Expanding the stage . . . .

Today the Tiny Dancers are five weeks old.  It's hard to believe that five weeks have passed already.  I know that sounds like a cliché, but it's a fact.  The Dancers are getting steadier and steadier in their execution of their steps, and the fun is really building each day.

The past week was Reading Week at the University of Ottawa, which meant that it was "Play with Puppies Week" for me.  I did absolutely no work apart from the work involved in caring for my home, Victory, and the puppies.  Mostly what I did was watch puppies, interact with puppies, and take photos and video of puppies. It was heavenly -- naturally I have no desire to return to work (even though I am fortunate enough that my work is only of the "part-time, ivory tower" variety).

Over the past week Victory entertained many visitors and was very happy to introduce them to her babies.  It was delightful to see the puppies first engage with their guests and then, after some great romping and showing off how incredibly adorable they are, crawl into a lap or some welcoming arms and go to sleep.  (After the first time that happened, I remembered to provide cushioning for bottoms that could become quite numb during a long puppy nap . . . .)  It was wonderful to see how trusting they were and how readily they approached (and virtually adopted!) strangers:

Jazz and Twist having a Sable Sleepover in Lynda's lap

Tango settling in with Karen

Tango passed out on Donna's ankle (after attacking her toes)

Disco and I discussing whether it's really bedtime

On top of all their visitors, the Tiny Dancers have had many new adventures.  They've experienced solid food, and it turns out they are incredibly accomplished eaters, regardless of the sort of plate, tray, or feeder in which their food is offered -- plastic, metal, glass, ceramic (as long as it's full, it works for them!):

Eating their dinner (from a pasta bowl this time), having first sorted themselves by colour

They got to experience snow (on a very limited scale for now):

Twist and Jazz check out the snow.  They are sure it must be some new sort of snack . . . .

They found new and exciting things in their play areas:

Disco checks out the slide that suddenly appeared in his kitchen

And they have begun to push the boundaries.  In the course of the week they have problem-solved to figure out how to breach any of the small barricades (really just marking the edges of the play area, meant to slow them down rather than stop them from leaving) which seemed insurmountable seven or eight days ago.  They have struck out to investigate parts of the theatre which beckoned to them beyond the borders of their various stages.  They have gotten stronger and faster and more coordinated.  And they have had a wonderful time playing with each other and with their mother, who is now realizing that she created not just breast-sucking raptors but potential playmates.

Disco chatting with his Mama about the Jolly Ball

I don't think I could ever express what an incredible learning experience this is and what joy it has brought me (terror, too, but the overwhelming feeling is joy, especially now that things have been rolling along smoothly for awhile).

Now that they're eating solid food, more fun awaits us:  this week we'll start some baby "training," and I can't wait.

Through all of the different experiences geared at exposing the puppies to different sights, sounds, textures, surfaces, people, etc., etc., my main goal is not only to expand their horizons but to observe them and thereby learn who they are; only by really knowing each puppy intimately will I be able to make the best match for each one with its forever home.  The prospect of sending them on their way in only a few short weeks is both exciting and terrifying, so I need to do everything I can to make sure they go with confidence -- and that I watch them leave knowing that I have set them up for success as best I can.

I know this will seem ridiculous, but only in the middle of this week did I realize how hard it's going to be to say goodbye to Victory's Tiny Dancers.  Jean said, "Yes . . . you're not really an expert at that . . . ." -- and I realized that no, I'm not an expert at that; I'm actually more of an expert at attachment than at separation.  But if I know I've done everything I can to secure a good partnership for each baby, then I will rest easily, and I will smile as I send them on their ways.

And if you believe that last bit, I have a bit of swampland in Florida I'd be willing to sell you . . . .   ;-)

The Tiny Dancers at five weeks

Twist

Jazz

Disco

Tango

The tempo increases . . . .

It's hard for me to believe that today is Day 27 of the Tiny Dancers' lives.  In some ways it feels like they were born yesterday, and in others it feels as though they've always been here.  They're absolutely marvellous.

I realized that I haven't taken the time to update the blog with some of the wonderful things that have been happening here.  Today was a momentous occasion:  the puppies had their first solid food!  They took to their plateful of rice cereal like old pros.  Someone had said that she had just put her puppies' noses in the food and sooner or later they figured it out.  But these pups were ready.  They spent some time nibbling the edge of the plate, but when they got the idea, the raptor genes came to the fore.  Lots of rice on the feet, faces, and bellies, but the puppies sure were happy.

For some days Victory has been doing the "speed feed" version of nursing, so it certainly was time.  Isn't nature amazing?  Sharp little teeth = mama starting to wean = puppies ready to try other food.  I knew this earlier this week:  I was giving them each a little bit of yogurt off my finger, and Twist came and stuck his head in the bowl and started lapping away at it.

So the Tiny Dancers are launched on the first steps of the dance that will eventually take most of them away from their mama -- and from me.  That's a little daunting, now that I think of it.  Ray says that if we lived in the country, we'd just keep them all.  These little lives have enriched ours immeasurably.

Each day the puppies get more agile and more assured in their movements.  Their little legs, which early in the week could barely support their "robust" (ahem . . . read: pudgy) bodies, are now bouncing them across their play spaces.  They are learning to climb and explore.  They're examining their toys.  I knew they needed some stimulation, so I went out and bought a couple of things for them to chew and carry around . . . .

Just a few things for the puppies . . .

Then they got a gift from their Auntie Carol, who went looking specifically for interactive toys:

. . . and a few more things . . . .

And then I went to Value Village and picked up a few more noisy toys, like a See 'n Say and a wonderful piano to encourage their musical side: 

Twist making music

What can I say?  Sure, they're spoiled, but when will I get the chance to do this again?  And they're getting to experience strange textures and lights and sounds -- and none of it is bothering them in the least.

We're into the really fun part of this whole experience now:  time to socialize the puppies and to encourage their little temperaments along so that they grow up to be the wonderful, solid little partners that I'm convinced the genetic side of that "nature vs nurture" equation has already set them up to be.  Each day I play with them and cuddle them and take them on little adventures to experience new sights and smells and textures.  And we play and play.  What a life!

My main job over the next five weeks, though, is to observe them -- to get to know each member of the troupe as an individual so that we can make the best possible decisions about which pup is best suited to which prospective owner.  Bit by bit, they are telling me who they are, and I am absolutely charmed by what they're telling me.

If I had to choose one word to describe Victory's babies, it would be "sweet."  Yes, they're bratty and pushy and adventuresome and fun . . . but I just love that they truly are sweet puppies.  They love their kisses and cuddles, and they seek me out.  They play together, and they have all sorts of fun, but they love their people, too.  To me, that's pretty much perfect.

So here they are as we approach the end of Week 4:  Victory's Tiny Dancers, getting stronger by the minute.  They're a chorus right now . . . in a few weeks each will be someone's principal dancer.

Twist

Jazz

Disco

Tango

The blog can't do justice to the number of photos I'm taking of these babies.  But just look at them; who could resist?

Raising the scrim . . . .

The Tiny Dancers are two weeks old, and the fun is about to begin.  Over the last few days all four opened their eyes, and now interaction has started, not only between puppies (I saw miniature muzzle fencing for the first time yesterday, and today they are much more aware of and interested in each other) but between the pups and Victory (they know she's there, and not just because they smell dinner -- and I saw Jazz chewing Victory's foot tonight) and between the pups and me (they all toddled towards me tonight when I got in the box, and Jazz even mouthed me).

They're getting steadier and steadier on their legs, although there are still some pretty comical pratfalls (thank God for fluffy vet fleece -- it cushions the falls).  They walk with a funny, stiff-legged sense of purpose; they haven't quite got the dancer's grace yet.  And they pause, purposely, and pee -- without mama's help and in prodigious quantities for such wee little creatures.

Today is Day 16, the last day of the Early Neurological Stimulation exercises.  Open eyes and increased awareness added another level of excitement to the last couple of days of the program; pups were less inclined to be gracious about being hung upside down or laid on their backs, and they had NO intention of remaining standing on that cold, wet facecloth.  I had to laugh.

Each has now been carried into different parts of the house, though so far we've stuck to the first floor.  And they all got to spend a minute on the foam squares we have on the living room floor -- their first time standing anywhere other than in their whelping box.  Victory was rather alarmed at this proceeding, so each pup had to submit to having its bottom tended to by a rather nervous mother.

Twist on the mats, investigating a dog bed

Jazz checks out the new surface . . . not too sure about it!

Disco: "Ma, do you HAVE to?"

Tango: "Mama -- that's emBARRassing!"

I am delighting in a drama-free zone and have finally -- finally! -- exhaled the breath I think I've been holding for two weeks.

Let the fun begin!  My next mission is to hit the thrift stores looking for interactive children's toys. Soon we add the weaning pen, and the puppies' world will expand.  We're looking forward to visitors, too.

Tiny dancers . . . learning by leaps and bounds!

The dance doesn't always go as choreographed . . .

Having taken the stage on the morning of January 24th (the very day I had marked as their due date on my calendar after the breeding), the Tiny Dancers proceeded to follow the steps of the dance I had created in my head and prepared for so carefully.  They ate well, slept most of the day, gained weight steadily (as much as two ounces in a single day), and were the picture of fat and sassy contentment.

Victory, too, seemed to be doing well.  She was a little fussy in her eating habits, making me feel that I needed to tempt her to eat so that she'd consume enough calories to feed the babies, but she was bright and alert -- and right away, she was a wonderful mother.  She isn't obsessive with the babies, but she is there as soon as they need her, tending to their toilet duties and feeding them (with what appears to be cream, given the way they've gained weight).

The morning of January 30th, I woke to find Victory standing in the whelping box.  Just standing.  Her head was low, and as I got closer, I realized she was trembling.  I took her temperature, and it was 103.5: she was running a fever.  I immediately called Jean (who was probably still asleep and who definitely did NOT need the drama that was about to unfold) to tell her.  When a bitch develops a fever post-whelp, the immediate suspicion is that either a breast or her uterus is infected, but Victory's breasts looked fine, and the discharge she'd had since after the whelp seemed quite normal.  I realized, though, that she had vomited by the back door earlier that morning.

She fed the babies, and off we went to the vet clinic.  As my vets' practise is in a downtown area, they don't see many pregnant or nursing girls, so I had the vet there speak to Jean and to Dr. G. by telephone.  Based on the exam at that time, the verdict was that Victory's pancreas was probably inflamed from the rich food I'd given her to tempt her to eat.  Bloodwork was done, she was given subcutaneous fluids, and we were sent home with a very bland diet and instructions to wait a few hours before giving it to her.

Home, Victory seemed much brighter, even running and barking at squirrels in the yard.  Her temperature went down a little, and I started to think that what we had faced was only a slight misstep in the dance.

At about 4 p.m., I offered Victory a little of the canned food, and she ate it happily.  Forty-five minutes later, she vomited, and from then on, she got lower and lower.  She lay flat on her side, allowing the pups to nurse but gradually taking less and less interest in what was going on around her.

At 9 p.m., she nursed the babies, and I took her, wrapped in a blanket, to the emergency vet clinic fifteen minutes from the house.  Examination revealed a temperature of 40 C (104 degrees), and an obvious infection in her uterus.  Victory was going nowhere -- except into the hospital for IV fluids and antibiotics.  The admitting vet said I could bring the pups in to nurse or supplement them with bottles until Victory came home, and I said I wasn't comfortable bringing them in to the clinic and would supplement, so they gave me teeny tiny pet feeder bottles.  Off I went, armed, ready to be mama to the puppies through the night and hoping against hope that the antibiotics would make Victory feel better quickly so she could come home.

Through the night, the pups, who had nursed a great deal during the day while Victory slept in the whelping box, slept soundly, and though we made attempts with the bottle, we were not successful at getting them to latch on.  At 3:30 a.m. I called the hospital and asked if I could bring them in.  "No," I was told. "Victory needs her rest."

By morning I was desperate.  The pups still hadn't had any significant fluids, and both Jean and Margaret were warning me that they HAD to get fed, and soon.  At the hospital, rounds were underway, and I was waiting for a call that could update me on Victory's progress.  Jean told me that the tiny bottles were too small for the babies and that I needed bigger ones, so I called around to see if I could find human preemie bottles.  Finally, I sent Ray to the hospital five minutes from home, where a kind nurse in the neonatology unit agreed to give us some bottles.

By 8:45 a.m. I had decided that I was waiting for the call but would wait only so long before just packing up the puppies and heading in with them.  They needed her, and she needed them; I could only imagine the stress she was feeling being separated from them (only the illness would have kept her from being visibly upset, I felt sure).  With the blessings of my vet, who said she would run interference for me with the emergency clinic, and at the urging of Margaret, I packed the puppies in a cooler with blankets, a hot water bottle, and a heated buckwheat pad, and we raced off to the clinic so Victory could nurse them.

When I was within minutes of the clinic, Margaret called.  "Ask them to spay her, Kelly," she said. "You'll have her home within 24 hours. Otherwise, who knows how long it will take to get this under control?"

Jean had also said that Victory might need to be spayed, and for me the decision crystallized right then.  If the spay was done, the site of the infection would disappear, Victory would be well quickly, and she could come home to her babies; we ALL needed that, desperately.

The vet now assigned to her case was an internist, by all accounts an excellent clinician, but a man lacking in imagination and bedside manner.  He was not at all pleased that I had arrived, 400-sized crate bottom and cooler in tow, to have Victory come and feed her babies.  He did NOT think it was a good idea.  "I don't think she has any milk," he said, "And she has an infection. She is quite sick."  As he was about to start explaining the treatment plan, Victory arrived at the door of the room (remember, my vet had run interference; the staff knew we were coming and went to get her immediately, not knowing the internist was going to object).

Victory's presence complicated his stance a little, and I proceeded to take his feet out from under him:  "Can we just spay her?  Can it be done today?  The goal here is to get Victory home to her babies, healthy, as quickly as possible.  Isn't that the best way of achieving that?"  He was nonplussed but recovered quickly (and was probably glad to hand us over to the surgical department, given that my sick dog with no milk was about to nurse her babies!).

As soon as Victory entered the room and saw the babies in the cooler, she started cleaning them.  We got her into the crate (I wasn't having her lie on the floor of the clinic with the babies!), and right away she started nursing them.  They were so happy!  Their little tails were going a mile a minute.  And the emergency vet who had come in to talk me through bottle feeding said, "Well they're certainly making SOMEthing happen!"  Note to self:  never judge the contents of a breast by its willingness to be expressed.

Things happened quickly after that.  We were transferred to the surgeon, who understood my priorities and agreed with them; it was determined that the surgery could be done at noon that day, I got more information and encouragement about bottle feeding, and I took the puppies home to await the results of the surgery and -- we hoped -- Victory's speedy return.

The surgery was done and over with by 12:30; the surgeon's report was favourable, and we settled in to wait for Victory to recover enough to come home.  We had to wait to be sure she wasn't still running a temperature, and we had to let her sleep off the anaesthetic.

During the course of the afternoon, with Jean talking me through it on the phone from Tennessee and some moments of panic over a nipple that allowed the milk to come out too quickly and caused pups to sputter, the babies all finally took to the bottle to one degree or another, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  It wasn't what they'd have gotten from Victory, but it was something, and together with what they'd gotten from her in the morning, it would do.  The one really bright light in that terrible, awful, chaotic, frightening 36 hours was that I spent some very special moments snuggling those puppies, fighting with all my heart and soul to stem any rising terror and remain calm and tranquil as I insisted that they accept the yucky rubber nipple and the formula that was no match for the milk they'd been getting from their mama.

At 5:30 we got the news we'd been waiting for:  Victory was up and, although still sleepy, would soon ready to come home.  The fever was gone -- because the infected uterus was gone -- and my baby girl was soon to be back with her babies.

I picked her up at 7 p.m., and the minute we walked into the house, she trotted right past Ray and into the whelping box to see her babies.  You could tell that mama and pups were very, very happy to see each other.

Mama, home from the hospital, sleeping with her babies after nursing

Now, three days later, I am almost ready to exhale and to believe that the latest crisis is behind us.  I have asked God, very respectfully, to hear my plea:  Please, no more drama.  If anyone who reads this is so inclined, I'd appreciate your adding your respectful request to mine.

As I think I mentioned in an earlier post, I have always said that breeding is not for the faint of heart.  I know that complications can arise -- I saw them first-hand with the birth of these wonderful babies.  What I didn't realize is that the experience could just keep on being scary.  I didn't realize the number of different ways experience would be invaluable -- experience that I don't have (and didn't really intend to gain in quite this way).  Yes, I know what a healthy puppy looks like.  I know what I'm supposed to do for them (not much just yet).  I read how to help them urinate and defecate; I read how to bottle feed them.  But the books couldn't find me the right nipples for the bottles.  The books couldn't tell me that I'd need to be quiet and calm and just insist that the baby take the nipple (even the YouTube videos didn't help me there).  While I struggled here, in contact with the vets, with Jean, and with Margaret, they struggled with feelings of helplessness -- had they been here, they could have helped.  As it was, all they could do was advise, encourage -- and pray.

What worked in our favour was that the puppies were robust -- and so able to withstand those 36 hours without their mama -- and that Victory is such a natural mama.  She hasn't missed a beat since coming home to them, and I have a whole new appreciation of what she is doing in caring for these babies.

And so, more special to me than ever, the Tiny Dancers are thriving -- and they're not even all that Tiny any more.  I am so grateful and so delighted to watch them growing into recognizable little dogs day by day (almost hour by hour).

Next step in the choreographed dance:  the appearance of the lights of  their souls.  Eyes should open any day now!

Twist, Day 9

Jazz, Day 9

Disco, Day 9

Tango, Day 9

I sure do love these babies, and I look forward to watching them develop and thrive over the next several weeks.  What a precious charge has been given to me!