Dogster

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My Diary

I'm OK

I went to the vet and I got poked and prodded and that nasty thing stuck up my butt. The doc said I had symptoms of senility and prescribed a new mediation. Since I've been on this new medicine I am feeling much better. I don't feel so depressed or anxious or jumpy. I've stopped hiding and trying to sleep in the closet. I've stopped pacing. My nerves are better - I don't feel startled every time there is a noise or someone comes near me. I feel happier. I'm eating better, too. I am peppier and want to go for walks, and the doc said that will help me build muscle and strengthen my legs. I am Ivy. Hear me bark.

I may be nearing the end

Dad came to pick up me and my sister Lily today to take to his home for the week. He tried to take me for a walk first, so I wouldn't do my business in the car. My back left leg isn't working so well anymore. Muscle deteriation, the doc says. He called my Mom and sounded upset because I couldn't really walk today. I heard something about the vet and this week. Then he left with Sis and I got left here all alone. What do you think of those kibbles? On top of it all, he was crying when he left. This does not bode well. My nerves are frayed and I have been putting up with a storm all day. I didn't really want to go deal with that barking schnauzer and the big lummox. I guess I am glad I got left.

It's not every day

Some things change with age. My sphincter muscles are one of those things. Sometimes I am walking along and oops, there is a steamy present for whoever wants it. I sure don't! I scurry away from it as fast as I can.

On the whole, everyone seems pretty understanding. After all, it's not every day I drop one. Although on other days I have been known to make more than one deposit. Mom #2 fusses sometimes. On occasion she even raises her voice and I run for the closet. Dad only gets upset when he steps in my offering. I don't let it bother me too much, though. I do try to go outside in time to make my solid oblations in the yard, but hey, I am 15. That, for those counting at home, is roughly 105 in dog years. I sure hope I don't look that old!

I have now been dubbed Ivy, the poopy dog. Ughhh!