Canine protectors and #NotAllMen

There are a lot of incredible stories of dogs saving someone's life. This story about a dog saving a boy with Type 1 diabetes' by waking his mother when his blood sugar got too low reminded me I still have to share the stories of why I did dog training for Frankie.

Frankie fairly immediately decided I was his mama and he gave me his full allegiance. I was really sick with Lyme when I adopted him and I figured a dog would help the healing process and keep me moving on days when just getting out of bed would be a struggle. That part of the plan was true beyond what I could even have expected.

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU HAVE LYME. STOP NAPPING AND THROW THE TURTLE!!" - Frankie

What I didn't realize was the extent to which Frankie could sense how diseased I was. My guess is something similar to smelling glucose levels was going on expect instead of just smelling my blood sugar (which sometimes would dangerously plummet because of Lyme-- the doctor called it diabetes insipidus), I think he could also smell when my blood ammonia levels were dangerously high. 

On days like that we would still walk at least 2-3mi (not all at once and very slowly...), except instead of being mellow to make my life easier, Frankie was convinced every man near me was out to kill. There was a process to it...

... first Frankie would notice there was a man and that the man was moving...

... then he would decide it to be his duty to scare the man away...

...then when the man continued to walk/run/bike/skateboard past us...



It was a tough cycle to break Frankie out of especially because whenever it happened I was so fatigued I felt more like collapsing on the sidewalk then convincing the hyped-up guy to calm down.

One evening in August when I was really tired (and had not yet discovered the total emptiness of the Cherryvale trailhead), I took Frankie to Chattaqua. Walking along Aurora/30th was too crowded, I figured on a weekday around 8pm the trail would be totally empty.

We got there and it was. Since Frankie had more energy than my slow walking could quench, I let him off-leash figuring he could scamper around.

Frankie's general behavior at Chattaqua.

It was a good plan....at least, until we were ambushed!

Ok, it wasn't quite like that. But to Frankie it might as well've been. Some man had the gall to run past us from behind! No warning at all! And me smelling like a diseased bag of ammonia and death! 

Frankie knew what he had to do.

With fury, he started to chase the fiend down with a level of fearsome viciousness lying somewhere between these two gifs....

  

Of course, the man was a stereotypical entitled-Boulder rich white guy (for more info on this phenomenon, check here) and instead of taking two seconds to stop running enabling me to quickly grab Frankie, he just started screaming profanities at us while trying to run faster (uphill-- an important thing to be aware of because when running uphill FRANKIE WILL ALWAYS WIN. HE IS ONLY 10 POUNDS AND APPARENTLY DOESN'T NEED OXYGEN). Now Frankie's task was not only to protect me but to also win the game of running while loudly barking-- a game he thoroughly enjoys.


Somehow that man survived unscathed and I was able to get Frankie back on-leash.

Now I know whenever I feel like dying, Frankie will always have my back, even if I don't want him to.

"I got your back bitch!"- Frankie

In fact, if you have a dog, this song will never be true for you:

Your dog will always know.

The really disgusting post.

Dogs really like eating things.

Not quite like that though, although if Frankie could make PB&Js I bet he would.

No, dogs are more like this:

Poop is a favorite of Frankie's and winter is also apparently a favorite season of his because the geese surround our apartment and leave little treasures everywhere for him.

This is what humans see.

This is what Frankie sees.

Of course, goose poop is just one of many delicacies that Frankie enjoys.

This is the point where I have to warn you before continuing with this post-- things are about to get a lot more disgusting.

The faint hearted should not continue.

Frankie and I go running on trails every day. Most days the run is fine and uneventful. But sometimes, the combination of what I ate (being vegan you can sometimes accidentally eat too much fiber...) and Lyme meds causes intestinal turmoil and Mother Nature will suddenly give me a call I can't ignore. 

I'll dash off the trail and squat in a flash, but Frankie will be right on my tail trying to stick his nose directly under my ass. Shoving him away while squatting has undoubtedly strengthened my quads, but the real nastiness happens when I'm done and run back to the trail. Even if Frankie comes back to the trail with me it doesn't matter, the smell of the fresh, warm feces is too wonderful and he runs back to investigate...

"Fresh from the oven!" How Frankie perceives my shit.

Of course, Frankie is not limited to enjoying the feces of herbivores.

This may be another turn-around point.

Oh no, Frankie is also a big fan of the homo sapien menstrual cycle. 

I'm also a big fan of menstruating, just for different reasons than Frankie...

I use a trashcan with a lid specifically for female hygiene products and I try to close my roommate's bathroom door. Of course, Frankie is a clever little guy. One menstruating-day a few weeks ago, after a long day of work, when I came home I realized I had forgotten to close my bathroom door. Frankie had figured out how to press the button to open the trash can and he had unearthed all the treasure within. He even was considerate enough to chew most of it up into small pieces and spread it across my bedroom floor. Such a sweetheart.

Needless to say, I've become very diligent about keeping my bathroom door closed. Unfortunately, while I've become very focused on closing my bathroom door while menstruating I forgot to remind my roommate to do the same. So, while I was very focused on making sure Frankie couldn't get into my bathroom's treasure chest I forgot about her's.

Frankie didn't forget.

Earlier this week I came home to find her used pads and tampons chewed and scattered across the living room floor. I cleaned it up and closed her bathroom door thinking it was the end of it.

It wasn't.

You should be afraid for what's coming.

Yesterday evening I was walking Frankie and he stopped to poop. This normally is fairly quick process, he squats, shit comes out, I pick it and we move on. This time, he was squatting and really straining. He kept relocating in his squat position as if he thought a slightly different patch of grass would help it come out. I looked at his ass thinking maybe he ate some weird fibrous thing...

Hanging from his butt was the cord of a tampon marbled with shit. He kept straining and with effort soon the entire tampon-poop sausage was out. Yes. A full fucking tampon. Out of Frankie's tiny asshole. Yup. It really happened.

You made it. It hopefully won't get worse than this.

Dogs will be dogs.