Last week, I finally took my dog , Radar, to the vet.
He had been suffering from some type of allergy
since fall.
On the last visit, the doctor said to simply
wait it out and it might disappear with the
colder weather.
It didn't.
His scratching woke me up at night,
drove me bonkers all day,
and caused me to say "Stop it!"
over a million zillion times.
So, after a quick shot for allergies
and a pill for fleas -
we were $75 poorer.
But hopeful that his
legs drumming the carpet
and his incessant wiener licking
would finally cease.
I hated to get my hopes up,
but by that evening I had
noticed a drastic change.
I glanced over at my husband
as we watched TV that night.
"Have you noticed that
he's stopped I-T-C-H-I-N-G ?",
I spelled out.
"A little, I guess.
Did they give him a S-H-O-T?"
my husband asked.
"Yeah. He was good, though.
And they gave him a P-I-L-L."
"Did you give him a T-R-E-A-T?"
"Of course. And a T-O-Y
that I'm saving for later."
Then my husband looks over
at me with sudden disgust.
"Why are we spelling?," he asks.
"Because he doesn't know he's a D-O-G.
He thinks he's a B-O-Y," I say.
And I smile.
It is truly amazing how an animal
can come into your life
and bring such utter comfort.
Radar filled a little void
after the kids grew up
and left home.
My husband shakes his head.
"You are S-I-C-K," he tells me.
"But, you're right," he adds,
Our B-O-Y sure is C-U-T-E."
Empty nest syndrome
sure has some
mighty strange side effects.
