So I’m sitting here, staring at the blank page, mumbling, “I have no idea what to write about.” Darling Daughter said I should write about our stupid, senile dog. (My words, not hers. She’s mad at me for writing that.)
We had some really severe thunderstorms. It was pouring buckets outside. Naturally that is when senile old dog decides he has to go out. Usually he doesn’t like going out when it’s raining. I guess he forgot he didn’t like the rain, what with having Dogzheimer’s & all. (Oh, you didn’t know there’s a canine version of Alzheimer’s?)
The routine is when he is outside and is ready to come in, he barks. You can tell the difference between that bark and when he is barking at a person or an squirrel. After a while, I heard the bark. This was his, “I want to come in now” bark.
He is not allowed in the front, due to our attempt to grow a lawn. Granted the venture isn’t working out too well but still, he’s not allowed in the front.
When I heard him barking, I opened the side door. No dog. I looked out the front to see if he somehow managed to get to the lawn. No dog. I looked out the back window. Not a black, furry, wet, old mutt in sight.
Meantime, it’s still pouring out. By this time, I’m just a tiny bit annoyed & wondering where the heck he is. I’m yelling out the side door for him. Hollering out the back window. There isn’t a dog anywhere. Then I spot him near the front on the opposite side of the house from where the side door is. He is trying to figure out how to get to the front, only he can’t because it’s barricaded with a couple of those big, white plastic chairs. Apparently he has completely forgotten that all he needs to do is turn around and go towards the back of the house.
I’m trying to figure out how to get dumb, senile dog in the house without getting soaked. I lean out a window that’s behind him, yell at him and point towards the back. He finally remembers how to get around to the door.
Meantime Theresa hears me yelling at her poor baby and comes downstairs just as the soaking wet dog comes in. I’m still furious with him so she comforts him while she dries him off, telling him how mean I am & not to pay any attention to me.
Did I mention this will be the last dog I ever own?
August 15th, 2008 at 4:37 pm Quote
How old is this dog?? Mine acts like that everyday…never thought about Dogzheimers
August 15th, 2008 at 8:03 pm Quote
Awww, Monk, c’mon! Poor Nicky! Always remember this…”be kind to the aged as you, too, will grow old.” I fear I am becoming old and senile, and at an alarming rate. I sometimes, too, wander around not knowing exactly why–so I can relate!
August 15th, 2008 at 9:31 pm Quote
13 - a 13 year old, pure breed black lab with hip dysplasia, a gazillion tumors, who is losing his hearing and who sheds so much, I don’t understand how he isn’t entirely bald.
August 17th, 2008 at 12:45 am Quote
My dog refuses to go outside if it is raining. She will hold it all day if she has to. If I give her a bath she runs for DD’s bed as fast as she can because it has all kinds of soft comforters, pillows and blankets on it. I usually remember to shut her door before the bath so she doesn’t come home to a wet bed.