Oct 122012
 

Another one of those trips to the animal hospital where I’m perfectly happy to go. More than happy. There’s always a new excitement in the air because the air tells me that new dogs whom I’ve never met are nearby.  It’s not always the easiest thing to wag my tail in the car, but I manage.

Into the hospital we went, and waited. There was one dog in the “Dogs” section who was really nice – until he started barking at me.  And that ended our budding friendship.  Mom took me away, and then decided to try friendship again with him, and again he started acting friendly, and then barked at me again. So that did it for good.

My hope was to find another friend, or another doctor to make friends with, and soon I found one. A doctor, that is. Mom and I followed her into a little room, where I usually get lots of attention. But this time it was a real washout. Mom and the doctor talked, and talked, and talked, and talked. I had to obtain some attention for myself after a while, but it wasn’t sustaining. And then they kept talking. What a waste.  I could have been having a really good time all the while they were talking.

So here is my animal nutritionist with me.

Before I went to the animal nutritionist my mom was feeding me chicken and rice three times a day, with some occasional squash. After I went to the animal nutritionist, my mom was giving me dry kibble two times a day.

I really don’t see what was to gain by seeing this animal nutritionist. Can anybody give me some sympathy, please?

 Posted by at 12:52 am
Jul 262012
 

I look pretty bad here. What’s worse is how I felt. I couldn’t run, I could barely walk, my parents thought I was dying. And I guess I was. I felt sick as a dog, and I was. My mom wanted me to see my favorite doctor in the world, but she wasn’t there. So I saw the next doctor, then another, and finally I ended up where I should have started out, with my favorite doctor in the world (aside from Dr. Kiko, but I saw him too), who was now back from being away, and my favorite doctor in the world figured out all my problems and made my parents very very happy.

And I’m no longer as sick as a dog.

Here in this photo you can see my shoulder bones, you can see my vertebrae, you can see my sits bones and you can see my hips, bone by bone. You can see my skin flapping around. That’s when my mom said “enough.” Or maybe she said, “This is ridiculous.”

A while back, when my mom took me for a checkup, she noticed that I was losing weight but that doctor didn’t think that was important; he said “He has arthritis and it’s good to carry less weight.” He missed the sign. Then my mom took me back a while later and the next doctor missed the sign too. But my mom kept worrying about me and knew that the doctors were wrong.

So what was the problem?

The good news is that my favorite doctor in the world has me on an antibiotic and I’m gaining weight and you can’t see my bones bone by bone or my skin rolling off of me any more!

And, yes everybody, I’m able to run again!!!

Jun 282012
 

I don’t think about it, actually.  In the mornings when I’m out walking with Dad, and I’m not clipped to my lead, I really enjoy a quick trot. Maybe a quick dash from tree to tree.  It’s joyous.  In the afternoons when I’m out with my Mom, and she lets me off lead, I’ll do the same. Usually she gets up ahead of me and I’m lagging behind, smelling whatever I can find, and then I see her up ahead and sprint to her. A few times she’s made a game out of it, and she’ll start running, “Come on, Joey. Let’s run” and I do. It’s a nice game.  I get an infusion of energy and life.. “Come on, Joey. Joey’s running!” she says, all the way, maybe one block, maybe less, to our front door. Sometimes she arrives first, and sometimes I do. Either way, she makes a big deal out of it.

Yesterday she took me to Cat Rock Park. It was a nice day. I got to run and toss myself about, gayly and there were a lot of other dogs there and we really galavanted about, swimming and socializing.  but have I had my final run?

Dad doesn’t run with me any more.  After a while I just can’t make it up that big long hill any more.

 Posted by at 8:54 am
Feb 122012
 

My parents noticed it a few times.


They noticed when I tried to jump up on the bed my rear feet lost their footing on the flooring, and I slipped. I tried to make nothing of it, and to make another attempt to jump up on the bed, this time successful. Another time my legs slipped out from under me, and I was quite too nervous to attempt it again.  My parents, who were there at the time, urged me to try again. “Come on, Joey! Jump up! Jump up!! Up up up!” they said, not wanting me to give up and give in to my newfound fear of doing something I’d done without a second thought for all of my life. They wouldn’t let me give up, my parents!

Another time I headed up the stairs from the first floor to the next floor and my rear feet slipped and my legs gave out from under me. Again I tried to make nothing of it, and to make another attempt at ascending the stairs, this time successful. But this happened several times.

Yesterday I found a surprise in a box. I could smell the box that it was for me.  My mom opened it up and many things came out of it, and soon she was working away, like usual, by the stairs. When she was finished, she said, “Joey come!” I did, and she said, “Joey, up!” I walked to the foot of the stairs, positioned my self, and walked up. At the top, she said, “Joey, come! Down, down the stairs!” and I came down to her.  Here I am modeling how I start out: Two feet on the floor, one front foot on the first step and another front foot actually moving for the second step:

Such a nice surprise, for me, and I went up and down and up and down, and it was so soft on my feet and legs and bones.

Here I am, one hind leg on the second step, one hind leg leaving the first step, one front foot on the third step and one front foot about to land on the fourth step (got that?):

And to tell you the truth, I think my parents like this surprise for themselves as well… I think I noticed them going up and down the stairs a little more than usual…

 

 Posted by at 9:45 pm
Jan 062012
 

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.

 Posted by at 10:23 am
Jan 062012
 

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.

 Posted by at 8:07 am
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