Dear 80’s Just Say No Commercials – It’s My Dog’s Fault

Chewy is now a relatively perky old man on super pain-medication. That’s right, my dog is now a drug addict. Awesome. I mean, he already drank out of the toilet and ate things better left unmentioned while outside and barked at invisible things – why not get him high too? (He learned it from the vet, by the way, not from me.)
Crap. You guys, I forgot to ask if starting these means he has to stay on them indefinitely or get DTs when he misses a dose. Oh my god…Great Pyrenees detoxing. NO. Just…no. 
Chewy loves his six pills twice a day for pain and antibiotics. (Not kidding: he does love them. He eats a giant dollop of peanut butter a couple times a day and feels better for a while after, so, to him peanut butter is FULL OF MAGIC. And really, is he wrong? I think not.) 
This doesn’t stop his falling, but it does take enough of the aches and pains away that he perks up some when he’s awake and has returned to his “I want you to think I’m ready to rip your face off, but really I’d just lick your face obsessively for a while, if I could be bothered to get off the ground which is WAY too much effort” bark-and-wheeze routine. The cottonwood in the back yard snowed all over the damn lawn, and for a couple of days he made sure all the fluffy seed fairies knew full well that he sees their nefarious floaty plans, dammit.  
It’s been suggested to me that he needs an attachment on his collar. You know, like the whole St. Bernard whiskey-barrel thing? Do they make oxygen tanks that small, with a little snout-tube to help him take less wheeze-coughy breaths between barks? 
So, an improvement in day-to-day, but overall no major changes.That’s both a blessing and not. Waiting for death is a patience game, and much like every other large life event it feels like everything else is on hold while I hang out and spend as much time as possible with my lumbering fluffball, until I can’t anymore. 
In the meantime, it’s supposed to be the surface of the goddamned SUN here on Saturday with fetid swampass humidity (fuck all of that) and I totally blame my ex, who’s coming back from Dallas to visit and CLEARLY decided to torture me with Texas sweltering. 
But he’s coming to visit his drug-addicted elderly dog, so, you know, mostly forgiven. 
You Houston girls, I miss you TONS. I do not miss 100+ temps. Feel free to visit this week too, because it’s gonna feel just like home for you. 
Between Chewy and other icky life stresses, mostly I’ve been tired and not blogged. 
But we’re still here, not writing. (Well, I’m not writing because I’m tired. Chewy’s not writing because, and I’m being painfully honest here, he’s a lazy ass who never bothered to learn to type and gives me pathetic excuses like “I don’t have thumbs” or “all I’d write about is imaginary saber-toothed-bunnies anyway” or “hey is that cheese you’re eating? I like cheese.”)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.