Jenny's One-Man Band

The following is an extremely abbreviated list of things that Jenny has done for me since I broke my leg:

1. Help me walk
2. Take Chipson out to go potty (including during her bloody-diarrhea giardia episode that had her up every hour on the hour in the middle of the night for a few days)
3. Clean up after Chipson when she doesn't make it outside in time
4. Clean the house
5. Make breakfast, lunch, and dinner (I can't even make cereal without making a mess and working up a sweat from hopping around the kitchen)
6. Get me things to drink when I'm upstairs, downstairs, or on the couch
7. Carry everything for me (I can't even scratch my nose and walk at the same time because of my crutches)
8. Drive us everywhere (to the hospital, to Spokane, to the grocery store, everywhere)
9. Help me bathe
10. Help me pack my stuff for our recent trip to Spokane
11. Load everything into the car for our recent trip to Spokane
12. Do my laundry (although I have been able to at least fold my clothes)
13. Help me navigate rough terrain
14. Feed Chipson every morning and evening
15. Get the mail
16. Bring me my vicodin
17. Constantly ask, "What can I do for you?"
18. Organize little picnics and trips to the park so we can get out of the house
19. Play with Chipson since I lost my speed
20. Make the bed every morning
21. Buy birthday presents for family members
22. Take Chipson for walks
23. Rub my legs when they get sore (my left one because it carries the burden of my whole body, and my right one because it has to hold my up right foot off the ground all the time)
24. Work from home so she can attend to my every need
25. Hold me when I'm sad because I can't do stuff

The list goes on and on and on and on and on. Obviously, there is a lot to do when you need to take care of yourself, one puppy, and one immobilized husband. But with a superwoman like Jenny, you'd think it was just another day in the life. I love her lots.

Broken Leg Pictures

We saw the orthopedic surgeon on Monday, and my fibula indeed is broken, though not in the place anyone would have guessed. The doctor thinks that what happened is that my ankle got twisted, thus ripping up some ligaments (which is where the swelling and bruising is from), and putting strain on the bone to which they were attached (the fibula). This stress was enough to actually cause the bone to break about 3/4 of the way up, as indicated in the x-ray below.

I'm still in a lot of pain, but Jenny's taking great care of me and Chipson (who has bloody diarrhea from Giardia - yuck). She is truly a saint, and I would be much more of a vegetable without her. With her help, I've even been able to work from home for a few days now. I still have to utilize crutches for a month, and then be on a walking boot for a month thereafter. And then it's on to physical therapy to help me get my strength and flexibility back (not that I had any to begin with).

And now, drum roll please, here are the pictures of the inside and outside of my leg:

The Crate Escape

Remember how we said we were going to start crate training Chipson? That training method is apparently intended for dogs that are not possessed by other-worldly demons.

We feel that we've done a good job in getting her to consider the crate to be a good place. We give her treats when she goes in it on her own, let her have bones and chew toys in there, and give her plenty of praise when she's in it. However, the first few times we left her in the crate when we left the house, she would inexplicably escape like a little Houdini-dog, and would naturally go do what she does best - pee on the carpet. Short of her growing opposable thumbs temporarily to manipulate the latch, we will never know how she figured out how to open the gate.

Our next step in confining her was to use Jenny's bike lock to keep the crate closed. This worked great probably twice. Then we had to leave her there for five hours during my visit to the emergency room. This did not sit well with the devil dog.

Realizing that the doctors were going to win the waiting game, we decided a good idea would be to have Danny and Derek go over to the house to at least let her out to pee. We figured that she might be scared to have people besides me and Jenny in the house, but that with proper incentives (treats), that she would get over her fear and make new friends. Danny and Derek will testify that we were wrong. Despite ten minutes of attempted persuasion, Chipson would not leave the safety of her crate to feel the warm embrace of Derek and Danny. Instead, she barked and snapped ferociously until those invaders left her territory. Were it not for her lack of speech, I'm sure she had quite the story to tell us later about how she repelled their attack.

By the time we got home from the hospital, we had been away for over five hours. As Jenny started unlocking the door, we heard Chipson's characteristic anticipation-whimper coming from downstairs, which meant she had miraculously escaped once again from her Alcatraz on the second floor. At the scene of the Crate Escape, we found that she had chewed through one of the wooden bars to get out once Danny and Derek had left. This meant that, at 1am, Jenny not only had to help her hobbling husband up the stairs, but then had to return to the scene of the crime to clean up the disaster that Hurricane Chipson left behind.

We (by "we," I mean "Jenny," since husbands on Vicodin can't use tools) have since tried nailing the bar back into place, but the ingenuity of mere mortals is no match for Chipson's wizardry. Lesson learned - don't fence her in.

Oh Snap!

Since I started getting old, I have turned to soccer as a new favorite sport. It's a great workout, pretty low-impact for my now 26-year-old body, and a lot of fun. It's even better because it's something that I can do with Jenny in a co-rec league.

Much to my dismay, however, our league is littered with people who mistake the word "co-rec" for "World Cup Final - MMA Style." These are typically guys who didn't make it beyond high school soccer, and now are living out their dream/frustration by slamming goals in D-leagues against people who have little-to-no experience.

I'm no good at soccer footwork, especially against these guys, but my relative size at least allows me to hold my own and maintain positioning against a lot of them. I take great joy in heading away a ball that otherwise would have been headed into our goal by a shorter opponent. I also take great joy in letting said opponent know that, although he can run circles around me, he won't be pushing me around.

...which brings me to last Tuesday. We were nearing the end of a game that we were losing 1-0. As our team started pushing forward more and more to try and even the score, their team ended up having occasional odd-man scoring opportunities against us in the open field. On one play in particular, I was the lone defender against a guy that was running right up the middle looking for a cross from his teammate that was running along the sideline. At first, he was a few steps ahead, but my long legs quickly negated that advantage as I again positioned myself to be the first one to have a chance at any high ball. Maybe he didn't see me in front of him. Maybe it all happened too fast for him to slow down or change direction. Maybe I got between a competitive jerk and his goal:

At any rate, he ran right through me, and we fell together pretty hard. The initial impact was kind of like being tackled as part of a dog pile touchdown celebration - not so bad. Somewhere as our jumbled mess fell back down to earth, though, my right leg got caught between him and the field, and I heard a loud, bone-chilling "SNAP!" The immediate sharp pain was the worst I ever felt, and let me know in no uncertain terms that my leg was broken before the rest of me hit the ground. I yelled uncontrollably at the top of my lungs, and immediately regretted it as I heard Jenny's very concerned reaction. I wanted to tell her that I would live, but I couldn't help it, so I just kept screaming out in pain.

I was initially convinced that I had suffered the exact same injury in the exact same place that Steve Zakuani had a few months earlier for the Sounders:

As adrenaline and a state of shock set in, the pain subsided somewhat, thus allowing me to survey they damage as my teammates gathered around. It didn't take long to realize that my leg had not been snapped like a twig, but more like my ankle had been twisted like a rag. Friends started asking me if they should call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance to pick me up. At first, I didn't care...I was in so much pain, I just wanted the same treatment a horse gets when it breaks its leg.

After taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I thought it would be best to have Jenny drive me to the ER, as opposed to paying an ambulance $500 for the same ride. We probably arrived close to 9pm, and didn't get out until after midnight due to the waiting game that doctors like to play. You know: 1) Welcome to the hospital! Your leg looks like it was put on backwards, but we'll be with you in just a moment. 2) Please fill out this insurance form so that your insurance can pay for your injuries, as well as those of people who can't afford health insurance. Then we'll be right with you. 3) Thanks for waiting, now we'll check your vital signs. Ok, looks like your heart is still beating. That's fantastic. The doctor will be right with you. 4) Ok, let's take some x-rays because we don't really believe your leg is broken. The doctor is going to have a look at these images, and will be with you in just a moment. 5) Looks like your leg is likely broken. Here's half of a baby aspirin. As soon as the doctor is available, he will see you and give you something better for the pain, assuming you don't pass out first. 6) Ok, our doctor is not competent enough to analyze the x-rays fully, so we're going to have a radiologist have a look so that we can also charge your insurance a little bit more. Then the doctor will be right with you. 7) Yep, you weren't lying - your leg is definitely broken. Here's some Percocet. Night night. We'll just put you in a cast and you'll be on your way.....blah, blah, blah, you get the idea.

Anyway, I'm now waiting to see an orthopedic surgeon on Monday who will have a closer look (after a great deal of waiting in his office, I'm sure), and determine next steps, which may include surgery. In the last 48 hours, my appreciation for Jenny in my life has grown immensely. I would have been nothing more than a depressed vegetable if it weren't for her taking care of me and enabling me to do things I wouldn't be able to on my own. I was even able to put in a full day of work at home thanks to her help today. I hope to be able to serve her half as well someday when she needs me most.

PS: I may have exaggerated the other guy's intentions a bit for the story. I don't hold any grudge against him. Besides, I still stopped him from scoring. If that's not taking one for the team, then I don't know what is.

At 9-months old

A friend of mine (Mallory Grover) does this adorable thing on her blog where she talks about each kid and says at 9-months old, Tacey likes... and Tacey dislikes... etc. Since Chipson is the rotten apple of my eye, I thought I would do the same thing with a bit of elaboration.

At 9-months old, Chipson likes:
- Dead things (she would be an asset to Bones)
- Consuming wood (Morgan thinks it is for her fiber intake)
- Swallowing rubber toys (she has the most colorful poop in the land)
- Ripping the face off of toys (the first ten minutes of the life of any toy, is the last ten minutes it has a face)
- Touching both Morgan and I at the same time (if we are sleeping, this usually results in Morgan and I laying vertically on the edges of the bed, while Chipson is stretched as long as possible horizontally between us, touching...well...pushing us both.
- Whining (our dog is the most vocal dog you can imagine)
- Little Kids
- Butterscotch cookies (unfortunately for Morgan, they are his favorite too, and they surprisingly eat them at the same speed)
- Flowers (when we walk down a path of flowers, Chipson bites the head off of every flower, and leaves it on the path)
- Salad (she is a wannabe vegetarian)
- Digging

At 9-months old, Chipson does NOT like:
- Alone time (please let the torn up molding, door and drywall be testament to this fact)
- Confinement (she has figured out how to unlock the crate door, which has forced us to lock the door with my bike u-lock, and even that seems questionably secure)
-Shrimp (for an animal that eats every dead crab leg on the beach, this is an enigma)
- Any adult besides Morgan and I
- Big dogs, lots of dogs, and the dog park in general (it's hilarious, her affinity for whining, becomes clear)
- Jogging (on occasion I try to force Chipson to run with me, and she has learned the secret to making us stop. As we are jogging along briskly, she will suddenly lie down, completely halting the forward momentum, and bringing my shoulder to a near-breaking point)
- Staying on her bed through the whole night (every night we go to sleep and she is safely curled up at our feet; every morning we wake up with her stretched between us.)

Chipson's New Home

Despite repeated attempts and various methods, we have become convinced that Chipson cannot be house trained without a crate. We have been very diligent and consistent, I feel, but I think the fact that her daycare lets her go wherever she pleases has hindered her progress. She actually does a great job of holding her bladder and bowels in front of us, but if we're gone, she seems to know that we are helpless from stopping her poop-capedes.

We even tried turning the downstairs bathroom into her own special room while we were gone. I thought we did a great job getting her acclimated to it. It even seemed like she learned to like being in there. Well anyway, that didn't turn out too well:

Yeah, that's the molding torn from the wall by our bathroom door.

So, we have finally decided it is time to get her a legitimate doggy crate. After a couple days of searching on Craigslist, we found this bad boy:

She can sit, lie down, roll over, high five, shake, stay, leave it, come, go see mommy, go see daddy, drop it, etc. Slowly, but surely, I'm sure we can teach her to be comfortable in her crate. Any tips? Let us know in the comments!

Le Cordon Bleu

I abhor traffic - and yes I know, who doesn't. But I particularly LOATHE it when I am sitting in the middle of it watching a 13-minute commute translate into an hour commute over what feels to be three-hours' time.

This is my commute any time I leave the office between 5:30 and 6:00, otherwise known as the preferred time of departure of Waggener Edstrom employees. Thus, I find myself loathing traffic quite a lot.

Fortunately for me, Morgan is just too smart to ask the hackneyed question of "what's for dinner?" as I am banging my head against a steering wheel believing a gain of 5 feet to be a colossal win. In fact, he is so smart he usually calls when his tummy starts rumbling to offer up dinner options that HE can cook. The menu often looks like this:

- Frozen ravioli
- Canned ravioli
- Frozen tortellini
- Egg sandwich
- Frozen Asian entree that I keep in the freezer for just this purpose.

AND I LOVE IT. I expect nothing more, and I am grateful for his help. Which is why last night was just so flummoxing.

As I was mourning my fate of eternal limbo approaching the 520 bridge, I received the rumbly tumbly call.

M- "Hey babe, I'm thinking about dinner, and I thought maybe I could make some tortellini?"
J- "HUMBUG YOU SCROOGE OF A DRIVER!!! Some jerk just ruined my life and cut in line."
Silence
J- "Yea, sure, make whatever you want, thank you."
M- "Are you sure that sounds ok? Do you feel like tortellini?"
J- "Oh yea, although, now that you mention it, I really feel like Chicken Cordon Bleu. Hahaha, yea that's what I really want."
I explain to Morgan, who had never heard of this dish, that it is the hardest thing I could think of to make, and of course I was joking and of course tortellini is fine.

12 hours later when I returned home (ok minor exaggeration) I expected to find tortellini growing cold on the stove with canned pasta sauce bubbling in the microwave. Instead, Morgan was pounding his second chicken breast flat, the other neatly rolled up stuffed with ham and blue cheese and entrenched in bread crumbs.

He was making chicken cordon bleu.

Chipson 63, Morgan and Jenny 1

If you remember correctly, we have a running score on Chipson's clever attempts at our lives. Since our last post of 53:0 we attempted to even the score with one of my favorite pastimes...

Chocolate.

Apparently eating half a bag of dark chocolate chips is not so healthy for a dog. For that matter it warranted an emergency room visit and a hospital stay. So yes Chipson, the score is now 53:1

Unfortunately, the score didn't stay like that for long. Today, Morgan and I left the pup at home as we went to play our late-night soccer game. We always bet what sort of smelly surprises she left us, and what thing she might have destroyed, but never could we have guessed that this particular night Chipson was once again plotting to kill... or at least cause a big enough explosion that she would be free and able to come find us!

When we returned home the strong smell of gas greeted us and so did a peculiar sound of rapid ticking. Quick as he is, Morgan darted up the stairs to find the stove had been turned on and the pilot light was snapping away, flame lit, gas filling every crook in the house.

Well Chipson, good try, for that matter, I'll give you ten points, but seriously that could have been bad, real bad.

With the new score of 63:1 I'm not going to lie, I might start leaving out chocolate on purpose... but then again it is kind of fun having your pet be your arch nemesis.

Till next time Chipson Dipo, till next time.

Lessons learned at the paddle

It's a good thing Chipson learned to swim, because summer is FINALLY here and we are definitely a water-loving family.

To embrace one of the first warm days of the year (ok, so this post is about a month old) Morgan and I decided to take the pup out canoeing. We left the camera at home, rented canoes from UW tossed her in the middle and pushed off the explore the arboretum.

Naturally, we were nervous about Chipson being on the boat, and so we left EVERYTHING in the car having accepted the fact that there was a good chance we'd end up in the water. Sure enough, Chipson was going nuts on the boat, hopping from my lap to Morgan's feet and going from side to side trying to bite at each droplet of water. Needless to say our nerves were heightened and our cores feeling the strain of the balancing act.

We paddled into the calm waters of the arboretum, caught a few turtles and basked in the sunshine. After a few hours Chipson's interest in the water had tripled and her frantic jumping encouraged me put her on my lap and hold tight so she wouldn't tip the boat. Her ears went back into submission, her heartbeat subsided, and I thought we were in the clear.

I was wrong.

In the blink of an eye, the weight was gone from my lap and Chipson was engulfed by water. As her head surfaced panic set in as she desperately clawed for the boat and I began pulling my jacket off ready to dive in after her (which looking back, would have been the absolute worst thing I could have done)...

Chipson obviously gave up on me in my stupor and her desperate eyes turned to Morgan who pulled her back on the boat as if he was plucking a leaf from the lake. He really is amazing.

She sat in the canoe shivering uncontrollably as we paddled our way back to land. When we pulled up on the beach Chipson leapt into the sand and as a sailor kisses the ground after returning from months at sea, Chipson peed instantly for a whole minute. We walked five steps and she let loose again. Without exaggeration in less than 7 minutes Chipson peed over 15 times. Morgan and I were doubled over in laughter and if our tummies weren't hurting before they sure were now.

Fortunately the remainder of our paddle was full of ease now that Chipson had learned her lesson. I'd like to think that she does learn lessons, but now that I think about it, outside of what time we give her food, and a couple of circus tricks, I am not sure that she has ever learned anything. On the contrary, she has Morgan and I wrapped around her little paw and we are learning every trick she teaches us.

Lucky dog.

Chipson Learns to Swim

An ongoing frustration with Chipson has been her fear of swimming. Many times we have taken her to a beach where we throw ball after ball into the water just to see her get up to her chest, at which point she gets scared and runs back into our arms.

However, today at Magnuson Park we came prepared with shorts and sandals to help coax her. We started with me wading out to my knees and just calling to her. She was visibly upset that I was risking my life in such a way, but she still wouldn't venture beyond her elbows. That's when I called in the professional - Jenny. She also brought along a stick that Chipson had shown some interest in.

The insanity of her parents' decision making was now taking a toll on Chipson. Plus, that delicious stick was tempting her from only a few yards away. Not wanting to spend any more time alone, Chipson began to venture out. First to her paws, then to her elbows and chest. But that darn stick was still just out of her nose's reach. And her parents just seemed so confident she could get it! Crazy, right?

Suddenly, a small wave pushed the stick tantalizingly closer as we egged her on. This was Chipson's window of opportunity - now or never. Mustering all of the puppy courage she had in her, she made one final, desperate lunge for the stick. But alas, the lunge was poorly timed, a little too ambitious, and ended up just pushing the stick out further. Plus, Chipson now found herself in deep water and it was time to sink or swim. And swim she did! She missed the stick and began swimming to deeper water thinking she had pushed it even further. Now her dad had to make a decision....was it time for him to get wet and rescue her? Nope, a little whistle got her going back in the right direction towards shore where she was rewarded profusely with love.

We're such proud parents!

PS> We would have taught her much earlier, but the weather lately has really stunk.