Dog Health

So I was surfing the web the other day, looking for online insurance quotes (yeah, I was really bored) when I came across this interesting blog post. It seems that thousands of humans end up in the hospital each year because they tripped over their dogs. Can you believe that? Those big oafs trip over their poor little dogs and they go to the hospital. What about their dogs? Just look at the angry dog in the picture. As a fellow Pomeranian, I can feel his pain. I read the whole post and it says nothing about what happens to the dogs. It just talks about people breaking bones and going to the emergency room. It’s so one-sided, making the human the victim. The post also refers to an article on an insurance quotes website that talks about the same thing—dogs getting in the way and people tripping over them. Again, the canines are the cause of human suffering. Unbelieveable! So let me give you the story from the dog’s perspective:

You’re curled up on the floor outside the bedroom because you’re not allowed to sleep in the big comfy bed. You manage to get a few minutes of shut-eye during those brief interludes when the big lug isn’t snoring. The snoring stops. As you start to close your eyes you hear something—slippers flapping, floor squeaking… Sasquatch is on the move! Your primordial instincts kick in: Run! You dodge left, then right, then left again. But despite your best moves he keeps coming. Nothing left to do but duck and cover. The rest isn’t pretty. Your seven pound body is no match for those gargantuan hooves. You’re kicked and crushed by a beast 30 times your size. Yet when it’s over, he’s the one lying on the floor wimpering like a puppy because he stubbed his little toe. Oh, boo hoo. Quick, call an ambulance before he cries himself unconscious! But because dogs don’t cry you have to lay on the floor hurting while he gets medical attention.

But is it because you don’t cry or because they can’t afford your health care? Sure, humans get health insurance for themselves all the time, but you don’t hear much about dog insurance. Actually, dog insurance—or more accurately, pet health insurance—is not too expensive and is available at various levels. I have health insurance. And whether you love your pet or you’re just a klutz, I suggest you get some too.

I have some sad news.  My Aunt Blizzard died today.  I’ve mentioned her in my blog before.  She had some nerve damage in her spine that made her back legs and some other parts stop working.  She was in a lot of pain.  But now she’s not.

My Aunt Blizzard

Aunt Blizzard was a beautiful white German Shepherd.  She was nine years old.  I put her picture here so you can see her.  I’m sad that I never got to meet her in person.  I’ve heard so much about her.  They tell me she was a good girl—not naughty like Nalla.  She took real good care of Grandma and Grandpa too.  No matter how busy she was, she’d always make time to take Grandpa for a walk when he wanted to go out.  And even if she wasn’t hungry, she always had room for one more of Grandma’s cookies. 

She protected them too.  Grandma and Grandpa live in a place where there are wild animals like bears.  Aunt Blizzard would scare them away!  And she slept on the floor by their bedroom door every night to make sure they stayed safe. 

Dad says she’s in heaven now with my Uncle Champ and my Cousin Lazarus.  I never met them either, but they’re all there together and waiting for us.  Some day we’ll all go there and then we can run and play and get to know each other.  Until then, we’re all going to miss you Aunt Blizzard.  But we’ll all see you in heaven some day.  Everyone except Nalla.  She’s going to the other place.

This post is a little on the heavy side and not in my usual light-hearted style.  So if you’re looking for laughs or advice on potty training, you may want to skip this one.

As a spoiled dog, I sometimes forget how good I have it and how grateful I should be for all that I have.  My bowls are always full of food and water. My bed is warm and soft.  I have lots of toys and I get lots of treats.  And I never have to be afraid that someone is going to hurt me.

I just came across a website called PomRescue.com.  This site is run by people who help Pomeranians and other dogs that were abused by the humans they loved.  Most are either sick or injured when they are rescued.  I read a lot of sad stories.  Then I saw a Pomeranian named Tiny Tot.  He looked a lot like me.  Except he had no teeth and his hair wasn’t trimmed and combed nice like mine.  His legs were crippled.  Fleas ate into his skin.  A lot of his hair was lost.  He was hungry.  He was cold.  He was scared.  First I felt sorry for him, hurting, scared and confused.  What was he thinking?  What was he feeling?  Then I was angry.  How can humans be so cruel?  And they call us animals!  Then I realized, we are all Tiny Tot.  But by the grace of God, some of us are blessed more than we ever realize, and spared from a fate like his. 

Tiny Tot

Sometimes I wish I had more toys.  I wish I could spend more time playing.  And I wish I had more friends to play with.  But I have teeth.  And my belly is full.  And my bed is warm.  Sometimes it takes someone like Tiny Tot to remind me of all the things I have to be grateful for. 

If you find yourself in South Carolina and have a place in your home and in your heart for one of these rescued dogs, I know they would love to be adopted into a home where they can be loved, and even spoiled, like I am.

Me wearing my sister's dress

Talk about your embarrassing moments…  My mom bought a Halloween outfit for my sister Nalla at PetsMart—a frilly pink tutu.  Only problem is Nalla weighs less than two pounds.  The dress is made for a grown-up dog… like someone my size.  So mom’s not satisfied just putting it away until Nalla grows into it.  Oh no.  She needs to see how it’s going to look now.  And guess who’s the lucky dog that has to try it on.  My dad stuck up for me—said he didn’t want his boy wearing a dress.  But once it was on he couldn’t stop laughing.  He only stopped laughing long enough to take this picture.  Thanks dad.  They both thought it was funny.  There was a tiara that went with it, but I had to draw the line somewhere.  I wasn’t going to let her put that on my head.  As it is, some day I’ll probably snap and find myself sitting in a pshychiatrist’s chair, telling him how my parents made me wear a dress.  I just hope Spike, Rex and the other bullies at day-care don’t get their paws on this picture.  You don’t know what they’ll do to me.