One thing about living in NYC – you really have to watch out for street scum.  And by street scum, I not only mean the gross fruit stand guys who hit on you and think giving you the occasional free orange will win your heart and then some (hypothetically); I mean quite literally the crap that is on the sidewalks of the city.  I have tirelessly worked to get Ella to stop sucking up discarded pretzels and hot dog buns – to no avail.  I have quickened my reflexes to a level I never thought possible, all so I can react like lightening when she starts licking the cracks in the sidewalk to uncover a dead baby mouse.  I have straddled her, my hands trying desperately to pry open her tight jaws so I can reach deep in her mouth to extract the chicken bone she snatched on the corner.  I have cursed loudly in frustration after she darts ahead and eats up something totally unidentifiable, struggling to even chew whatever it is – “Will you stop eating sh** off the street?!! Don’t come crying to me when you throw up!!!”

The most frustrating thing about the battle against street scum is that much of it could be prevented if humans would stop discarding food on the street and use this wonderful new invention called a trash can.  One day as Ella walked along casually with an empty bag of Lays potato chips she’d picked up on 77th street, a woman came up to me and said “That should be an ad for an anti-littering campaign”.  Amen, sister.

The worst culprits, though, are the restaurants.  Rather than discard the left over or unused/unbought vittles, they put the stuff out by the curb around the trees on the block.   Usually it’s bread – bagels, croissants, rolls – an Atkins dieter’s nightmare.  I can only think they do it to feed the pigeons – but – and I know PETA will slay me for this – pigeons are FILTHY creatures and while I’d never do anything to actively harm them (really I wouldn’t – I saw a girl try to kick a pigeon at the Bronx Zoo once and I had to be held back so I wouldn’t go over and kick her), I’m not exactly for providing them with regular meals each day so that they can thrive and procreate.  Anyway, point is, the pigeons won’t ever see that bread if Ella gets to it first.  And if I’m not one step ahead of Ella at all times, she WILL get that bread.

The most bizarre street scum I do believe I have ever seen – and I am a New Yorker who has seen it all and is rarely impressed by anything – was this sort of marinara street pie.  It’s not a pizza – there was no crust.  It was a stainless steel pan filled with marinara sauce.  That’s weird enough.  But the fact that someone made that and put it out by the tree?

Well I’m speechless.

You explain this because I can’t.

Oh sure, it’s all cone-headed fun and low-impact post-spay games until Ella gets a urinary tract infection.

Uggh. At least I’m hoping that’s all it is.

Momma had a meltdown at midnight last night as Ella, having just gotten up on the bed to go beddy-byes (that’s what we call it), lost it and peed ALL OVER the bed…soaked the silk comforter, the blanket, the sheets, the featherbed…fortunately my penchant for bedding layers saved the mattress from urinary destruction. I guess that’s something.

The night before, Ella put her front paws up on the bed and peed like a male dog all over the side of the bed and the bed skirt (What the hell does she have against this bed???). An hour later, she left another puddle by my desk.

It’s looking like Ella may need to wear diapers after all. (This sounded much more glamorous several days ago…can’t a girl make a few diaper jokes without getting punished for it?)

Anyway, aside from peeing in the shoebox, Ella’s other major symptom is her incessant and totally futile squatting on walks. Here’s what it looks like…

squat…

…keep squatting…

…lean to the side to try to work it out…

…give up and move on, only to repeat the process minutes later. It’s really a sad sight to see. UTIs are awful, we’ve all been there…I peer underneath her each time to see if there’s any action – the dribbles are the worst, and I find myself trying to pee for her (i have to be careful not to try too hard).

Anyway, Dr. Jackson prescribed her some antibiotics and didn’t seem too concerned at this point. She said it’s a common occurrence in puppies who’ve been spayed, so we’ll see how things go for the next few days…and in the meantime, I’m lining everything in my apartment with plastic…and starting my research on designer doggie depends, just in case (God forbid!).

My little Ella bell is home safe and sound now, and, as promised, here are some money shots of her new cone head.

When I went to pick her up at the vet’s office, I didn’t really know what to expect…on the one hand, I thought she might be a bit sedate considering she underwent surgery yesterday…on the other hand, I know my Ella and the word “sedate” doesn’t exactly fit her – ever.

Well, turns out surgery can’t hold Ella down. She came barreling through the swinging doors (cone first) separating the back of the office from the waiting room and immediately jumped on me. She then pulled my handbag off my shoulder and tried to bury her nose in it (looking for treats, no doubt) and yanked me all over every square inch of the lobby while the vet tech was giving me instructions for her recovery. Hey, at least I now I am certain they didn’t accidentally give Ella a lobotomy!

“Let’s play momma!”

“Rest my ass!”

The adrenaline was still flowing after we arrived home as she reacquainted herself with the abode, making sure I hadn’t made any drastic changes to things during her brief absence. It was quite a site – my shoebox wasn’t exactly built with enough room for a coneheaded pup to gracefully move about. After she’d bonked her head on enough walls, she finally settled down a bit to rest…

Sadly that hasn’t lasted long enough and now the restless beast has awakened and is calling, so I must go before she starts knocking over lamps. Horses make wearing blinders look so easy…

Quick update on Ella’s spaying today…

Dr. Jackson called around noon to let me know that Ella’s surgery went well and that she was “in recovery”. She then told me that I brought her in just in time because Ella was pretty close to being in heat! Sheesh, why are the kids these days in such a rush to grow up?!

Anyway, I told Dr. Jackson that I’m not surprised to hear that because Ella has been acting even more nuts than usual this week – very restless, mischievous, and overly excited around other dogs (a few sniffs and she’s spinning like a whirling dervish). I knew it was either a full moon or she was seriously hormonal.

“SHUT UP I AM NOT HORMONAL!!!!”

Anyway, hopefully she’ll be feeling a little less moody from now on (though I’m not holding my breath…like momma, like furdaughter…). The vet is keeping Ella overnight (standard procedure) but I get to pick her up in the morning.

I miss my little one, but tonight…momma has the shoebox all to herself! WOO HOO! And you know what that means…

uh, ahem…

I get to sweep the apartment without a pup biting at the broom and then elevate my legs because my knees and feet are killing me from running with Ella so much. Yes ladies and gentlemen, the life of a single New Yorker is indeed as glamorous as you imagine…

Stay tuned for cone pics of Ella tomorrow!

…not a toy left unthrown…and Ella’s unaware that tomorrow she’ll be laid up with stitches and wearing a cone… (ugghhh…worst “Night before Christmas” parody ever…i know…but please save your boos and for God’s sake don’t throw tomatoes – the last thing I need right now is Salmonella…)

Anyway, tomorrow is the big day. Ella is a little over 6 months old now, and, well, it’s just time to take care of this (*sigh*…it’s the right thing to do of course, but not exactly a happy occasion, is it?). Momma has enough trouble raising Ella all by herself, let alone a bastard litter of little Ellas and Ellis’s that are the product of a hump-by on the corner or something. Let’s face it – she’s the total package…beautiful, friendly, loving, great hair…sure, she’s a little head-strong but some males like that kind of thing (or so I hear…but increasingly I’m thinking that may be an urban legend). As it is, I have to dress her all incognito-like in a hat, sunglasses, and a muumuu just to get her down the street…can you imagine the kind of attention she would get walking the NYC streets while in heat?!

I did think for a moment about postponing the surgery just to get pics of her wearing a diaper – those images would make for some seriously funny blog posts, don’t you think? And I bet they make designer diapers too, so I’d undoubtedly have fun matching them to her collar and leash…but that’s not really a valid reason to put off spaying an animal…is it?

Kidding, of course.

Besides, I can always put her in a diaper and take pictures just for fun, even after she’s spayed. (Of course, that’s just weird and possibly pathological…so maybe we’ll just nix this whole idea…)

Anyway, like I said, this isn’t really feeling like a happy occasion at all. I grew up with dogs and they’ve all been spayed, but I never previously gave much thought to it – it was just something you did. Perhaps because Ella’s my very own furdaughter, I’m much more bothered by the idea of removing her ovaries. When Ella was about 4 months old, this guy stopped us on the street to gush over how beautiful she was and asked me if I was going to mate her. After we backed up a few steps, I told him “no” and that I’d get her spayed. Well, I thought he was going to crucify me right then and there, and he said, “You’ll take her joy away…don’t take her joy away”. Ok, yes, he was crazy; still, I felt guilty. And it does suck…but, as I said, I know it’s the right thing to do so we’re just going to get it over with and head back to the park soon and forget that the horrid event ever happened. (the epitome of healthy furparenting, eh?)

Anyway, to get my mind off of the impending surgery, I decided to take a sh**load of pictures of fertile Ella being adorable. Enjoy them!

And stay tuned for plenty of post-op pics of Ella wearing a cone (hopefully)…almost as good as the diaper pics would have been!