Lambiedog

Ziggy's dad performs a trick

 
        We were at the bluffs this morning when Ziggy's dad said he had a good trick to show us.

    I assumed that it would be another piece de resistance from Ziggy -- such an amazing achiever.  But it turned out that the scheduled performer was Ziggy's dad.

First, not to deny us, Ziggy did perform a few tricks --  specifically:

  -'Shake paws' (right and then left)

           

 <----'Bunny' 

'Who's your daddy?'-->
  

 Then his dad took over, demonstrating some impressive Iyengar yoga moves.  

          

Ziggy and I were transfixed; Ziggy perhaps less so than me.

          

    I suppose that when you come from such a talented family, any individual accomplishment can get to seem a bit ho-hum.

  

   

   

Source of strength

 

When I'm at a loss I sometimes seek guidance at the sacred fire pit.  

  Even if there's no fire going, I absorb calm and wisdom as I circle around the pit. 

 It centers me.

 

The two faces of Lambie

With my rawhide at 9 a.m.:

 

With my rawhide at 3 p.m.:

 

The rawhide is constant in both photos.

 

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.

  

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. 

Activity at the bluffs

Sometimes when I go to the bluffs the plethora of options makes me feel like I'm on a cruise ship.

The other night, for example, there was a yoga session taking place at the same time as a game of fetch.  It was hard for me to decide which one I should join.

In the end I went with yoga, because of its lifelong health benefits.

 

On the injured list

        I flew too close to the sun last night.   I got so involved in chewing on my rawhide that I sustained an injury to my right front paw, which was holding the rawhide in place.

    First we put a sock on it, but after I pulled that off it was time for the dressing / gauze / tape treatment, which is where things stand now.

 

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.

Clean and green

The day after the rain ended, the bluff came alive with green sprouts, literally overnight.

  

Maybe they will eventually mature into foxtails, but for the moment they look innocuous and hopeful.  It's a big improvement over the way things looked before the rain.

The end of the rain also saw an improvement in my own appearance.

My fur had been looking rather murky, and frankly I was feelng somewhat itchy.  I'd been due for a bath, but it was delayed, first by my seizure and then by the rain. Just as there's no point to washing a car when it's just going to get streaked by rain, there's no point in putting me through that misery unless the payoff will be substantial.

Finally all systems were 'go' for the ablutions. 

I emerged sparkling clean, a true ornament to the verdant bluff.

Depleted

I was not feeling my best yesterday evening.   I had had another seizure earlier in the afternoon.

Just being out among other dogs was exhausting.

                                          

I retreated to a bench to rest.

   

   

  The night sky nourished me. 

 

  I needed it.