I’ve been stupid. Yeah, I know, stop the presses alert the newscam. Fuck you and whatever that is you’re riding (I didn’t know there were horse hoopdees). I’ve been looking at the bottom of Levi’s paw and feeling along the joints. He joints feel just like dog joints and he doesn’t shy away from me touching them, just gives me that long suffering “How about movie and dinner first dogophile?”
He came in to watch the end of project X or whatever the hell that movie is in the now classic genre of teenage party movies, and sat on the broken chair (Oh, shit. Yeah. I never told that story. The lazy boy I got at good will has issues and I can’t dismantle it or drag it to the garage, so it’s up against a wall making a corner complete with two lazy boys and an end table perfect for remotes and one cig ashtray, one cigar ashtray and a pipe ashtray the dogs like it.). It was, and still is, daylight. Yes, I know, I admitted to being stupid now you want me to admit to being asocial as well. Continue with the fucking you and that horned horse/cow you saddled.
T’any rate and the only reason to mention it at all, I saw the top of both his hind paws side by side (yes, he sits like a proper lady). The toe that, as mentioned earlier, is either the wee wee wee piggy or the one going to market on the passenger side (when he’s all up in your grill on, more precisely, when you are looking at his grill) was three times the size of the other piggies and the driver’s side equivalent piggy and it’s the top of the nail that looks red and sore.
There is less of a hitch in his get along today, but he really needs to go into the vet on Monday. I’m hoping Sunny comes through because I have a big pharmacy bill coming up and even if she doesn’t pay the vet, I really can’t leave Otis alone and I really really can’t take him. He’s a very emotional beast and he’s got this thing about being alone. Once when the people left with a red dog, they came back without him and were crying. Even if he didn’t go bat shit in the car in the vets parking lot it is June, I’m not leaving a dog in the car alone, especially in a place that 1) scares the bejesus out of him and 2) has kittys in little lunch box jail cells coming in and out of the door marked Kitty (yes, my vets office has a cat door and a dog door and though the waiting room is wide open the business desk separates the two sides, I assume so employees can make heroic leaps in case of an emergency. It’s not a smart assumption but it’s the only one I’ve come up with).
Levi is sort of enjoying the repeated “Oh you poor little guy, you poor fat little guy, you fat little fat poor guy dog” and having chicken jerky treats brought to where he flops down. For some reason it’s at night, bedtime, that he insists on getting under the covers, leaning against me and panting. Sometimes just petting and the litany of poor little fat will get him to stop, sometimes not. I can’t see any reason why it would hurt him more at bedtime. I’ve been giving him some of Herschel’s old pain killers which are probably out of date but the ink is so worn I can’t read the date. I wouldn’t be admitting to this if there were adverse effects; I don’t know if they are killing pain or not though, I think they are a doggy anti-inflammatory of some kind mixed with an analgesic. It’s a really bad idea to give a dog things like ibuprofen or other human anti-inflammatorys. Didn’t seem to bother Herschel any but the vet was shocked; they usually fuck up dog’s tummies. Herschel was also a great chocolate thief which is supposed to be another big no no for dogs (thieving is, but I meant chocolate, something about their nervous system and caffeine).
Just keeping things up to date.