antsy some more, took a shower, and then I heard a strangled sounding happy bark. Resigned, I watched from the window as Remus again face planted into the puddle. I couldn't help it, I started to laugh. He was having just too much darn fun, even if he was ruining my yard-and his chances of getting inside out of the rain.

I let him play for a few more minutes, I attempted to sneak out and get a picture but every time I tried to open the door he'd leap on to the porch wanting to come inside. So I attempted a recreation with Paint. It at least gives the idea, but I wish I could've got a few snapshots of him in action. Our yard looks like it's been shelled.

He was whining something fiercely on the porch (he doesn't like it when I'm inside and he's not) so I finally relented and let him in...on a leash...down the towel laid hallway to protect the carpet....and directly into the bath tub. He's now clean and relatively happy munching a toy in his crate. I walked him outside to pee on the leash, I wasn't letting him jump back into the puddle, and he's back inside, fluffy and un-muddy.