A hopefully not too laborious update and some thank you notes.

It has come to my attention that The Typist has made me the butt of a cruel  joke [yet again] and when I was too weak to defend myself too. She can be a real stinker.


However, given that she might have been feeling cranky from sleep deprivation and it's her birthday week, I will forgive her and move on to more important things like an update on my health and happiness.

*Thank *you *EVeryone 

for your advice and for asking after me!  

I think my humans were quite worried because I've been quiet and mostly sleeping for 2 weeks. I stopped harassing The Typist for food. I didn't even want to cuddle with My Cushion or go for walks! To be honest, I don't know what came over me [and neither does Dr Dog].


But I'm back now and ready to push my humans' buttons again! [Strangely enough, they seem quite pleased with that but I'm sure the feeling will soon pass.]


Here's an update on what's been happening this week.


My Cushion took me shopping over the weekend. Since I now have to be on leashed walks, he bought me a new harness. It has a nice padded front and is very comfy. Considering I've had to make do with my old half-chewed one with a broken buckle for more than a year, I'm a little suspicious of this largesse.

"Why are you suddenly being so nice to me, Cushion? Are you feeling guilty because you let me jump the wall and hurt myself and gave me the lamb ear that [allegedly] made me fart?"

He also bought me this pillow. It's supposed to stop me chewing my toes. Just between you and me, it doesn't work too well [maybe because I'm a flexible dog] but I like it heaps better than The Horrible Thing so please don't tell my humans I told you so.

My pillow's name is DoughNut. 

Thanks Ms Jean for telling my humans about DoughNut. I'm so grateful you suggested it!  Thanks Flo's Mama for telling my humans where to get it here in Stryliah, and for offering to send me one!

*

I haven't had to wear DoughNut the last few days though because I've stopped trying to eat my paws. But I now have raw skin and scabs from trying to eat them last week so The Typist has to give my paws a medicated wash every! other! day! for 2 weeks. 


The Typist asked Dr Dog if it was a good idea to wash my paws in salt water as well and he said "Yes! That's a good idea!" 


Thanks Ms Rose for giving My Typist this good idea.

Here I am enjoying my soothing oatmeal and salt foot bath.

You can see how disgusted thrilled I am that I now have salt foot soaks to endure look forward to as well as my medicated baths. 

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In other news, my neck is much better and I can now turn it around and look up. 


Here's a picture of me on my 3rd visit to Dr Dog. Don't worry. It's G-rated even though Dr Dog is feeling me up.

Unfortunately, my back left leg is now ouchy. Dr Dog had a look at it and thinks it could be a c.r.u.c.i.a.t.e  l.i.g.a.m.e.n.t  problem and we'll have to keep an eye on it. [I think this means I'm stuffed and won't be playing with my friends or jumping down walls for a long time forever.]

"Please don't tell me I'm not as young and nimble as I used to be. A Lady does not need to hear rubbish like that."

*

And finally, the most important update of all, and the one you've all been holding your breath for.

Yes. I have stopped farting.

Thank you Person In Charge.

Day 3.

A fervent plea to the Person In Charge Of Flatulent Dogs.
c.c. Minister of The Environment


Dear Person In Charge of Farting Fluffing Dogs That Pass Gas Wind,


It has now been 3 days and nights since my doggy started passing gas and she still hasn't stopped. 


Her Dr Dog says he's never heard of little blue pills making dogs fart before. And, as you know, we're very careful with what passes though her whiskered lips [though The Cushion did very misguidedly give her one [1] small dried lamb ear over the weekend]. It could be something she picked up at the park, but surely that's no fault of ours and the people who threw the rubbish there should be the ones made to suffer and not us. I'm sure you see the injustice of it all.


After having driven me to hide in the study on Sunday night, my doggy was kind enough to sleep downstairs on Monday night. Last night, we cleverly closed the bedroom door early so she couldn't get in! But she waited patiently in the guest room next door for more than 2 hours and when I opened the door, just a crack mind you, she pushed me aside to get in. 


What was I supposed to do, Person In Charge? She's been so down lately, not herself really, I couldn't break her little determined heart.


There are now black suitcases under my eyes and I fear the fragrance hanging around my doggy's bottom and our hair can never be shampooed away. 

"OMG! What is that pong? Didn't you have a shower tonight, Typist?"

Please oh please, Person In Charge, I beg of you! Help whatever is in my doggy's gut finish putrifying today and get dumped in the park [and picked up of course] so that we may all get some sleep tonight and not catch pneumonia. 

Your divine intervention is all we can hope for now. [That, and Flagyl if it still hasn't cleared up by tomorrow.]

I thank you in advance and from the bottom of my anxious heart. Your supplicant who is turning blue in the face, 


The Typist.


P.S. I am copying this to the Minister of Environment just in case he's interested in studying this [unfortunately] renewable source of energy.

A short story [about passing gas].

Thank you to The Queen of Bermtopia for my delightful new title.

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Georgia's been farting since shortly after dinner yesterday evening. 


I admit, I was very thankful when she decided to sleep downstairs in the lounge room last night. But the smell was so bad [a gross understatement], it drifted upstairs. Even separated by a staircase, it was gag worthy. 


It was precisely 12.03 by the bedside clock when the smell woke me up.


Then [very sadly], at around 1, our dog decided to join us in the bedroom. She came to politely ask me to put on her jammie, then plonked herself on her bed at the foot of ours and was snoring in under 5 minutes. I didn't have the heart to chase her back downstairs, not that it would have made any difference I suppose. 


Shortly after, a frightful wall of smell hit me. Even The Other Half woke up. [To give you an idea of how remarkable this is, we're talking about a man who once turned over and fell back to sleep when I told him there was a burglar outside our bedroom window.] 


We had to open the windows and turn on the fan. This would be okay except it's winter and 7 degrees outside.

*

I've finally given up trying to sleep in a cold smelly bedroom and am now hiding downstairs in the study. I've opened more windows to air the house, and lit an incense stick [which doesn't seem to be making a dent in the air quality]. I have a feeling today is a goner. Might as well go make some coffee.


Thanks Georgia, for an unforgettable birthday present.

My Cushion screws up, the air bed goes pop! and other bad stuff.

Okay, so I can't really these days but no one needs to know that, right?

My air bed is dead. My Cushion decided it was too soft and he pumped and pumped the bed up until the stitches popped. Pop! pop! pop! the stitches went, scaring My Typist half to death because she was on it when it happened. 

My Cushion really screwed up. The air bed had to be thrown away. 


But that's not the worst of it.

*

Remember how Dr Dog said I was supposed to go only on short leash walks for 2 weeks? 


Well, My Cushion felt sorry for me so he let me off the leash in the park yesterday and I ran and ran. I couldn't help it! It's been a week since I played with my friends and I! am! going! MAd! 


Then I climbed up these steps.

This is a re-enactment. These pictures were taken some time back. My Typist put them here to make My Cushion feel bad. She knew they'd come in handy one day.

 "What is wrong with you?!" The Typist screamed at My Cushion when she heard about our short easy walk that wouldn't stress my neck and legs. 


I guess he screwed up again.


But that's not the worst of it.

*

My legs have started to itch. I think some ants got into them! I can't stop licking and chewing my toes. They've gone all gummy and red. 

The Typist gave me a medicated bath and I've been getting a little blue pill every morning. She's been hosing down my belly and legs, and rubbing an ointment between my toes but nothing seems to help. [She called Dr Dog this morning too, and left a hysterical message.]


Last night, I tried to eat my front right paw. The Typist couldn't bear it any more, so she made me wear a sock.

"Couldn't you at least have tried to find me a prettier sock, Typist? Something a little more colour coordinated perhaps?"

But that's not the worst of it.

*

I, of course, refused to wear an ugly sock and skipped about until it came off. The Typist kept pulling the sock back on and I kept pulling it off. Haha! I thought I made it quite clear who was boss around the house, and that would be the end of that!


And then.

I couldn't believe my eyes. It was The Horrible Thing! Bad memories came flooding back! 

I ran and cowered in a corner and looked as pitiful as I could [which, as you know, usually does the trick]. It was My Pushover Cushion so I thought I had a particularly good chance of getting away with it.

But it was no use.

"Waa..aaaaa..ah...hh!h!!!..."

*

I kept knocking into everything. I didn't dare move. 

I couldn't even go up to bed. It was ridiculous! [I might write a stiff letter of complaint to the SPCA about whoever invented this death trap.]

Finally, The Typist had to take The Horrible Thing off just so I could go upstairs.

"You know, Typist, in retrospect, that sock wasn't so bad after all. How about we give it another try?"

"No? Really? No?"

I can tell you no one got any sleep last night because The Horrible Thing kept knocking into the bed and scraping the floor and making horrible noises.

*

So here I am, back on my inferior quality old lumpy bed, not allowed to play for yet another week, with itchy gummy legs and toes, and A Horrible Thing on my head.

I think I may really have screwed up this time.

*

*

*

So how's YOUR week going?

Benevolent thoughts from my sickbed.

Guess what? I don't think I'm dying after all. 


I've been sleeping for 2 days and am feeling much better. [Sadly, the same can't be said of My Cushion who now has a bad neck and back].

Some of you have been telling me to try the big air mattress. What great advice! I'm sure I would never have thought of imposing myself on The Typist like that without your goading encouragement.

The air mattress is indeed much more comfortable than my [3 year old lumpy] bed with its faded flowers and chewed up ribbon tie!

Here are 2 pictures of me enjoying my new bed.

I suspect The Typist may not be too pleased with this new sleeping arrangement but really, who cares. She should be doing some ironing instead of lying around anyway. 

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This morning, I got to see my #1 Dr Dog [the one who's more handsome than the Bondi vet]. He was away when I went in on Wednesday. 

The first thing he did was to make me trot up and down the parking lot. I didn't limp or stumble once! I couldn't even walk to the car on Wednesday and had to be carried! I think #1 Dr Dog was very pleased with my improvement.

Then we went inside and he had a good look at me.

He. didn't. once. stick. anything. up. my. butt. 

"If you take one more rude picture of me, Typist, I will bite you."

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"So #1 Dr Dog, could it really have been the jump down the big wall that made my neck and leg go ouchy?" 

"Are you very VERY certain, for example, that it isn't from sleeping on an inferior quality faded lumpy bed that's due for an upgrade?"

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#1 Dr Dog and my humans talked forever. I have no idea what it was about because they Dr Dog used some words with several syllables. As you can imagine, my vocabulary is not extensive and my grasp of the English language is tenuous at best. 

It got boring so I went walkabout.

 You can see I'm feeling much better today because The Typist had a hard time taking pictures of me!

Then we went to The Back Room Where Important Things Are Done.

That dog on the wall looks like me!

 Dr Dog took more blood from my neck. 

I was very brave.

 "I must not faint, I must not faint."

Don't you think I was very brave?

+

After that, it was time to say goodbye and pay up at the front desk.

"How much was the bill today, Cushion? Was it a lot again?"

"If it's helpful, I can forgo my pan fried steak and poached chicken breast with fresh vegies dinner tonight." 

"Don't you worry your little head about that, Georgia! I'm sure The Typist won't mind eating leftovers and instant noodles for a while."   

I love My Cushion. 

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A sort of serious update.

Could this have been the cause?

The vet says it might be a prolapsed disk impinging on a nerve or a muscle strain or tear. There's no real way to find out for sure except with medical imaging. Since Georgia's no longer in acute pain and seems to be recovering with rest, we thankfully don't need to go there.

We have instructions to keep her as quiet as possible for 2 weeks. TWO WEEKS! Haha! No play time or free running. Only simple short leash walks, preferably with a harness to minimise strain on her neck. She was sedated and sleepy yesterday but this morning, she was gungho to go out again so it's going to be an interesting time. 

We're going to continue giving her the anti-inflammatory pills but will stop the painkillers to see how she copes without them.

There is still a very small chance that she ingested some rat bait or a baited rat. 

This one crept into the house to die some weeks back. One of our neighbours a couple of doors away baits them. There are unfortunately a lot of rats running around - a downside to being in an area with many restaurants, cafes and pubs.

Hence the blood test. The one she had on Wednesday had an abnormal reading for a blood clotting factor [if I got it right]. They want to test a 2nd sample just to make sure. If it isn't poison, it could indicate some other medical problem :( 

She had blood drawn this morning but the lab apparently couldn't use the sample, so the poor thing had to go back again this evening for a third drawing. We should get the results tomorrow. 

"Thank you everyone for asking after me. It was very kind of you! Goodnight and have a great weekend! X"

P.S. "Hey Typist! Would you like to share my bed? You can have one of the corners if you like. I'm feeling rather benevolent tonight."

Georgia 1 Kindle 0

Before the alarm clock could go off this morning, I chucked up in the bedroom. Then I started to shiver and breathe funny. I couldn't stand up by myself and was very wobbly.


My humans panicked. Of course. 


Since I couldn't walk, My Cushion had to carry me downstairs to the car. He was huffing and turned quite red.

"Get a grip, man! I'm not THAT heavy."

They took me to see Dr Dog. 

I walked into the room and passed out.

"I bet you guys are sorry now that you ignored me all last week."

Don't look if you're squeamish because Dr Dog did some horrible things to me while I was too helpless to defend myself!

She [apparently] took my temperature. 

Then she squeezed my butt and stinky stuff came out.

Then she checked to see why I couldn't walk.

And just when I thought it was over...

...she took some blood too.

"Did I say some? I meant A Lot."

Then she forced me to swallow a nasty pill.

It was humiliating and exhausting and I was very glad when it was all over.

"One day, Dr Dog, when you least expect it..."

+

I'm home now and recoopratying recupra have been sleeping lots. The Typist stayed home all day to take care of me.

Dr Dog says I'm not allowed to walk or play for a week and have to go for another blood test on Friday. 


My Typist has pumped up a big mattress. She's going to sleep downstairs on the floor with me until I'm better because I'm not allowed to climb upstairs to the bedroom and she's stupid that way  she doesn't want me to be lonely. She spent the afternoon  poaching chicken breasts for me, massaging my toes and making sure I was warm. She didn't once turn the stupid kindle on haha.


"Oh say, Typist! Could you please bring me some water?"

"And I know it's very late, but don't forget to type and publish that post for me before you go to bed, okay?"


Sure I might be milking the situation. But why not?


It's very nice being the centre of the universe again.

Georgia 1   Kindle 0

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"Excuse me, Miss Receptionist, excuse me! I think there's something wrong with your scales! I should only be 43 kilos!"