For once, I’ve had several things to say, but less of a chance to write it down. I’ll probably forget most of it and then be stuck with figuring out what the hell I’m going to do with this space. As much as I hate to admit it, this place has become all Mommy blog, all the time, and I’m sure a lot of it is gag worthy.
Today, however, I want to talk about my old, busted, stinky dog. G-man.
Those of you who have been here awhile (like, during my single days), know that I have a black lab. When I was single, he was my baby, and yes, I was one of those crazy dog ladies, that totally treated her dog like her kid. I lined up sitters for him. I took him with me when I went places. I actually spent money on him for Christmas and wrapped his presents. Something he looked forward to.
And then along came the Meester. And all of a sudden, he was relegated to the foot of the bed, and eventually, he got his own bed, where he preferred to sleep. He didn’t like it, but life for him was still good.
And then along came our chihuahua. For a small dog, she’s a bossy little shit. As little dogs tend to be. She’s got attitude. She came into the house and promptly took his place in the pecking order. Moving him down a rung.
And then of course along came the Mini and I think I saw him in our back yard shortly after that trying to hang himself from a tree.
Over the years, he’s gotten more anxiety ridden. He’s been shedding like a god damned mother fucker. So much that I’ve stopped trying to keep up with the hair, even though it makes me insane to deal with it. It sticks to everything like a magnet. It comes out in clumps. Just when you think he’s going to go bald, he’s sheds another dog. He’s gotten stinky, has horrible breath, and recently, we noticed he’s got a cyst on his head, which we’ve started calling his cancer bump. Given his age, I knew we had to take him to the vet.
$450 later, they’ve taken blood work, taken a sample of the cyst and gave him a thorough work over. Long story, he’s got atrophy in his back legs from arthritis, something I knew was imminent, given his diagnosis with hip displasia at 9 months of age (he’s had hip surgery for it, due to an accident), and is being put on paid meds. He’s got dental disease, which is causing breath that rivals that of a dumpster in a city alley on a festering summer day. He’s got a “tense” abdomen, which could be anxiety, or could be something else. Short story, he’s old. He’ll be 10 in a few weeks. This is kind of a reality I didn’t want to face.
Over the past couple of years, he’s become a pain in the ass. Don’t get me wrong, I love him, dearly. He’s my dog. But having kids, puts your dog at the bottom of the totem pole. It’s that simple. I have less patience with both of them. We have a running joke always asking if he’s planning on dying anytime soon. Telling him he’s on death’s door. Of course, not having dogs would be easier. I dream of not having to deal with his hair. Giving him away at his age, is just not an option. He’s not only too old, but he wouldn’t be able to handle it.
We took him into the vet today, thinking it’d be another one of those visits where they said that he’s healthy as a horse, and will probably live forever. Joking that he’d do it to piss us off. But today when asked what they typically see in labs of this age, they responded with “we don’t typically see labs at this age, because they’ve usually already succumbed to something.” It kind of was a slap in the face. I guess I have to face that he’s actually a senior citizen, but I figured he had a few years left in him, at least. He’s fed very well, and in general, was in really great health for his whole life.
I guess all of this joking around was just a way of masking what I didn’t want to face. He could be around for another two or three years, or tests could come back and he might have less time left. No matter how much the shedding sucks, I guess I’m not really ready to face that, yet.