Lambiedog

A small bit of good news

    There has been a lot of terrible medical news in my circle recently.  So I am pleased to at least allay concerns in one tiny area.  My recent lab tests revealed good results:  a very good general blood panel, normal liver enzymes, and a phenobarbital level that was actually a little on the low side, which means there's lots of room to increase the dosage should that ever be necessary.  

    So my health is one less thing for my associates to have to think about.  

    If you want to, though, you to can always worry about my weight: 17 pounds, 7 ounces. Remember, however, that a good portion of that --  at least 5 to 10 pounds, I'd estimate --  is attributable to my luxuriant fur.

  

I look into bettering my position

  

I've been investigating substituting a new family in for my current one.  Nothing personal, but the magic is gone.

So I went out to the bluff and insinuated myself next to a dad/daughter duo sitting on a bench.

         

    For some reason, they did not seem to notice me.

    Then I found another couple:  sophisticated yet mellow, enjoying their wine at sunset.

  I stood by winsomely, then sat there to suggest that I belonged with them.

    But they were too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to me.

 People are so self-involved these days.  

Apparently I'd better stick with what I've got. My family is quite attentive.

A strong start to the new year

 

I got to work right away on some of my New Year's resolutions -- specifically, those dealing with exercise and excretion.

  First, I took a very long walk with my associates Buddy and Killer.  By the end we were exhausted, especially me.  

I took a few hours to rest.

Then I undertook learning how to use the doggie door. 

It was fairly pleasant.  My training team had taped up one piece of the airlock door, so I only had to go through one layer of plastic.  

          

 I had a lot of encouragement from my trainers, and they arranged for me to enjoy delicious treats on the other side.  

       I was a heroic and outstanding student, if I do say so myself.

          
       So far, though, this is just an agreeable pastime involving intermittent reinforcement.  I have not yet reached a Helen Keller-"W-A-T-E-R"-type epiphany where I catch on that I should run out this door when I need to void my bowels.  Perhaps that will come later.  Or maybe not.  It's not an easy connection to make. 

In need of a Christmas miracle

 

Things are looking grim for Thomas' computer.  He cracked the screen a few days ago, and ordered a new one from eBay.

 Today Charlie got out his tools to install the replacement screen and carefully, taking hours, took everything apart, only to learn that that we'd been sent the wrong screen, which won't work with Thomas' computer. Then, while he was putting the computer back together, he dropped a screw into the computer's headphone jack.  He and Thomas tried everything, but they couldn't get it out.

 While Charlie worked on a communication to the eBay seller, Thomas took a quick nap on the sofa.  

Perceiving that they were both dejected, I tried to lend support.  

I wished I could do more.  Why couldn't I be a helpful techie when my brothers needed me most?

It's terrible to feel impotent to stop the suffering of those you love.  

Consolation prize

 

 I had hoped to be invited to light the tree at Rockefeller Center this year, but the call never came.  

Although I had been told that Aretha Franklin was going to condition her involvement upon me being included, apparently she forgot.  Perhaps her handlers talked her out of it.

 In the midst of my disappointment, I was mollified to at least receive a local tree-lighting invitation. "Lambie," I said to myself, "Remember that there's no place like home for the holidays."

Changing states

The old me:  With seizures, but relatively svelte.  Seizures managed, but not controlled, by potassium bromide.

The new me:  Without seizures, but "fluffier," as someone euphemistically described me yesterday at the bluff.  Last night I was unable to jump up on the bed, due to my burgeoning fluff.

The difference:  Along with the potassium bromide, I'm now taking phenobarbital, which is known to cause both lethargy and increased appetite.

Is it worth it?  Logically, the exchange of my firm abs for a seizure-free life would seem to be worth it so long as the phenobarbital doesn't cause any mental softening.  Just a matter of kissing my days as a hunky pup goodby, and going gentle into that good night of middle age.  

And, in fact, I have not been lethargic.  But this jumping-up problem is sobering.  Am I going to have to live out my life needing others to lift me up onto my lounge chairs?  

The diet vultures are already circling again.

Social IQ

Oliver is always in the center of the crowd.  He radiates calm, and dogs seem drawn to him.

Whether he's mixing it up in a group, or sharing private confidences, he always looks comfortable.

 Social IQ is such a hard thing to analyze. Where does it come from? Why does one dog have it and another not?

Me, for example. I'm great with people, but cool with other dogs.

I've been studying Ollie, trying to pick up some of his ineffable secrets.

Apparently it helps to have short legs.

They make it look so easy

 

The unkindest cut

    To the right is a photo of me innocently cavorting with a new acquaintance by the name of Max, just before his owner pointed at me and asked my owner, "Is she pregnant?"

Below is a photo of me trying to simultaneously suck in my stomach and look macho.

 

The ripple effect of violence

When I went to the bluff yesterday morning I got involved in an upsetting altercation with a dog by the name of Rambo.  It was so upsetting that once I had completed my morning evacuation I left the bluff posthaste to run home, ignoring my friend Pookie who had just pulled up and was getting out of his car.

Here's a photo of Pookie looking for me in vain and being washed over with disappointment as he realizes that we will not have a play date: