[Dailydrool] 1. Update on Patsy; 2. Meds

[Veronica Deveau]

Oh, good God!  I think Patsy's settling in rather nicely (or maybe it's just that the Valium--mine--is kicking in, LOL).  She's finally learned her name (which is my fault.  Until I got serious about calling her Patsy, she was Cutie, Sweetie or Lovey).  

So far Patsy hasn't actually broken anything but I believe that's due more to my inordinately quick reflexes (it's a very minor talent.  The major ones have escaped me) than to anything else.  She is a menace in other ways, mind you.  Yesterday morning I had my hand and forearm in a drawer, rooching around for a sandwich bag.  The kitchen drawers have those easy-glide or whatever they're called sliders.  And Patsy managed to push her full-figured bulk against the drawer, trapping my arm inside with her considerable force.  If only she could have backed off a little.  If only she had trapped my left hand so that I might have used my right to wrassle her away from the drawer.  No.  Such.  Luck.

This morning, while Paul was still in bed, I went to feed one of the yowling cats in the bedroom.  I had Patsy on her flexi-lead, ready to take her out first thing.  Flexi-lead and Patsy in one hand, the cat's food bowl in the other.  And Patsy takes a run for the bedroom door, bouncing off the walls, making the cat yowl even more loudly out of fear.  And me?  Yes, I lost my grip on the leash (so much for quick reflexes).  Patsy must be on rocket fuel.  She ran through the house, doing a morning version, by herself, of the Basset 500, the leash's handle bouncing off of walls and doors and making enough clattery noise to wake the dead.  Truthfully, it couldn't have taken longer than two minutes, but I thought to myself, "It's not even six in the morning.  How will I survive the day?  How *will* I survive the day?"

The thing that saves Patsy is her sweetness.  It's what makes everyone at the vets' clinic go ga-ga over her.  We were there to have her spay stitches removed.  In ten minutes she managed to charm absolutely everyone.  She also climbed onto the receptionist's lap, cried like fury because she wanted to visit a lonely beagle, and oozed her way onto the examining table.  The vet, who has a weakness for Bassets, could not believe that a dog with such short little legs could stretch out to the height of a Harlem Globetrotter and slither her way up and onto a table.  He had her age pegged at two.  She's six and a half.

When Paul brought the mail home tonight--howliday cards galore--he said, "Look at this!  Someone lives on Asylum Circle!  Is *that* appropriate for a Basset person, or *what*!"  He misread it, of course (it's really Alyssum Circle) but we laughed like loons about it all through dinner.  Asylum Circle. 

Flash has been gone for almost two months, God rest his soul.  We have almost a four-month supply of Deramaxx, some 20 or so tramadol and about four or five Robaxin.  If anyone, rescue group or individual, would like them, just let me know.  First come first served.  I'll be happy to pack 'em up and send 'em off to you.


Veronica Deveau 

 
  

"The most wasted of days is one without laughter."  e. e. cummings
 		 	   		  
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