Can You See Me Now?

If I bury myself in the pillows and curl up really tight Todd and Tanya will never even know that I'm in their bed!


Right? 

It Depends...

What's your definition of urinary incontinence?

A major flood? A gush or two when you cough, sneeze, or bark? Certainly not just a few dribbles when you get overly excited or anxious, right? Just try telling that to Tanya and Todd though. Lately they've become ridiculously annoyed by my occasional urinary leakage. I mean really, what’s the big deal - we have hard wood floors. A paper towel, a quick swipe or two and voila – good as new. But now they’ve even taken to putting trash bags on top of the couch cushions. You think they’ve ever tried to find a comfortable sleeping position while laying on a cold, noisy, plastic bag? Hell no. (Unless of course one of them was still bedwetting at age 10, in which case you’d think they’d be more sympathetic to my plight). And recently they’ve started spraying this hideously odiferous dog urine “no-smell, pee-deterrent, I-don’t-know-what” crud all over the sectional in the TV room. I can’t even enjoy an episode of My Cat from Hell on Animal Planet without getting a nose full of nasty, overwhelming cinnamon scent. How am I supposed to sniff out all my good pee spots with that stuff burning my delicate nostrils? (Oh… I suppose I should assume that to be the point).

Anyway, along with the Prozac that I now take for my PTSD (see my post of September 21, 2014) I am now taking 3 (count ‘em, 3!) pills a day to tighten up my pee sphincter and help me “control” myself. At least I’ve made Todd coat them in peanut butter before I’ll even consider being accommodating.

But all of this abuse pales in comparison to the threat of the ultimate humiliation –last week I caught Tanya Googling “dog diapers”!! Great job Tanya – the thought of spending the rest of my days wearing doggie Depends only served to really scare the pee outta me.

So as usual, I’ve been forced to take matters into my own paws.  I’ve begun slipping my Prozac into Tanya and Todd’s wine glasses. Now they’re too dazed to notice a trivial wet spot here and there. Depends disaster narrowly averted.

Tail From the Trenches

“You can't have peace any longer than your neighbor pleases.”      -- Dutch (on war and peace)

To my legions of adoring fans – I am SO sorry to have not updated this blog over the past few months. I know the five of you must have missed me tremendously! But do dry your tears – I’m baaaaack!

The story is sad but true - I’ve been suffering from writers block after experiencing the devastation of PTSD (when I looked up PTSD on-line it took me to the Port Townsend School District, but as I’ve since learned via co-opting Tanya’s nursing school classes, in my case PTSD stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). My therapist has suggested that sharing my story might not only hasten my recovery, but also be a comfort to others in similar circumstances.  If I can help just one other dog in need, my experience will not have been for naught…

In early July of this year, I was exposed to the trauma of a war zone – 4^th of July fireworks! I can’t yet even discuss the screaming, flashes of light, and sudden bursts of horrific noise that assaulted my delicate system and sent me running to hide in the laundry room (nothing like a big nest of dirty clothes to help muffle sound and sight). Not only was I emotionally battered, but the rocket’s red glare and bombs bursting in air gave proof through the night that my bladder was beyond repair. 

I was eventually forced to call for police protection when over-zealous neighbors failed to adhere to the restrictions of City of Noblesville Ordinance #3-1-09. Come on folks, you can’t tell me that singeing your fingers with a cheap bic lighter, scrambling like an idiot to get out of the line of “fire”, and then watching a skimpy poof of sparks is really all that exciting? And then you do it over and over and over for days and days and days. Really? You humans are entirely too easily entertained.

Thankfully, I have a strong constitution, a prescription for Prozac, and gullible humans who will do anything to ease my suffering. So perhaps I now slightly exaggerate my quivers and trembling at the sound of a backfiring car or Todd’s nail gun. And I admit that I took advantage of last night’s thunderstorm to once again nest in the laundry and elicit bribes of all my favorite treats. So what, I’m not beyond playing for sympathy. But I’m also suggesting to my humans that we get the hell out of Dodge next July. I hear that the British don’t feel quite the same way about July 4^th. Cherrio!

No, I Don't Need an Enema!

I was adopted under false pretenses. I knew going into this that Todd worked a lot of hours as an architect/project manager at Gibraltar Design. But, after over 20 years as CEO of the Partnership for Philanthropic Planning, Tanya had retired. Would someone please explain to her what “retired” means, as in “be available all day to devote yourself to Gracie’s every whim”? But oh no, there was a different plan that she and Todd neglected to fill me in on. Tanya went back to college to become a nurse!  Was I Surprised? Shocked? Mortified? Pissed? (That was the only one I could truly express to them). Of course I was. After all, I thought I’d signed on for the “all about me” plan.  Even veterinary school I could have possibly tolerated but a BSN?! And an accelerated program at that - study, study, study 24/7 while I get practically ignored (well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration). So for six months I had to move my pillow into the home office in order to help her complete the prerequisite microbiology, chemistry, anatomy, physiology, statistics, and theology. Hell, (I learned that term in theology) I could probably pass the damn NCLEX myself by now! (Although you’ll NEVER get me to put on scrubs.)  And now she’s in clinicals and leaves me alone all day while she learns about giving enemas, changing colostomy bags, and interviewing patients about their bowel habits. If she really wanted to clean up poop all day, I’d have been happy to oblige. But no, she just rushes out the door with barely time to toss me a milk bone on her way. And when she IS home? She chases me around the house with a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope trying to take my vitals. And any sympathy from Todd? No way – he’s been enthusiastically cheering her on. (I will have to cut him a little slack though, after Tanya’s history of broken foot, broken jaw, massive black eye, and last summer’s head injury, he’s realized that nursing skills may be a family necessity, although he’s dubious that Tanya will be able to stitch herself.)

In retrospect, maybe this isn’t such a bad deal. Even though the quantity of attention I get has suffered, I’ll admit that the quality is still pretty good.  And I’ve got an awesome GPA.

 

Gag Me With a Spoon

Todd and Tanya won’t let me eat grapes! They tried to explain that grapes can be poisonous to dogs, some such bull about causing kidney failure, yada, yada, yada. They even made me watch an "educational" slide show on pets.WebMD

Please understand - I am usually willing to be a team player, but really??? Sometimes my humans are just a little too uppity about this stuff and need to be shown who’s the true boss in this household. So, when the opportunity arose, I struck! Nabbing a whole bowl of grapes off the kitchen counter was a piece of cake (but that’s yet another story) for me.

Unfortunately, I neglected to hide the evidence. My people panicked when they returned home to find empty grape stems scattered throughout the house. The next thing I know, Todd is prying my mouth open and Tanya is trying to choke me with a spoonful of who-knows-what. I promptly showed them that all that drama was completely unnecessary – just give me the damn spoon, I can drink this crap just fine without your help! (I later overheard that the who-knows-what crap was peroxide. Don’t tell them this, but personally, I found it quite delicious.)

But what happened after that REALLY pissed me off. I lost every one of those luscious grapes in three big pools of vomit. Not my most flattering moment. Even then, the situation could have been salvaged as all the grapes were still whole (I have to eat fast when it’s possible I'll get caught at any second) and I would have appreciated the chance to have another go at it. But oh no, faster than two scurrying squirrels Todd and Tanya destroyed the evidence of their wrongdoing. They told me later that my gulping the grapes down whole not only made clean-up easier, but was what most likely saved them a huge vet bill.  Well la-te-da, aren’t I just little Miss Considerate!

I spent the rest of the evening having a pity party for myself, causing Todd and Tanya to bribe me with tummy rubs and prime real estate on the couch. Believe me, I made them suffer right along with me.

Oh well, I may have made a mess of things (literally), but never mind, they still don’t know about the cake….

Toliet Training

I found this sign hanging at human height in the guest bathroom.

I am NOT amused...

Please put the lid down when you are done.

 I am not allowed to drink from the toilet

and for some silly reason my parents think

 I have very limited self-control.

Grayson

Rules Are Made to be Broken

After more than a year, Todd and Tanya now consider me a permanent part of the family. You might think I’d be happy about that, but being “family” in this household comes with responsibilities. Rules! Chores! Writing a Blog!  Are they kidding?! They really need to consult the AKC guidelines – Weimaraners are members of the sporting group, NOT the working group!  Oh well. Contrary to rumor, far be it for me to pout.  But… let me tell you about those rules:

I’m only allowed on Todd and Tanya’s bed when they put my blanket up there and invite me. (I REALLY prefer to come and go on the bed as I please.) And I have to do a trick, like sit or shake in order to “earn” a treat. How ridiculous! And the ultimate humiliation? I have to let them wipe off my paws with a towel after I’ve been outside in the mud or snow.  (If my first family subjected me to that, I’ve buried the painful memory.) Sometimes when they’ve gone overboard with this stuff, I pout for a while by lying at the opposite end of the couch and making them beg a little for me to come over and lay next to them – that’ll teach 'em! 

But that’s not all. I’m also expected to entertain myself when my people are otherwise occupied or having a private conversation. So I lie on the chair and glare at them until they stop and give me the attention I deserve. And finally, I am not allowed to be fed any treats from their plates while they are eating – I am supposed to sit nicely and let them have all the good stuff. What baloney! (Pardon the pun.) But I’m working on that one - I take turns putting my head on each of their laps and giving them that pathetic look – you know the one. It’s not yet working but I’m sure I can wear them down.

Not Your Average Dog

After allowing my first family the pleasure of my company for over 8 years, I decided I would grace (note the awesome pun) another fine family with my presence. The interviews were grueling, but in the end my humble altruistic nature convinced me to choose the family I felt was most in need of a “therapy” dog – Todd and Tanya Cass.

And what would I get out of the deal? No competition from other dogs, cats, hamsters, children, and the like. Ahhh, peace and quiet. And new parents who would devote themselves completely to adorable me!  (I was sooooo wrong about that…but you’ll have to wait for those slobbery details as I’ve promised to play nice in this first post).

So, as I approach my 10th birthday (that's 70 in human years for those of you who count on your paws), and having been assigned the chore of family scribe (based on the fabulous family Christmas letter I wrote this past year), I have decided to share my wisdom with the world (or perhaps only those who Google “Gracie Gold” and end up on my page).

Maybe I’m not your average blogger, but what do you expect? I am certainly not your average dog!