JOEY STORIES FROM CHARLOTTE
29 APRIL: It has been confirmed that, if there was ever any doubt, Joey is all terrier, with that special & unmistakable Cairn attitude to boot. Here's the story . . . . Last week I went in for surgery on my shoulder. Knowing that my greatest concern was being able to care properly for both Kizzie & Joey, my dear friend, Fran, offered to take Joey into her home for a couple of days. I made full disclosure of his needs (at least, those I consider to be his needs) in a closely-spaced, handwritten note that went on for two pages. I explained about his background as a puppy mill stud, and his having lived in a cage for the first seven years of his life and the attendant adjustment difficulties resulting from that miserable start in life. I explained that he is almost no maintenance, but that he does have certain routines that he has come to count on, including his bedtime treats and his expectation of snuggling down in bed with his human for the night. I explained that the only thing Joey ever gets anxious, agitated & insistent upon is receiving his bedtime treats when we go to bed each evening. I did not expect Fran, however, to completely alter her own routines and I thought he would adjust to a different routine, i.e., sleeping on a bed in the kitchen for a couple of nights without any great harm to his psyche. Oops! Slight miscalculation of the characteristic Cairnitude there. Things went along swimmingly when Fran took Joey home. No problems with the cat (insert sigh of relief here) because the cat did not exist for Joey . . . absolutely DID NOT EXIST, despite being inches away with back arched and fur standing on end as depicted in cartoons! (I gotta think that must have been a bit disconcerting for the cat.) Joey attached himself to Fran's ankle, leading, I would think, to thoughts of the necessity for surgical removal. Joey was fine with Bill, Fran's husband, allowing Bill to hold him, walk him, etc., when Fran wasn't around, but reattaching himself to Fran whenever she was about. Bill & Joey Then came bedtime. Fran fixed a comfy bed for Joey in the kitchen and gave him the treats prescribed in my two-page epistle and then headed off to bed, closing the bedroom door behind her. [Digression here . . . how long do you CairnFolks think it was before Fran's thoughts of a peaceful bedtime retreat would be disrupted?] Within moments, Joey was at the bedroom door, throwing himself against it, demanding entry. Not planning on having a dog in the bed, particularly given that a cat had already laid claim to that space, Fran got up and escorted Joey back to the kitchen. This time she put him in the soft-sided crate I had provided and once again headed back to bed, with the door closed behind her. [Another digression for CairnFolks: does the phrase "things that go bump in the night" come to mind?] Yup! Lots of bumps. Then more sounds of a Cairn body on the bedroom door. Once again, Fran gets up to investigate. How did that crate get turned on its side to lean against the cupboards? How did that bowl get upended? Fran, being a very smart woman, knows when to concede defeat. Okay. Joey can sleep in the bedroom. She brings the "kitchen" bed to the bedroom, ensconces Joey therein, and returns to bed. [CairnFolks . . . taking any bets as to whether that worked?] Sorry, that's just not satisfactory. Joey does his really cute little Olympic approach, back up, re-approach, back up, then re-approach and leaps onto the bed (it's a high bed and takes some tactical maneuvering in order to attain the necessary projectile force to reach the desired plateau) and heads directly to his goal, Fran's armpit. [I like to think that, at this point, Fran bursts into laughter, but it might have been invective.] Fran, ever gracious, even in defeat, concedes, and sleep seems imminent. Uh, oh . . . forgot the cat. This is his exclusive territory. Got to check this out. Approaches the invader, deigns to sniff. Wakes up Joey, who finally acknowledges the cat to the extent of looking at it. Cat takes off. Non-event. Lights out. Note: Liberties may have been taken with this story. The author takes no responsibility for any mistakes, misrepresentations, etc. She was on painkilling drugs which may have altered her understanding of the tale as told by Fran. In addition, she was laughing so hard she may have missed parts of the story. One additional note: Husband slept through the whole thing.
JOEY STORIES FROM CHARLOTTE PART DEUX
16 MAY: Skippy's hydrotherapy video was inspiring. So inspiring, in fact, that I thought that Joey would benefit from the same treatment. I have a continuing concern about his lack of exercise, and the non-stressful & natural movement in minimally-resistant water sounded like a good idea. I don't have a swimming pool, but the "pool" in Skippy's video didn't look much bigger than my bathtub, so I decided to give it a try. So, into the tub we went. I decided to get in with Joey before starting the water running so that it would be a gradual & non-threatening transition. I turned on the water (kind of a lukewarm temperature) and let it run. And run. And run. I forgot about the overflow valve. The water never got high enough to lift Joey and require any movement on his part.
Ah, well . . . the doggie shampoo was at hand, so he got a bath and smells really good. I got a shower. Needless to say, this was not a successful experiment. (Attempting this with only one fully-functioning arm was probably not the best of ideas, but since it was time for the ice pack anyway, I'm sure no lasting damage was done.) This picture shows how happy Joey was about the whole thing.
Not one to give up, however, I'm going to try it again. I'm going to cover the overflow valve and I'm going to get a PFD [Personal Flotation Device] for Joey so that he will be buoyant and will, hopefully, do some dog-paddling. As an alternative, maybe I'll just take him out on the dock and throw him in the river. 28 MAY: Having been re-inspired by another video of Skippy in hydrotherapy, I got a life vest for Joey, closed off the overflow, and tried again. I think the pictures show how happy he was with the experiment. He was not a happy swimmer! He tried to get out of the tub; he did not, however, panic. He did finally do some paddling. I took that as a good sign.

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