I knew something was up when Daddy Chris drove me in the direction of the vet's office on Thursday. I thought I heard Dad and Mom discussing something about surgery for Daddy Chris on Friday morning. She had to stay overnight, so I figured that meant I was stuck at the kennel until Saturday.
When I came home with Mommy Phyllis, she told me to not jump up on Dad. I've been good. They should know by now that us beagles have a sense when our parents are hurt or sick. I overheard Mom telling Grandma and Grandpa over the phone that the surgery went well. The surgeon told Mom that she exc...exc...took out the lesion, plus some surrounding tissue. And something about the pathology report coming in early this week. I guess Mom takes Dad back to the surgeon on Thursday.
Poor Dad has been taking pain pills. She had a lot of trouble with the Anna something-or-nuther. It made her muscles really ache. She's having a hard time walking around even.
Anyway...I'm glad I'm home so I can help take care of Daddy Chris and Mommy Phyllis. Perhaps Mom's attention will be diverted enough that I can sneak a snack. Although I have to say I'm rather proud of the fact I lost 1.1 pounds. Heck! Mom acted like I won the Nobel Peace Prize. It's a good thing...I guess.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Please allow me to introduce myself...
And no I'm not quoting Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil."
My name's Buddy, obviously. I also go by the name of Buddy the Wonder Dog and Buddy Damn It, although I don't care much for the last one. I'm six years old and live with my adopted parents, Chris and Phyllis. My real mom and dad, Darla and Burt, still live on the farm where my adopted parents picked me out and brought me home.
When I came home with my new parents, I was greeted by Max and Murphy, two rather odd looking animals. I think they're called cats. I sauntered up to Murphy to say hi, and she proceeded to smack me in the nose with her paw. Hence, my brutal introduction to pet hierarchy. Unfortunately Max and Murphy passed away a few years ago. So, it's just me and the mommys now.
My one mom, Chris, is more like my dad. She's an author. I know this because she sits with this rectangular thing on her lap a lot in the room called the "butch den." I'm not sure what that means other than Dad goes in there for hours at a time, sometimes coming out for a drink or a snack. My mom sits with me while Dad works. Dad is always telling Mom how much she sacrifices in letting Dad pursue her dream. I don't know exactly what that means, but I do know how much they love each other.
I've recently been put on a strict diet. See, us beagles love to eat. Anything. You name it, we'll eat it. My doctor hasn't been happy with my recent weight gain, so now my food's even more closely monitored. Which means Mom and Dad are much more aware of my presence and are more careful as to the placement of food within my reach. Damn... I mean... darn! I still manage to move the tablecloth with my paws and drag things to the edge of the table within reach of my mouth. But I have to be quick. I can be lightning fast when it comes to scarfing.
Well, I think it's time for a nap. I'll write periodically when my moose hits me. I think that's what it's called. At least that's what Dad calls it. I don't get it though. Why would I want to be hit by a moose?
Later...
My name's Buddy, obviously. I also go by the name of Buddy the Wonder Dog and Buddy Damn It, although I don't care much for the last one. I'm six years old and live with my adopted parents, Chris and Phyllis. My real mom and dad, Darla and Burt, still live on the farm where my adopted parents picked me out and brought me home.
When I came home with my new parents, I was greeted by Max and Murphy, two rather odd looking animals. I think they're called cats. I sauntered up to Murphy to say hi, and she proceeded to smack me in the nose with her paw. Hence, my brutal introduction to pet hierarchy. Unfortunately Max and Murphy passed away a few years ago. So, it's just me and the mommys now.
My one mom, Chris, is more like my dad. She's an author. I know this because she sits with this rectangular thing on her lap a lot in the room called the "butch den." I'm not sure what that means other than Dad goes in there for hours at a time, sometimes coming out for a drink or a snack. My mom sits with me while Dad works. Dad is always telling Mom how much she sacrifices in letting Dad pursue her dream. I don't know exactly what that means, but I do know how much they love each other.
I've recently been put on a strict diet. See, us beagles love to eat. Anything. You name it, we'll eat it. My doctor hasn't been happy with my recent weight gain, so now my food's even more closely monitored. Which means Mom and Dad are much more aware of my presence and are more careful as to the placement of food within my reach. Damn... I mean... darn! I still manage to move the tablecloth with my paws and drag things to the edge of the table within reach of my mouth. But I have to be quick. I can be lightning fast when it comes to scarfing.
Well, I think it's time for a nap. I'll write periodically when my moose hits me. I think that's what it's called. At least that's what Dad calls it. I don't get it though. Why would I want to be hit by a moose?
Later...
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