Oh. The. Pain.

Not much that I can blog tonight. Mom ate beef and vegetable soup. I begged silently with sad eyes. Got her leftover soup. Wonderful…at the time.

Not. Feeling. Well. Oh, the pain. Belly hurts.

My human brother sat down beside me. My lack of verbal skills made it impossible to warn him. He reached to rub under my chin.

Nauseous.

Sorry.

Exhausted. Stomach. Good night.

 

Technorati Tags: doggy stomach ache,doggebone

Discrimination

Hello again world. It’s me, again. Doggebone. I hope you’ve been doing well since my last post.

Me? So glad you asked. I’ve been physically well but I am on a mission. You know how I love getting involved in making a difference.

My current objective is to address discrimination.

You might not realize just how bad discrimination is in the world today. It doesn’t begin or end with racial or ethnic discrimination either. Now we have to deal with species discrimination. Let me explain…

I cannot count the times my human mom has referred to me as her “son.” I have been proud of being her son. I am proud to have human siblings; to be a part of the family. In fact, my mom says that I am part of the family. But sometimes the actions of my family make me feel anything but included.

Case in point.

Mom received an invitation to a relative’s 50th birthday event. The envelope was clearly addressed to her “and family.” And family. Family. I am family, correct? Well, guess who didn’t get to go?

Yes. Doggebone.

Apparently it is okay to take me on an occasional ride to the store or even to visit relatives who live nearby, but taking me to a family event is not in the cards. But, then again, even visits to relative’s homes are rare. The first time Mom took me to a relative’s house I chased his guineas. He scolded me and I stopped. I obeyed. That is good, right? Yeah, I thought so too. But I’ve only been allowed to go back once since then. Obviously, mom fears that I will chase his birds again. Talk about stereotyping!

I just don’t understand why I am acceptable to attend family events at our home but when the same family has get-togethers I am excluded. They act like they like me, but actions speak louder than words.

Doggebone is always left out. And I know why.

It is because I am different. Sure, I don’t look the same as the rest of the family. I am shorter, a bit less conversational, but I try. I bet if I was five feet five and walked on two feet instead of four and had less body hair I would be invited. It is discrimination –pure and plain, discrimination.

Heck. It doesn’t begin or end with family events. Think about it. Dogs are only allowed inside of stores and other establishments when they have a blind or disabled owner. What about the rest of us, faithful family members? If I was to stroll into Wal-Mart I can only imagine the reception I would receive. I am sure Doggebone’s butt would be escorted out immediately –if not kicked out, literally. The discrimination doesn’t end here, either.

I have heard stories about birds getting into stores and the employees and customers think it is amazing –beautiful, in fact. So, does that mean that I should sprout wings and fly to get in the freaking department store? Only a few places, like PetSmart, will let me in, and then I have to have my Mom with me. How embarrassing for a canine of my age. Escorted by my Mom everywhere I go. Doesn’t that also constitute as discrimination?

I just don’t understand it. I have been a constant source of love and committed care to my family. Again, there is that word –family. I am here when they need me. They go off and do their own things and guess who is waiting, happy to see them, when they return home? Doggebone. Who never questions what they do and is always glad that they have returned? Doggebone? Who lies at the END of the bed on days when Mom says I need a bath? Doggebone. I have never once seen my human siblings put at the end of the bed because they decide to get their shower the next morning. Discrimination!

There appears to be a lack of public or legislative support for canine discrimination. See, it really is all political. I suppose my situation does nothing to further national (or even local) politics. Even the ASPCA doesn’t seem interested in my plight. Sure, the ASPCA campaigns for abandoned and abused animals and that is great; but what about those of us who are doing our God-given duty as family companions? Do we not deserve a voice?

I think we do. After all, fighting for my rights, alone, is ruff! What do you think?

The blame game

Hello again. It’s me. Doggebone.

I’m needing to vent a little.

You know, just because I am a dog doesn’t mean that every bad thing that happens in my home is my fault.

Early this morning, around 3:30 I believe, an odd sound woke my human mom suddenly. She sat upright. Listened. The sound was a mixture of rumbling and gurgling and something that I really can’t put into words. She was trying to figure out what the sound was and where it was coming from.

In two seconds I knew what the sound was…and apparently so did she. The smell was horrendous. The worst smell I’ve ever smelled in my almost 2 years of life…and that is saying something when a dog thinks something stinks (hey, that rhymes!). Then she said it. I still do not believe she said it.

“Fred!” she said, her voice was painful, obviously from trying to keep from inhaling.

Why did she assume the smell came from me?

She leaned over and cut the lamp on.

Aha! It wasn’t me was it, mom?!

There he was…guilt covered his face like the dark covered the night…at least, before mom cut the lamp on.

Mr. M, my feline sibling…looking all dejected, his hacking was quite disturbing. I think that his stomach roared louder than the UPS truck that passes by our house. Mr. M is jet black, big as a house…and obviously, someone (not Doggebone!) forgot to put him outside before bed. He was sick. I’m no rocket scientist but I would bet my last Barkin’ Bacon Bites that his stomach was tore up. Man, oh man, was it tore up.

My mom was freaking out! Why he picked our room, I’ll never know, but my mom was up for a while cleaning, scrubbing, spraying some fruity something-or-other which only made the room smell like fruity kaka.

Anyway…back to the point. Why do humans always assume it’s the dog’s fault when hygiene issues arise? I’m a fairly neat little man, for a canine. Plus, if I had been the one who passed along the "present," I wouldn't hang around to see her reaction!

Sure, I have some buddies that hang around the yard who aren’t as courteous as me but I know better. And my mom knows that I know better. So, next time one of those hairballs, I mean cats, get sick she better not blame Doggebone…or else. I know how to give the cold paw!

You’ll stand up for me, right?

Cat litter: Risky business

Yesterday was a learning experience. I admit that scrounging in the litter box is not ideal, but, hey, I am a dog, remember!

I did learn a valuable lesson or two or three or...

1. Dogs that play in the litter box do not get treats. 
2. Playing in the litter box will get you in deep trouble.
3. Running from your human mom only increases the level of trouble you are in.
4. Dogs that eat certain types of litter will become horribly sick.

Personally, I've been caught in the "box" many times over the past few months, but yesterday was different. How am I supposed to know when the litter brand is changed?

Obviously the traditional FreshStep brand is not compatible with a dog's digestive system. By mid afternoon I thought I was going to die. The harking was horrible. My human mom was frantic over my harking and frothing. I heard her verbally analyzing the situation. She said, "When he went out, he was on the leash with me...so I know he didn't get into anything that could hurt him." Hmmm....if she only knew.

But, she did figure it out.

Apparantly, all the hacking was my body's way of expeling the litter. In one of the dozens of cleanups, my mom saw the bits of litter.

We had the meeting by the "box" and she proceeded to explain the "no"..."ahck" and other sounds that mean I am not to touch something. Okay already, I get it! I am dying over here. Do you think I don't realize what the connection is?

Anyway...
My mom fixed me a place to sleep in the laundry room. She provided a bowl of fresh water and set up the child safety gate. She gave me a loving pat on the head, a scratch behind the ears, said "I love you, Doggebone" and diappeared around the corner.

The night was long. Harking took the place of my regular sleep. Shortly after 2am I found relief. I slept straight through the alarm, my human siblings rumbling around as they readied for school, and the sounds of my mom and her coffee pot. The harking was gone.

Whew! Lesson learned!

But my stomach didn't feel so great. I jumped to my feet and did the dancing thing my mom likes me to do. She knows that means I have to "go." Apparantly, there is more to taking care of a bad litter ingestion than harking. But I feel much better now.

I played with my feline siblings for a bit, passing the "box" every now and then. I am fighting the temptation. It is an ongoing battle. I think I might have to start a therapy group. Let me know if you want to enlist.

Sometimes life is ruff

Little did I know when my (human) mom took me to the vet to get "fixed" what it would mean to my future. What bothers me about this whole "fixing" thing is not so much the fact that I've lost my girlfriend next door. I am not happy that I am experiencing a little (whisper....) "bladder incontinence" and this weight gain is exhausting me. I wonder if this is what it feels to be a human female going through menopause. I mean, not to disrespect women (human, canine or feline), but this change just ain't right!

I am considering some type of exercise program. I hear the Retriever down the road is doing "Sweating to the Goldies." I might just give it a try. After all, Yorkies are ideal at 7 pounds and I am nearing (whisper...) e-l-e-v-e-n. Yikes!