For the Love of Dog

Smokey's hurt himself again.

No, it's nothing traumatic like when he was a puppy and he ate something that made us think he was dying, and we dragged him to the Stone Way Animal Hospital on a Sunday and he was okay and he never did it again...until we moved out to the Island and he ate something dead on the beach before we could get to him.

We thought he'd learned.

Or the time he was chasing a frisbee down a hill and he stepped wrong and he sprained his ankle. The first time he sprained his ankle. He did it twice. It was then that I asked the vet, "Is there anything I can do to keep him from playing so hard and doing this again?"

He gave me a look.

Pity, I think.

He's had a tooth pulled. Knocked it loose. Playing.

He'd been biting his tongue lately, so we stopped throwing his frisbee until it could heal and so one day in the park, he grabbed a big stick and was throwing it up in the air, and he'd catch it...but....well, he caught it and turned his head and it caught the ground and jammed the stick through his tongue and into his throat.

Stitches. Lots of 'em. Soft food. "Try to keep him quiet," the vet said.

Katheryn gave him a look.

I don't think it was pity.

(He just walked into the room. Looked at me. Looked at his bandage. An edge is loose. A little snip with the scissors, and it's good as new. Satisfied, he walks away. Time for a nap.)

Anyway, we think "the stick incident" did some damage to the nerves in his tongue, because he seems to be biting it more. In fact, there's a little chunk of it missing on the side.

So, Sunday, he comes back from a beach-walk, and he's sleeping on the chaise lounge on the porch. he gets up to get a drink of water, and when I start to brush the sand away from the cushion, I see the blood. Not much, but some.

Seems he cut himself on the leg. Coming back on to shore, he scraped it on a mussel shell, probably. Not too serious, but it's more than an inch and it looks a little raw. Some Aloe vera. Some Neosporin. A sports bandage. A little tape. He's fine. We've been through it before, and frankly, it could be worse.

And he still comes up smiling. And he'll still play at the drop of...anything. Inspiring, ain't it?

This is Smokey, and I realize that a lot of you haven't met him yet, this important part of my life. A pure-bred Australian Blue Heeler with an eating complex. Son of Max and Moira. He has an impressive vocabulary, so I find myself talking to him as if he understood a tenth of what I say. He knows what a "high-five" is and will gladly show you if you request it. He's very territorial. He likes women more than men. He's got good teeth (even if they're a little worn down from chasing tennis balls as a puppy) , a good personality (once he gets to know you), and rarely smells like a dog. Has had some training. The cat leaves him a kibble or two when she’s done. He's the only dog I've ever known who enjoys going to the kennel (where I suspect he plays poker with the other dogs). He hates going to the vet (despite going so often).

But he always comes up smiling.

Good dog.