Except I was walking in my kitchen at the time.
I trekked upstream to the laundry room and pushed back the door. Inky liquid dribbled over the edge of the swamp we used to call “the slop sink.”
“Just what does this have to do with your dog?” you say, inferring correctly from the headline and photo.
An emergency call to the plumber and a few hundred dollars later …
I learned the washing machine drain pipe was blocked. By dog fur. This is what happens when you launder the snot and blood from your balding, afflicted dog’s bedding multiple times a week for several months but fail first to shake out the bulk of his follicle fallings.
Lesson learned. Situation never to be repeated, but mostly because I’m hopeful we’ll never have the perfect storm of canine illness leading to my frenetic laundering again.
Murphy seems abnormally normal these days, perfectly imperfect for him.
We walk a few miles regularly when the rains don’t turn our stroll into a figurative doggie paddle. We’ve even been running every other day or so. I think my hips and knees will fail well before his. But I’ve been in middle-age much longer.
We stopped the fungicides three weeks ago when the ever-present mucus drip from his right nostril became a mostly a memory except for some killer snotty sneezes. Hit the decks, kids – he’s gonna blow!
This week Vet No. 4 (yes, we are now on No. 4) cut down the antibiotics for his autoimmune disease as his patchy coat has started to fill and even out again. When he gets up from his naps now he leaves just a confectionary sugar-like dusting of fur in his wake as opposed to earlier this year when the remains of his lay were thick as birthday cake frosting.
Speaking of birthday cake, have a slice (not the chocolate – NOT THE CHOCOLATE!). Murphy ol’ boy – today you are 6. You are still younger than me, in dog years, but not for much longer. Let’s see if you can avoid hastening either of our aging processes this year. Deal?
That’s a good Birthday Boy.