Dick Wolfsie
A few weeks ago, I related the story of my poor 62 year-old knee that may require replacement, or at the very least, a little high tech poking around by my orthopedist. I prefer the word orthopedist to the alternative name orthopod, which sounds like I’m going to be strapped to a gurney and clawed by a lobster.
Then the other yesterday, I discovered that my dog, Toby, has a virtually identical malady, a degenerative cruciate ligament, making it difficult for him to negotiate stairs and chase squirrels. I stopped chasing rodents long ago, but I have no intention of sleeping downstairs on the couch with a chubby beagle.
It’s bad enough that the two of us are starting to look-alike, but I don’t think we should be getting the same illnesses. Even at my age, I still sport an occasional pimple, but it would be hard to go on TV with even a mild case of mange. And I can get a few days off if I get the flu, but I’m not going to call in sick with fleas. I just won’t do it.
Part of the problem is that Toby and I are the same age, assuming, of course we observe the old canard that one year in a dog’s life is the equivalent to seven in a human’s. I don’t think we do this age adjustment with any other species. “Hey, Charlie, how old is Fred, your giant turtle?”
“About a hundred and fifty years old - fifty-four in human years.”
“Say, Neil, what’s the age of that fruit fly of yours?”
“About twelve seconds old. About 112 in human years.”
Yesterday, I read that your pet can get H1N1. I’ve had dogs and cats my whole life, and I’ve been pretty tolerant of the fact that rabies was always a lurking possibility, but I never expected this. Now I’m so paranoid, I think my dog has the flu. I admire you people with gold fish.
The article said that sneezing could be an indication of the virus in your furry friend, so I spent most of last week trying to teach Toby to sneeze in his right front leg. He was extremely resistant. You just can’t teach a dog good hygiene. I am also keeping an eye out for other symptoms. Chills are often present with the flu, but it’s hard to tell if a canine has the chills. When your dog is asleep, just about every part of his body kind of ripples, so you don’t know if he’s having one of those erotic toy poodle dreams or is possessed by an alien. It’s tougher with cats. Flu symptoms include lethargy and lack of interest, which, correct me if I’m wrong, is the definition of a cat.
What do you do with a dog that has the flu? The experts recommend plenty of bed rest, which seems pretty easy since most dogs sleep about 18 hours a day. Millions of years ago, canines spent time hunting for prey, but now the whole meal comes in a huge, 40-pound sack, which is how I hurt my knee. Finally, this column is starting to make sense.
At this point, I’m not sure what else I can do. I tried putting one of those masks on him, but he keeps pulling it off and chewing it. I also have been insisting that he not have any nose to nose contact with any of his buddies, but that’s been hard to enforce and, considering the alternative, I’m just going to leave well enough alone.
