My Doggy is AOK

Apparently no one reads this blog, which actually works out well for me, because it's like pretending to have my own magazine without any real risk. The little lady inside the computer just fixes it all up for me with colors and pictures and a pretty font. The Poochsta is fine, and my doggy friends were appropriately supportive. Big Kid and I went and got him from the vet and showered him with all kinds of attention and now he is napping. The whole 3-day incident was scary for us. He is glad to have a new rawhide to chew.

Now we need to figure out how to sneak Dog of Dogs into a hotel this weekend. A post for another day.

The Poochsta

As I write this post, my dog, Georgie, The Poochsta, The Budge, Dog of Dogs, is at the vet. He has a heart murmur that is new. It might be a take-a-pill variety murmur, or it might be a more serious type. George is the quintessential dog. He greets and wags and gives kisses. He brings his favorite toy, just to show it off, but if you want to play, he will do that too. His tail is extra-long. He is a shiny boy: half black lab, half Australian cattle dog (maybe - Dads are hard to verify), and he is a long and lean doggy machine. The tail is exactly the height of our coffee table and strong enough to wipe your glass right off.

Don't get all I'm-not-reading-about-another-dog. The purpose of this post is that I am writing about my dog and am not writing about my children, my husband, how everyone else is doing, and I am not calling my parents because they would be very upset and worried too. So this is all about a woman and her conventional married life and how the secret to managing it all is a dog named George.

He swims, he fetches sticks, he eats sticks, and he does two laps around the house after I hose him down and dry him off. When I take him to the beach in Maine, he runs, a long-legged glorious race at the edge of the waves. People literally stop to watch his sleek body dashing after oblivious birds high up in the sky. For me, it is a yoga-esque moment to witness the pure physical joy he surely feels as his legs stretch and his body speeds across the blond sand.

After my brother's death, he sensed we were sad, and he became more affectionate. He also started his circus trick. He sits up like a person, butt and tail totally tucked under, back completely straight, front legs resting lightly on a human's lap. At times he can balance like this with one or no arms. Nose is pointed out regally. He talks when he wants something.

At this point, Dear Reader, and the proverbial dog, you are like why am I reading yet another description of yet another dog? Well, he's not just any dog! He is The One Grateful Child. For example, he has a song. I am not saying who sings it, but no one ever objects:

He's the Georgie Boy
He's the Poochie Pie
He's the Georgie Georgie Georgie boy.

He's the Puppy Pie
He's the Georgie Pie
He's the Puppy Puppy Puppy boy.

No, I do not expect you to say Wow! I expect you to learn the song. Learn it! Georgie and I sing it slowly, but you can sing it to any tune you like. He enjoys it but please do not sing while he is sitting up watching t.v. He is not allowed on most furniture, but some nights, he can be found with an interested brown-eyed gaze watching a show with us, again, sitting up like a person as his two front forearms limply hang down. Also, he's a wicked kisser, but a true tough dog, as he interprets that. He sticks his black nose out the back window and sniffs ferociously when we are driving. He chases squirrels off the deck. He takes this very seriously and he knows the word squirrel. He lowers himself to the ground slightly, his fur poofs up, and he trots around the house, protecting us from large and small creatures alike.

Now go learn my puppy's song. He's my most loyal fan, my most affectionate listener, and the vet is taking a helluva long time to call back.