 |
|
|
|
|
 |
 |
|
||
 |
 |
|
||
|
||||
 |
|
|||
|
||||
|
||||
My Canine Hot-Water BottleDecember 06, 2007 This started off to be a semi-facetious blog about "things I do for my dog," but Rhodry doesn't do facetious, semi- or otherwise, and it's morphed (surprise!) into "things my dog does for me." The temps have barely got out of the 20s for the last week or so; when they heave themselves up to 40, it's invariably raining, and yesterday the thermometer did hit 30 but the wind was whipping so hard and sharp that it felt like single digits. Malamutt weather! says Rhodry, who likes to sleep curled up in the dead leaves at the foot of the outside stairs and barely humors me when the thermometer says 14 F and I insist he come in for the night. He then adjourns to my bed -- he puts his forepaws on the edge of the mattress and I give his hind end a boost -- curls up in the middle and goes to sleep. By the time I climb in, it's as if an electric blanket has been on for an hour: very cozy. After a while, though, it's too warm for the furry one and he gets down and pads over to the kitchen rug. His (long) nails go click-click-click on the nubbly linoleum and my mostly hibernating ears hear ker-THUD as he settles himself down. Some mornings when the sky is just beginning to think of lightening he'll come to my bedside and gaze at me. Usually he makes not a sound, but I almost always wake up. I sleep through phones ringing and neighbors fighting and (once) through a fatal car crash in front of my house, but Rhodry's silent gaze can wake me from a sound sleep. It's been that way since he was a little puppy. Go figure. It's the closest I've ever come to manifesting a maternal instinct. A good mother probably wouldn't let her kid out at four in the a.m. when the thermometer almost certainly reads 14 degrees Fahrenheit -- but if her kid were a Malamutt, maybe she would. I do. Two and a half weeks ago Rhodry had an acupuncture treatment. I was waiting for him to say something about it, then it dawned on me that as far as he's concerned nothing much happened. He was at the barn and that nice Angela gave him cookies and then something tickled and he snoozed in Allie's stall and then something tickled again. Big deal -- chasing deer is more interesting, and so is hitting the carpenters on a neighboring job site up for biscuits. So acupuncture seems to help horses with stiffness, and I'd heard it could help with allergies (which Rhodry's got), so why not give it a try. Along with the needles Angela recommended a higher-octane glucosamine supplement, flax or fish oil, and a weekly dose of "organ meat." Rhodry heartily approves of this last "treatment"; the last two Wednesdays he's had lightly sautéed liver for breakfast, along with a reduced portion of his usual kibble, and if he's at all puzzled by the fact that I actually give him this stuff when I won't let him gnaw on the deer parts that he finds in the woods, he doesn't let on. I couldn't find flax oil at the pharmacy or the grocery store, so finally I steeled myself to enter Healthy Additions, which is an annex of Cronig's, the upscale supermarket. I've got nothing against health, but I do have a deep-seated suspicion of anything that calls itself "healthy" or "low-fat" or "high-fiber" or "lite." Like they're trying to sell me something I don't need at a 900% markup. So I walked through the door at Healthy Additions. I still think a health-food store should be the kind of place where you scoop flour and rice and nuts and dried fruits and beans out of barrels into little paper bags. True, I haven't been in that kind of store in about 20 years, but I have gotten used to scooping flour and rice and nuts (etc.) out of plastic bins into plastic bags. Healthy Additions was a whole new thing: aisle after aisle of vitamins and other supplements that come in small bottles and cost $10 and up. Nothing edible in sight. Nothing comprehensible in sight. A little bird told me that if I bought anything I was going to walk out of that place with a chartreuse Day-Glo *SUCKER!* sticker affixed to my butt. It's for Rhodry, I reminded myself. My eye fell on the flax oil before I'd cleared the first aisle. Good sign. Three months' worth of flax oil "softgels" (whathafook is a softgel?) cost less than 10 bucks. Even better sign. I took my bottle to the counter, paid for it, and left. Now Rhodry gets one "softgel" of flax oil a day, along with his high-octane glucosamine and a milliliter of hyaluronic fluid. I stab the gel with a paring knife, squirt the oil into his food, and throw the gel away. Rhodry eats his food. I doubt he gives a damn about the supplements, beyond wondering why his food tastes weird. Liver's the best part of the deal as far as he's concerned. You warm my bed up; I'll keep buying you liver.
|
|
|||
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
 |
|
|||
 |
|
|||
Home - Writing - Editing - About Susanna - Bloggery - Articles - Poems - Contact Copyright ©
Susanna J. Sturgis. All rights reserved. |
||||