From The Desk Of The Dog: Tell Me Where It Hurts

This week, Cody the Fauxweiler will discuss his sudden ailment he was struck with during the week.

That Food Lady, her hearts in the right place but she’s not so smart.  I had deliberately laid right where she parks her car.  She pulled in the driveway and beeped the horn.

“Cody!  Get out of the way!”  Beep, beep.

I lifted my eyebrows at her, which is the international dog sign of, “Are you kidding?”

Beep, beep.  “Cody!”

WP_000412

I pull myself up and hobbled out of the way.  I made it a few feet and had to sit down.  She gets out of the car and walks to me.  Immediately I smell no cookies on her person.

“Are you okay?”

Do I look okay, Food Lady?  Do I?

“Hey, honey!  What’s wrong with this dog?”

I hear my daddy from inside yell, “What dog?”

Daddy understands, I’m not just a dog.  I’m a meathead.  Food Lady needs to be specific.

“Our dog!”

They both stand around me.  Asking me to stand, to move, to walk.  People are so dumb.  If you feel bad, why would you want to jump through hoops.  Food Lady heads for the porch, which worries me that she read my mind.  She’s came up with a crazy plan that I need to run through hula hoops to get my cookies.

She’s came up with another idea.  She has my leash.  Food Lady!  I feel like crap.  Don’t make me go for a walk!

Food Lady and daddy help me into Food Lady’s car.  “We’ll probably have to shoot some xrays.”

Did she say shoot?  Oh no!  Don’t shoot!  I’ve seen Old Yeller.  Dear God!  Don’t shoot me!  I’m fine!  I don’t have rabies!

When we get to Food Lady’s work, I put on the best show ever.  I’m not ready to die. Look I can run!  I can pull on the leash!  Give me some shoes, I can tap dance!  Don’t shoot me!

“He looks fine now.  At home though, he was pretty miserable.”

We head back to the car.  A reprieve!  Food Lady didn’t shoot me!

At home, I get out of the car and run to the other side of the yard.  That was close.  I was almost a goner.  My two humans scratch their head and go inside the house.

By dinnertime, my back hurts even worse now.  Maybe the don’t shoot me dance was a bad idea.  I could hear Daddy calling me and using the word dinner.  I couldn’t get up.  I army crawled to the house.  They were definitely going to shoot me now.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll take him back to work tomorrow.”

The next day, Food Lady let some woman poke and prod me.  Does this hurt?  Does that hurt?  What’s bothering you?  Walk over here.  Trot over there.  I’m like a doggie gopher and I’m starving.  Food Lady didn’t feed me breakfast.  She said something about sedation.  That’s no treat I’ve ever heard of.

The poking and prodding continues until finally it ends with something that stings.  Food Lady should be careful here.  She’s allergic to bees and something definitely just stung me.  Does anyone else feel sleepy?

Next thing I know, I’m back at home on my bed.  Daddy’s asking me how I feel, do I feel up for some dinner.  I hurt, the place where the magic bee stung me still stings, I feel woozy.  Yes, of course I feel like eating.

Food Lady found these amazing cookies!  They are soft and chicken flavored.  They must have been blessed by a rabbi because these things make me feel AMAZING!  They are miracle cookies!

WP_000414

Disclaimer:  “Miracle Cookies” have been stuffed with anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxers and narcotic-like pain relievers.  They HAVE NOT been blessed by a rabbi. 

WP_000415

It took a few days, but I’m back to my old self.  Running around the yard, eating random mushrooms, peeing on Food Lady’s flowers.  That makes Food Lady so happy when I pee on her flowers.  She jumps up and down and yells and yells.

I’m glad I make Food Lady happy.  She makes me happy, too.

WP_000411

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “From The Desk Of The Dog: Tell Me Where It Hurts

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s