We need a bigger bed

It's been three and a half years and there's still a pit bull in my bed. But like any couple that's been together for awhile, we don't always see eye to eye on certain things, and that has nothing to do with Hathaway being only knee high. For instance, he thinks it's his bed. (He can get his own blog.)

More often than not these days, he takes up all the bed, or at least two-thirds, leaving me a little tiny sliver of space with not enough blanket to cover my bottom. It's winter in New England, it can get a little drafty.

I'm not really sure how he manages to nudge me out as much as he does. I get in bed first, and stake my claim close to the middle of the bed. He has his own pillow and part of the fleece blanket he so loves, but I have most of the bed. Once he finally moseys upstairs, he snuggles up in either the crook of my knees or in what would be my lap -- the yin to my yang and all that metaphysical stuff.

But during the course of the night, he manages to inch me further and further from the center toward the edge, and I wake up on the short end of everything. Have you ever tried to move 70 solid pounds of stubborn dead weight? You need a plan.

What has evolved is our own little midnight waltz that involves strategic timing and hip checks so I actually get some space, some covers and a pillow. If I squirm enough, he is roused from his beauty sleep and has to reposition himself. When he starts to move, I throw a hip check one way, perfectly timed with pulling the covers the other way. Voila! Back to center. Often, I end up with a pit bull on my hip, but it's a bony hip and not very comfortable for him, so he has to move.

He doesn't move far, just repositions himself in one of those niches where he feels safe. At least until he scoots up and stretches out. Most mornings I wake up to whiskers and a cold nose on the pillow next to me, attached to a warm pit bull contentedly snoring away.

Back where he should be

Do you 'ear what I 'ear?  Hathaway was resting comfortably after ear surgery and tooth removal yesterday. For a little while anyway. Let's just say he hates the Cone of Shame (picture to come) and can't get comfortable in it. I have to admit it was kind of funny watching him try to navigate down steps and through doorways, but after the stress and worry of the last couple of days, I think I'm allowed a chuckle.

Anyway, a fast-growing lump was removed from his left ear. We weren't sure how much tissue they'd have to remove and cropping the ear was a possibility. Fortunately, it didn't come to that and he still has two floppy Dumbo ears.We should have biopsy results next week.

12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 8

The pit bull is snoozing next to me all cozy on the fleece blanket, right where he should be.

Some days you are quickly reminded that your friends will be there when you need them. Late yesterday afternoon we helped search for Trudy, a hound dog being fostered by our friend Melissa from the dog park.

Being a hound, Trudy followed her nose and ran off after a scent. The scent led her along the shoreline at the dog park, which however, leads under a state highway to another park that's vastly larger. Trudy, who is available for adoption from the Quincy Animal Shelter, had been missing nearly 3 hours by the time we showed up at the park, and she could have been anywhere in the miles and miles along the river or through the woods between Hingham and Weymouth. And honestly, the idea of her being lost in the woods was not nearly as bad as the idea of her trying to cross the busy, busy road to get back to the dog park as it got dark.

Trudy is a really nice dog, but is wary, and not likely to come to someone she isn't too familiar with. And if she's scared, she'll bark at you, so catching her was going to be a challenge even if it wasn't getting cold and dark.

Dozens of people helped look for Trudy. The kids, Jim and our friend Kevin, along with the dogs, decided to look at the bigger park as darkness fell. We could hear a hound barking and more than than a dozen people helped move her through the woods to a spot where another group could catch her.

Trudy was safe, making for a heart-warming happy ending to the evening for both the dog and her foster mom, who works so hard to take care of her. The heart-lifting part of the story, though, is seeing how many people helped look for her without a thought and without being asked.

Given the size of the area Trudy was in, as well as its challenges -- the road, the weather, the water, the darkness, the coyotes -- it's hard to imagine the story could have had the same outcome without them.

12 Days of Hathaway - Day 7

No, I don't know where the time goes, but we'll get to 12 days one way or another. This was supposed to be posted for Christmas day. So merry, merry and all that.

I hope all our friends and followers had as nice a holiday as we did. Notice the juxtapositions in the picture between Nina/Hath and Josey/Josh. Yep, the looks on their faces pretty much sum it all up.

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 6

Just a picture tonight because I'm tired.

This is Hathaway and his kids sitting on the raft that's about 20 yards from shore at my Dad's house. Hath swims in the lake on the summer, but this was his first time at the raft and he walked on water, so to speak.

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 4

Yes, we're out of order, but we're no longer out of sorts.

The big boy started slowly, but was mostly back to normal by the end of the day. We'll still keep a close eye on him for another 12-24 hours in case it was something toxic, but so far, so good.

And you would have thought that regurgitation followed by nearly 24 hours of continuous sleep is the formula for awakening the superpowers within. When we went for our morning jaunt, both his nose and his hearing seemed sharper.

He was following scents like our bloodhound buddy Lucy and attentively listening like (fill in the blank). Is there a dog breed known for its hearing? Or a superhero for that matter? I think the bionic woman had a bionic ear.

Wait! There's actually a whole list of superheroes with super-hearing (thank you Google, the most powerful superhero of all). Superman tops the list on comicvine.com but I think God wins because He comes in at No. 6 and No. 12, and it IS the season and all that.

Anyway, Hathaway was listening this morning,not to me and my commands, but to what was going on around him. I think he was just happy to be up and out in his world after a day of misery. Call it his new leash on life.

The 12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 5

(We'll come back to Day 4.)

Hath has been sick all day today. He hasn't eaten since Saturday, and didn't finish his food then.
He went right to sleep on Josh's bed when we got home from the dog park this morning, and threw up the cookies he had snacked on. Mr. High Anxiety didn't know I had left the house, didn't come down when he was called by one of his favorite people and was shaking.

He finally curled up on the couch and slept there for nearly 8 hours. He sat up and gave kisses to the kids when they got home, and went outside for a brief walk. When we got inside though, he took a drink and was back on the couch and didn't even open an eye when I yelled "Fumble!" or "Touchdown!!"

In my well-dog book, just about every entry for which listlessness is a symptom is extremely serious and in more than 2 years, Hathaway has skipped maybe one meal. So far, we're up to 3. (FYI -- it also says you can give them Pepto-Bismol for tummy problems.) Josh, who had a similar day earlier in the week, said "Maybe he got my bug Mom." Maybe he did.

In some ways, it's harder than having a sick child because he can't tell me what's wrong. I can touch his various parts (paws, legs, shoulders, belly) to see if they're tender, but pit bulls can be rather stoic. At most, Hath will flinch slightly if something hurts. Fortunately, he didn't.

As the evening wore on, he started acting a little more like himself. He got up and stretched. Had some water. Wagged his tail for the kids and curled up with us for stories. I think he's on the mend, but I won't be sure until I see him eat something.

12 Days of Hathaway -- Day 3

OK, I'm cheating a little because I'm going to post twice today, but as long as I get to 12 by Christmas, nobody will know, right?

Our walk yesterday morning was a real turkey. Actually, its highlight was the neighborhood flock of turkeys (16 in all) that we happened upon during our walk.

Hath is usually off leash in the cemetery and I noticed the birds long before he did. But he's not impulsive, and was more interested in watching them than meeting them.

So there we were, watching 16 turkeys and 16 turkeys watching us. Some of them thought about making a getaway over a berm and down a hill, but a scout turkey flapped up into a tree to keep an eye on us and the turkey-in-chief led his platoon in the opposite direction, off into the middle of the cemetery. We walked past the group, the scout turkey in the tree to our right, covering their flank, and the rest heading off to our left. I think they had a vague idea we weren't a threat because we passed within just a few feet of them.

Once we were past the turkey in the tree joined his group. However, the road we were walking makes a loop, and when the flock realized we were passing them again, he flapped up into a different tree. It was fascinating to think that the turkey had an assignment, and it was rather comical to see what was probably a 15-20-pounder balancing on the skinniest, lowest branch of the scrawny sapling.

That road that led us past the turkeys also took us down a hill. Part way down, we heard Canada geese passing overhead and don't you know, Hathaway stopped and watched the geese as they headed southeast, flying in formation.

I don't know if he could link the idea that the geese were similar to the turkeys, but I do know he'd never stopped to watch them before walking through that flock.

Catching up

I was making my traditional holiday calendars for the grandparents the other night and came across a bunch of great photos ... of the dog. Not so many of the kids as they start to get older, but lots and lots of the dog.

My mom doesn't mind that one of her grandchildren rarely bathes, has a wet nose, is a quadruped and thinks the world is his bathroom. My step-mom, however, states emphatically over and over that "the dog is not one of my grandchildren!" Of course, this makes my sister and I even more emphatically insist that she is, simply for the pure entertainment value.

The irony is that the dog (mine or my sister's) is probably the best grandchild ever. He'll eat whatever you want to feed him without being picky or complaining. He doesn't want you to chase him around the house all day unless you want to. He's happy just to lay at your feet while you play Scrabble on Facebook or do "research" on the computer. He doesn't fight with his brothers or his friends or his cousins and he doesn't pout. He doesn't leave his stuff all over the house. You can read the books you're interested in and he doesn't hog the TV or the video games.

Of course, he prefers crunching Legos to building with them and he's kind of a sloppy eater. And he can't call to say hello or thank you or 'I got all A's on my report card." He can -- and does -- give just as many kisses and hugs and never gets tired of sitting in your lap.