Moose lodge.

I have been to other dog households and there are bully sticks laying about, half chewed-on or even some barely touched.  The dog of the house will be laying somewhere close by.  This confuses me.  Melvin will devour can eat a foot long bully stick in under four minutes.  That’s rounding-up on the time estimate. I just assumed that all dogs death the bully stick the same way. If I scattered multiple bully sticks around the house I’d also need to go ahead and pre-call the emergency vet to tell them we’d be on our way shortly.

The problem with Melvin and bully sticks is that, like everything else, he has a reaction to them.  But there are only so many Kong’s I can stuff with baby food veggies (I always enjoy when the check out clerk asks me how old my baby is..) before he bores and really wants to get his teeth dug into something.  Luckily he does not chew on anything (except socks) so I treat him to a bully every so often and then follow it with an extra dose of meds.

Recently I read about deer and moose antlers and how they are similar to everlasting gobstoppers.  The vet felt antlers might cause less of a reaction (if any) than the bully sticks so I went out and bought a moose antler and a deer antler, x-large on both.  Neither were cheap.  Melvin went nuts over the rustling of the bag and I was excited that this could really be a great source for gnaw joy.  He excitedly took the antler, ran over to the carpet and threw it around a few times in his usual ‘I’ll show you who’s boss’ way, and then he went at it.  For all of two minutes.  When he realized there was a delayed payoff to this treat, he settled for licking it and then leaving it.  He also kind of gave me a ‘screw you’ look.

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Welcome to 2012.

Oh Melvin finally has a Facebook page!  Please check us out and ‘like’ us (if you’d like)!!!

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I wouldn’t worry about us taking up too much space on your news feed, it took me a year to finally do a page for the blog.  We take our time…

Lick. Itch. Scratch. Repeat.

While lovely, Spring is my least favorite of all the seasons.  The weather is bi-polar, pollen wreaks havoc on my ability to breathe and I have to put all of my cute boots away.  Spring also gives birth to what I refer to as raw-paw season for Melvin.  Gone are the temperatures that keep his allergies at bay, with each new grass sprout, each new leaf unfolding, he itches more and more and more.  It won’t stay this way, his meds will eventually catch up to the outdoors but for right now, at this very moment, he’s miserable.

For the next few weeks, the norm will be him trying to fit all paws in his mouth at once.  His poor, raw paws.  I wish I could explain the calendar to him and tell him that come mid-May, he will be ok, normal itchy, not raw at all.  Instead, we will go through several baby wipes a day, extra baths, and when necessary, extra meds.  There is a balance there, sometimes itch outweighs medication side-effects, sometimes it does not.

I once tried putting socks on him, he was great about it while I had him in sight.  The moment I’d turn around the socks would disappear.  They would  then reappear the next day, coming out of his butt.  Point taken.


I use math for work but that doesn’t mean I’m very good at it.  Computers and programs help.  On the other hand, dog math seems much more straightforward (and hurtful).  Dogs age seven days for our one.  They age forty-nine days in one human week.  Two hundred and ten days in a month.  One thousand two hundred sixty (give or take) days every six months.  You get it, math stinks.

The time I notice Melvin’s aging the most is during the morning walk.  He used to run out of the house as if it were on fire.  Plenty a time I’d fall down from a Melvin trajectory through the garage.  Pull, sniff, pull, see someone, pull, pull, pull.  Nowadays, he might bolt out of the door at first (usually due to needing to pee) but unless we see someone on our walk, his pulling days are all but over.  He walks next to me, some mornings he falls behind.  Just this morning as I was noticing him dragging a bit, I asked him what was wrong.  Yes, I know he will not answer, but the answer he’d give if he could would be ‘nothing’.  He, like most of us, is slowing down.  His birthday was March 2nd and he has aged one human year since then. Which means he is now fifty.  Good news is that fifty is apparently the new twenty-nine (would Glamour lie?).

Although I benefit from our walks, those moments are his.  He can set any cadence he’d like and I will always want to join him.  Of course after he’s had breakfast and a quick nap, the teenager in him emerges and I quickly forget about his elderly moments.