Oops. Bog posts out of order...

Today was the dreaded monthly heartworm/flea/whatever parasite treatment day.

Bob alone is not a problem. He trusts me not to hurt him when I hold him down to squirt the flea kerosene between his shoulders. I reckon that's the recommended spot because he can't lick it off. Which suggests it would not be such a good idea if he did lick it off. Which makes me wash my hands really well before I give him the yummy heartworm pill as a "reward."

With Penny, though...She's a sweetheart who wants my attention and cheek/neck skritchy skratches all the time but, well, she's a cat. So it has to be on her terms. One of which is that she always has an escape route. I'm happy to give her that, except when I have to part her between-the-shoulder-blades-fur once a month to administer that which a responsible cat owner must administer. Escape route closed until medical procedure done. Not to mention that said medical procedure requires access to less preferred part of her body. Needless to say, she emits pitiable cries worthy of Opera Delaware during the procedure. On release, she high tails it to her retreat. Where her box is. And throws a freakin rock&roll diva temper tantrum of litter ("It was drugs, what can I say"). 15 minutes later, she's back out for skritchy skratches.

Together, though, Bob is SUCH a good kid, and Penny so suspicious. Hmm. There's a lesson in here so, thanks Bob and Penny!

Bob's now 6 years old. Absurdly, I have stopped paying attention to his lesson, and rarely write to this blog. My bad.

I just got back from a week away, during which he was a a really great boarding place where he gets to play with and sniff at all the other dogs. I can even check on line how well my dog is socially doing, Bit of a worry...he seems to skirt around the outside. But whatever. He's good.

A week away is a long time. He kinda didn't know what to do about me at first. Plus, Penny had had the glorious run of the house for a week. We all are reestablishing our roles in our household.

And then, Thunder. And Hail. I hugged Bob as we watched the iceballs pellet our back patio. And with my assurance, he relaxed.

My trip was time with my parents and with my dear high school friends. All of us have been through the wringer of life. Thunder and Hail. But... Hugs and caring help. Always.

Disruption is difficult. But it knocks me out of complacency and  reminds me to be grateful.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob

Chirp

The battery in one of my smoke detectors faded so it started to chirp. Thankfully this was at 9 pm instead of 4 am. Yeah, you know how that goes. The chirping really doesn’t wake you up. But it totally freaks out the dog. So I replaced the batteries and the chirping stopped.

Bob is still a little bit freaked.  Unsettled.  He’s staying close, and I reach down to nuzzle his muzzle.

And I realize that I’m a little bit freaked too. How much we are connected, how much he needs me. And how much I need him to need me. 

It’s been kinda weird lately – so many people ask how old Bob is. They think he’s a puppy, because his big paws look like something he needs to grow into.  But he’s almost six. That’s like serious middle age for a dog.

And recently, so many of my friends who are dog parents have had to deal with the thing you sign up for when you bring a dog into your life. My heart breaks for them. I’ve been there. And will be again.

Shit. He’s six. I’m starting to hear the chirping. I know we still have several years together. But I also know where this is ultimately gonna end up.

Bob, oh gosh, I’m just not sure the pain is worth it. But, here we are. So I guess we decided it is.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

Water

Penny and Bob are amenable to sharing a water dish. For those of us who worried if they would ever peacefully coexist, this is a great relief. Still, this requires me as pet parent to ensuring that said water dish is always full. I confess I am not so good at that.

Ya see, all my previous dogs, and even cats, have figured out how to drink from the toilet. Much as we pet owners have positioned ourselves as being disgusted by this, we are secretly delighted that our furbabies have a constant source of water if we fail to refill the bowl with clean drinking water. Which we frequently do. We’re not perfect.

So, ya know, the toilet’s a pretty good back up to making sure our pets don’t get dehydrated.

Unlike my previous dogs, tank-like small Bob just can’t get into the toilet. And Penny, gymnast that she is, doesn’t seem to have the dexterity to pull it off either. And I wonder – are my furbabies uniquely lacking? I mean, Bob is not big, but he’s not Paris Hilton accoutrement size either.

No. They are not absurdly or fashionably small. They just can’t reach the toilet, and thereby assuage me of guilt of their dehydration.  Huh? Why?

And I realize when I scrub the toilets, and they take interest. I put the seat up. Which, being a single female, doesn’t happen very often. After I flush down the Comet, of course, they are VERY interested. Special moment when the seat goes up.

So someone missing in my life turns into something missing it their life. As simple as how to pee and drink. Who knew.

Bob’s mom realizes it’s not all that simple solo. Even if we’re only talking dogs and cats.

Good lesson. Thanks Bob.

Being loved for being

My church has a women's group once a month. This Saturday's topic was gratitude. As women, our bigger problem is accepting gratitude. Really? Do I deserve that?

This  doesn't  even occur to Bob. He doesn't have to do anything to be loved. And he is oblivious to the concept that it could be any other way. Love is there, Or it is not. Bob just sniffs it out either way.

Like you Bob. I don't need to do anything different to be loved.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob

New Cat

Bob and I walked through our urban neighborhood this morning, instead of heading to the park as we usually do. In the postage stamp front yard of one of my neighbors sat a cat, a new cat whom I had not seen before. Once Bob got a whiff, his nose was magnetically pinned to the ground, sniffing every millimeter said cat might have walked. He was so focused on the trail that he completely missed the source who, cat-like, calmly and condescendingly observed my goofy dog.  Eventually, the olfactory parts of his brain gave way to the visual parts and he saw said cat. Who promptly departed.

At that point, I was given some insight into Bob’s neural priorities. He was clearly dismayed that said cat was gone before he had a chance for a proper greeting. He even sat down on the sidewalk for a bit, waiting expectantly for same. And then the olfactory drive kicked back in, and his sniffing took on a new urgency, as if he could smell the new cat into existence. Back home, he gave Penny, and the back yard, snorting comparative sniffs to confirm that, indeed, this was separate from and different to previous experience. And now he’s had his brekkies and is off to sleep…and dream, and ponder.

Life presents us with the unexpected. At the moment, we often miss the point. But it’s OK because our bodies, our subconscious…if you will, the universe…hold the moment for us until we are ready to see it.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

By the way, Bob and I went to a Memorial Day cookout yesterday, and he made friends and melted hearts all around. Is Bob a great dog or what.