Sweet Georgia's Down...

When our Tux first came home from the pound, we made a token effort at crate-training him. That didn't take; I think it reminded him too much of the cells he'd just escaped. So we enlarged the crate...we gave him our guest room during the day (not like we were using it), and let him sleep with us at night. It wasn't too long before Tux had the run of the house 24/7 (save the basement, which is the cats' domain).
When Georgia came along, things got a little complicated. We got her young enough to crate-train, so we used the cage we'd originally bought for Tux, placing it in the corner of our living room and confining her in there during the day. She grudgingly accepts this, with the aid of a Kong and a knifeful of peanut butter, although I'm sure the sight of her brother roaming free galls her mightily. Still, she's not old enough to join him in gambolling all over the place while we're gone. So there she rests. Of course, she sleeps with us at night, too, because we're just softies. Anyone got a good quality king size bed?

Okay, so last week Georgia got broken. They say "fixed", but I say let's call a spay a spay, okay? She went away Thursday morning and came back Friday afternoon. In the interim, any remaining doubt we may have had about how well our wee girl had integrated herself into the family dissolved into a big pile of mope named Tux. Seriously, he didn't want to move until she came back, and Eva reports that he was absolutely ecstatic when he caught sight of her.

Everything was going fine in the aftermath of her surgery. In fact, she wanted to run and play-with-the-Tux immediately, and it was impossible to restrain her.

Getting Georgia crated, me in bed, and Eva out of the house in the morning now entails some sleight of hand. See, I don't want Georgia to know I'm home, or like as not she'll yip her face off all day (and she does have a yip on her, does our Georgia). So Eva takes her (and Tux) outside, I scoot to bed, and then Georgia comes in, gets her peanut-butter Kong, and retires to her cage. Tux wanders upstairs within about thirty seconds and finds me. Ssshh, Tux, I tell him. We don't want your sister to know I'm here.
Okay, Daddy, he says amiably. I'll just sleep down here at the base of the bed and keep you safe.

Today I woke up around two to the sound of Georgia yipping. The first thing I noticed, after my ears stopped ringing, was that Tux wasn't standing (okay, laying) guard. Damn, I thought. Ratfink tattleTux. Now Georgia wants attention.
Two o'clock. Well, an hour's more sleep would have been nice, and 90 minutes even nicer. I could maybe lay up here and block that noise out...
Nope.
There will be no blocking out of that noise.
Downstairs I went, snap-crackle-popping Rice Krispies out of my eyes. To be confronted by Georgia, clamoring as usual to get out. And...what the hell?
Puppies?
There are two other puppies in there!
But she was spayed last week, how the hell did that happen?
I opened the cage and Georgia shot out. So begins the daily game of race-the-bladder, a seven metre dash to the door. The impossible other puppies didn't move (well, one of them kind of spread itself out a bit), so I shelved them for the moment and raced Georgia to the side door, Tux along for the ride.

Back to the cage I went, to examine the miraculous additions to our happy little family.

Not puppies.

Puke.

Giant colossal freakin' MOUNDS of barf, an interesting brindle pattern marking them distinctly as the property of Georgia Breadner. Holy gee, I thought. Georgia yarks like she craps: prodigiously. I'd be yipping too, having brought that up into the world.
Kidding aside, the sheer quantity of vomitus was alarming. Georgia frolicked around, seemingly unconcerned, but I was worried about her.
Eva came home shortly thereafter, and we called our vet (slogan: "Your other family doctor"). She was in with a client, so we described the situation to the receptionist, making sure to repeat the phrase "giant colossal freakin' MOUNDS of barf" several times.
No, she seems okay otherwise. She runs, she plays, she eats, she sleeps, she horks up Rhode Island.
The vet was with a client, so we awaited a call back. While we were waiting, Eva called Georgia over. She's really good with "come"...better, in fact, than Tux.
"Her bum's red...and look at her eyes! Are they swollen...shit, her whole face is swollen!"
The vet called back, and we added this information. It was quickly decided she should go in for a look-see.
Of course, Tux wanted to go with her, and he was despondent when he couldn't. I fretted to myself, hoping that whatever it was, it wasn't as serious as it looked.

Me, I was thinking bee sting. Or several of them. That'd account for the swelling, anyway. We have bees just outside the house, almost as big as a pile of Georgia-sick. I know this because they dive-bomb me whenever I go outside. The sun actually went dark for a second the other day. I shot back into the house as if I was on wheels.

They were back surprisingly quickly. No idea what it was--a reaction of some sort, said the vet. Our wee girl got a cortisone shot, and some special food to calm her stomach, and we're supposed to keep a close eye on her for the next little while. No problem there. These puppies are our children. They're just furry, is all.