Every Dog Has His Day

Croc is a big, big, dog. I dread taking him to the veterinarian and am always so excited to learn we are to see the pudgy vet. This kindly man recommends a generous weight of one hundred ten pounds. The skinny vet always scowls while counseling me to get Croc down to ninety pounds, closer to her own weight. Fortunately, for his self image, Croc doesn’t suffer from fat-shaming. On our last visit, we were met by two nubile young technicians. Enchanted, Croc fairly danced as he tugged them to the scale for his weigh in. Back in the exam room, he beamed as they reported his weight of one hundred twenty-five pounds. In a fit of hormone-laced ecstasy, he sped back seating himself on the scale again, hoping for further praise.

It worked.

Here, Boy!!

A woman walks into a psychoanalyst’s office and says, “Doctor, my husband thinks he’s a dog! Please help.”

The doctor pats the couch., “Okay, Buddy, hop up here.”

The woman quickly snapped back, “Oh no, he’s not allowed on the couch!”

Joys of Bubble Wrap

My big dog, fell in love with bubble wrap recently. It never occurred to me a dog would know what to do with it, but fortunately my seven-year-old granddaughter showed him just

how it worked. I’d saved the bubble wrap for her visit. Croc made every step she made. Once she attacked the bubble wrap, he realized it was just what he’d been waiting for all his life. He enthusiastically wrestled with her, stomped on bubble wrap, and rolled in it. The next morning, he came back in while she was still in bed and started his own game. I hated to clean it up once she’d left.

No Fool Like……

Things didn’t go well from the start on Croc’s last visit to the vet. My half mastiff, half lab doggy boy weighs one hundred twenty-five pounds and pulls like a tractor. Desperate to sniff a steaming pile of poop, he snatched me down the instant I stepped out of the truck. I sprawled elegantly across the pavement, knocking my nose on the curb. I’d foolishly worn a skirt, so passersby were treated the view of my new undies as I struggled to grab the leash and avoid a greater disaster. Fortunately, Croc was fascinated by a steaming pile of dog poop and hadn’t escaped into traffic. He pondered sampling it as I struggled to my feet, felt around to find my glasses in another mess, and staunched the flow of blood from my damaged knees. He showed no sympathy for me as we made our way in, choosing instead to attempt a friendship with a five pound Yorkie. The tiny beast and her dainty mom were traumatized at the slobbering beast dragging me toward them. My muddied, bloodied countenance did little to reassure the duo, despite my assertion he only wanted to play. Happily, the teeny dog was the original mean girl. She tore into Croc, teaching him a lot about little, mean dogs. The staff got us in a room straight away. No waiting!

Four hundred and fifty dollars later found us checking out. By now Croc was happily munching his cookie. Once again, I was sobered at the cost of well-dog care, despite having experienced it only six months before. Incidentally, I had another dog at home scheduled for a pricey visit the very next day. I definitely can’t handle both at once. I’d made that mistake once, a sad story for another day.

Mean Doggy and her mom stood between my behemoth and the exit. Meany snarled maniacally at us, terrifying Croc. I enjoyed that. Momma was crying to the staff, “Can you find a home for her. I’m sick and I can’t take care of her no more.” She sobbed piteously. It was heartbreaking so I hurried out. After I got Croc, also known as Meatball, in the truck, I called Bud.

“Can we adopt a Yorkie? A sick, old lady has to get rid of her.” I went back for the poor dog. Miss Ann, her mama was delighted she’d found a sucker and pulled out her tattered checkbook to pay for Meany’s visit.

On learning her bill was ninety dollars, Mama paled. “Can you hold this check till next Tuesday?”

“I’ll get it. She’s my responsibility now.” Miss Ann took my number. True to her promise, she visits Biscuit, the little Yorkie, pretty often. She’s even taken Biscuit home for a visit a couple of times. Biscuit always seems to enjoy their visits, but doesn’t mourn for her.

More to come.

Croc and the Doc

Poor Dog

Croc’s ears were itching with a black reside.  I cleaned the interior as deeply as I dared.  He loved it and leaned into me till I got the job done.  The residue was black as tar.  Buzzy liked the look of that, so he had to have prophylactic ear cleaning, too.  Croc fell in love with the vet when she went in for a deep ear cleaning.  It was likely a year or fungal infection.  I didn’t know if I’d get him out of the office..  Sadly, Buzzy’s ears were fine, leaving him to get nothing but vaccines.  The vet is a tiny woman, weighing far less tha Croc, who weighed 126.8 lbs.  I was proud taking him in, thinking he’d lost weight.  Last trip he weighed 122 lbs.  I’d even had to take his collar down one inch since the last visit.  I assured the doctor he’d really lost weight, but I don’t think she bought it, telling me, “Cut his food in half, again.”  She gave me a judgmental look.  I much prefer seeing her husband and partner vetinarian.  He looks like he needs his rations cut in half.  She was very pleased with Buzzy who’d lost four pounds since I cut Croc’s food by half.  Buzzy doesn’t care if he eats.

Now my ears itch.

 

How to clean dog’s ears

Soak a cotton ball in ear cleaning solution

Gently clean all curves and creases until ear is clean, taking care not to push cotton ball in too deep.  Discard each sponge.    Repeat till clean. If your dog is like mine, he or she will enjoy it.

Use fresh sponges so as not to reintroduce infection.

Repeat several days till clear.

Inspect frequently and clean often.

See your veterinarian if it doesn’t resolve or becomes chronic.  May need medication.

Dog Discipline

What could these two pictures possibly have in common?  Buzzy is adorable, but he does have a little flaw.   He feels compelled to scratch soft fabrics.  My new bathroom rug is quickly balding.  I have to groom it every time he gets in there.  He gives carefull attention to several other rugs, but this one must be substandard.  I do tell him,”No!”  He is pretty forgiving, just gives me a hurt look and walks away.  I’ve thought of flapping him with a hand towel, but that seems a little extreme for a ten-year-old gentleman who’s never endured a flap.  I guess I need to buy a better rug or keep the door closed.

Sleep Shifters

Buzzy was glad to retire.  When we first adopted him, Bud worked nights.  I worked days.  The poor little guy had to help Bud sleep from mid-afternoon till I got in from work.  He’d get up then and help me till my bedtime when his second sleep shift started.  Fortunately, we had Sissy, another American Eskimo Dog to share the sleep load.  Sadly, when Sissy died, Buzzy had to do it all till we adopted Squeaky, a rag doll cat.  Squeaky was an expert sleeper, but  wouldn’t necessarily follow dog sleeping rules, or any rules, for that matter.

His willfulness eventually led to his demise.  Squeaky was exclusively an indoor cat.  Despite his neutering, from time to time his hormones acted up leading him to attempt escape.  One night he shot out the back door, never to be seen again.  I suspect he made the acquaintance of one of the coyotes we sometimes heard yipping.

Croc with baby

Poor Buzzy was on his own again till he retired a few years when we did.  Not too long ago, we adopted Croc, a Mastiff mix. We now have two dog beds on our bedroom floor.  Buzzy usually starts out in bed with us, then moves to his doggy bed.  Croc yearns to get in our bed, but can’t jump.  It is common for one or both of the boys to get hot during the night and move to the hardwood floor for a while.  We have to leave a night light on to avoid stepping on dogs when we get up at night.  A Mastiff takes up a lot of floor space, especially when he drags his baby and  pillow with him.  I forgot to mention Croc’s amazing ability to fart and snore, so it’s impossible to forget he’s around.

So Horrible It Has to be Shared!

Have you ever had an experience so horrible it had to be shared? Maybe something smells or tastes so bad you cant leave it alone. ”Taste this! It’s disgusting!” Over your poor friend’s protests, you insist. “No really, you gotta taste this! It’s horrible!”

That’s why I have to inflict this story on you.

A few days ago, I got an early start, vacuumed, mopped, changed my sheets, and tidied up before settling into my comfy chair with my laptop to write. As I gathered my thoughts and awaited inspiration, Bud and Buzzy approached the patio door.

Buzzy, my American Eskimo Dog is sedate and well-mannered, so it startled me to see him burst through the patio door like a bat out of Hell before he launched himself half-way across the room into my lap. As Bud headed to his office, he nonchalantly mentioned Buzzy might be suffering from some abdominal distress. Sure enough, Buzzy rapidly spun three three or four rotations in my lap and on top of my computer. I tried to calm his nerves and was assaulted by the smell of feces and the nauseating sight of an excrement-smeared computer screen and filthy clothes. Wisely, as I struggled to dig out from under the tornado of a poop monster, Bud disappeared into his office feigning deafness.

Heartbroken by his poor welcome, Buzzy fled to a place of consolation, my fresh bed. Like his wolf-ancestors, before lying down he made two or three circles to prepare his bed. Miraculously, Bud had somehow become aware of the festivities, as had our other dog, a huge Mastiff mix, Croc. Not wanting Buzzy to have all the fun, Croc inserted himself into the melee. The curious one-hundred twenty pound dog jealously trying to stay between Buzzy and his pursuers complicated the situation exponentially. Croc had no clue what the concern was since he and Buzzy greeted each other genteelly with a sniff of the nether portions first thing every morning, but had no intention of being denied a good time. 

With a bit of a scuffle, Bud shut Croc out while  we progressed to the bathroom as Croc howled in outrage., “I poop a lot more than he does!  Where’s my party?” Not having had a chance to evaluate the situation, I wrestled Buzzy into the sink, but not before most bathroom surfaces took on a fine patina of poop. Holding Buzzy in place, I ran water and added soap for his bath. Very quickly, I became aware a sink-bath wouldn’t suffice. Taking him to a tub outdoors was out of the question, so he was destined for his first shower. Naturally, he could hardly be expected to shower himself, so I climbed in. Surprisingly, that was the easiest part of the ordeal. He behaved perfectly throughout the process.

Fortunately for the sake of our marriage, Bud didn’t get off too easily. While Buzzy and I showered, he cleaned the walls and floors, all the way back to where Buzzy had made his grand entrance. By the time the shower was over was over and Buzzy dried, the bed was stripped and the washer and hamper were full of disgusting laundry. As a special bonus, the sink was plugged with excreta and long, white dog hair, another diversion for Bud.

In the week before, I had intended to get Buzzy in for grooming. Much to his joy, I’d never made it. Though his coat is beautiful, particularly in hot weather, it benefits from regular brushing. I am especially careful to brush him thoroughly before bathing to remove loose hair and minimize matting. Sadly, Buzzy had not advised me of his plans. He was so matted after bathing, I wasn’t able to finish the job in one brushing. I’d brush a while , let him take a break, and pick up with the job, later. Some mats even required scissoring, something I’ve never had to do before. I think I’ve gotten enough hair out to upholster another whole dog. Sadly, all that brushing makes Croc even more envious. He’s required an inordinate amount of brushing, too.

Many hours later, things settled to normal.  Next time I am ready, I’ll be more specific in my search for inspiration.