Dear Kasey

A Letter to the Family Dog (a.k.a. my favorite daughter)

Dear Kasey,

            I know that you and I have had many meaningful conversations though the years, but I’m not sure I ever told you that you owe your very existence to lupus.  Yes, I admit that you would have “existed” without lupus, but we would not have been lucky enough to have you as part of our family.

            “How?” you ask.

            You see, I never thought I was a dog person and certainly never envisioned a big hairy fur-dropping canine living in this little house.  I deemed myself, instead, a cat person for reasons which may not be obvious to you.  I have a personality resembling that of a feline.  I like peace, quiet, and solitude.  I only want to be around humans on my terms – otherwise I just may run away and hide.  I like to sleep, don’t like to go for walks, and find the destruction of mice and other rodents heading my list of priorities.

            So how is it that you came to steal a place in my heart?  How does your presence in this house owe itself to lupus when the very name of this disease stems from the word “lupine” which means having a wolf-like appearance?  Yes, this lovely metaphor comes from the hallmark rash that lupus brings (now more graciously termed the butterfly rash.)  If I had wanted a wolf-like dog I would have adopted a german shepherd, not the likes of you – my beautiful labrador retriever.

            The answer is simple.  You are here because of Megan’s overwhelming yearning for a dog in the midst of a sickness which found me heartbroken.  (Now if she had really had her way, you would have been a St. Bernard, but I wasn’t THAT heartbroken!)  And yes, we had to go through a tragic series of three other canines before you at last came to rest in our home, but I quickly learned that the fourth time is a charm.

            And so, with your leap-frog growth due to doggie years, we have grown old together.   You breezed through your teenage years without so much as doggie prom or needing a “pet-a-cure”.  You would never declare yourself a vegetarian.  You have no need of expensive clothing, boots, or handbags.  In fact, you wouldn’t even dream of setting foot in a mall without sporting a leather harness, and me a pair of dark sunglasses. 

            You, my favorite daughter, have brought joy to a house which has often been saddened by sickness.  Although you took no vows upon joining our family, you have been there for us both in sickness and in health – happy to lay by your adoptive sisters’ side as she lay sick and hurting on a couch.

            And I thank you for that.

                                                                                                                        Signed

your loving mother,

A Letter to My Favorite Daughter - Even though She Can't Read

Dear Kasey,

You know, you're ten years old now. . . which in doggie years I believe is 70.

You're an old lady, my love. 

So could you tell me why in god's name you have suddenly become disobedient in your old age?  Why - when your invisible fence has been broken for the last six years (which equates to 42 in your life) have you decided to make a run for it?

All for the sake of a little food . . .

Now I know as we females get older, we don't care so much for our outward appearance.   Sometimes we even allow ourselves to get a little curvey around the edges.   Is that what's happened?   Have you finally realized that Mr. Woofy Right is never going to come along?  Especially while you're stuck inside that fence?

Whatever the reason,  once you discovered that our neighbors feed the birds their leftover bread and rolls, you hang an immediate right after exiting the house and head in that direction.   You think you've suddenly died and gone to heaven, now don't you Missy?  FREE FOOD!!! It's too good to be true.   Nice crunchy, stale bread. . .  sometimes even soggy from the morning dew. . .crusts of peanut butter sandwiches. . . the occasional bagel (JACKPOT!). . .why I even saw an apple out there one day.  Much better than those little round droppings the herd of deer leave you on their way through. Right?

Wrong!

Not that I'm condoning consumption of deer turds, but at least they're in your own yard (yes, I realize that you've discovered quite an untouched stash in the neighbor's yard as well) and we need you to stay close to home.  Please don't make me don my rainboots and have to trudge over hill and dale to retrieve you.

You're the retriever, silly, not me!

And besides, this Sjogren's makes me feel like I'm at least 80 years old so you see that my Sjogren's years are older than your doggie years and it just isn't fair.

You want to remain my favorite daughter now don't you?

Because Ponzi and Trigger have both come home to take up residentce after college and show no signs of ever going away again. . .

Is that Poop on the Floor or Are You Happy to See Me?

 

Dear Mr. (or perhaps, Ms.) President of PetSmart PetsHotel,

I know you may be surprised to hear from me again so soon again after our last correspondence, but I could not let another day pass without apologizing for the scene my favorite doggie daughter made in your store yesterday. I would have called you on the Bone Booth to offer my apologies in person had I not been so ashamed.

Now before I go any further, Mr. President, I have a question for you:  Do you actually take your hotel guests outside to. .  .well, you know to. . . do their "business" while their owners are away?  Especially the "Big Business" part???

And, assuming the answer to the first questions is Yes, I also have another question for you:  Why is it such a long walk from your hotel lobby to the great outdoors?

The reason I'm asking is that a most unusual thing happened as I was retrieving Kasey after my big weekend in Cleveland for my nephew's wedding.  Instead of being all tail-wagging happy to see me, she seemed to be fixated on sniffing the floor of the hotel.  And before I knew it, a turd of unknown origins had appeared on the lobby floor.

Oh my stars!  I declared, Is there another dog around here?

No, only your dog . . .  the pet concierege politely replied as she went to grab my sister's dog, who I was also bringing home.

And suddenly there was another.  

Turd, that was, not dog.

And that was the moment my little dim-witted brain kicked into high gear. . .

Safe toilet syndrome.  

Now Kasey has been known to suffer from the ravages of safe toilet syndrome at times when we take her with us to the shore, but never did I dream that her vacation constipation would rear its ugly head so close to home.  And the Pawgress Report the concierge gave when I checked her out stated that - along with being a Party Animal - she had Taken Care of Business while she was a guest in your establishment.

But it soon became painfully clear, Mr. President, that my little doggie daughter had not taken care of nearly enough business while she was on vacation.

Because once I left the lobby of your hotel I found myself pulled forward like a musher through the Alaskan tundra while juggling two newly-sprung dogs and their belongings on a race out of the ginormous PetSmart store.  And my unique perspective from the behinds-area allowed me to see, Mr. President, that she and I were about to lose the race for the door.  

And we did. 

I am ashamed to say that this musher lost  the I-Did-a-Poop.

Yes there, in the center aisle of your PetSmart store, my dog took care of an additional  full quarter's worth of business on the spot.

At which point  I found myself faced with a terrible dilemna.

I had seen a display of doggie bags upon leaving the PetsHotel (indeed, that was how the concierge had taken care of the previous two - at this point we'll just call them - mole hills of doggie poo) but how was I to leave a mountain of dog poo sitting unprotected in the center aisle of a superstore on a busy Monday morning to go and retrieve a clean-up bag, with two dogs and a suitcase full of their toys, food, and belongings no less?  But since it was painfully clear that the mountain was not going to move to the bag, I needed to quickly devise a plan to bring the bag to the mountain.   

Should I flag down the nearest customer and ask her to watch my poo while I dash to the bag display?   Do I enlist the help of the employee cleaning out the gerbil cages and tell him I have a more-urgent task for him?  Do I cup my hands, make a pretend megaphone and call out, Clean up in aisle four! and make a run for it????

Now A Mom on Spin has been accused by her daughters of not being many things, Mr. President, but no one has ever said that I am not resourceful. . . 

And so it was that I left the suitcase of belongings on the floor of the store right in front of the poo to mark its place. .  . kind of like a Caution, wet floor sign. .  .and ran quickly to get a bag - tripping over the paw of my sister's poo-ly behaved dog in the process (and don't you think I felt bad about that, knowing all-too-well what it's like to have piggies who wished they had stayed home. . . ) and returned to the scene of the crime just in time to clean up the evidence.

Only to discover that Kasey's hind-quarterly output had been more than one mere bag could comfortably contain.

Holy Crap!

At which point I - along with two newly-sprung dogs, a poo-stained suitcase full of toys, food, and belongings, and a five-pound bag of doggie poo - quickly mushed out of the store . . . leaving only the faint smeary traces of evidence that we had ever been there.

And when we got home, Mr. President?

Well, after the dog had relieved herself two additional times. .  . I happened to read the following under the Happy Homecoming section on the back cover of Kasey's aforementioned Pawgress Report:

After you leave the PetSmart PetHotel and before getting into your car, allow your dog the opportunity to relieve himself.  Even if he just went in the PetSmart PetsHotel before you picked him up, the excitement of seeing his Pet Parent will probably prompt him to go again.

and again. .  .

and again. .  .

But I ask you, Mr. President. . . isn't it nice to be loved?

Banned from the Bone Booth

Dear Mr. (or perhaps, Mrs ) President of PetSmart PetsHotel,

Do you have bedbugs?

I have burning need to know.

You see, my favorite daughter is scheduled to take up residence in your establishment tomorrow and I'd like to know in advance if you have bedbugs.  (Not you - personally, Mr. President of PetSmart  - I don't really care if you scratch your insides out, I just need to know if your special hypoallergenic lambskin doggie beds are infested with bedbugs.)

I'm feeling a wee-bit perturbed that I couldn't afford to put my favorite daughter up in the swanky  Animal Inn while the humans in the Spin Family travel to Cleveland for my nephew's wedding. . . but this wedding is already costing us an arm and a leg and we didn't have an extra paw left over to pay for doggie swank - especially because those paws developed allergies, causing an unplanned trip to the vet yesterday.

And because I already had to shell out $200 on paw allergies, I need to know if I'm going to have to face the horror of doggie bedbugs when I return.


Do you have daughters Mr. (or perhaps, Mrs.) President of PetSmart, Inc.?    'Cause if you do you'll know how expensive it is for an entire family to attend an out-of-town wedding . . . especially when two of them have to be flown in from different parts of the country.   And did I mention those little airport shuttle fees?  Can you keep a secret Mr. President of PetSmart?  ('Cause I know a Mrs. President would be blabbing already . . . )    Don't let  The Husband-formerly-known-as-Drip-Dry know, but Ponzi's transportation to-and-from the airport is costing us more than her airfare.

Sacre Maroon!

Do you have a husband Mr. ( I guess with this question I'm  hoping you really are a Mrs.) President of PetSmart Inc.?  'Cause if you do, you would also understand the financial pressures I am under here.  For instance, I would have loved to have put Kasey up in one of your fabulous hotel suites with 24-hour pet-centric t.v., or enroll her in  your doggie day care, or ordered her the Bizzy Bundle, or some sort of individualized turn-down service  . . . and God knows I would love to call her each day on the PetSmart Bone Booth just to hear her reassuring  little woof . .  .

But no.   I had to settle for an Atrium room with no amenities.

That's right. . . no snack kongs. .  .no treat times. . . no personal training camp. . . if you can imagine, the poor little dog can't even be groomed for success!   And can you keep another secret, Mr. President?  Don't let on to Drip Dry, but I'm going to splurge and bring the paw medication with me even though it costs an additional $3 a day to administer. But if  he discovers that I have signed up for any of those expensive add-on  fru-fru services, Mr. President, I fear that The-Husband-Formerly-Known-as-Drip-Dry would quickly become the Former-Husbandly-Known-as-Drip-Dry!  (And hey . . . the way things are going around here the night before our big departure, he may destined for that moniker yet,  Mr. President . . . I think he may just become that yet. . .)

So please take care of my precious daughter this weekend, Mr. President, 'cause sometimes I'm convinced that she's the only one who really loves me around here.  You can call me anytime tomorrow from the bone booth.  Thanks to Drip Dry's newly enforced budgetary restrictions, I'll be staying in a flea-bag hotel somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania.

Oh . . and seeing that I might be of the single persuasion as early as next week, Mr. President, I would like to ask you another question:   Do you have wife?  'Cause if you don't I'm thinking that you might have enough money to let me - and my favorite daughter - live in the style to which we've previously become accustomed. . .

My Dog Is Fat , My Cat Threw Up, and the Cow Jumped over the Moon. . .

So after three canceled appointments, I finally took my pets to the much-dreaded vet yesterday.

Now last year, in a corporal act of mercy, Veggie took the cat to the vet for me.  But, despite my wise counsel Not to let the vet know that she's no longer an indoor cat because they'll be wanting to give her all sorts of extra tests and shots, Veggie found herself spilling the beans and returned home with a $300 vet bill and a rabies certificate that was good for only one year.

And so this year, subscribing to the theory that You should never send a mere child to do a Mom-on-Spin's work (combined with the fact that Veggie is currently out of the country) it quickly became evident that it was my turn to wrestle with that cat, stuff that little furball into the dog carrier against her will (yes, I said dog. . . .do you have a problem with that?) zipper her whiskers into the cramped designer-fru-fru-doggie space, and listen to her sad lament the whole way to the vet's.

But that's okay, because the dog was panting like . . . Hey!  She hasn't let my shedding body in this car in like forever!  We must be going some place really cool. .  .  

It was also my turn to get the the immunization sales pitch.

And to feel like a crazy cold-hearted animal-hater when I opted out.


Opted out of the feline leukemia test and vaccine, despite being warned of the dire consequences in doing so. . .  opted out of the one-year rabies shot and electing one with three-year effectiveness - even though it required me to sign a disclaimer . . . .  foregoing the kennel cough immunization when I have never once boarded my dog in her four years of human existence which translates to practically FOREVER in doggie years . . . and requesting a six-month supply of the heartworm tablets because I only remember to administer them about every-other-month anyway. . .  ( I did - however - offer to pay for extra distemper shots if they could be made available to teenage daughters and/or grumpy husbands. . . for some reason they wouldn't let me.  . . . )


And then, despite my best efforts, I was handed a $383 bill on my way out.

And the cat gladly hopped back into the very carrier that she had so vehemently despised just a half-hour earlier.

And the dog had a strange fixation with licking her butt.

And the cat threw up all over my living room couch the minute we got home.

And then I think - but I'm not certain - I saw the dish run away with the spoon. . . 

Oh.  . . and who knew that labs should have waistlines?  Come to think of it, so should middle-aged-women, but that doesn't mean I have one, now does it?

Why Couldn't That Damn Dog Whisper????

First of all. . .

You need to go vote for Ponzi's friend in the Jets' National Anthem contest.  This, my friends,  is a contest akin to those in Chicago politics. . .  you can, and should, vote for Meghann Carr early and often (and you don't even have to be a U.S. citizen.)  Yet - unlike Chicago politics - you have to be alive. . . 

Now onto the family dog. . .

I need you all to travel back in time with me.

Remember when I saw The Psychic?  That very same psychic came to my house the following week to do readings for a few of my close friends and  family members.  (Okay! Next time I'll invite you. . .)  And besides the fact that she was totally AWESOME for me, she was SPOT ON with my guests that night.  (And just to get this straight, it's not like I'm a psychic groupie or anything. . . )

But another thing  happened that night that I was not privy to at the time.

I guess my dog was talking.

To the Psychic.

My dog was talking to the Psychic!

And the reason that I know that My dog was talking to the Psychic! was that last Friday evening I was at a little get-together where the afore-mentioned psychic was present (I'm NOT  a psychic groupie or anything. . . ) and the psychic had a gift for me - a collection of photographs of yellow labs.

Me:  Oh, but, you didn't have to!

Psychic:  Well, I never actually told you what happened at the end of the night when your dog came up to me.

Me:  Oh but I remember! You said she told you that she wanted to be a good dog. . . you know. . . in order to please me.

Psychic:  Yes, but there were so many people there, I didn't want to tell you what she really said. . .

Me:  Really said?  Well, what did she say???

Psychic:  It was kind of unusual. .  .

Me:  Go on. . . .   I won't be surprised.

Psychic:  Well, the dog walked right up to me and told me that you like her better than you like your own daughters!!!!

Now I ask you. . .  Is there one of you who would be surprised that the dog thought that?

For after all. . . I tell her that every day!!!

The "One" I Raised correctly

Pay close attention to this post which was written in December of 2008 yet - until today - never made it out of my "draft" folder. There just may be a quiz on it tomorrow. .  .

-----------

I'm aware of the fact that I am swimming in complaints about the females who live under this roof with me . . . 

But all is not lost, my friends.

For there's one female in our household I need to commend.
Take a look. . .

• She stands up the moment I walk into the room.
• She is more-than-willing to help clean the dishes.
• They wouldn't let her in The Mall unless she was sporting lots of leather, and me, dark sunglasses.
• She vacuums all of the crumbs from the kitchen floor for me.
• I need only say the word laundry and she's right by my side to gather all of the errant socks that fall to the floor.
• She never complains that the food I feed her is fattening.
• As far as I can tell, she doesn't have a boyfriend.

And the best part ?????

•  She couldn't talk back to me even if she tried!

Which of my teenage daughters could this be? you ask yourself.
Here's a little hint. . . . . .

Well it turns out my little Kasey's been talking after all.   You'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to find out to who. .  .or is it to whom????  Suffice it to say that the damned dog has been spilling the beans and it got back to me. . .