Time Fries! by Fay Jacobs

Author:Fay Jacobs
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781612940786
Publisher: Bywater Books
Published: 2015-11-17T05:00:00+00:00

April 2012

SCHNAUZERHAVEN ASSISTED LIVING

My house is now a Schnauzer geriatric ward. Like us, my boys are aging fast, but since dog years fly by faster than human ones, our house is in the full throes of canine old age. Paddy is 13 and Moxie is 14. I can hardly believe it. It seems like only yesterday they were teething on the furniture. These days, they’re gumming.

Moxie’s deaf and Paddy’s blind, so between them they’re one guard dog. Both boys still eat like animals, can sniff a Thrasher’s french fry at 90 yards, and enjoy a moderate amount of exercise. When they wake up and discover strangers in the house they still go into their vicious guard dog routine despite the fact our guests have been in the building for hours.

It’s also possible a little doggie dementia is going on, so they just as often bark hysterically in the middle of the night when absolutely nothing is happening. For a while we’d leap up, on full alert, ready to call 911, but now we just humor them, roll over, and try to sleep. Sometimes I think it’s merely Paddy hearing Moxie snore. That dog needs a sleep study and a breathing device.

And if a doorbell goes off on television, Paddy jumps straight up into the air, alerting Moxie with his movement and both of them knock themselves senseless with the furniture they’re under.

The Golden Years really began when Paddy couldn’t walk by the water bowl without filling up or get through the night without emptying out. He’s a full-on diabetic now, requiring us to administer two daily insulin injections.

There’s a reason I’m a writer and not a health care provider. Squeamish-r-us. Based on our abilities, I’d say that Bonnie is the one who gives the skilled care around here. I’m more like the janitor.

But given our crazy schedules, both doggie parents had to learn to give the injections. Bonnie was a natural. As for me, I’d close my eyes, steel myself, and stab the dog, who wouldn’t even notice. But, I really should get my own eyes checked, because more often than not, when putting the cap back on the needle I stab myself in the thumb and shriek in a decibel level even Moxie can hear.

One day, the phone rang as I prepared to inject the insulin and behind my back the dogs switched food bowls. Believe me, when I gave Moxie the booster shot in the butt he was one surprised little Schnauzer. I panicked, calling the vet, hollering about giving insulin to the wrong patient.

“Don’t worry,” said the doctor, “just give Moxie a little sugar.” I gave him a marshmallow Peep and he’s been a Peepoholic ever since.

And what do we do with all those used needles? You can’t just throw them in the trash. Between trips to the animal hospital to turn them in, we keep them in a big plastic pretzel jar. It looks like a candy dish for the Addams Family.

Setting a dog’s insulin level is harder than for a human.

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