Hot Spots on a Delicate Dog

Everyone thinks I’m in a bad mood, and I am. But, it’s not for nothing. I have "hot spots," and the vet thinks I’m allergic to something and gives me steroids, which make me feel groggy and not up to snuff. I don’t know why those athletes take them. Oh, whoops. They don’t take them; their trainers slip them into their vitamin drinks. Anyway, Joan gave me Benadryl last night, and that helped a lot. It’s so difficult being delicate. We didn’t go for a walk today because it’s very slushy and dirty in the streets. Besides, the salt they throw down to melt the snow gets into our paws, which is yet another occasion for pain and suffering. What’s a dog to do?

On a happier note, I’m really happy because everyone loves me. Imagine "hot spots" without love. Now, that’s a sadness I couldn’t bear.

By the way, Shane is just fine. He never gets itchy. His ears are always perfect. Well, his breath isn’t the best, but he doesn’t care.

Best wishes, Juno

Avert My Active Eyes

Here I am, averting my eyes. If I don't look, I won't have to exercise.

I admit, activity is good for the body. Activity is good for the eyes. My favorite activity is watching others be active. Today is the second day I’ve been able to sit in the front yard and watch many people put siding on the house across the street. I had no idea humans could work together like that. It’s so clever the way they scurry up and down the ladders, nail siding to the house, and then have lunch. Then, they do it again and have a snack. Then they do it again and stop for a smoke. (Obviously, smoking is the stupid part of their day.) Anyway, they’d better hurry, since it’s supposed to snow later. Joan made us take a walk with her, which was not my choice, but she said I needed to move muscles other than my eyes. Eyes aren’t muscles, are they?

Shane barks at the workers, so he has to stay inside. Joan doesn’t get it. Shane barks at the workers because that’s how he gets to stay inside. He must be about eight years old, and he still hasn’t figured out that all we have to do to go inside is bark at the door. He’s seen me do it hundreds of times. Instead, he waits for a rabbit to run across the yard or for someone to walk by the house before he barks. Joan opens the door to let him in every single time. I’ve tried telling him that barking doesn't require an event; dogs can just bark. But he doesn’t get it. It’s too late. Maybe there’s some truth to that saying about no new tricks for old dogs.

Best wishes, Juno

Inner Dialogues & Positive Thinking

Here I am, trying to get a nap on an ice patch. Joan made me come in. What's frost bite?

Good morning. Ever since watching the Oprah show about The Secret, I’m trying to be a more positive dog. I’m thinking maybe my skin irritation has caused my recent stretch of disgruntlement. Also, it’s difficult to get around with all the ice on the ground. Yikes. Even Shane slips and slides in the yard. I feel a positive remark coming on: I’ve got to admit, I do love lying on the ice. I mean, if there’s only one patch left before the spring thaw, it’s mine. Ah, such coolness on my hot skin.

Joan just made one of her cooking “experiments,” and the house is filled with smoke, so she’s opened the doors to let it escape. I don’t like the smoke, but her failed experiment was so delicious. Whenever she “fails,” it means treats for me and Shane. What’s wrong with some burned cheese empanadas? I hate it when her cooking experiments go right, because I don’t get any. Like that veggie soup she made last night. She sat there right in front of us spooning the soup into her mouth and saying things like, “Wow” and “I’m so in love with myself” and “I’m glad I’m not a dog.” At least, she could have shared the tortellini.

Oh, I forgot about being positive. See how hard it is to remember? No, it’s easy. Oh, how easy it is to be positive. Ahhhh. There. Did I mention how I love it when I don’t get treats? I smile my dog smile and say, “Oh, this is good for my fat belly.” Whoops! My belly isn’t fat; my belly is just right. I love my belly. Oh, forget it. I’m going to revert to the real me. And, who’s that? That’s my secret.

Best wishes from Juno.

Ice, Wind, & Fallen Branches

You call this snow? Last night, while we slept in our comfy beds, it began to snow. I could sense it. Whenever it snows, the sound of the world loses its sharpness, and everything is muted and safe. Sometimes Joan's hug covers my ears and eyes, which makes all the tensions of the universe disappear. Well, a snow fall is like that, especially when I'm inside the warm house, all tranquil and protected. So, I was really looking forward to a romp in the snow when I got up this morning.

Hrumph. It turned out to be a little white dust--not the paw-whitening powder that I've come to know and love. Then, it began to sleet and everything turned into ice. Shane and I lasted maybe five minutes outside before I barked our way back into the house.
It's a mess outside. Joan didn't even come home for lunch, because the last time she came home for lunch during an ice storm, she broke her ankle. As though that's going to happen a second time!

Anyway, you can see the pictures of the horrible icy day—all gray and untranquil. My picture is posterized, so I look a little on the devilish side. Oh, and this evening, a big icy branch broke off the neighbor's tree and landed on the garage. We heard the crunch, but we're used to those sounds, so we didn't even bother to go look until the neighbor came to tell us about it. Oooooh, listen to that wind howl like an echo in an empty tunnel. I'm staying in.

Best wishes on this Valentine's Day, Juno

Shane & the Troublesome Thumbs

There's Shane checking out his nails. And here we are resting after a visit to the "salon."

Shane has two extra “fingers”—one on each paw—whose nails grow in a circle and have to be trimmed regularly or else he’d be in a lot of pain; or, maybe, with a little red nail polish, he would look like one of those women whose fingernails grow so long, they begin to curl into themselves, giving them a witchy quality. Then they get jobs as cashiers.

Anyway, since it’s such an ordeal to bring Shane to the vet’s nail salon, Joan usually tries to cut these extra fingernails by herself. Alas, it’s not always a success. First she tries to soften Shane's nails by giving him a bath and letting the tub fill up to paw level—she also pulls this trick on me even though I don’t bite—and then she cuts the nails while the water is running and she sings “What a good dog you are”—you know, as a distraction.

Well, yesterday, she failed. Shane wouldn’t let her cut his nails, so we all went to the vet’s for Shane’s “event.” I didn’t need my nails cut, since the vet had done it when I was sick. While Shane was getting his nails done, everyone in the waiting room made bets on my heritage and told me how pretty I was, even though I wasn’t “pure” and didn’t have papers from the la-dee-da Kennel Club. I’ve got papers from the Huntington Little Shelter, but I guess that’s not good enough. There were some nice dogs and cats in the waiting room, and even two very sweet children who reassured me of my beauty.

And when Shane came out of the “nail room,” people said that he was very handsome even though he was wearing a muzzle and had “issues.” When you think a dog might be interested in biting you, you don't worry about his purity or his papers from the Kennel Club.

The car ride to and from the vet's was exceptionally tranquil, because it was so icy outside the car, and there was so much sun inside the car, our eyes kept closing and opening with the humming of the motor. As long as no one is going to poke me, I welcome a visit to the vet’s office. It only cost ten dollars.

Best wishes, Juno

Sun and Pills

I’m feeling a little better. Sometimes the medicine makes you sicker than the sickness, and in this country, all the doctors are pill happy. It’s hard to know what’s right. We were worried about Buddy, because he didn’t show up for his biscuits for three or four days. I think he got arrested again, which isn’t so bad, since it’s warm in jail. But, every time we see the "Animal Control" truck cruising the neighborhood, we think, "Run, Buddy, run!" I'll bet humans sometimes get arrested so they can stay warm. Anyway, this morning Buddy was waiting on the other side of the fence for his biscuit; and Joan was so happy he had come back, she gave him two.

It’s a strange day. It must be minus zero degrees outside, but the sun has been pouring in the house all day, which feels really good against my troubled skin, and we didn’t need to burn any oil. Joan says I need another bath, but it’s impossible in this weather. Yippee. Sometimes, I like impossibility. Don’t you?

Best wishes, Juno