This is Hank. Hank the Tank, the Hankster, Hankaroo. This little Great Pyrenees/Akbash stud is going to be HUGE. We are getting five Nigerian dwarf goats soon. That’s right. Miniature goats. Adorable, right? And they’re gonna need some protection from coyotes and other lurkers.
My initial desired guardian – miniature donkey. Ridiculously cute and they’ll bond with a herd and protect them if creepers come a creepin,’ But, once we saw the price tag, we went with an LGD. A livestock guardian dog is bred to protect the herd. They’ll bond with sheep and goats and patrol the perimeter, often most active at night.
For now, Hank is a giant clumsy ball of fluff, like a baby polar bear. He’s only 9 weeks old and that big!
A day in the life with Hank
So Hank had his first puppy visit to the vet today. I loaded him up in the back of my little crossover SUV. Plenty of space for him to lay down and do a barrel roll or two. Instead he decides to jump over the back seat and flop over an empty infant car seat. Then he proceeds to try to claw his way out the window. After several stops on the side of the road and attempts to contain him in the back, I moved him to the front seat next to me.
We live 30 minutes from town. I tried to calm this jumbo-sized puppy and keep him in the seat with one arm, while driving with the other. Rubbing his ears. So soft. Wait, did I just feel a tick? Sick! He was drooling excessively from being car sick. This could only mean one thing. He’s about to puke. Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t. He continues to drool all over himself and my arm. My 3-year-old fell asleep in the back. The gas light is blinking and dinging incessantly. I finally get to the vet clinic. Only ten minutes late. Not too bad. I figure I’ll run Hank in and then come back out and wake the sleeping child. I maneuver Hank through the doors and see no one. Someone appears and says: “Can I help you?” as if she’s not expecting me. Uh oh. Turns out I had the time of the appointment completely wrong and the vet was now out in the field for the rest of the day. Really?!
Poor Hank. I load him back up. Just one more errand to run. Hang in there pup. I just need to drop off a check. It will take two minutes. My 3-year-old is now awake and begging to get out. As soon as I unbuckle her, it happens. Puppy vomit pooling in the cup holders between my seats. Flash forward to me trying to soak up the vomit with baby wipes.
After a long drive home, up a very curvy road Hank held it together until right before we reached our gravel drive. Sick again. This time it at least stayed on the blanket.
Part of living in the country is not being afraid to remove ticks, I suppose. Up until this point, I have managed to be the doggie holder, and not the tick remover. I usually pass that job onto the hubs or my sister (a vet tech). This time it was all up to me. I removed three ticks off of Hank, with only a tiny freakout or two. I had my three-year-old telling me not to be scared. High-fiving myself now.
This was a real soup sandwich of a day. Have you ever tried to make a soup sandwich? It’s a hot mess. Please tell me I’m not the only one who has gotten the time wrong before.