Dog Diary - End of week 7 - Week 1 The Calm Before the Chaos.
Dear Diary,I must apologise for my absence. It has been a while since our last chat, but in my defence, I have been extremely occupied with healing, surviving, alarming several professionals, and generally being the most medically interesting dog in the room.
Please enjoy this bumper edition.Once the humans returned to their usual routine after Christmas, my mood improved dramatically.
I am, it turns out, a creature of structure. When the days have a shape, I can relax. When they do not, I unravel emotionally and attempt to leave the premises. Speaking of leaving:The woman has learned she cannot walk me alone. This is not due to danger. This is due to my principles. I will happily walk away from the house. Halfway around the block. Down the street. Into the sunset. Toward a future of infinite sniffs and zero responsibilities. However, once my 13-year-old body reaches is turned around to start walking towards the house, I abruptly decide I live nowhere and refuse to continue. At this point I must be carried home like a Victorian fainting lady. Luke-man is better suited to this task, as I am surprisingly dense. This is not stubbornness, Diary. This is a lifestyle choice.
During this week, I also began flicking my head side to side — a subtle but persistent sign that something in my ears was not right. At my last vet visit the vet informed the humans that I will not grow fur back on my back legs due to extensive scar tissue from a lifetime of itching. The woman responded with a tone that suggested this information was merely a suggestion.“Hold my beer,” she said. She does not even drink beer. I accompanied the woman to the nursery not once, but twice. The nursery owners adore me. They believe I am the bee’s knees.
I supervise the woman's dirt purchases with great authority. Unfortunately, I have lost full car-window privileges after repeatedly attempting to lean my entire body out of the window at speed. I am clipped in securely, but the humans insist this is “not safe.”They are joyless. I also played chasies with the humans. When I catch them, I do not know what to do, so I simply stand there grinning. This is still very fun. Then… the licking escalated. Diary, I broke them. I licked constantly. Front legs. All day. Even during medicated baths. Even while wet. Even while being actively redirected. The woman launched multiple counter-operations, including: Operation: Dust Apocalypse Operation: Pollen Shall Not Pass Operation: Vacuum Until the House Is Emotionally Clean Operation: Redirect Doggo The house is vacuumed daily. Sometimes twice. Carpets washed. Floors steam-cleaned. Every time I go outside, my legs and belly are wiped with special wipes. The woman froze all sorts of wonderful treats to redirect the licking. I went through 4 different licky-mats in a single day.
Still, I licked.The vet warned that this behaviour must stop or I could develop a secondary lick granuloma — something no one wants to deal with. The woman purchased: • A baby onesie • Knee-high human socks • Several expressions of quiet despairI often escaped these garments. The rescue was contacted. The conclusion: this was either self-soothing due to pain, or behavioural. The woman and the Rescue are concerned the licking might be because of 13 years of untreated ear infections creating the world largest bacteria fun park in my ears. An ear surgery was booked for the following week to have them thoroughly cleaned. The woman told me I would feel better very soon.
She was right. Just… not in the way anyone expected….
