The Problem with a Good Vet by Pocket

I have always been jealous of my friends with good vets, the ones their parents trust completely.

I have been to multiple vets.  There was the one who held me by my front paws and looked me up and down, there was the one who charged way too much money, there was the one who only saw dogs in the morning and didn’t seem that interested in our well being.  Last Tuesday we went to another new vet.

We walked into the small waiting room.  The walls were covered with thank you cards, drawings, and pup pictures.  I liked that.  My parents put me down to sniff.  The Sniff reviews were good.

We went into the exam room.  I got weighed (I am up to six pounds) then I checked out more sniff reviews.  The vet came in with a tech.  They both began to tell me how cute I was and they fawned over me.  They certainly knew how to impress ]parents.  My dad held me as they took a picture for their wall.

Then they began to check me over, and they said everything seemed good.  I did some shaking when it was time for the shots, but they said I was very brave.  They gave me a treat and a stuffed duck toy.  It was a fantastic experience.

“Her teeth do need work,” the vet said. “The only thing holding them in place is the plaque.  It is common in Yorkies.”

Forget about it toots.  My parents have gone to other vets who mentioned my teeth, but they never trusted the vet enough to have them cleaned.  My dad has used every toothpaste, spray, water additive and foam known to man in the last four years to combat my tooth decay.  We weren’t winning, but my teeth were still in my head, so that was a victory.  Sorry Mrs. Doctor Lady, but no expensive dental work for this dog.

“It might be time,” my mommy said.

Excuse me.  Time?  Time for what?  Time to leave in a huff?  Time to call the SPCA?  

The woman who does the dental work entered and looked in my mouth.  “Yes, some of these are going to have to come out.  Would you like us to do an estimate?”

No.  No estimate.  Keep your fingers off my teeth!  Mom!

Mom thought it over.  I knew she would say no.   So I had a few bad teeth?  What’s the harm?  

She said yes.  Then things moved very quickly.  An estimate was done, an appointment was made, and now, nine years after I lost my forlorn ovaries some of my teeth are joining them in the doggy scrap heap.

On March 29 I am going to have my teeth cleaned and some extracted.  

Some dogs say a good vet is a great gift.  To me, not so much.   Give me my old incompetent, uncaring vet any day.  At least no one makes appointments with them.     

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

I must be getting old....I can't remember why I wanted to go out

Josie is our Pup of the Week

I have too many friends here at Rainbow Bridge who arrived because they ate something they shouldn’t.  Every day I stop by to see Brody and Romey.  Sometimes they are watching over their families.  Inevitably they will say “I wish I never ate that thing.”

But we dogs can’t help it.  Humans put squeakers in our toys.  Those little things drive us nuts.  We have to get them out.  When we finally find them our instincts take over and we gut that toy like a wolf with a rabbit.  Occasionally the urge is so strong we forget we aren’t a wolf and eat that whole toy.

Our parents get frustrated when we destroy toys, and they spend more money on stronger toys.  Now, let me take a minute to address these parents.  There is no such thing as a destruction proof toy.  Every toy has a weak spot that, when we find it, will, with a short bit of work, get us to the inside and that damn squeaker.  Big Dog Toy is never going to make a chewie that is indestructible because then you wouldn’t buy another toy and they want you buying toys.

Our very good friend Josie became a victim of Big Toy this week.  Her mom bought her a toy that was made from a fire hose.  “No dog can chew through this!” the salesman said.  But any motivated dog, including five pound me, missing half my teeth, can chew through a toy if inspired.

Josie, who has never been a toy eater, got inspired, destroyed the indestructible, and ate part of it.  A short while later she stopped eating, was restless, and wasn’t pooping.  Her mom became worried that her cancer had returned.  When Josie threw up a part of the fire hose toy, her parents had the answer.

Josie was rushed to the vet.  The toy had become stuck in the part of Josie’s intestines that had been removed when she had her cancer surgery.  It also gave her an infection.  The vet did not want to operate.  It would be very unsafe to take more of her intestines.

Josie is the head of a pack of eight dogs living on a farm in Illinois, and the leader of an even bigger online pack.  While her mom loves all eight dogs, Josie is her heart dog.  She and Josie fought very hard when Josie got cancer.  Through rallying the prayers of scores of friends and angels Josie survived to the delight of her many followers. Succumbing to a battle with a chew toy was not the way Josie was going to Rainbow Bridge.

Josie was brought to the vet on a Thursday.  On Friday the toy began to move.  The vet was confident that Josie would pass the toy on Friday and be able to go home.  But, when her dad arrived to bring her home the vet told him the passage had stalled.  If Josie didn’t pass the toy, she could be in a life-threatening situation.

So, we all began to pray, for one poop, for one immaculate poop.  We gathered around her like a father encouraging his pregnant wife to push out a child.  We chanted:  “Come on Josie, Push it out, shove it out, way out!”

After enough prayers and chants Josie pushed the toy out, and she was able to go home.  The crises had, quite literally, passed.  We had never rejoiced over a poop with such enthusiasm.

Luckily, I did not get to greet my friend at the Bridge this week.  We all know she was lucky.  And we give the Big Guy much thanks that she allowed Josie to stay with her wonderful mom.

And please, my dog friends, despite what your instinct may tell you, do not destroy and eat your chew toys.  Nothing good is going to come from it.  The best we can hope for is something bad is pushed out of it.

And you your parents, never trust an indestructible toy.  Nothing in your world in indestructible.  Least of all us dogs.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: A Matter of Perspective

There are 99 problems in the United States but dogs ain’t one.  If dogs got organized, they could take over the country while the humans argued with each other.  But who wants an entire country to manage?  That is going to be hard to do when our main goals are running, playing, sleeping and just staring into space.  Even with doing all of that I think we could do a better job.

We could certainly do better than the city council of Eugene Oregon who has proposed to bar dogs from downtown Eugene.  Apparently, the biggest problem in Eugene is not the dufus hipsters and hippies who infest their city streets but dogs.  I thought hipsters and hippies were kind and accepting.  Maybe the only thing they want on the streets that have not bathed in two weeks is themselves.

The motion is expected to fail because there are many homeless people with dogs in Eugene, and there are people who live in the city who own dogs.  How would they be able to tell which dogs were downtown Eugene dwellers, or visitors, except that the dwellers would be walked by people who looked like Sonny without Cher?

To the citizens of Eugene, I would like to state that you are number 53 on the problems the United States face.

Number 86 on this list are the people who protested the Dakota Access Pipeline.  I am all for their protest.  Firstly, I don’t like any construction; it is noisy, interrupts naps and bothers my wildlife friends.   Also, I don’t like anything that can cause harm to good people.  Their protest is not why they are number 86.

They made a list because when the government momentarily paused drilling for the pipeline, and the protestors left, at least two dogs were left behind.  When the government moved back in to prepare for drilling again, they found the two dogs had added four puppies, because what else are you going to do at a protest site alone for months?

Now, it is very possible that the dogs, who are much smarter than humans, knew that the government would start destroying nature to build the pipeline again, and decided on their own to stay and keep protesting, because, as much as we love humans, we know how duplicitous they can be.  Or these devoted dogs who lived in the tents with the protesters for months were considered as disposable as the tents themselves.  Ironically the dogs were saved by the very people the protesters were trying to keep out.

On either side of the political spectrum, whether they are buttoned-down conservatives or freewheeling hipsters, whether they be those committed to saving tribal land and the environment, or those looking to rob the earth of its treasures, there are some who love and appreciate dogs, and others that don’t.

I am not interested in the politics.  I am only interested in those who care about dogs.

Who Stole My Winter by River Song

Having been born in Florida, I have been told by my fellow Massachusetts dogs that I am a snow wimp.  When I am brought outside to do my business, and if there is snow or ice on the ground, it clumps in my paws or wets my fur, and my systems shut down:  Nothing is going in, and nothing is coming out.  That is why the Big Guy created pee pads.  I am more than happy to go back inside, and pee like the civilized humans do.

If I were an only dog I would have been very happy with my winter strategy but I have a sister and with siblings comes teasing.  It does not make it easier when my sister is twice my age and half my size.  I am young, scrappy and hungry just like my country but I am not peeing in the snow.

Tiny Pocket, pushing double digits in age, stands on the ice while shivering and she lets out a small stream of urine and is told what a good girl she is.  Hey, I’m the good girl in this house!  I was going to have to conquer my fear of frost.

The next morning it was bitter cold.  There were a few inches of shoveled grass, bent over, and frozen.  Pocket peed, then I followed.  My legs shook, my heart was racing, and I had to concentrate very hard, but I did it.  I went in the house, got a treat, and had confirmed what I already knew.  I was a good girl!

The next morning I was ready to show that I had become a true white walker.  We got up and went outside.  Someone had stolen the ice and most of the snow!  It had been replaced by water.  The sun was warm; there were little flowers poking out of the ground.  How long had we been asleep?  Pocket peed right away. She asked me if I was going too.  Hey!  I just began peeing on the snow; I don’t pee when it’s wet.  My human stood, holding the leash, waiting.  Geesh!   I stepped on the squishy ground.  I got into position and got the beautiful fur on my lower portion wet.  I did it, but I didn’t feel like a good girl.  I felt like a dirty girl.

The good news?  The melting formed a moat around our house, so I got to use the pee pads the rest of the day.  The next day was warmer and drier.  While I love the warm weather, I was disappointed that I couldn’t show that I had conquered my snow phobia.

It turned colder a few days later after we got in several good walks and lots of sniffs, but I don’t think my ice peeing will be appreciated now.  

I have all summer to work on peeing outside in the cold.

And to wonder who stole my winter.

Wednesday Movie: Waiting for Momma