The McNab Pages

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Household Harmony: McNabs, Cats and Papillon

Molly McNab at Six Months
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

It has been nearly a week since Mattie-Kate the Papillon joined us. That week has required constant vigilance -- not just for signs of imminent bodily functions, but for Mattie's protection from the hazards that constantly face little quarter-pound fluff balls. Here, those hazards include being tumbled over by an exuberant McNab puppy (Molly) or being eviscerated by a very sensitive ginger cat (Froggy). For days, Froggy growled, bared her teeth and hissed at Mattie-Kate, letting out that plaintive low "yowww" in warning. When I crated Mattie-Kate and prepared to leave the house for the first time without her this week, Froggy did little to reassure me by perching atop the crate, peering over the side, and growling at the puppy.

Froggy Isabella the Ginger Cat
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

Something clicked yesterday, though. Froggy joined me in the bathroom -- yes, the bathroom -- and emended the usual both-hands-required petting she likes. Suddenly, and surprisingly, she stretched herself up towards my face and reached out to gently pat my cheek with one paw. Three times she did this. Now, I know humans are humans and cats are cats -- but her message was clear: Froggy was reassuring me that she was trying to be a good cat.

I'll understand if you think I'm crazy for anthropomorphizing this way. Still, Froggy's behavior has been markedly different since then. She has abruptly quit hissing at the puppy. She has stopped the "stalking" behavior she demonstrated for five full days. Mattie-Kate has bumped into Froggy accidentally in the hallway -- literally bumped into her, muzzle broadside into Froggy -- and Froggy walked away without swatting her or acting overly miffed. Mattie has approached Froggy several times and Froggy has not hissed. This morning, Mattie had the audacity to chase both Froggy and Willie -- and they both ran, good-naturedly. At the moment, Froggy lies beside me on a chair, dreaming happy cat dreams, whiskers and paws twitching - and Mattie lies beneath my chair, dreaming her own dreams.

Earl the McNab has lightened up, as well. He pouted, nearly despondent, the first few days after Mattie arrived. Now, he is grinning his happy grin again. Yesterday, I trusted him with guarding the puppy on the front patio as I fed the chickens. He lay a few feet from her, watching her, quite serious. Mattie was in good paws.

As for Molly the McNab, she continues to adore that puppy. Mattie quickly became Molly's sidekick. They wrestle several times throughout the day. They share the same dinner bowl, despite my efforts to separate them. Molly goes with me when I take Mattie out to relieve herself throughout the night. Mattie climbs all over Molly, growling that priceless, fierce puppy growl, and Molly turns to look at me, grinning exuberantly, proud of "her" puppy.

As for Shotgun Willie, our laid-back Big Mr. Sexy of a grey tabby? Mattie chases him, gnawing on his legs, and he minds not at all. His life is probably easier thanks to her presence: Molly wrestles with Mattie now rather than tackling Willie and pinning him down. Willie and Mattie shared the cat tree this morning, Willie reclined on the lower platform while Mattie lay beneath him.

Shotgun Willie (top) and Mattie-Kate
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

The difference, now, is that they all trust each other. Mattie-Kate came to us an innocent, trusting of all. Earl had to learn to trust that she would not steal the attention and affections of Russ and myself. Molly, still a trusting puppy herself, had to trust that she could play with the new arrival without being scolded (as I do when she chases the cats, teases Froggy and tackles William). Willie is a confident cat and quickly trusted that Mattie-Kate was a pal -- he was merely cautious at first. Froggy was toughest: she had to learn to trust that she could continue her normal, happy life. Froggy loves her routine and Mattie disrupted it. Now she has learned to co-exist.

Strangely, Froggy even lightened up more toward Molly this week. Yesterday, Froggy took refuge in the shower. Molly joined her and they touched noses affectionately, sitting next to each other on the cool tile. Soon, I expect Mattie will be curled up beside Froggy in a warm spot in the sun.

We're back to normal, now -- as normal as a house full of active young animals can be. All are getting along; any tension has dissolved. All are happy. All is well.

Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller * All rights reserved * No part of this content may be used, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author * Links to this page, however, are encouraged and may be freely shared * Thank you for linking, liking, +1'ing, forwarding, tweeting, sharing or otherwise helping grow my readership * Most of all, thank you for visiting!

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

The Incredible, Instinctive Nurturing Nature of the McNab

Molly McNab and Mattie-Kate Papillon
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

When I decided we'd add a puppy to our furred family, I was apprehensive. I've had Papillons (or a Papillon-Chihuahua cross) for nearly 20 years, and I've always had large dogs at the same time; yet this time, I worried. Our young McNab, Molly, had just turned six months old -- and what a bundle of happy, energetic, persistent puppy-ness she is. Whereas Earl the McNab is more sensitive and retreating, Molly is spunky and unsinkable. She'll tease and cajole, be it her humans, her horses or her cats. She herds the cats and the horses and she "rounds up" her favorite things. I was concerned she'd be too energetic and careless around a puppy as small as a Papillon and that she'd trample the new pup beneath her feet like the tiny butterfly Mattie-Kate is.

Too, I worried about my relationship with Molly. We're close. I work from home and I'm here with my critters close to constantly. Molly is ever at my side; as I type, she's sleeping behind my chair. At night, when I'm in the tub, she's either on the bath mat or sleeping at the doorway. She's at my side when I do the livestock chores and she's my companion when I'm having an afternoon nap. Perhaps a hundred times a day she gives me those ecstatic, loving kisses she delights in -- her paws on my lap, maybe on my shoulders if I'm kneeling to greet her, covering me in affection. I love that darned dog and I didn't want anything to change our mutual adoration.

Finally, I was concerned that the strong personality of a Papillon -- and make no mistake, they have huge and courageous personalities for small dogs -- would clash with Molly's big personality. Molly's resilient, physically and mentally tough, and perhaps a tad bit domineering. She bowls Earl over physically and emotionally. She bowls me over with her joie d'vivre and her happy-go-lucky nature. Sometimes she'll get snarly when Earl or Froggy the cat approaches her dish. I wondered how she'd accept a tiny, vulnerable pup. Would she snap at her when the puppy tried to play with her toys? Would she growl when she approached Molly's dish?

And then we brought Mattie-Kate home after nine long days of waiting with alternating excitement and apprehension. Molly greeted the fluff ball with cautious curiosity, perhaps a bit abashed. Then, something wonderful happened: Molly, just a puppy herself, took Mattie under her wing. She began gently playing with her, wrestling carefully on the bed just as Earl had wrestled with Molly four months ago. Just as Earl had done, she brought her favorite toys to Mattie and gently bumped them against Mattie's nose. As Mattie gave her what-for, leaping at Molly and snapping playfully at her cheeks and muzzle, Molly became more comfortable playing with her. Soon she was pinning her down with one paw, grinning from ear to ear, and licking her. When Mattie began to grab Molly's tail -- hard -- with her little barracuda teeth, Molly looked alarmed -- for about two seconds. Now she just wags and turns circles.

Molly not only didn't snarl when Mattie joined her at feeding time, but she lets Mattie eat out of the same dish at the same time. Mattie, of course, prefers doing that to eating out of her Mattie-sized "princess" dish, even though the food is the same.

What's most amazing, though, is how protective our young Mollster has become of her little pal. She keeps her in constant sight when we're in the backyard, often touching her with her nose. When Mattie is sleeping, Molly quietly and tenderly touches her muzzle with her own nose, smelling that puppy breath. When Froggy the petulant ginger-cat approaches (and Froggy still has not accepted Mattie), Molly steps between them and chases Froggy away. Crate-training has not been easy with Mattie -- and when she shrieks that special Papillon banshee-shreik, Molly consoles her through the openings in the crate.

It is rare we raise our voices to our dogs. McNabs are sensitive and don't require scolding; a simple "no" in a conversational tone can be devastating to them. Now that I'm teaching Mattie, I can barely utter a quiet, "No, Mattie" without having Molly bolt between us and lick my face, wiggling in protective concern. Russ calls her our "police dog" because she intervenes in any conflict, real or perceived, trying to protect her little Pap sister. Mattie isn't just Moll's playmate; she's more like Molly's own puppy.

It's as if my puppy Molly grew up overnight. Suddenly she's more serious, more focused. I didn't expect that, even from a dog from such good working stock. Neither did I expect this dynamic: Earl is depressed, feeling left out. Just a few days ago, HE was Molly's mentor and protector. Nightly, they played tug of war and wrestled before snuggling bed with us. Now, Molly is turning to Mattie for her playtime. The paw is on the other foot. Earl's not happy about it.

We're spending more time engaging Earl (and Froggy the cat) until the household normalizes. Meanwhile, Molly happily shares her boundless affection with the new arrival. I've marveled many times at how protective our Mcnabs are: how, when we walk, Earl waits for the person or dog in the rear to catch up and will wait behind if they stop. Now I marvel again, watching this solid, bounding Molly puppy babysit the tiny handful of a Papillon. Not only do I no longer worry about Molly behaving aggressively towards the feisty fur ball, but I know that when Molly is on the job, no one else is going to hurt little Mattie.

And is that any wonder, after all? These dogs were bred for generations to work livestock and, to some degree, to "train" and nurture the rookie cattle dogs beside them. Bred selectively for rounding up wilder cattle on rugged land, they carefully ensure they've located and brought in the cattle hiding in thickets of brush well away from the herd. It shouldn't surprise me that the same traits are reflected in their relationships with their humans and canine counterparts. When Earl waits for me when we're walking the fence line, it's this innate trait that emerges -- leave no one behind.

Amazing dogs, these McNabs. How blessed we are to have them in our lives.

Copyright © 2014 * All rights reserved * No part of this article may be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author * Links to this page, however, are encouraged and may be freely shared * Thank you for linking, liking, loving, sharing, forwarding, +1'ing and tweeting and otherwise helping grow my readership -- and most of all, thank you for stopping by.

Monday, September 15, 2014

Introducing Mattie-Kate, Our New Family Member

Mattie-Kate
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

In November we said goodbye to our little human in a fur coat, K8 the Gr8. Katie was a Papillon, a warrior princess in sable-and-white. For thirteen years she told us all what to do -- and we happily did it. K8 developed lung cancer, glaucoma and breast cancer, and thus -- when the time came -- we said another hard goodbye.

I swore to myself I'd never get another small dog. I've always kept three (sometimes four) dogs at a time -- one small one among the big dogs. It has been the perfect combination. But here, in the desert, the little ones are so vulnerable -- needing extra protection from the wild things that grace us with their presence. Like our kitties, they need extra care and vigilance. From hawks to rattlesnakes, coyotes to great horned owls, the little ones are easily snatched up. We can't let them go out unattended, even in the fenced part of the yard; we can't take them on trail rides or let them off-lead on hikes in the Tonto.

But K8 left a huge chasm in my heart. We have been so happy with our Earl and Molly. McNabs are our perfect dogs. Yet small dogs are different entities than their larger counterparts -- almost, in my mind, a different species altogether. Maybe it IS their vulnerability that endears them to us so closely, our human need to protect and nurture a creature so easily harmed. Maybe having that little pipsqueak around -- with the special needs a small dog has -- answers to that better part of ourselves, the part that wants to tend and protect.

Still, I didn't give in. I missed K8 every day -- her intelligence, her way of vocalizing very clearly what she wanted, needed and demanded. I missed her sense of humor and her feistiness and the way her pantaloons swished side to side when she trotted. I missed her in every way. I avoided thinking about her. The card the veterinary hospital kindly sent me when she died remains unopened, next to her boxed ashes. I can't speak of her without crying. I avoided doing so and I pushed her from my thoughts to keep that familiar lump from rising in my throat.

A few weeks ago, a severe storm with record-breaking rainfall struck. It washed away much of our newly-graveled driveway, eroded channels into our footpaths, carried away sand and dirt and a great deal of stock fence. We ordered new gravel last week. As he was leaving for work, Russ greeted the driver until I was able to make my way through the tangle of furry creatures blocking my way to the door. By the time I got shoes on and made it outside, a fluff of tan and white was waiting on the front porch. I burst out with, "A Papillon!" to no one in particular as I knelt to greet the little dog. I turned to the driver, Knate, and said, "I miss my Papillon so much," with tears in my eyes. He grinned and said, "We've got puppies!" just as my partner-in-crime, Russ, called out, "They've got puppies!" I looked at him mournfully and he said, "I'll buy a puppy."

And so it came to be that Mattie-Kate joined us. She is tiny and fluffy as a milkweed puff-ball. We wrestled with a name: Hannah, Cleo, Lucy, Mattie. After bringing her home, we decided on "Mattie" after Mattie Ross, the feisty girl from True Grit. Within hours, she began showing her K8 the Gr8 tendencies: lying on her back and pulling your hand toward her belly where she wanted to be scratched; burrowing into the blankets and pillows while making joyful Papillon noises; giving orders. Russ said, "Her name is Mattie-Kate."

Mattie-Kate's First Night with Us, Carefully Tended by Willie the Cat and Molly McNab
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller

Earl quickly welcomed Mattie-Kate, while Molly greeted her apprehensively, ears and tail low. Shotgun Willie the cat immediately gave her a warm and happy nose bump. Only Froggy Isabella, our sensitive and complicated ginger cat, is unhappy. She shoots Mattie-Kate the stink-eye from across the room and growls and hisses at her whenever near. On the first night, as Mattie slept beside me on my pillow, I awakened to Froggy hovering over us and growling at the puppy. I hissed at her and she briefly vanished, only to waken me again a bit later with a growl. Dozey, I didn't open my eyes until Mattie screamed in terror -- Froggy had apparently swatted Mattie's head before skulking off in a dark mood.

It has now been three days. Froggy has yet to accept Mattie, but the rest of the household adores her. Earl is now shy but gentle around her, as he once was with the kittens. Molly? Molly has adopted her as sister, friend and playmate. Mattie-Kate is already showing signs of ruling with the regal iron paw that K8 had. What Mattie wants, Mattie gets -- just as K8 did. She sleeps snuggled in among the pillows, sometimes on top of my head, sometimes stretched out paws-behind-her in swimmer fashion, nestled beside Molly. Mattie keeps up well when we walk to the barn or feed the chickens -- and she and Molly play constantly. Throughout the day she is at my feet, sometimes growling and attacking my shoe, other times snuggled beside them and sleeping soundly at perfect peace.

So we are now a full house with three dogs and two cats, all of them wild cards. It's rambunctious and yippy and funny and busy. We sleep among two McNabs and a little fur ball like pieces of a strangely-textured jigsaw puzzle. We wend our way through the house surrounded by happy, energetic creatures. We've returned to normal, again. All is well. All is as it should be.

Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller * All rights reserved * No part of this article may be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author * Links to this page, however, may be freely shared * Thank you for linking, liking, +1'ing, sharing, forwarding, tweeting or otherwise helping grow my readership * Most of all, thank you for reading! Don't forget to sign up for email updates!

Next Up: The Nurturing Nature of McNabs!

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Molly McNab at Six Months

Oh, fair reader, I know you've missed our Molly McNab updates. Forgive me, for I've been preoccupied playing with a very rambunctious, smart, and oh-so-sweet six-month-old bundle of happiness. We call her "Jolly Molly" for the sheer joy that radiates from her sleek black-and-white self. Whatever she is doing, even when she's being scolded, she is exuberant.

I hate to say it, but I enjoy her naughtiness try as much as her occasional good behavior. She's so … happy. She barks at the horses and tries to herd them with every happy ounce of her being. She gets too warm in the Arizona sun and she throws herself down into the muddiest, coolest place she can find. When I scold her -- and there are times -- she grins, ears down, and wiggles to me in the happiest act of contrition she can manage. She loves it, I think, when I tell her "bad dog." That's when she's at her wiggliest. She works her way into my arms and licks my face with special enthusiasm. She's my bad, bad, good, sweet dog.

And how is she naughty? Let me count the ways. She loves to attack William the cat. Lovingly and playfully, of course, but unaware of the fact she outweighs him by 30+ pounds. She wrestles with him and gnaws on his neck until his beautiful, rabbit-like coat is pasted together with puppy-slobber. She harasses Froggy relentlessly; sensitive, temperamental red-headed ginger-cat Froggy. Froggy takes the high ground and bats at Molly's grinning face. They've come to quite the understanding, those two.

She acts out as when I leave without her. She empties the few wastebaskets that don't have hinged lids and she shreds the dried out teabags I've invariably left in the office trash. She drags dirty clothes out of the hamper in the closet and stores them in a proud collection of her favorite things, kept on a leather cushion in the living room. There, we retrieve our shoes, shorts, the cat's collar -- whatever we can't find in its proper place. She doesn't (with a notable exception) chew them up; she collects.

The exception? Last week I had just opened a new tube of Burt's Bees chocolate-blueberry lip balm. (It's even more wonderful than it sounds.) I stuck it in the pocket of my work shorts and, when I dressed to go out, tossed shorts in the hamper. When I got home, I could smell it: chocolate-blueberry wafting through the bedroom. Molly had chewed "through" the pocket and crushed the lip balm without ever ripping the shorts. Could I blame her? Chocolate-blueberry! Who could resist?

She licks my face like I've smeared a liver masque on myself. She loves to give almost frenzied kisses. I laugh or say, "No, enough!" which only accelerates the speed-of-lick. I don't care about dog germs. I love it when my dogs lick my face. Maybe in my next 50 years it'll kill me. What a way to go!

She's relatively vocal. Unlike our McNab Earl, Molly is a yipper-snapper. She barks in excitement as we go out to do chores. She barks when she herds the horses. She makes countless varieties of noises as she and Earl play tug-of-war with the tiger-ring toy. She barks when someone drives up the drive -- that's a good thing, by the way.

She puts her paws on the edge of the kitchen island and watches us as we cook, eat, or work on the iPad. I have never had a puppy so heathen. Yet it's because she's such a joy, we have willingly abandoned nearly all rules. We love that our dogs are dogs and our cats are cats (when the dogs and cats aren't being human and when the cats aren't being dogs). We let them get away with things and we watch them in the act and look at each other, my husband and I, and we laugh.

And in the ways it matters, she's perfect. She won't leave the property. She comes when we call her. She loves the cats and she loves her older brother Earl. She is reliably good-natured. She won't chase the cottontails or bark at the chickens. She's physically tough, has endless energy, and her antics amuse us more than "formal" entertainment ever could. She's a wildly histrionic actress; when we tell her, "Bang! Bang!" or make a finger-gun gesture at her, she throws herself over like a character actor in a B-grade western, lies still for a minute and then pops her head up at us to make sure we were watching.

Most of all, her happiness is as contagious as Ebola. She brings such enthusiasm to all she does. Who can help but get caught up in her games of keep-away and tag? Who can't laugh to see her barking at the horses, her nose inches from theirs?

There was a time when I thought dogs should be trained to the point they were not disruptive. Now, I love having my dogs disrupt my life. It's rewarding to see them express themselves as dogs, not as sterile, submissive furry robots.

Go ahead, Molly, steal my shoe. Do be gentle with the kitties, though. We love them, too.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Doctor Molly, Coach Willie -- My Therapy Team

This morning that I realized that really, the term "therapy dog" is redundant. What dog-lover among us can say that our dogs aren't therapeutic by nature? The thought came to mind as I attempted to do my morning regimen of physical therapy for my bad wing -- a rotator cuff injury that resulted in adhesive capsulitis, more commonly known as "frozen shoulder."

As I lay flat on my back on my exercise mat, Molly wiggled onto my chest and covered me with kisses. (Yes, I do let my dogs lick my face. So sue me. ) This is her own daily regimen, as coach and cheerleader for my rehab program: turn the discomfort into laughter, the groans into giggles. Molly has already developed a keen sense of my own emotions and can shut off her rambunctiousness in seconds when she senses I need a few minutes of snuggling.

She has help, though. Within a couple of minutes of Molly's participation, Shotgun Willie the tabby cat gets involved. They team up. As Molly stretches out on my chest, legs extended behind her and front paws on either side of my neck, Willie crawls beneath my bent knees. There, he plays with the frayed edge of my shorts, or nips the back of my thigh, before relaxing and lying there happily, front paws curled up beneath him.

The very accessories necessary for my exercises are of great interest to my furry cheerleaders. Some of the stretches require the use of a wooden dowel -- a dowel that now has tiny teeth marks on the end. Prior to stretching, I warm up using an arm-bike device. Molly is fascinated and barks at the machine as I pedal it with my hands. Willie, ever-unflappable and at home in the world, lies so close to the pedals that they bump his whiskers when it's in motion. Trusting cat, that one. Watching carefully as I pedal is actually a great distraction for me as I contend with the monotony.

Eventually, despite their help, I finish my floor exercises. As I stand to do the remaining set, Molly and Willie immediately take over the exercise mat. The five dog beds, multiple pieces of cat furniture, and other soft places to lie down aren't nearly as appealing as the space I either want to occupy or have just relinquished. That's just the nature of dogs -- and cats.

One Dog. One Cat. One Exercise Mat. One Terrific Therapy Team.

My "therapy dogs" encourage me to exercise. They nurture me when necessary. They keep me sane and lift my spirits when I've got the mean blues. They listen to my tales of woe. They praise me with tail-wags when I've done something wonderful (like walk into a room, share a snack with them, or go into a human version of the "play-bow.") House calls? Heck, they're at-home specialists! Modern medicine has yet to come up with a better all-around all-purpose aid to mental and physical health.

I think I'll go do some more exercises. Doctor Molly? Are you in?

Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller * All rights reserved * No part of this content may be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author * Links to this page, however, may be freely shared * Thank you for pinning, liking, linking, sharing, emailing, tweeting and otherwise helping grow my readership * Most of all, thank you for visiting!

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Molly McNab Herds Cats and Saves the Day!

The first time I heard the expression "like trying to herd cats" was many years (okay, a couple of decades) ago when a city manager described the sitting city council. It's a term for something that's extremely difficult or even impossible. It wasn't until I got my own two cats, just a year ago, that I truly understood and appreciated that witty simile. The independent (yet affectionate) nature of Shotgun Willie and Froggy Isabella, our two cats, has taught me many things -- among them, that herding cats is indeed nigh impossible.

But then … Molly McNab came along. This morning, as my husband stepped outside, Shotgun Willie shot out the door. I figured we'd be in for a couple of hours of cat-wrangling -- sometimes it takes two to three hours to catch the ornery, independent critters. I went inside to grab Froggy Isabella, thinking it would be easier to catch Willie if Froggy was in their outdoors cat-run enclosure. When I came out, minutes later, Russ was laughing and couldn't wait to tell me what had happened.

"Molly HERDED Willie!" he said. "He was completely out of sight when he bolted. The next thing I knew, Molly had chased him back into sight. Willie did all his zig-zags and maneuvers but Molly turned him back three times and finally knocked him over. She got on top of him long enough I could grab his tail!" (It's not the first time we've had to use the tail-handle to catch William. He doesn't object, either -- he just realizes he's been caught.)

Molly chases Willie around the house several times a day. It's a game they play. The other day I called her off, thinking Willie needed a break -- and darned if he didn't curl his tail again, taunt her with a look, and start the game all over. When Molly chases him, Willie likes to race down the hallway, bank off one wall on the corner and then bounce off the next wall. He'll usually end up flying across the dining area and onto the kitchen island to temporarily end the pursuit.

This morning, though, Russ said Molly had clearly herded Willie, cutting him like a maverick calf until she could bump him. We were thrilled. Here, we have a hostile environment for cats. Coyotes, an on-site bobcat, aggressive dogs, rattlesnakes and neighbors who like to set leg-hold traps are just some of the local threats. Daily, the coyotes come through the ranch -- usually several times a day. It is unusual to see a loose cat anywhere in the zip code -- and those that do survive are generally feral, fearful and cautious. We live with the constant fear that our sweet kitties, unafraid and naive as they are, will perish promptly if they get loose.

Thanks to Molly, the occasions they've escaped have been reduced. The cats hang out next to the front door, hiding to the side, and when we enter, they try to make a dash for it -- especially if our hands are full. If Molly is with us, though, she has the habit of bowling the cats right over as she bolts indoors. That has helped. Going out, though, is still a hazard.

It doesn't surprise me that Molly's herding instinct saved the day (and nabbed Shotgun Willie). It's going to come in very, very handy in the future, I think. And leave it to a McNab to actually prove that you CAN herd cats.

Could she herd city council members? That might just be the ultimate challenge -- and not to mention, rewarding to watch!

An Unusual Growth on Earl the Mcnab's Ear.

It appeared quite suddenly: a growth the size of a pencil eraser on the edge of Earl's ear. The small protuberance had a rough, domed surface and a pinkish-flesh color. We'd brought Molly McNab home just a week or two before the growth appeared, and within a couple of days of its emergence Molly's needle-like puppy teeth burst it as she and Earl played. It was flattened like a punctured tire after being ruptured, but within a couple of days it had returned to its previous shape and size.

It was clearly not a wart; I suspected either a malignancy or possibly a manifestation of Valley Fever (coccidiomycosis) in the skin. It caused Earl no pain, itching or discomfort.

I took this photo to show the veterinarian when taking Molly in for her puppy shots:

I knew it would be difficult to keep a hyper-exuberant, rambunctious terrorist of a puppy (yes, Molly is now a full-fledged wild child) away from her best friend's wound once the growth -- whatever it may be -- was excised. As I'm awaiting surgery of my own for a torn rotator cuff, I've been trying to plan (I say that almost jokingly at this point) around my upcoming recuperation. Can the growth wait before we remove it, I asked? I want to be able to separate the dogs and manage them properly during Earl's recovery -- and for at least a month after my own surgery I won't be able to use my right arm. No, Dr. Wyman said; the more it grows, the more challenging the surgery. Even if the growth increases ever-so-slightly in size, it will be a bigger surgery on a challenging area of the ear.

I scheduled Earl for the following week with Dr. Ashmore. In preparation, I ordered a "Comfy Cone" for Earl -- a foam-filled E-collar to prevent him (and the puppy) from making contact with the site post-surgery. Comfy Cones are a vast improvement over the traditional white-plastic cones. They have folds that allow the dog to rest comfortably, Velcro closures to make it easy to put on and take off, and flexibility and padding enough that when the dog inevitably smacks you on the legs, it doesn't scrape or bruise you.

Two days before the surgery date, the growth suddenly flaked off and flattened out. It remained a hairless, flesh-colored irregular circle on the edge of the ear, but the bulk of it was gone. I opted to keep the appointment, still concerned about a cancerous growth. If Dr. Ashmore didn't believe the growth should come off, he wouldn't have to remove it.

In the morning pre-surgery appointment he looked at me, somewhat puzzled, after inspecting Earl's ear. Thankfully, I had the photo on my iPad and could show him what it had looked like so I didn't appear to be an absolute helicopter pet-mom. He said two things came to mind -- a histiocytoma, a benign growth that would be consistent with the fluctuations in size and appearance as the immune system conquered the lesion -- or a mast-cell tumor.

Argos, my dear companion that I lost in April, had suffered mast cell tumor growth as well. Like Earl's ear growth, the tumor came up overnight and then stabilized in size. Argos' first mast-cell tumor was huge, set against his ribs on one side, and did not have any hair loss. Despite having far too much experience with different growths, benign and malignant, on Argos, I didn't recognize Earl's growth as familiar. Because you've dealt with something before, you can't always assume you're seeing the same thing again -- and vice versa.

As we discussed options, and with Dr. Ashmore's input, I encouraged him to cut the growth off and just be done with it rather than waiting for any biopsy results before determining whether it needed removal. One of my considerations was the possibility of needing to anesthetize Earl twice; the other factor, my own pending surgery. If we were to just do a biopsy and then I'd need to schedule Earl the following week for surgery -- and if I were to be scheduled for my own just days later -- I would be unable to manage his recovery during my own. Better just git'er done.

Because of location, it was obviously going to require cutting into the cartilage of the ear, and there wouldn't be much skin available to pull together afterwards -- meaning there was going to be a half-circle notch in Earl's lovely ear. Dr. Ashmore told me he'd take a look at the cells before surgery and make the best determination possible as to how aggressive he should be in cutting out the growth.

Having a dog named Earl is always great fun in public. Yesterday afternoon as I waited at the vet's for Earl to come out post-surgery, the others in the room laughed and chanted Earl's name. One tall, genial cowboy commented that Earl was a "good, manly name." I laughed. "Earl's not exactly a manly dog," I admitted; "he's a bit … sensitive."

Earl did well during the surgery and, as we anticipated, came out with quite a notch in his ear -- like a huge, flesh-eating cutter bee had chewed a scallop out of the edge.

Above is Earl's sad "new" ear. It's shaved, of course. No sooner did I let him out of the car and he made his way drunkenly to Russ -- still woozy from the anesthesia -- did Russ look at him and say, "Welcome home, Chip." It's Earl's most-reliably-erect ear, too -- so it will be more prominent in appearance than it would have been on the floppy ear. Earl is getting character-marks.

As for Molly's greeting, she couldn't wait to jump up at Earl with happy snarls and invitations to play -- but all in all, she was much calmer than I was anticipating. She hasn't shown any interest in licking or gnawing at his stitches, but she risks bumping the incision and breaking it open. At this point, I'm optimistic that I'll be able to manage them more easily than I expected -- but they'll still require great caution and supervision. Between the two of them, they have figured out how to remove Earl's stylish, comfortable cone, but it doesn't appear he's going to need it at this point.

A couple of notes on the Comfy Cone: all in all it appears to be a well-made, useful product. It has a nifty piping around the edge that is reflective -- handy to have if your dog happens to escape while recovering from surgery. Keep in mind that their peripheral vision is impaired by the cone and as such they can easily wander into harm's way.

I didn't anchor it to Earl's collar nor did I put the usual ring of Vet-rap around his neck through the collar's handy loops. If he appears to need the collar because either he or the little terrorist are worrying the ear, I will affix it to the collar. It was difficult choosing the correct size collar as varying brands of flexible E-collars have vastly different sizing system. Despite Earl's neck measurements seeming to indicate a larger size, I opted for the one that would fit more snugly due to the collar's maker noting that it was the right size for "border collies, Australian shepherds" etc. It barely fits him and is on the last ring of Velcro. In making my selection, I was concerned about having a collar that wasn't snug enough. Should you order a Comfy Cone, I suggest ordering based solely on neck measurement in inches and disregarding completely the manufacturer's suggestions based on breed. Earl is not large for a stock dog yet could use a large sized cone.

Comfy Cone Flexible E-Collar

The Comfy Cone did arrive on time although I chose standard shipping through Amazon. I ordered on a Sunday and it was here by Wednesday afternoon -- well in time for Earl's Friday-morning surgery.

We are still waiting, of course, for the results of the histopathology (lab results) on Earl's growth. In the meantime, keep an eye on those unusual growths on your dogs! Those of us who've had breeds prone to harmless lipomas -- fatty tumors common in Labs, for example -- may easily recognize some of the less sinister growths. It's a good idea to know what sort of breeds are prone to specific growths. Ask your vet what you might expect from your own dog's skin. If in doubt, always have any new growths checked promptly. It's much easier to remove a small growth than a large one!

Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller. All rights reserved. No part of this content, in whole or in part, may be reproduced without permission of the author. Links to this page, however, may be freely shared. Thank you for pinning, liking, linking, sharing, emailing, +1'ing and otherwise helping grow my readership. Most of all, thank you for reading!