Thursday, January 13, 2005


In Which The Dog Has His Day...

Originally uploaded by magazineman.
So I went back to the animal hospital and retrieved the Dog (his real name is Blazey Bellow Hoska Boo Boo Ba Doo, which in the Native American tongue mean "I let my kids name the dog"). The lab results won't be back til next week, but the vet is optimistic. Here's hoping.

Poor guy still seemed a little groggy so I had to carry him into to his bed. The kids were all over him and he managed a feeble wag.

"He's dying!" my son shouted. His sister began to weep.

And then my wife, who has some experience with males who act like big babies when they don't feel so good, showed up with a single piece of Roast Beef, the sacred treat only bestowed on holidays and after acts of selfless doggy heroism.

It was a miracle. The dying dog rose--okay, leapt--to his feet and danced around my wife until the Roast Beef was bestowed on him. He stood there, wagging his tail, chewing thoughtfully, then looked at us looking at him and got the sheepish face, the uh-oh-the-jig-is-up face, and tried to crawl back to his bed, but we're onto him.

This photo pretty much shows him in his natural state, to which he has now returned, 48 hours post-surgery. He's not staring into the middle distance; he's waiting for the moment my daughter goes to the bathroom to wash her hands, at which time he will mount an attempt to steal her dinner.

If this were taken last week, you would have seen a strange pink mound--a bit like a small wad of gum--up on the back of his nose, almost dead center in the middle of his snout. Now there's just some really annoying stitches there and a nasty like patch of yuck that has to be cleaned every night.

Now THAT'S nothing you do for fun, let me tell you. I should sell tickets. Last night, my wife came down, heard a strange commotion and saw me, coming at the dog from behind, trying to pin his head to the ground (but gently!) and dab the antiseptic on at the same time. This was happening in our living room where, for reasons I can't go into just now, we have no curtains. So to my neighbors (and come to that, my wife) it looks like I'm attempting unnatural congress with my dog.

The dog, of course, thinks this is some new game, so he rolls underneath me and stuffs his back paws into my crotch. Then, just because he can, does a little rabbit kick.

Now I'm on the floor, grunting like a wounded warthog and he's doing a victory lap around me, that excited-dog-running-on-his-elbows thing, and the antiseptic stuff is in my hair, on the rug. In fact, everywhere but on the dog. For a second, there's a cold, cold nose probing my ear, and that panting laugh. Then the clatter of paws as he tears off again.

Laugh while you can, Dog. Because tomorrow, I'm eating all the Roast Beef.

From Somewhere On the Masthead

I needed a good laugh this morning, thank you!!!!
ouch - now my sides hurt from laughing so much.
Glad you are both feeling much better!!!

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