Apr 302012
 

I’m sleeping a lot, guys. I really am.  But a few weeks ago it got really really really bad.  I could barely walk back home when my mom took me out for a walk; Mom felt so badly for me drooping along that she would take off the lead and at least give me some freedom and let me walk at my own slow pace. I know that she would be up ahead of me. This was really not the order of things and she knew it and I knew it, though she tried to make me feel better about it by saying “Good boy” all the way back home.

Dad even stopped taking me out running.

My parents can remember a time when if I didn’t have anything to do, I would always find or make something to do. If I was outside, I would try to get out of the yard, or find a ball somewhere and have myself a nice time, and I think the ball was enjoying being tossed around, chewed, rolled around, too.  If I was inside, I would try to find that ball, too. There was rarely a dull moment for me.  Okay, okay. After I was hit by the car I definitely slowed down. And then a month ago my new doctor told my parents to give me Previcox every day for my arthritis and elbow dysplasia.

The problem as my parents saw it is that I was sleeping a bit too much. “He’s really sleeping a lot,” Dad said.

“Yes, he’s getting older.”

“Yes, but this is a lot more sleeping; it’s like he’s dropping off a cliff or something.”

Then Mom noticed that in the morning, when she would go downstairs, I wouldn’t even follow her down.  “Joey,  Joey!  What’s going on? Come downstairs!  Come!  Come!” and maybe a minute or two later I would stretch and stretch and make my way, one step at a time, downstairs to the kitchen. “Joey, what’s the matter? You usually follow me everywhere. Now I have to call you to come follow me around.”

At some point one of my parents said, “Maybe it’s his medication. Ever since we started giving him one a day Previcox, he’s been sleeping like this.”  And they stopped giving me the pill in the morning.

And then Dad went away, suitcases and all.

But instead of being all depressed, I started feeling better, and more energetic.  Mom was so certain that it was the medication that she took me over to the doctor’s.  He asked, “Has he also lost his appetite?”  When Mom said “NO”, he said that it’s the first time he’s ever seen a dog lethartic on Previcox but not lose his appetite.

When Dad came back home, suitcases and all, he said, “It’s my Joey again.”  While Dad hasn’t take me out running, my Mom has, for a block or two, at a time. And it’s fun again.

I’m really glad my parents know me well.   And it’s good to be me again!!

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