Subtitle: Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. What? Ow. Ow. Ow.
Oh my word and flippity flop, life is confusing. And painful. Just when you think you’re getting the hang of things … BAM! Something comes along to throw you for six. Although six is supposed to be good, so I don’t quite follow that. Should be throw you for one. Or hit you for a catch. Hrm. Anyway, I digress.
The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of weird.
As I’ve been getting older, They have been letting me go on longer walks. This is good, I like walks. Walks are full of fun and sniffs, and if you’re really lucky, people and dogs. Then one of my legs started hurting. Not being one to make a fuss, and suspecting that They might cut back on the walks if They noticed, I kept quiet about it. Caught Them giving me funny looks a couple of times, but I gave Them a big dopey grin and trotted on without care in the world, and it looked like I was getting away with it.
Things started to look dodgy when They gave one of my legs a good prodding, but I kept my mouth shut and put up with it; nonchalance was winning the day, walking continued.
Secure in my deception, I was content to ignore the pain in my leg when … BAM! a pain in my very soul. Get up on a normal Tuesday, head into work with Him. Weird that She’s not coming, but no biggie. Get home and she’s gone. Left. Vamoosed. And not for the first time I might add. And so begins 10 days of what I believe they call the Bachelor Lifestyle. As far as I can tell this involves me being miserable, and mildly neglected by Him (for “mildly neglected” read “Not having my every whim and demand attended to instantly”, Ed.) – forced to just snooze at the office all day and go on walks. No fun at all.
Alone and bereft (Mostly. When not distracted by something. Well, anything), everything started to unravel. Distressed by Her absence, I forgot to disguise my limp. Eventually He picked up on this. Next thing I know it’s shorter walks, and being whisked off to The Vet (more on The Vet another day). A bit of poking and prodding, home, back to The Vet and … He leaves me there! Blimmin’ cheek!
Then … THEN they SHAVE MY LEG! Is OUTRAGE!
Puppy Abuse!
The shaving incident is topped off with some pricky pain thingumajig, and the next thing I remember I’m waking up in a crappy little cage feeling like someone’s spiked my water bowl. Not entirely impressed, although a succession of cuddles from The Vet take the edge off the worst of it.
Made my point when He eventually deigned to come and get me by charging off to see another dog and not acknowledging Him in the slightest.
Fortunately like all good stories this one has a happy ending. I’m told they shaved my leg (without my consent, let the record show) so that they could do x-rays to find out why I’m limping. Despite all the suspicious and frankly offensive muttering about “Bernese, joint problems, liability, stupid dog, what were we thinking” it turns out my joints are absolutely fine – so stick that in your smoking thing and ignite it. I, class act that I am, have panosteitis which all the best puppies get. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Course of action: yummy pills! Very yummy pills in fact. So yummy that I had to give Him an extremely firm look when he posted the first half of one down my throat, and point out that I’d rather eat them like treats.
Oh, yes, and She came back as well. That was good. I’ve been showing my general happiness about this for the last week. I can only assume that “Stop it!” and “Pain in the neck!” are terms of endearment.
So, yeah. Life. It still hurts. But it’s quite good too.
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