Annice

 

 

 I know I promised Part II of my interview with my friend Adele Rose, but I’ve been so busy with family drama (human and beast) that I haven’t had a chance to sit with her yet.  The second interview with Adele is coming in October. 

 Let me skip the human drama and get straight to the last 10 days of my life with Gus, my eight-year-old Chesapeake Bay Retriever.   I love Gus, a rescue with a bullet in his side, nothing like Carli, my diva bitch from a very reputable breeder.  Gus is my dog “with special needs,” as branded by my sister who has a Masters in Social Work.   

 For starters, he’s very territorial.  If you happen to come up the back deck, and he sees you through the glass doors, he will go ballistic.  So, when friends come over, (always calling first), he’s on a leash.  Once in the house, you MUST say, “Hi Gus,” with lots of enthusiasm in your voice, or you won’t make it into the room.  And, please, leave your kids at home; Gus is not child friendly.   

 And Gus doesn’t get along with other dogs.  When I have to take him (with Carli) to the vet, it’s like a paramilitary operation.  I first ask the receptionist if there is a room ready for Gus because, if not, he has to wait in the car until one  opens up.  Then, when all is clear, I whisk Gus into his room.  When it’s time to leave, the vet tech makes sure all other dogs are out of sight, and I scoot Gus out the back door.

So what do I like about this dog?  Well, to sum it up, he’s extremely affectionate – not just to me but to anyone who loves dogs.  Once you’ve entered our house and petted him once or twice, he won’t leave you alone.  He insists on resting his head on your lap and being petted some more.   He makes you feel special.  Dog lovers love Gus.   

Recently, my love for Gus was tested when Gus had a bout with constipation.  “Poor Gus,” the husband and I said, as we watched him try to poop, changing places for the perfect spot.  Poor Gus, who has an ACL problem, which means every time he stooped to poop, he was putting too much pressure on his knee.  When I called the vet, she suggested  ½ can of pumpkin a day.  Well, that didn’t work, and when I came home from work one day and saw poop in the house, with blood on the floor, I knew Poor Gus would need more than pumpkin.  The paramilitary visit to the vet ended with antibiotics and prednisone – since, as it turned out, he had some sort of rectal fissures.  After about 3 days on steroids, however, Poor Gus became “Monster Gus”.  Driven by excessive hunger and thirst caused by the steroids, he tore apart the kitchen looking for food.  He pried open the garbage door and ate about everything in site – plastic, banana peels, even a broken olive oil bottle, causing cuts in his mouth.  The husband ran to Home Depot to get a lock and chain, but even then Poor Gus was able to claw his way into the closet just enough to pull the garbage out and carry it all over the house.

Here’s a picture that shows what our house looked like.  It’s not actually our house-it’s from the Internet-but it gives you an accurate idea!

 On another day, he almost knocked over the 30-gallon aquarium trying to get to the fish food, yes, the fish food.  Oh, and one more thing, eating garbage resulted in piles of poop and pee-pee in the basement.  I couldn’t take it any more.  I called the vet to complain, and it seems she forgot to tell us that one has to be weaned slowly off prednisone, so this problem won’t go away for 5-7 days.  All I can say is, “Poor me.”   

Related posts:

1. Precious Gus
2. Women Over 50 Who Love Their Pets
3. Annice’s Angle: My Friend Adele: Part Two
4. Annice’s Angle
5. Annice’s Angle: Web MD

Tags: Aggression, Dogs, Steroids

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 29th, 2009 at 4:35 pm and is filed under Annice'sAngle, Main. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.