Lambiedog

Chronicle of a busy Sunday

My day started early with a trip out to the bluffs, as usual.

Next up: a walk into town with Ollie, Winnie and Dolce. We stopped to rest at the Village Green before walking back.

 

After that I rested, as I had another engagement coming up that I wanted to be fresh for.

The upcoming engagement was the annual Arbramar block party.  Dolce would be there, and perhaps some other dogs as well.  Yet I knew I would still have to fight my social anxiety.

 I am just never that comfortable in social situations.  Thank goodness for the refreshment table, which gives me something to act like I'm busy with.   

 

 I guess it could have been worse.

Finally, it was back to the bluffs to enjoy the twilight. 

Another Sunday appreciated by me.

Summer days

Charlie and Laura came down for Independence Day weekend. 

                 

 We took some sunset walks, had friends over on the Fourth, and generally just hung out. 

 I hated to see them leave.

 

Social animal, part 2

    Recently some impressive dogs have let me hang with their pack.  I refer to Ollie, Luke and Mia.

Noticing that they resemble wolves, I have been cautious in their presence, tending to follow far behind them on our hikes. 

But then they had me over to their house and we broke bread together (metaphorically speaking).  Their generosity and savory kibble eroded the barrier of mistrust. 

Still, I wouldn't want to cross in front of them in a dark alley. 

Visit to the country cousins

We went to Ojai to see the country cousins -- Leo, Ella, and Annie. I won't name names, but some of them are less friendly than others.  Overall, I felt a bit intimidated.

Aunt Margie put them outside while she took me inside and prepared a delicious meal of ground raw meat to tempt me out of my anorexia.

So thoughtful!

 

Then we went outside again for awhile.  I felt more relaxed in the open space.

When we came in, we stood around together hoping for more food. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a bonding moment, but at least it was an instant of common purpose.   It was a start.

 

From obese to anorexic

November 2011

December 31, 2012

Whereas I used to have a weight problem, now I am headed in the opposite direction.

After my recent gastric bout, Dr. Galea took me off of the Phenobarbitol / Potassium Bromide combination I had been taking, as that is not recommended for dogs with pancreatic issues.  Instead, to control my seizures, he switched me to Zonisamide.

2009, pre-Phenobarbitol

    All these years I have had to deal with skepticism regarding my claims that my 2009 weight gain was due to the Phenobarbitol. Well, guess what, you non-believers:  I was right!   My weight dropped as soon as I got off of the Phenobarbitol. 

Furthermore, at this point I'm not even interested in eating:  It turns out that Zonisamide is linked to anorexia.   I now pick at my food, and weigh less than 15 pounds, as against 18 pounds a month ago before I changed medications.   The doctor has given me a a clean bill of health and proclaimed me free to eat whatever I want as long, so long as it is not high-fat.  My owner has tried to tempt me, first with homemade food, and now with enticing commercial concoctions bearing names like "Savory Steak in Meaty Gravy".  But I have little enthusiasm.

I ignore my food.

    Although I am now one of the skinny guys, I continue to empathize with the heavy, who are unfairly accused of personal sloth when so often their weight and metabolism are due to factors beyond their control.

 

Trick or treat

Once again, Willy was a hot dog for Halloween, and I was a plain dog.

  We both got treats though. 

Mein host, Lambie

We had a small gathering the other evening in honor of Cali's owner, Margaret, who is moving away.

I was all nerves before our guests arrived.  I hoped it would be a nice balance of people and dogs.

When they arrived, it turned out that the dog contingent was minimal.  Margaret had left Cali at home. Dolce did attend, but although quite relaxed, she was not at her most lively.

 

Though I was outnumbered species-wise, I circulated among the guests, keeping the social ball rolling and the glasses filled.

I wish I could find it easier to relax in these situations, as Dolce seems to do so effortlessly.

Whirlwind weekend

    Every couple of months our empty nesters group gets together.   It was our turn to host.

Then it developed that Thomas and his colleague, Dusty, would be in town and staying with us that same weekend.

 

It was a party, through and through.  My cup ranneth over.

Aftermath

    My ordeal of yesterday [see Incident Report for details] did not leave any permanent scars.  However, now that they have passed through their initial relief that I survived, my family has adopted an unpleasantly cynical take on my weight-loss travails.  Each time I start to stroll around the house, they're up checking to see if there's loose food anywhere.  Just because they caught me one time with my head in the cookie jar, they're convinced that it's the manifestation of a larger problem.

    How will I regain their trust?

Anatomy of a traumatic experience

This is the container that my head got stuck in tonight. 

The image below is a schematic simulation.  No actual photos exist of me in the heat of my predicament, because when Thomas found me he thought he'd better not waste any time before rescuing me, given his assessment that I might be running out of oxygen.             Here's how events unfolded:  [This is a re-enactment extrapolated from cellphone records, so times are approximate.]

• 6:07 pm:  My owner departs for the evening, leaving me dinner in my dish.

• 6:12 pm:  Alone at home, I eat my dinner.

• 6:13 pm:  I follow my nose into Thomas' room. On the floor is this canister, lid on, with a few biscotti crumbs still left in it.

• 6:14 pm:  I knock the canister over, causing the lid to become separated.

• 6:14.30 pm:  I put my head inside the canister so I can get to the crumbs.

• 6:15 pm:  I try to pull my head out of the canister, but cannot.

• 6:17 pm:  I panic.

• 6:19 pm:  In attempting to extricate myself from the canister, I work myself into the corner between Thomas' desk and his closet door.

• 6:20 pm to 6:31 pm:  Terror.  I am stuck in a tight corner with my head in a plastic container.  I bang back and forth.  I am disoriented.

• 6:31 pm:  Thomas comes home. 

• 6:32 pm:  Thomas searches for me.  He follows the banging and locates me.

• 6:33 pm:  Thomas extricates me from the canister. 

• 6:34 pm:  Trembling and debilitated, I collapse on the sofa to reflect soberly upon the nightmare from which I've just been delivered.