March 3rd 2008 5:46 am
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The ear infection is getting better. I don't yelp and cry as much whenever the phone rings, so Mom says that's a good sign. But I still have to keep getting the ear drops put into my ears.
On the first night Mom tried to give them to me, I would not let her. I said, "No way! If you like the ear drops so much, then let me put them on YOU!" So we were both trying to get them on each other, and then Mom and her mom tried to put a muzzle on me, and that's when I knew the game was over.
In the end, I won.
Or at least I thought I did.
After that, they took me to the groomers, and the groomer said she would put the ear drops in my ears every day. And then I knew the jig was up. Mom had won. Mom ALWAYS wins.
The ladies at the groomers adore me. They think I am just SO sweet and innocent, and they fight over who is going to give me my ear drops. One of the groomer ladies even called me her "main man." I think Mom was a little jealous after that. She wouldn't admit it, but I think she was. Especially after I gave all the pretty ladies big sloppy kisses. :P
February 26th 2008 12:08 pm
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A dog's life is really stressful. I don't think our people realize all the things us canines have to go through.
So last weekend, Mom took me to the pet store. But she didn't even let me sniff around at the toys. Instead, we stood in line for an hour. I think she just did it to torture me. What's the point of standing around in the same spot for a whole hour when there are millions of things to sniff and explore?
Mom and I were the first ones in line, and then a bunch of other dogs and their people showed up. I didn't like any of them though. They were all my size, but I figured out a long time ago that I'm too cool for the other little dogs. They all wanted to come around and sniff at me and play with me, but I wasn't having any of it. Bring on the big dogs! That's what I always say. So I paid them no mind and waited in line like a good little boy so Mom would give me a treat when we got home.
And then, the people in the white coats came. And I have to admit, I was a little confused, because I know those white coats, and I'd never seen them in the pet store before! They were supposed to be in the vet place that I hate, not in the store with the toys and treats! So I tried to warn everyone in line that the white coats had infiltrated the toy store, but it was too late. Mom brought me in the back room with them, and they stuck a needle in me.
It wasn't so bad. I could barely feel the needle at all. And besides, Mom said I needed it because I was overdue for my "babies shot." Now I don't know about this whole babie's shot buisness. I'm going to be five years old this year, which means I'm older than Mom in dog years. Babies shot. Hmph.
So we went home and I thought the madness had ended and I could just get on with my life of playing with tennis balls and barking as loud as I can to let the family know when the phone is ringing, and then this weekend happened.
First, I had to go to the groomer's on Saturday. Grrrr I don't like them groomers. They're right up there on my poop list with the vet people. I just like to group all of them into one category, cause they all wear those white coats. So let's just say I don't like anyone who wears a white coat and prods at me with unidentified objects.
And if that wasn't bad enough, I didn't feel good the next day. I felt soooo tired. I just layed down on the couch with Mom all day. And that's when she knew I wasn't feeling well. She said, "Rascal Boy, why aren't you on the floor begging me to throw your tennis ball? Why aren't you bothering Chance like you like to do all the time?" And then she felt at my ears and said I felt very warm. She said something about sticking a thermometer in an area where nothing should EVER be stuck, and I said, "Oh no! No way!" Luckily, I got my way that time.
Except the next day, Mom took me to the dreaded white coats. Not the groomer white coats, the other ones. The V word white coats. So in the waiting room I made sure to bark at all the big dogs so maybe they'd all take part in my protest, but I guess they didn't want to join in. Cowards. And then the vet lady there took one look in my ears and said, "Oh! He has a raging ear infection!" And then Mom got all scared like, I think because the vet lady used the word "raging." I don't like to see my mom all distressed, so I made sure I was real mean to the vet lady after that. When she tried to put medicine in my ears, I tried to bite her hand. And I said, "That's what you get for upsetting my mom!"
Well, this technique didn't work out so well, because then the vet lady put something around my mouth that made it impossible for me to even open my mouth up. I didn't know what it was and I felt all cramped like, so I sort of flipped out. Almost flipped myself right off of the table actually.
And the vet lady said, "If you're gonna act like this, then I'm going to have to take you in the back room."
Whoa. Hold on. STOP. Back room? What back room?? We don't have to go in a back room ... I'll be a good boy, I promise.
But she didn't listen and she took me away from mom, where she got help from another white coat trying to squeeze this sticky liquid into my ears, and then they did another not-so-favorite procedure of mine that I shall not mention. It may be too traumatic for the young pup's ears to handle.
And now Mom tells me that I'm going to have to get this stuff put into my ears every day for 13 days. Oy vey! I couldn't stand it the first time, and now I have to put up with it for 13 days?? I don't like the way it makes my head feel. It's all greasy and drippy and ... ugh. I just want to shake it out of me!
I hate ear infections. They just put more stress in life than there needs to be.
October 29th 2007 5:54 am
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Here are the rules of this dogster game of "tag" in case you've never gotten a chance to play. When you are tagged, you post 7 random facts about yourself, compose a "new DIARY entry" along with the rules and put them in your own DIARY. Then you pick 7 furs (kitties or doggies) to tag but make sure you tell them... a simple p-mail will do fine, or a rosette to tell them, but you must let them know that they have been tagged. Post their names also in your DIARY.
1. My favorite favorite favorite places to be scratched are on the side of my head and under my chin.
2. I like to chase people's feet if I think they are walking too fast. Oh, and Chance too.
3. Sometimes I trick Mommy by letting her think I'm cuddling with her, but I'm really wiping my face on her when my face is wet after drinking water.
4. No one is allowed to touch my crate except for me. No one. Unless you want to suffer my all powerful wrath.
5. I like to help Mommy when she's folding towels and sheets. She never seems to apprreciate my help though ...
6. I'm very smart. I always know when people are talking about me because once I hear someone say my name (even if it's not TO me) I will tilt my head to the side and watch them.
7. I dislike people food. Except when it's meat. And I don't like facny shmancy dog treats either. Just give me a milk bone and I'm perfectly content with the world.
I tag ... anyone who wants to do this!! And Chance too. Ha ha! It's your turn, big bro!