We (Toney) took our dog Andy to the vet on Thursday, and the hound was given a clean bill of health. The only negatives: he’s slightly overweight, and has dry skin.
“Have you noticed him scratching a lot lately?” the doctor asked.
“Noticed? I feel like throwing him off the Empire State Building most of the time,” Toney said.
The doc laughed and said it’s triggered by the season, and the scratching should stop soon. And just for the record, I don’t much care for jokes about Andy-murder. Know what I mean? 9/11? I’ll let it slide. Cancer? OK. But the murder of Blacks Lips Houlihan? Over the line.
In any case, Toney has now removed Andy’s collar, because the tags jingle when he’s scratching. I barely even notice, but it makes my wife crazy. She sometimes sits bolt upright in bed, in the middle of the night, swearing the jingle-jangle woke her up.
I don’t get it. She doesn’t notice the eye-watering, windpipe-closing Axe funk of all the Secrets’ friends, or the creaking door voice of teenage girls everywhere, but if Andy happens to bang his tags together on the other end of the house, her eyes go blood-red and she starts concocting wild murder fantasies.
A couple of other vet-related developments I don’t much care for:
He gave Andy some sort of shot that’s only required once every four years, and said, “Well, big guy, this’ll probably be the last one of these you’ll ever need.” WTF?? He’s only eight years old. And he’s already being written off? Why would a person make such a statement? I still can’t believe it, and can’t stop thinking about it, either. Why does everybody want my dog dead??
The doctor also shaved Andy’s ass again. Every time he goes to the vet they shave him down, and he walks around with a butthole that can be spotted from aircraft. Here’s what I wrote about it last time, and it’s no different this time around. The poor guy… It’s like his ass is emitting light.
The yurt experience was a good one, even better than last time, I think. I’m not a fast writer, never have been, but do much better in a quiet setting, with no internet. I wish I could do one more session, but the campground is now closed. Sunday was the last day.
When I arrived on Thursday, the pod next to mine was occupied, and at first glance I thought it was a gang of hillbillies. I saw a lot of unkempt facial hair, overalls, flannel shirts, etc. So much for quiet, I thought.
But I heard them tell a passerby about the history of “Mongolian yurts,” and one of them later broke out an acoustic guitar and commenced to strumming. And I said, “Hey, those aren’t hillbillies, they’re hippies!”
I feel a little a little dirty and ashamed of myself, but I was greatly relieved. Under the circumstances I much preferred hippies to hillbillies. It wasn’t even close.
Because if it had been hillbillies there would’ve been a lot of rebel-yelling, engine-revving, screen door-slamming, commercial country, gunfire, and possibly a pig roast — complete with mouth-apple.
The hippies just softly played a guitar, and ate trail mix, or whatever. And I can live with that.
So, what do you think? Should I feel bad that I sided with the hippies inside my head? What’s your opinion on this most pressing of issues? Hippies or hillbillies? Which way would you have leaned?
And just so you know, I peed in the woods while I was at the yurt. Directly across the street was a bathhouse, but on Friday (I think) a man was cleaning it, and had hung a CLOSED sign on the door.
I’d had almost an entire pot of Eight O’clock coffee, and it was turning into an urgent matter. So I found a spot where I thought I’d be shielded from both nearby roads, and let it go, straight into a bush.
It was kinda fun. I’m not often in a situation where out-of-doors urination is feasible, so there was a certain novelty value to it. It’s probably been years…
Oh, every once in a while I get the urge to pee off our deck, just to see how much distance I can get on it, but I’m always afraid the wind will shift and it’ll blow against Half-Shirt’s siding. But other than that, it’s something that almost never crosses my mind.
Do you have any interesting outdoor peeing stories to tell us? If so, let ‘er rip in the comments. Just like I did into that tall bush on Friday. Crapping stories, as always, are welcome as well.
And I’m going to call it a day, my friends. It’s almost time for another fulfilling and exhilarating day at work! My nipples are exploding with delight.
See ya tomorrow.