Arthritic...

The Weimaraner Rule Book says... Wherever I am, so must be the Weimaraner. Bored with sunbathing & discovering... to his Utter & Complete Disgruntled-ness... that I was not within three feet of his Dog-hood-ness... that I have important Things-to-do never enters his mind... The Dog began the arduous trek up to where I was. This happens quite often. I was standing above attempting to take The Dog's portrait, so regal did he appear, as he gracefully partook of the arthritis soothing rays. Not to be, as you can see.

Yep. The Dog has arthritis. He lops-along as we go on our three to four w-a-l-k-s a day. We had a Vet Visit last week about it. I am now obliged to crush an acrid green-yellow pill, mix it in with his dog chow, to hope The Dog won't eat around the tiny pill-bits. He has a very able & talented tongue.
What's the pill? Well, it's shark's cartilage!!! How about that? Can you hear the Jaw's music? It's always... well, the drumming beat of the music...  is always in my head while I crush & serve.

The treatment slip from The Vet states 4 times a day. I asked The Short-person, who is un dottore, if I really needed to terrorize The Dog & myself with giving a pill so often. He said no.... Twice is fine. Wonderful!!!... I said.

The cure may need some time though. Apart from the fact The Dog is not skipping-a-doo-day which, I am not sure I could still keep up with. I too am a bit arthritic in my 57.91 years. I have noticed The Dog eats a lot of grass and you know what that means? Throw-up is right around the corner!!! This is mightily embarrassing too. Since just walking down the street excites the nearby public to rush over to ask me... May I stroke your Dog? Stroke? I beg your pardon... What kind of animal is it? He is not an animal, he is A Weimaraner!!! Ugh?... and so on & so forth... to have these folk clammer to tell me... Hey! Your dog is eating grass!!!... Why is he gagging?... and to ask how come is just entirely too much. Yet, it is all resolved to their Total Satisfaction when I blurt out... He has arthritis. The crowd responds with a collective... Ahhh... and immediately disperses. The Dog returns to his antipasta d'erbe and I am left in Pace. Gads.