Lambiedog

Was it my breath?

    The party broke up virtually as soon as we got to the bluffs last night.  Above is a photo of everyone leaving.

Was it coincidental that they all took off as soon as I arrived?

    I tried to act like I didn't care.

Medical report

    I've had a mixed bag of medical developments this week.

    First of all, on Wednesday I went to see my doctor.  The issues on the table were:  (1)  My weight and (2) My anti-seizure medication.  Also: (1.5) My bone.

     The weight discussion was a complete triumph for me.   Dr. Galea said I am not overweight. And upon seeing a sample meal we'd brought along for him to evaluate, he exclaimed, "He must be starving!" -- uncannily echoing my own sentiments. 

 

 

 

    To my critics -- As Richard Nixon used to say, "Let me say this about that."  I don't want to hear any more catty comments about my body size.  I am not fat -- it's been stated decisively by an expert.  Go find some other dog to pick on.    

    The bone discussion was more sobering.  Dr. Galea is not a fan of bones.  He says that he often sees dogs who have broken teeth on their bones.  Also, he said that bones can cause constipation, which, without going into details, let's just say struck a nerve with me.  So bones may be off the table. But I can handle that if I can at least get decent portions of my regular meals.

    As to the seizures, Dr. Galea took a blood sample to test my sodium bromide level.  Depending on the results, he'll either increase my dosage, or switch me to pheno barbitol, which has a lot more side effects. 

    So that was four days ago.  I ate like a king, and was much relieved by my good report and happy prognosis.   

    But then, two days later, I had another seizure.  It came out of nowhere:  I was barking at a solicitor who'd come to the door, and then suddenly I was falling over and arching my neck and my paws were stiff. 

    It took me a couple of hours to feel like I might be recovered from that seizure. Then we took a walk out to the bluffs. But once we got there it turned out that I was still exhausted.  

     

 

I stopped in the shade of a bench, underneath a stranger who was reading her book.  For ten minutes I just sat there, collecting my strength and reflecting on my medical travails.

 

My family urged me to get up, but I thought it prudent to stay put.  Not to be dramatic, but I needed the time for reflection.  What did it all mean?  Why me?

                

    Eventually I pulled myself together and went home.  Sometimes the only answer is to just put one paw in front of the other and keep going.   

Deconstructing Adonis

    Interesting graphics from Doctors Foster & Smith may help to resolve the ongoing question of whether I'm fat or just "built".  In each group the top drawing is of a dog as seen from above, and the bottom drawing is a profile.

 

                                                 

Very thin                   Thin                   Ideal                   Overweight                   Obese

Body score = 1            Body score = 3         Body score = 5           Body score =7           Body score = 9

Now let's see how I score according to this index: 

                                                            Overhead                                            Profile                                        Less Flattering Profile

    It looks like my body score is about a 6, placing me somewhere between "Ideal" and  "Overweight."    This may seem worrisome, but please refer back to my post regarding Stump, the winner of "Best in Show" at this year's Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show.   Stump would have a body score of 9 (Obese!)  if the Foster & Smith schematics were applied.  From this we may conclude that Ideal weight appears to be a moving target.

    The graphics and accompanying explanation can be found here, on the Doctors Foster & Smith website.

Weight again

 

    I was in a funk for the past couple of days, due to a confluence of related factors.  

    First of all, there has been some very unkind criticism of my physique.  Not unexpected, given a small but statistically significant recent increase in my weight -- but still hurtful.  Some unfortunate photos did not help matters.

                                              

    Does my family have nothing better to discuss than my size and what it portends for my long-term health? Apparently not.  The house seems to be swarming with experts.  Their consensus is that my tiny meals need to be cut back even further.

    Then, the most unkind cut of all -- these so-called experts got nasty about my bone and the fattening nature of marrow.   I was already feeling down about how the size of my bone had dwindled over the past couple of days to the point that it was really too little to gnaw on.

    Last night they finally did the right thing:  They gave me a new bone.  I bonded with it for a couple of hours, and then I took it outside to bury it for the night.  

    I will say this:  I slept much better knowing that I had a bone outside.  

    Yes, under the latest regime my meals are miniscule -- a few crumbs of rice and ground turkey -- but I can handle that as long as I have the bone.  I appreciate my family members' trust in me, and I will not let them down by overdoing it with the bone.  I will enjoy it judiciously, so that it lasts for at least two weeks, like the last one did.  I will even try to act enthusiastic about the exercise program that they've been developing for me.  

    Because they do have a point about my weight gain.  I'm still young, and this middle-aged spread is unacceptable, particularly since I'm already dealing with a serious health risk from my seizure disorder. 

     I have a lot to live for.   I'm going to slim down, with my bone by my side.

       

The price of celebrity

The Michael Jackson events of the past two weeks have led me to muse about the consequences of being a public figure.  Yes, Mr. Jackson was odd in the extreme, but as a public figure myself I have empathy for him.  

I know what it is like having the paparazzi follow you each time you go out for a walk. 

Just yesterday, for example,  I was out for a pleasant morning walk when the relentless paps caught me in their crosshairs.

My crack security team immediately jumped in front of me to protect my privacy.  

But the damage was done -- my innocent happiness had once again been invaded by these monsters of the press who want more more more of me.

  

I saw an ad for an armed response team.  Maybe that's what I need to protect me from this wild adulation.   It's worth considering.  

The only thing I won't do is take drugs (other than my epilepsy medicine).  If I've learned one thing from Michael's untimely death, it's that I must be vigilant in Just Saying No.

Houseguest

 

The Benjamin Franklin quote is,"Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days."  Presumably, if you apply the dog years algorithm to this saying, it would go, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after about ten hours."   However, in the case of my recent houseguest, Mr. Buddy Mai of Santa Barbara, California, I felt he began to smell almost immediately.

    OK, I admit it -- I felt threatened by his presence.  He's cute, Thomas and Maggie made a fuss over him, he got to go out for a ride in the car with everyone else while I had to stay home alone, and, perhaps worst of all, he had more interesting food than me.

    I watched him eating his food and after one of those black pellet things fell on the ground unnoticed by him I pounced and got it myself.

   

Then I acted innocent.

 

   

We had a portrait session before Maggie and Buddy left but I decided to boycott it by jumping off the sofa just in time. 

When will my hair grow in?

The way Crystal shaved my nose so close makes me look like Anubis .  

I don't want to look like Anubis.

Not my best haircut

Crystal went a little too short this time. She scraped the bridge of my nose.  And I fancy I see a stripe along my left side.

That's OK though.  This will give me insight into what it feels like to be one of the less attractive kids.  It will develop my empathy muscles.  And then my hair will grow back.

      

Putting a bully in his place

I was watching Pookie and his mom have a nice photo session,

when a monster in a rubber apron thought it would be fun to start scaring us.  

We didn't think it was funny.  He completely spooked Pookie.

I gave that guy a piece of my mind.

After the seizure

 

I had a seizure last night.

 

This is a photo of me recovering, in the post-ictal phase.

 

It occurs to me that I could be a poster dog for a lot of different problems:  Abuse, Abandonment, Epilepsy, and now Obesity.