Fresh Baked

Friday, July 16, 2004

Sitting Dog

The last time I dog-sat was fairly uneventful. The time before that? Makes me surprised I ever dog-sat again. It was less 'dog-sitting' and more dog-you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me.

The setup:
1 week; 2 people, my sister A and I; 3 dogs, a lab (Boo, 2 years-- tons and tons of energy); a whippet (Annie, 3 years-- very beautiful and fun) and a daschund (Ziggy-- geriatric, mean-spirited, with nasty halitosis as a result of the teeth that were running away from him because this dog was such an ass).

To expound on Ziggy: This dog was on his last legs. He had always slept in the bed with the owners and when they realized that his last legs were also riddled with arthritis? They made a ramp up to the bed for him. A ramp he had to take a arthritic-running start to get up. And one from which he could not get down unaided. No, Ziggy had to be helped down by lifting him off the bed and to the floor, only... Ziggy hated being touched. Especially by me.

Already, you can see that this was a task for no mere mortal.

The sting:
On our first night, we played with the dogs, checked out which dirty adult channels they were getting, and ate all the food in the house. Standard procedure. We got Annie and Boo out of the house as instructed and then prodded Ziggy into the bed with us. (Sidenote: I have never understood why dogs sleep in bed with the owners. Warmth? Security? Grab a blanket and keep the dog on the floor.) Ziggy was a little enamored with A and wanted to cuddle with her... under the covers but on the pillow and if he could have just a little paw hanging out (or on my face)? That'd be super. When we go up there little traces of icky all over the comforter. We had no idea what it was or if it had been there the night before. So? We washed the sheets and comforter and promised to look for it again the next day. Which we did. And it happened again. Icky little brown traces of stink. All over the comforter. At that point, we knew it was coming from Ziggy, we just didn't know from which orifice. A took him to the vet and we got a diagnosis...

Ruptured. Anal. Gland.

Eeeeewwwww. Ruptured anal glands!! And we had been sleeping in that ruptured anal gland seepage for two nights! And need I remind you of the halitosis? We were, essentially, sleeping in a stink pile with liquid shit. And it gets better.

The way to cure one's ass of the rupture is to apply an ointment to the wound twice daily. Oh, were it that easy. We wound up having to chase Ziggy down the hall, sneak up on him from behind, crouch down, and shove the nose of the tube up his ass. Then, we had to squeeze enough ointment into the hole and get out before he snapped at us. He may have been losing his teeth, but he had the mean ones left.

Every day, twice a day, for a week we did this. And continued to have the dog sleep with us at night. Quite possibly one of the most disgusting things ever.

So this weekend? I'm dog-sitting. Wish me luck.