So, I was in a mood.  Already.  And really trying to fight it.  Having been diagnosed with depression in my late teens/early 20s, this is something I knew I wanted to keep an eye on when I got pregnant and post-partum.  In no way do I think I'm getting depressed, but I'm just being careful and so this mood had to go.

And then Thursday happened.  But let's back up to Wednesday.

Wednesday I get a picture message from the hubby: Buster has puked up something bright lime green.  Neither of us can figure out what he ingested that is causing him to puke up this color, but he seems fine - his normal happy, puppy self, so we weren't not too worried.  (We finally figure out it was the stuffing from one of his dog beds.  Mmm, yummy.)

But then he puked more.  And again.  And just tiny bit more Thursday morning.  Great.  So lots of cleaning up there.

Work on Thursday was annoying as well, but in ways that aren't worth going into because they're only annoying to me.  In addition, I tried to get new remote entry key fobs for my car because mine wasn't working and the hubby misplaced his... yeah, but I couldn't because the transponder seems to be broken.  So tack that on to the necessary repairs for my car.  We're going to end up paying half of what a semester at Columbia costs.

So after work I head home, ready to quick change and grab Buster and head over to puppy class (agenda: leash walking!).  Instead, I come home to a hallway full of diarrhea.  (Sorry, but there's just no good way to lead into that.)  Now it was Oreo's turn to be sick.  So the hubby and I scramble to clean up and get to puppy class (only five minutes late).  Buster does a wonderful job of appearing only semi-incorrigible and we head home... to face more diarrhea.  We clean up, go out to dinner, make a quick trip to Target, and come home... to puke.  Now Oreo is puking.  Repeatedly.  And continues to gag and dry-heave and spit up white foam until around 11pm.  Every time the hubby cleaned up, she would puke somewhere else.

I Googled the hell out of "dog diarrhea puking white foam" and called the vet's emergency number.  They said it sounded like she got into something she shouldn't have and that we could bring her in if we wanted to.  We opted not to, so instead I sat and just watched her to make sure she was breathing and not seizing.

Eventually we went to bed but after an hour, Oreo woke us up to go out - so the hubby took her out.  After that, she seemed fine but we were beyond beat.

This morning both Oreo and Buster were happy, cheery, tail wagging, treat-eating puppers.  Buster was scampering around the kitchen with a rawhide and toy in his mouth (at once) while he also batted around a tennis ball.  (What can I say, he's a multi-tasking genius pupper.)  Oreo went out, had her morning treat, and happily retreated for her first nap of the morning.

It was like someone said, "Oh, are you worried about managing a baby?  Here, let's give you a little test run so you can see how you make it through."  Yeah, thanks, you can take your test run and shove it.

And Friday?  Well, Friday was going to be better, right?  And I suppose it was since I haven't cleaned up puke or diarrhea.  It's a pretty low bar for what makes a good day, but I guess it's something.  I suppose I'd rather deal with students asking inane questions and a chair that makes my ass go numb than clean up puke.

And if you want a bit more of what annoyed me this week, check out my latest at WeAreTheRealDeal: I'm Pregnant, I'm Fat - and I'm Okay. 

For now, I'm looking forward to Saturday.  It's sonogram time, time to pick up the framed pictures from our wedding, and time to get some work done around the apartment (baby prep!) - all very good things, all happy-making things.  So let's hang on to that.  And the Oscars are on Sunday; can't wait to see what everyone is wearing.  (It's honestly what I care about most about the awards these days since the awards themselves are mostly meaningless.)

So baby stuff, more baby stuff, and fashion stuff.  That will make for two good days as Thursday and Friday fade away...

This was our first weekend having Buster, our new Yorkie/Cairn puppy, home with us.  We're acclimating him to our home little by little for two key reasons:

1. He's a puppy and requires a lot of care right now - more than we can give him on some work days.  Some days we have a nice alternating schedule that means we don't see each other as much as we'd like, but we will be around for the puppy.  But for now my mom, who isn't working, can spend all day with him at her house.

2. Oreo.

See, Oreo is a princess - an eleven year old princess.  She rules her domain while accepting help from no minions.  She is not-so-at-large (about 13 lbs on average) but quite in charge.

Being eleven, Oreo does not like to play very often.  She'll play fetch and throw her rawhide around once in a while, but not at the rate and frequency of a terrier puppy.  And she doesn't like being bothered by other dogs.

Oreo and Buster met twice previously at my parents' house, then this Friday we brought Buster to our home for the whole weekend.  To give you an idea of how different Buster and Oreo's activity levels are, my parents' nickname for Buster is Zippy.  Oreo's is Old Lady.  So, yeah.

The basic issue is that Buster wants to play with Oreo . . . because he wants to play basically any time he's awake.  And if you don't play with him, he will keep bothering you - jumping up, nipping at you, and so on (stuff we are trying to train against, in case you were concerned).

Oreo is pretty patient so while he jumped up and down yapping at her, she just stared at him . . . until she had enough.  And then she barked back.  And that was when we became that house that has two barking dogs.  Oh hell no.  So I started working with Buster on not barking at Oreo.  Oreo already only barks when another dog is bothering her; she's well trained, so that's not a concern - but she will defend herself against the twerp jumping at her.

Other than that, though, Buster was very good considering he's only two months old.  We "puppy-proofed" the house as much as possible, but he still ended up being attracted to chewing on a few remaining wires and we are still working on the housebreaking.  He's VERY good at peeing on the paper (his foster mom did a great job paper training him) . . . uh, but he needs some work on where he makes his other deposits.  Once it's warmer out and we can walk him, that will help . . . but for now we're just keeping an eye on him, putting him on the paper, and cleaning up regularly.

So it's not Buster I'm worried about; it's Oreo.  She is an old lady, even though Shih Tzus can live ten to eighteen years, depending on health and size.  I would like Oreo's golden years to be happy ones - and I have no doubt she'll acclimate to Buster; it's just going to take a little while.

On Saturday, after a round of barking, she finally nipped him on the nose - at which point he yelped, backed up, and wandered off.  He then bothered her noticeably less on Sunday, which I'm hoping means she adequately asserted herself and he's learning his place.

Mom? Oreo sent me to my room.

Okay, actually, he goes in his crate by himself.  He actually likes it in there.

I'll just stay out of Oreo's way now . . . at least for a minute.