Yesterday, I thought our dog was dying. I know, I know, I’ve thought that several times in the past, but come on, he’s sixteen years old for goodness sake, just how much longer can the old boy be expected to stick around?
From the moment we woke up at 7am until we left the house at 10 am, he never moved out of one spot. Not to eat, not to shift, not when the kids pet him, not to make himself more comfortable. I just knew he had chosen his spot and laid down to die. When the kids and I got back home from running our errands, I invented a chore for them to do in the garage so I could go in the house and check on him. He had gotten up long enough to lay down on a different pillow and was snoozing happily, most likely dreaming about young, sexy female dogs and bottomless vats of Snausages. I was so relieved … I love that dog so much.
This morning, we slept in until 8am. This week is Winter Break at school, and I had visions of today being a lazy, lazy day. Instead, by 9am, I had mopped the kitchen floor, mopped the dining room floor, vacuumed the living room floor, and febrezed every square inch of carpet and furniture in the house.
Why? You ask? Why? Is it because I was bored? Am I OCD? Is it because I’m a hyper-vigilant housekeeper? Are Tuesdays my normal mop and wash days?
No, to all of the above. It’s because the damn dog went outside this morning, managed to step in HIS OWN POOP, and track it back in all over the house. And this isn’t even the first time it’s happened! So first I had to catch him {you wouldn’t think a sixteen year old dog would be so spry, but dang, that dog can move!} and clean his stinking {and I use that term literally} paw off with wipes and soap, then I had to un-do the mess he traipsed all over the house. My hands still stink of shit.
I hate that dog.
{Not really. But he has GOT to start pooping farther away from the deck.}
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9 comments:
you are too funny!! I bust out laughing EVERY time I read your blog. Thanks for making my day
Bwahaha. Wish I could say that never happens in our house, but it does. Like you needed a "reason" to clean anyway!
Well, um, let's see...it COULD be worse, I guess. It could have been YOU that stepped in Lager's shit and not only traipsed it in all over your house, but also wrecked a perfectly good pair of shoes in the process...MWAHAHAHA! Oh, I'm sorry (not really, so much), but I just could not help it. Whatever would we do without our best friends with fur?
Kristie, I've been reading Kendrie's blog for about 3 years now and have been reading your blog here since Day One. I knew we were about the same age and had similar views on life (which is probably why I love your writing so much) but now I discover that our dogs are about the same age too??? My Pippi is also 16 and not a day has gone by in the past 2 or 3 years that I don't check to make sure she's still breathing when I go past her. After all, she IS old and already can't hear, can't see out of one eye, has arthritis and spinal spondylosis...how much longer can she hold on? (well, hopefully a long, long time, huh?)
Yesterday Pippi didn't step in her own shit but instead broke open a how-did-I-miss-see-this-coming infected anal gland. Again. Which meant, not only a $119 trip to the vet for treatment and antibiotics, not only do I have the privilege of shoving cream (a.k.a. "butt paste") into the raw opening right next to her asshole for the next 4 days, but I also have to change the bed sheets because she "leaked" (blood and pus wherever she laid down to sleep), bring the down comforter to the cleaner (again, a lovely leakage issue), and wash several spots on the carpet where she sat down. And, of course, god forbid my husband help because, in times like these, despite the fact that she worships the ground HE walks on, she's MY DOG.
And I wouldn't trade her for anything.
When I was about 12, I was the last to leave for school. My dog, Daisy, was frantically dragging her butt all over the carpet, leaving long brown stains. When I looked, I discovered a large ball of poop stuck in her butt. I couldn't just leave her in misery and go to school. And my mom was already gone. So, being 12, I grabbed the closest thing I could find....fingernail clippers....and pried that big ball of poop right out of Daisy's behind. It took a long time,and was pretty messy.
I will never forget the look on the attendance lady's face when I told her why I was late!!
We all have stories about our pets I see. My dog had pups last Thursday. She was NOT happy about it and ran from couch to couch, bed to bed, pillow to quilt dribbling the nastiest bloody stuff and then her water broke.....She then spent hours and hours (and dollars and dollars) at the vet having puppies because she refused to push them out and the one she did try got stuck. Now I have 6 puppies that she absolutely hates...I love my life!
Aww Man....I love that dog too! I know what it's like to have an old dog and how hard they try to not cause grief even if they do.
Lager seems like such a sweet loyal dog, and being 16 is very old for a dog his size.
My little Charlie (black cockapoo) lived to be 18, was blind deaf and his teeth were all lose, but he never complained about anything, and he never lost control of any functions. I even bought him carpeted steps to get up on my bed because his arthritis made it hard to get up.
As his "mother", my proudest moment was the night I had a bad reaction to a medication and my neighbor called the paramedics. When they arrived my neighbor cautioned them to be careful that they didn't accidently step on my sweet little guy...so cautious they were. Well, they had a bit of a struggle getting an IV in my collapsing veins, which made for a bit of a mess with blood...my blood....which Charlie knew was my blood!! All of a sudden one of the paramedics said "hey that old blind/deaf damn dog just bit me". I gotta tell you, NOTHING could have made me prouder! I think I need another dog!! Give that sweet Lager a hug and smooch.
Sorry this was about me and my dog, and I'm really sorry about all the poop. Isn't fabreez grand?
Janice LeDoux SoCA
Oh good lord. How is it possible for the comments to out-gross the original post?! Also, how is it possible for me to be simultaneously laughing and gagging?!
Aaaah, dog shit. Is that the stuff that my little mutt deposits all the way down the ramp because she's too much of a princess to get her feet wet in the snow? And is it the same stuff that I had to scrape out of Chrissy's wheelchair tires yesterday morning before I could put her on the bus for school? I'm sure she would have been very popular if I hadn't noticed it. Dogs...gotta love 'em!
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