Pooch Friendly Races

Did you know that there are pooch-friendly races out there? What a lovely idea! I have been googling about, looking for the perfect 5K race that Oliver and I could shoot for sometime in the fall. My first choice would have been to find one near my daughter, Beatriz, who lives in Chicago, but she said her apartment building does not allow dogs. Well, that's no fun. I do not relish the idea of finding a dog-friendly hotel.

So my second choice would be to ask Bea to come home whatever weekend and run with me in a poochie race around here. I think she would be my most reliable racing partner.

Now the issue becomes, not getting Oliver in shape for a 5K – for his part Oliver happily goes wherever I go, love handles and all. Rather the issue becomes (and maybe the issue always was…) getting the too-much-of-MOI in shape.

Nevertheless, in the spirit of racing, today Ivy and I took our first Ollie-friendly bike ride. It was a herding turtles experience, for sure. First came collecting the necessary preparatory materials: water bottle, collapsible doggie cup, leash, 2 poop bags, wallet, phone, sunglasses. Then the backpack to carry everything in. Bikes out, ready to roll, and 25 yards down the sidewalk…potty break. Off the bike, off with the backpack, find the poop bag, scoop the poop, tie the bag to the handle bars of the bike, re-shoulder the backpack, and off again. Another 100 yards to the end of the subdivision – busy road. Off the bike, find the leash, clip Ollie in. And we're off again…until the first car comes. Duck up a driveway and hop off the bike and wait, just to be safe. And so it went. (This road is lightly trafficked, but the cars go fast when they come.)

So it took a ridiculously long time and some patience on Ivy's part just to get to the bike trail safely. Once we were there, it was smooth, if slow, sailing.

In truth, it was a bit of a comical charade of mutual consideration. Ollie seemed to feel responsible for making sure Ivy and I stayed together. He positioned himself behind Ivy, but in front of me, and kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure I hadn't fallen too far behind. For our parts, Ivy and I were doing our best to go slowly to make sure we weren't pushing his chubby little body too hard, that he wasn't over-heated or too thirsty.

But we found our rhythm, and Oliver found ways to make his needs known: when he got too tired, he would find a shady spot and poop. He figured out quickly that that meant I had to stop, get off the bike, clean up the mess, resituate myself…and I would probably also offer him some water. He's a sneaky little Pete, but that's okay. I don't want him dreading a bike ride either.

Ivy and I stopped at a coffee shop in town on the way home. We each got an iced Chai Latte and enjoyed an outdoor table with Ollie collapsed at our feet. He definitely behaves better in public when he's exhausted!

 So, we all win. Happy day!

Oliver and the Raisinets

Several weeks ago, April 21 to be exact, Oliver got into some Raisinets. Bad dog.

I know the exact date because Tom and I were going to be leaving the country for 10 days on April 22. Now I was faced with the prospect of the kids watching him for a week and a half while his kidneys slowly melted into tapioca pudding. It's a thing! The internet says so!

http://www.petmd.com/dog/emergency/digestive/e_dg_grape_raisin_toxicity

http://www.vcahospitals.com/main/pet-health-information/article/animal-health/grape-and-raisin-toxicity-in-dogs/4397

How did that silly dog get Raisinets, you ask? Well, he drove himself to Meijer, walked down to the candy aisle, and bought them. Then he sat in the car and shoveled them into his mouth, handful after glorious, chocolatey handful, in a blissful fog of naked emotion. He was kind enough to share a small handful with me, maybe six or eight.

Okay, maybe I'm remembering that backward. Maybe I was the one kind enough to share a small handful of Raisinets with him.

Six weeks later I begin to notice lumps on his lower back, right about the place where I would keep my kidneys if I were a dog. Moreover, the right lump is larger than the left. No harmless lipomas, these; they are firm, almost muscular. In fact, except that the right one is noticeably larger than the left, I would have assumed that that is where extra handsome dogs grow their extra handsome muscles.

I did my best for a few weeks to convince myself that indeed, these were muscles I was feeling on his back, that maybe to keep his sides balanced we need to start walking counter-clockwise around the park rather than our usual clockwise route. But visions of grossly enlarged, only partially functioning kidneys began invading my dreams at night, and so I finally succumbed to my raisin-chocolate-guilt and took him to the vet yesterday.

As it turns out, that part of the back is not where dogs keep their kidneys at all. (Dogs are, in fact, quite sneaky about where they hide their kidneys.) Nor is it where they grow extra handsome muscles. The fact of the matter is that that part of the back is where they keep…fat. That's all, just fat, kind of like our love handles. And now what cost me $48 to learn, I am telling you for free.

So, my dog is too fat. Shhh, don't let him hear us talking about it. We don't want to hurt his feelings. I'm sure he has no idea; all his clothes still fit perfectly. But I am now on a mission to correct the problem. In fact, as testament to my complete and utter devotion to this precious little beastie and at great sacrifice to myself, I hereby commit my summer to getting him in shape. By the time I'm done with him, he will be a lean, mean, licking machine.

Because, of course, in this relationship, he is the only fatty.