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 202012
 

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.

***

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
Dec 192011
 

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.

The condo said that the older condo buildings allow dogs, but only if the doctor says that the person needs to have a dog to survive.

The condo said that the older condo buildings allow dogs but only dogs that weigh under 40 pounds. That would not be me.

Why don’t condos like dogs? 

Why don’t condos like large 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.

 Posted by at 10:10 pm
Nov 102011
 

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 Mom brings good things 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.

 Posted by at 9:18 pm
Oct 242010
 

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

Jul 282010
 

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!

 Posted by at 10:41 am
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