A Dog's Life

Well now I've seen it all.

Today in the news I saw pictures of poodles made over (at great expense to their poodle pride, I'm sure) for a Groom Expo contest. There was a 'Panda' poodle, 'Buffalo' poodle, 'Camel', 'Rooster', and 'Peacock' poodle.

Naturally, the Peacock poodle was the winner. Her groomers secret? Scissors, food dye, and Elmer's glue . . (--plus I imagine, not a single date in three years).

Though the 'Camel' groomed poodle's owner, enthusiastically belly danced through the entire Expo -- it still only earned him second place. (Well my belly dances too -- but I wouldn't have the audacity to seek a doggy reward for it!)



Now.
Yes it is true, that when our youngest came along--the fourth of four boys--I choose to keep him long haired well-into the seventh grade.
And well yes, this may have given him a small identity complex -- I never, never, shaved girl'y designs into his head of hair or made him wear peacock feathers in front of judges.

And so, as not to be confused --These poodles have it much worse than any of my children, --and I really mean that. No matter what they say.



Our dog? --well, we should have named her Lucky, with the life she's had.
For starters, she was a pound rescue. So that was the first thing that went well for her. And from there it's been a straight line to living high on the hog. ( ~ High on the Hog? Sounds politically incorrect in petspeak, no?---)

In fact, --I recently found out the first thing Dog and Hubby did last summer when the kids and I were gone for a night, -- was make a beeline for the master bedroom bed! Now of course the rules are no animals on the bed. But there they sat, --eating, watching movies, and catching a good nights sleep.
I can only imagine the grins they had on their little rule-breakin' mugs that night.



Though I've never let the dog on the bed with me, --I still take good care of her.

A certain full-blown doggy bladder infection, comes to mind.
I don't remember exactly how it was we suspected an infection. . . But it was the vet who eventually clued us in completely.
Either way, it became my job to get a urine specimen. I don't even like collecting my own urine specimens. Worse yet is carrying it around til someone takes it off your hands. And why must it feel warm? Do I really have to know that about my urine?
Anyhow. I started where anyone would start. I had a good heart to heart with Dog. I told her I knew how she must be feeling, heck we were both women, --and that I wouldn't wish a bladder infection on my worst enemy . . . and that we were going to get help for her. Her only job would be to just let me know when she needed to go potty, and I would lay a pie tin down for her, ---and, if she wouldn't mind, -- just leave her little sample right in it. I would take it all from there.

The only time I recognized the vaguest resemblance of comprehension cross her doggy face was when I finished with the words, 'Alright, --let's go!'
She was all about the 'let's go!' . . . but I felt like the rest had gone in one ear and out the other.


And so began the strange dance of Dog, and pie tin laying Doggy Mommy.

The vet told me the secret was to--when I saw the dog go outside--nonchalantly follow her around with my pie tin hidden. When I saw her begin a squat, I was to speedy, like a ball-a-fire, slip that cold tin, right under her business.

Well, you can imagine what a shock that was to her! (~~ 'What the . . ?')
In fact, Dog became rather antsy about my whole need to follow her every time she wanted to take a backyard stroll. Plus, she had never seen her mild-mannered master jump into such a devilishly fast-paced-dash, whenever she meant to leave a deposit.
Eventually Dog would try to lose me, --similar to if she were the FBI, and I the KGB. And when I'd catch up she'd act like, 'Um, nope! Just smellin' the roses here, sister. No call for your squirrel'y behavior and frosty disc!'

Oy, did we have a time of it.


And I know I hurt our relationship. She may never understand why I needed to push cold foil against her privates every time she tried to 'unwind'.
And you know with a bladder infection, she was trying to ~unwind~ like, every ten minutes!
-- and sure enough, every ten minutes there I was standing right beside her, whistling dixie, and avoiding eye contact.
I became so fast on the draw, it's a wonder I didn't dislocate a shoulder!


Eventually I confiscated the smallest dropper full of doggy pee, known to man. Somehow, miraculously, it was enough. Though it seems to me I would have gotten the same amount of tinkle if I'd just let her do her thing, sponged the area dry, and wrung it out in my tin.

I wouldn't even want to think about bladder infections in a pet hamster or parakeet. I mean really, shoot me now.



Stalking aside, I'm still confident I remain a more humane dog owner than those thick-headed poodle whittlers.
I gotta say, if the TV executives are that hard up for material -- I've got a fantastic idea for a Realty TV Show.

Think celebrities, pets, and pie tins.