wolly's world

it's true that wolly has been marginalized in the past year - much like the guy in the office who's really annoying but too nice to fire.
after the inital shock and then after-shock and then after-after shock, i think he's finally accepted that he really is a dog. i think he's maybe even gone the extra step and accepted that being a dog is, in fact, pretty damn good.
look at him here. he's stone-cold sober. he hasn't been this mellow since tayloe fed him half a bottle of dog prozac five years ago.
being the dog in our family isn't such a bad deal. there's a lot to envy (tons of sleep, tons of love), but the thrice-daily showers of table scraps are probably his primary reason for sticking around.
keeping up with (enduring) t2 has aged him, though. he's whiter around the muzzle for sure. he has arthritis in his back leg. he moans sometimes when he has to get up. he has a very hard time jumping in the car.
earlier this week i became convinced that something was terribly wrong with him. he was scratching like a madman, was an ashy, flaky mess and wasn't even walking on his back leg. wolly can be a total pain in the ass and i cuss at him more than anyone, but i'd die if something happened to him. just die.
i hauled him to the vet.
my vet is a bitch. she's cold and stodgy and has no bedside manner whatsoever. however, she really knows dogs and she especially knows dogs with skin problems.
wolly hates the vet - not just this vet. all vets. it's like he smells the fear and it sends some kind of wacko surge to his brain. it's a wonder he doesn't poop all over himself everytime we go.
three vet technicians later, wolly's heaved onto the examination table (which blows my mind, but that's something else entirely). he's standing stiff legged, hot breath panting like a beast while one woman is trying to calm him down, another is holding his left side and yet another is holding him on the right. the vet is at his rump, trying to examine his hind leg.
for some reason she's trying to get him to sit. on the leg that hurts. while perched like a damn parakeet on this exam table.
when he won't do it, homegirl says TO ME, "wolly's not trained is he?"
and then she told me he's overweight and needs to be eating weight management (or at least senior) dog chow. AND THEN she tells me i need to brush his teeth.
i told her that i don't even brush my child's teeth.
my $56 exam fee bought me all of that, plus a little peace of mind. turns out the only thing wrong with wolly is that he's gettin old.
just like the rest of us.