My doggie is a year now, and I never thought it would happen; time flies when you’re under doggie duress. I haven’t blogged for while because I’ve been bogged down with responsibility sans any breathing room. Plus I’m low on wine. I like to sit at the Macbook and type away like a Pro while cherishing a lovely bouquet of Food & Wine’s best seller. Life is not complete if a Bordeaux has not stained my keyboard, much like my puppy has done to the family room carpet.
Charly’s bladder has matured now, unlike mine which decided to run on its own time clock, and his “mishaps’ are not as frequent as they were in his younger years, unlike mine, which appear at the most in -opportune times.
There’s something about menopause and bladder retention or incontinence that go hand in hand. For example, after working out at the gym and swallowing a bottle of water in under ten minutes, I use to be able to hold it for hours. Like a Camel. But now for some reason the message from my bladder to my brain gets lost in translation and the urgency to void can’t be avoided.
There is a minor solution to this; Alcohol. Alcohol dehydrates the body, ergo all fluids remain embellished in tissues and cells and take their time to find an escape route. (Unless, you’ve been perched on a bar stool for three hours enjoying great Company, Cuisine, and Cosmos). Your bladder has been boxed in and the fluids are floating at high tide looking for an exit that has been smushed into a cushioned seat; Sooo the moment you stand an alarm goes off in your system that screams:
“Find a toilet, Danger, Danger….urine will commence in five…….four……three……”.
Faster than a dog can lick a dish of left over steak you rush to the ladies room. Unless you’re amongst some of the less fortunate drunks who end up in the planter outside the entrance or possibly planned ahead, and wore their depends.
I love what life dishes out on a paper plate. The process of aging is the icing on the cake left in the dumpster outside Giovanni’s Italian restaurant. It doesn’t get better, it gets different. Better is the prime of your life without worry and cares. It is the youth inside screaming to be released. Getting older is your mind starting foreclosure on your body with your Libido requesting an extension.
I don’t think my dog knows that he is a year older, I don’t think he cares. I have noticed a few changes of life in him that entail a calmer notion in behavior and in understanding my gibberish commands better. I only have to say “come” three times now instead of just closing the back sliding door and watching him stare at me with watery eyes through the glass in wonderment if I really will leave him out in the 93 degree heat.
I would say that Dogs definitely get better with age. I think Charly-dog knows that his life expectancy is shorter than his owner. And he knows how to deal with the aging process much better than I do. Well at least I think he does. He certainly gives the impression that he has a handle on it.
O.K…O.K….. I did see him adding a nip of a Dogfish Bitches Brew to his Science Chow……Ain’t aging a bitch….but the cure comes in a vintage form.