All you dogs, this post has been a long time coming. Some of us go to visits with the veterinarian and are totally cool with it.  Others of us go to the veterinarian and range from skittish to totally terrorized. Where do you fit in?

We can talk about just waiting in the waiting room or bump it up a notch to being in the examination room, or having some procedure done. I’ve seen many dogs hang out behind their parents’ legs in the animal hospital waiting rooms; I’ve tried to make friends with many of these dogs, to calm them down and offer friendship, but they’re just frozen in fear.

I’m on the cool dude side.  When I had my injuries from being hit by the car, I had to have surgery, and xrays taken, and all sorts of procedures done on  me, including having my bandages changed regularly, and my wounds cleaned.  The doctors would ask my mom, “Does he need to be knocked out?” and except for actual surgery, and dental surgery, no, I didn’t.

It helped to have somebody just petting my head and saying “Good boy, Joey” and for splint changes I would need two technicians (my mom counted as “one”) but together we made it through everything, no “puppy’s little helper” required.

But many other dogs do. They have to take anything from a “calm down” pill to having an injection.

Let’s talk about this.

Do you think there’s a difference between how small and large dogs handle this?

Dogs who have been surgically “altered” and those who have not?

I am waiting to hear from you.

I’m hanging around my bed. Mom says, “Joey.  Come, Jo Jo.” I look at her, and she again says, “Jo Jo. Come.“  Is there a reason I want to go there? It’s Mom, that’s a pretty good reason. And she’s calling me. So this time I get up and go there.

I’m interested in the food around her, the smells in the kitchen.

“Joey, you’re an old dog.  Old dog.” That’s what she says.  “At least you could go get a ball and play with it. Go get a ball and I’ll throw it to you.“  I’m not interested, not now, at any rate. I’d rather just hang around, just stand around.

“Old dog, Joey.  You’re an old dog.”

It’s a good thing I don’t know what she’s saying.

I don’t want to face it, but I’m slowing down.  Dad doesn’t take me on the long runs any longer. He takes me on the short ones, however.  On my way home and up the big hill, he says I’m practically walking, no longer running.

On warm days, I’m even more tired, panting my way home.  On cold ones, I do a little better.

It’s the elbow dysplasia that’s got me down. That and some arthritis in my knee joint where I was injured when I was hit by the car.

It doesn’t stop me from loving life and loving running. It doesn’t stop me from eagerly arising with Dad in the morning, when he comes to get me to run, and taking off from the gate. It doesn’t affect my attitude.

It does, however, slow me down.  And I take an extra long nap after my run.

In July I celebrated my 12th birthday.  But the thrill is definitely not gone.

My parents want to go take a vacation. They want to go far away. They also want to bring me with them. We will have a family vacation. They also know that if they leave me alone, one of two things will happen.  I’ll either get stiff legs from my arthritis and from sitting around all day doing nothing, or sitting in a crate, or I’ll get depressed from missing them and wondering where they are and why I’m not with them and when they’re going to return to me. The last time they left me, even though I was taken good care of, it took about 4 days for me to snap out of my depression and to start eating again.  So they want to take me with them.  But condos don’t like dogs.

The condo said that when we drive up to the guard house, if the guard sees a dog inside the car, I will not be allowed any further. I will not be allowed into the condo.

Why don’t condos like dogs?  We are part of the family.  And my parents are sad about this.  Many people love dogs, and many people love me. But not everybody does.

My sister Rosie and I are still getting together taking walks. We took this walk to celebrate our TWELFTH birthday!  I wasn’t counting, but Mom was. And Rosie’s Mom was. I pretty much lost count when I was born!  Either way, she and Mom how to make a party.

Rosie’s snout is narrower than mine, so she had an easy time getting the treat out of the cup.

I needed a little help.

I often hear people asking my mom, “Come on, who’s really writing the blog?  You (referring to my mom) are writing the blog, right?”

Now of course my mom answers, “Joey’s writing the blog.”

And why couldn’t a dog write a blog?  Why do people ask my mom this question?

The bottom line (and I know a lot about that) is that this blog reflects my point of view. Right? And nobody  knows my point of view better than me.

So when people ask my mom that silly question, I just keep quiet.

I ask you, “Can a dog write a blog?”

Reflection and Contemplation a Necessary Part of Creative Writing

Sometimes my parents take me to this place that is very large and open and quiet.  I am told to “Sit” and they walk away but they are very close to me.

In the beginning, I’m afraid. I hear sounds of  “whack” popping all around me, again and again, then silence, then this “whack” “pop” sound again, and the sounds frighten me.  I am nervous here.

I see little balls everywhere, but they are not the kinds of balls that I want to catch and play with.

My parents turn to me and say “Hi Joey” and little by little I get more comfortable.  Then people come by and pet me. Then they leave. Then other people come by and pet me.   Then they leave.   I”m happy when the come toward me and distressed when they walk away. But soon other people come toward me.  Many of them stop in front of me and give me a pet and want to talk about me.

Eventually I become more comfortable and start to like this place!

My parents have me sit by a fence and they go and leave me alone for a while.  I’m on my lead and I’d rather be free. But this is where I am now and I accept that. I’m with my parents and I’m a good dog. So I sit where I’m told to sit.

I never think about the alternative. I never think about staying home alone. I like where I am, with my parents, with sounds of pop and whack all around me!

You wake up feeling really good.Your Dad takes you for a nice walk early in the morning: What a great way to begin a great day. Soon, your mom takes you on a nice car ride to your favorite animal hospital. There, your friends greet you with smiles. They take you into the back rooms. You walk to the back and quickly forget about your mom. You see your favorite doctor and are happy!  Then, you suddenly become really tired. Later you wake up and can barely move. You try to walk and it’s not so easy. Your mouth feels strange. You see your mom. She says “Good boy, Joey” and you start to walk outside, but you bump into the railings. You see a really nice bush and try to take a pee but it’s difficult even getting over to that bush. Beneath you, your legs are working hard to keep you upright.  You see the car and your Mom opens the car door and you have to jump up into that back seat but – are you up for it? You stop for a moment.  You have to do it. You’re a dog. You are a proud Labrador Retriever.  You are a chocolate.  And so you do. Your mom has the sheet laid out on the back seat beneath you.  You try to sit up like you always do, so you can see outside. But it’s a strain.  Your mom says “Joey, lie down.” Then she says it again. This is something you rarely do.  Lying down in the back seat is not for dogs. But she motions to you to lie down so you do.  You listen to her. Besides, it’s difficult to sit up.

She drives slowly and opens the window for fresh air. You don’t feel so good. You don’t open your mouth. Not that day or the next.

You get home and home feels good and she gets you into your nice soft bed. Ah. You fall asleep. For a long time.

You won’t open your mouth that night.

The next morning your Dad takes you running. It’s hot outside and you are getting hot and the way you cool yourself off is to open your mouth and let your tongue hang out. But you won’t open your mouth. Not that morning, not that afternoon. Except when your mom gets you some food to eat. Then you do. But all the rest of the day, no way.  Maybe tomorrow you will.

This is dental surgery for dogs.  My parents and doctor all agree this was part of my being hit by the car many months ago, 16 months ago, and what started out as a little crack in my tooth has now worsened so that my tooth had to be extracted.

I don’t know how my parents knew it. I didn’t tell them. I never complained. I was eating less but my parents assumed it was because of the summer heat just tiring me out.

But one day my Dad noticed that my breath didn’t smell so good and that I needed a dental cleaning. When my Mom brought me into the hospital for my blood work, I had to get on that scale again.  70 pounds!  “Joey’s lost too much weight” my doctor said.  The next thing I knew is that my parents were giving me all sorts of nice foods to eat, adding rice to my breakfast, rice to my dinner, sometimes little pieces of meat and turkey.

Now I think they’ve figured out that the reason I wasn’t eating was because it hurt to eat.

During my dental cleaning, my doctor Tamara noticed my tooth was really badly cracked. And so she took care of it.

Now back home, my parents say, “Joey, want a treat?” and I go over to her, obediently sit, and then she puts those little things down my throat again – “medicine” my parents call it.  Then they say, “Joey, want a treat?” and I get some nice soft bread.  And I’ve been getting a lot of food again, with rice and chicken gravy.

Eating is suddenly fun again.  Maybe I’ll even open my mouth and give my parents some kisses some time soon. But not now.