Took the dog to the vet to get his nether parts expressed. I don’t know how long he’d had this problem; you don’t spend a lot of time lifting your dog’s tail to see what condition his condition is in. But my wife noted an anomaly – and yes, I’m going to use every possible euphemism available here – and asked if dogs got -
Thinking of a good way to put this -
Thinking -
Okay, you’ve heard the expression “dogpile”? Okay. That. For some reason the phrase “impacted gland” came to mind, and let me tell you, that’s one Google Image Search you can’t unsee. We got him in on Saturday morning, and off we went with Natalie and her friend, who was over to play for the day and regarded a trip to the event as a grand opportunity to see cats and dogs BECAUSE THEY’RE SO CUUUTE.
Jasper, as ever, stood by the door and looked out, refusing to accept any of this. He whined, and yawned – something I’d bet 98% of people misinterpret – and ignored the other dogs. There were two snooty poodles and one ancient dog with red eyes like an old alcoholic. One cat hunched in its crate staring venom at everyone. When we were called a very sweet vet took him back into another room for drainage; Jasper trotted off without complaint. Upon returning she said that he had indeed been overbrimming in the back-department glandular genre, but the item we’d observed was still in evidence. It was either some sort of infection due to the overinflated gland, or a benign tumor, or a not-benign tumor. In the last two cases she did not recommend removal. I knew why: if it’s benign, and it’s not in harm’s way, whisper words of wisdom, let it be. If it’s not benign, well . . .
She didn’t have to say it; he’s 14 next month.
We got some antibiotics in case it is an infection, and said we’d see her in April for his annual.
I’m not worried. I can’t say why, but I’m not. He’s old; he’s stiff in the morning, which is why I have to help him down the stairs lest he body-surf half the way. But it’s not his time. My wife took him for a walk the afternoon after his appointment, and they were gone an hour. I’ve been around old dogs who’ve had enough and smelled it all; they just exist, they walk with a pained gait, they slump, they stare, they take no joy in anything. Jasper spends most of his day sitting on the sofa dozing in the sun, but bring a pizza in the house and he’s a puppy. Tell him it’s time for a walk and he’s up and at ‘em. It’s not his time. There’s a spring coming, and he’ll smell it before any of us.
Saturday night it was time for Tableau Festive, the Crazy Uke’s name for our sporadic meat-and-whiskey consumption events. It’s the old college gang: myself, the aforementioned Uke, the Giant Swede, and Wes the Perfesser. (Wes was previously the Filmmaker, but since he’s now a teacher at a local university, he deserves a professorial upgrade to his moniker.) The Giant Swede for years has been in charge of the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, more or less. I exaggerate, but not by much; the actual job title is Facilities Manager for Northwest. You may have head that Northwest is no more. Delta has a different way of doing things, so he’s on the way out, looking for a new job. The Crazy Uke is in the mortgage industry. I’m in newspapers. So no one’s exactly sitting around wondering what to do with the calluses we have on our thumbs from excessive twiddling.
We ate at Erte, a difficult thing to say after two whiskys; it’s an incredible restaurant in NE across from the venerable 331 bar. Steak was consumed, steak so tender you could actually absorb it topically if you liked. Live music in the corner. Full house. At one point we all went outside for the post-meal cigar – the Uke knows the owner & staff, so they didn’t mind that the entire table got up and left after the meal – and we asked a lone smoker outside to take our picture.
She was drunk.
Then we called Jack. This will probably be a new term for High Spirits, and I’m surprised it took me this long to think of it. Have a good time last night? I was about this close to calling Jack.
That would be Jack V. , aka Jet Varhar, the Colonel of the Armenian Liberation Army, the Missing Man. Every old gang has one. If you have an old gang, that is. The members of the Tableau Festive go back, way back; the Uke and the Swede grew up together, but we all coalesced at the fabled Valli in the late 70s, and have never lost touch. Jack went back to Cali, got a good job, married a good woman, and got happy. Two dogs and a pool. He was never happy when we knew him; he was the true Tragic Figure of the Valli, the man who got off the train in Minneapolis – for love! Which didn’t work out, of course – and spent half a decade in grim despond, chain-smoking Marlboros in the Valli basement, radiating a bleak caustic mood that could peel skin down to bone. Sometimes. The rest of the time he was cheerful and merry and a boon companion, and he was also mercilessly intelligent. He had a degree in philosophy. He was actually en route to grad school elsewhere when he got off the train in Minneapolis – for love, as noted – and while he intended to go back to grad school, he became trapped in the tarpits of the Valli, where all around him people made arguments that were logically meretricious. His was the most incisive mind I’d ever met. He saw through everyone’s BS, which can be a terrible curse when it comes to your friends.
As I said, he went back to Cali, got a good job, married a good woman, got two dogs and pool. If someone made a movie about the Valli, I suppose he would have been the one who sold out, but no: he’s happy, and he’s as smart as ever. Life for him is fine. And now and then, when he least expects it, the phone rings: four guys from the olden times standing outside in Minnesota, full of meat and Irish fluids, calling just to say HEY. YOU. Every time we get together, we miss you. To be frank, your name doesn’t even have to come up. We’re not even telling old stories. But Wes gets out the phone, starts talking, laughs, hands it over, and we know it’s you.
I may never actually see Jack again, but if I get a call in 2039, and it’s Wes, and he says “It’s Jack,” well, off we’ll go to LA. There are some people you meet at certain times in your life; you could not see them face to face for forty years, and still do 30 minutes from the heart at their wake.
Depressing, any of this? On the contrary. “It’s Forty-two degrees,” said the Swede when he picked me up. That would be 52 degrees warmer than it had been earlier in the week. When we got to the bar we had the usual toast: Tableau Festive.
I had a second toast: to heads above water. The earth is a sea that swallows us all, but not yet, not tomorrow, not anytime soon, and by God not tonight. Steak!
Also, leaving your credit card behind in the folder!
And not realizing it until the next day! I was at Home Depot, picking up wood, and when I opened my wallet there was a big blank slot where the card should have been. Dum-dum- DUUUUUUMMMMMM. I doubted anyone had used it, but you get that feeling that some crafty hacker had managed to use the card to transfer all your money to the Cayman Islands. So. Drove home, cancelled the cards, got the credit card. Even though I pay off the balance monthly I still feel like Mr. Fiscal Idiocy putting groceries on the credit card. Reminds me of the days when I got my first Dayton’s card, and was amazed to learn I only had to pay $15 a month on the balance. Wow! That’s incredible! I could, like, just pay $15 forever, and have all this neat gear! Well, now it’s $45, because I bought more stuff, but still! Credit rocks!
Learned that lesson soon enough, and it’s been cash & carry ever since. Except for the house. Cannot carry a house.
Errands went well, except that I had to go to three places to find the exact precise salami Natalie wants for lunch. Has to have a hint of garlic, or it is an abomination. At Cub I found the sole remaining bag of my preferred brand of coffee: Last Chicken in the Shop. Checked the ice cream for my preferred brand of dessert: Last Chicken in the Shop. Which would make two last chickens. So, different shops, then. Noted something I’d never seen before:
It’s official, so you needn’t worry you’re getting unofficial Vikings Fudge.
Another flavor, with that Orwell touch:
Busy day at the office – back with updates after we’re done with today’s run-through of the SuperSecret Strib Project.
Pass it along, if you wish
41 Responses to Monday, February 02
Host with the Most
“last chicken in the shop”? Is this a sly reference to the expression “last turkey in the shop”? Spike Milligan used to use it on the Goon Show to make the cognoscenti snigger. It’s fairly obscene.
Jasper has kept your homes wolverine-free for 14 years. Wheelbarrowing him down the stairs is the least you could do for him.
Of course, nothing pays back like a long scratching just above the tail.
You’re right and you will know when it’s Jasper’s time. And so will he. Until then, enjoy his company as you do and don’t worry about it.
It isn’t that hard to “relieve” a dog’s gland impaction yourself if you don’t want to spend the $20 to have the vet do it. Just put your fingers at 5 o’clock and 7 o’clock, push in a little and squeeze forward. You may want to be in the bathtub when you do it though. And my dog REALLY wants to lick it up when I’m done, so be aware.
I’ve always interpreted dog yawning as a sign of nervousness.
Classic Lileks. Thanks.
That really is a giant rutabaga.
Well done, sir. Well done! That was a Bleat worth the subscription.
We lost old Barnaby in 99 at age 11. And you are right – you will note the change. We were married for 2 years when we got him, and 15 years before our Daughter was born, so he was our kid for a long time. Reluctantly got another Lab last year for the kids. He’s their dog, not mine, and I doubt that there ever will be a dog that is mine in that way. In many ways, this dog is better mannered than Barnaby, more of an athlete, gentler with kids, less destructive. Just doesn’t have the personality of Barnaby. Think of Barnaby as Marley from John Grogan’s book (dead ringer too), but well mannered and heeded commands. Ate a couch, and put his head through a window – all in the same day. Crashed through a wall. Ran through a wooden screen door (not just the screen, but the wood framing at the bottom).Fell asleep propped up in a corner after his “procedure” to be altered. Character.
Man’s best friend? I don’t know. Faithful companion, definitely. Over the years, tales of Jasper have re-affirmed my connection to Barnaby, so I always see the significance he plays in your family’s lives. Enjoy him for the rest of his days, since he seems to be blessed with extra-ordinary longevity. He seems to truly enjoy his time with you and yours at Jaserwood.
Oh, and it helps when your close friend is one of the only certified Veterinarian emergency surgeons in the state. One phone call and she arranges to get you into the prestigious UC Davis Animal Schools’ imaging facility for MRIs and Ultrasounds to determine the extent of tumors in your dog, thus avoiding invasive exploratory procedures. All arranged in 10 minutes. Knew how bad it was, how far it had spread, and how much time likely remained. All docs (human and animal) should be so compassionate.
Cali. Cali? I first encountered this appended apellation on my first trip east in 1991. It’s awful. No one in Caflifornia leaves off the last two and a half syllables. In fact, No one west of the Mississippi says, “Cali.”
The outrage. The utter outrage. Imagine in the governator tried to say it. It would come out Gully, which, on the other hand, might be appropriate.
JWM
I lost my dog, Sampson, a few years back. Beautiful Australian Shepherd. Sweetest dog I’ve ever seen. Our family had a lot of dogs as I was growing up, but he was the only one that really felt like *my* dog. He saw me through a lot – from adolescence through turbulent teenage years into my twenties. He lived long enough to see me meet my significant other, become decently successful, move out.
I still miss him. Steph’s a cat person. Her cats are fun and I like having them around…but it’s still not the same. There is nothing else in the animal world that compares to a really great dog. I’m not sure if it’s really possible to explain, precisely, to those who don’t get it (like, say, cat folks). There’s a difference between having dogs around, and having…*that* dog, know what I mean?
Don’t know where I was going with this comment, and now I’m slightly misty-eyed. In closing, just wanted to say that I love it when you write about Jasper. Makes me reconnect with Sam.
–Kevin
(“fortworthology” on Twitter – appreciated the Byrne/Eno message)
…Although we do say caf-li-fornya before coffee, or after drinks.
JWM
Ah yes, the joys of dog gland expression. One of the things about having a dog that I don’t miss.
When Jasper’s time comes (hopefully not for a long, long time), you can be sure we’ll be grieving with you.
Although Jasper is 14, he is obviously a healthy 14, and that counts for a lot. A few years ago, we had a similarly aged and otherwise healthy dog who was diagnosed with a particularly nasty form of cancer and given less than six months to live. We opted for a non-western treatment regimen (acupuncture and herbal/dietary treatments). She lived for almost three years, and we just lost her last December to simple old age. I can recommend a website with a good overview of the relevant information, although the doctor (who, I will note, is a DVM in addition to being a trained acupuncturist and herbalist and is thus able to do what most vets cannot, which is analyze a problem from both perspectives) is not in your area and thus you would need to find your own practitioner. Her name is Lena McCullough, and the info can be found at her eponymously named website.
James – my dog, Ramius, just turned 14 and I feel for you every time you write about Jasper’s troubles because I see them here, too. A great dog is a good find, (got Ramius out of a laundry basket in front of a supermarket) and a best friend.
As for cash-and-carry, ain’t it grand? My wife & I paid off $99,618 in 28 months once we woke up. We pay the mortgage and the rest is ALLLLLL ours!
In regards to the dog, I have a coworker who has given their older dogs the Glucosimine stuff and said it worked wonders on the dogs, allowing them to hop on/off couches, beds, etc with no pain.
Also Jim, since you love taking pics of old familiar signs and places, I recommend you start doing that as well with the places you love NOW! With this coming depression, might as well have a snapshop of the places you go to as you remember them!
Cali, please don’t. Cal, No Cal, Nor Cal, So Cal, all fine. California doesn’t seem harder to spit out than Minnesota. Much easier than New Hampshire! It’s the difference between San Francisco and ‘Frisco.
Gully – well, we are on our way…
I realize you may not be a big sports fan, but there’s a “columnist” (not sure if that’s the correct term for him) over at espn.go.com that wrote a poignant article last week about his dog passing away. His name is Bill Simmons and you’ll find him in the Page 2 section. I can’t link it because my work firewall will not let me connect to ESPN. Go figure.
I’m stunned reading about your dog Jasper. Just last week, my 9-year-old pup Lucy suddenly had a giant bump on her butt, next to her tail. The vet said “Abscessed gland or tumor.” The next day it was “tumor, but too big to remove; wait for biopsy.” Today the news was “malignant; go see an oncologist.” The good thing (I’m hoping it’s a good sign) is that Lucy’s got no symptoms: she’s as active and bouncy and silly as normal, other than wearing a conehead to keep her from licking her stitches. I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings. Here’s hoping we both have many more years to enjoy with our pups.
When James wrote “Cali” I thought he was referring to a foreign city.
No, “Cali” will not do. I don’t like “Cal” too much either, it use to refer only to UC Berkeley.
“Cal” is better than “Cullifornia” or whatever, Arnold says. What is up with that, I have heard European hockey players with fewer years in North America who can pronounce English better than Arnold.
My husband is the supervisor of the ice cream department at Cass Clay (which is actually owned by Ampi.) They used to make the “official” Packers ice cream too until the cheese heads got wind that their ice cream came from Fargo. That was the end of THAT contract!
I remember when we had to put our old dog Pete down back in 1999. He was one of the greatest dogs I have ever known, or will ever know. Besides Jasper. I see a lot of Pete in Jasper, especially some of his demeanor.
We had gotten Pete from my great-granddad in the Fall of 1994, and had him until Spring of 1999. My parents tried to get another dog, but nothing could compare to Pete. He always followed me or my dad anywhere we went. He loved to be around me when I went down to the swamp behind our house.
When my mom was recovering from surgery in Summer 1995, he put on his Guard Dog routine. I wasn’t at home, but she told me about how one time some Jehovah’s Witnesses or some other similar religious folk came knocking on the door. Normally he wouldn’t bark at anyone knocking on the door, but he barked at these people. They left rather abruptly.
We currently have a black Lab mix named Magic. She’s more my dad’s dog than anyone else’s. When I or my mom would try to take her for a walk, she would stop every few steps and look back, expecting to see my dad. The only time she really wants my attention is when I’m eating supper after I get home (I tend to get home rather late), and she wants a piece of whatever I’m eating. I tell her no, because I know my parents both gave her plenty of leftovers.
Posted by Brian, “It isn’t that hard to “relieve” a dog’s gland impaction yourself if you don’t want to spend the $20 to have the vet do it.”
This really tells me a lot about how our value systems must differ. For me: I’d happily fork over a lot more than $20 to avoid such a thing. To each his own though and more power to you.
I agree with every one of the dog people so far – When Jasper’s time is imminent, you will know. We had a 16 yr. old Malamute who went from exhibiting flashes of “puppy” to staying by herself and wanting to be left alone right at about the time that her spinal column started to fray (sort of like a shoelace loosing its aglet, the vet explained). It was obvious that her quality of life was never going to recover, so we did the humane thing and helped her go. It was the right decision, but it didn’t make it any easier. I hope you get to enjoy Jasper for many Springs to come!
Since we’re sharing tales of dog life, I’ll add one more insight to old Barnaby’s logic. When we lived in the city of Sacramenrto, he learned that he could not leave the lawn in front and touch the sidewalk. Boundaries. The same with the silly 4 foot fence that enclosed “his” yard. He could easily jump it (a 6 footer for that matter) but it was a boundary.
Moved to El Dorado county when he was 7 – no sidewalks. Ergo, no boundaries. Hello creek, hello turkey flock!
I’m surprised you didn’t mention the official Vikings ice cream comes from Fargo … the Cass-Clay Dairy, whose logo is visible on both varieties.
“It’s not his time” — ah yes, we have a 13 yr old German Shepherd mix who tore both hind-end ACL’s several years ago & has difficulty getting up off the kitchen lineoleum, but it’s not her time either. Walkies and pizza take her back to puppyhood again, too.
I hope we’ll know when it is her time, though.
“Honey…do you smell dog butt?” Due to allergies, my nose does not work so well…but I could smell that. After figuring out if I wanted to tackle the deed on my own…I decided to listen to my inner voice and bring poochie to the vet. Best $15 spent.
Dang. Keep us posted, Steve. Our sympathies.
Well, today’s Bleat was well worth getting on the Internet for. I can relate on so many levels. Our lab-mutt Tootsie is battling cancer. She had surgery a few months back and is going through chemotherapy. An outrageous expense? Perhaps, but she’s only 7 1/2 (and we rescued her when she was 5). We just aren’t ready to say goodbye to her without saying we tried to save her. And I contend that it’s not cruel to put her through it, because it’s in lower doses than in humans. She doesn’t act sick at all – no loss of energy, appetite, or fur. And thankfully she’s wonderful around the baby, and even a bit protective of him.
I have five friends I’ve known since grade school, and we all keep in touch to some extent, though one of them has drifted away a bit. But every few years all six of us get together, reminisce, and read The Red Notebook. One of the girls had the foresight at age 11 to keep a notebook that we would all write our thoughts in, particularly at events (class trips, sleepovers, etc). It’s amazing how nearly 20 years later how many random little memories come flooding back: inside jokes from a bus ride, school crushes, pop culture references. James: if you can convince Natalie to start this with her friends, either now or in a few years, someday, when they’re all off at college, she’ll thank you for it.
Ew. Dog anal gland expression is a bargain at twice the price.
So far my weiner has had no problems in that “area” but I’d rather not even try to diagnose an overflowing sac, much less drain one.
I love my weiner. But the contents of her butt are her own property and only a trained pro is going in there. This post had me smiling today, when I really needed it.
Our old dog Cinder made it to eleven. Mom and dad put her down. She was in pain, and getting incontinent, but still the sweetest thing ever.
They cried. I did a bit, too.
Seriously, I would pay a full time staff member just to avoid anal gland expression. And I’ve caught my kids’ vomit in my bare hands.
Old dog people–Gene Weingarten put out a gorgeous book about old dogs, full of photos and essays. He’s a really funny guy, but it would make the hardest heart soften to pudding.
“The Power of the Dog”
“GARM — A HOSTAGE” — ACTIONS AND REACTIONS
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie –
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find — it’s your own affair –
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit hat answered your every mood
Is gone — wherever it goes — for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept’em, the more do we grieve;
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long –
So why in — Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
Rudyard Kipling
Why, indeed? I am a cat guy, myself, and I often realize that I am altogether too fond of my cantankerous Manx, Booger the Cat. I know that one day I will lose my little buddy, and it’s going to tear the heart out of me.
When we lose a loved one there is a kind of merciful numbness in the grief that shields us from taking in the full depth of the pain all at once. The realization seeps in slowly. There is no such shield against the grief when we lose a pet. Dennis Prager once remarked that the only time he saw his father weep was when the cat died.
So why do we let ourselves in for it? My friend Will (also a cat guy) says that it is an act of defiance of sorts. It’s a way of saying to fate, “Do your worst and be damned for it. I will love, and I will hurt, and I will not be disuaded from it.” He’s going to get another cat.
JWM
Always love a Jasper pic and story. He looks hale and hearty!
We just put our 12 year-old orange Maine Coon cat down on Fri. Hardest thing for any animal lover to do is to take the pet to the vet and come home without it. She was a beauty–gorgeous face, wonderful personality, and very personable.She was fine at Christmas and deteriorated steadily throughout January. Many tests determined a mystery mass near the bladder. So sad to watch. I miss her.Can’t even think about getting another cat right now.
Get another cat, teach5. Some kitty out there deserves an owner like you.
JWM
I like you better now, James because you are short. I am 4’11″.
I have a 22 year old cat. She walks drop hocked and sleeps a lot, but she still enjoys her food and scratches. She still plays too and has been with me for half my life. It’s funny when non-pet people say – “It was only a dog/cat/horse/fish … Get another one.” Sometime people get close to their pets in a way they cannot with people.
Not to say that I’m a crazy cat lady or anything.
22! Wow! That’s quite an accomplishment. Good for her–and you!Bet she enjoys her spot of sunshine for a good snooze.
Also, leaving your credit card behind in the folder!
And not realizing it until the next day!
I once left my drivers’ license at a bowling alley for almost an entire week (they take it from one person in the party to ensure, I think, that people don’t leave without paying). It was a good thing that I didn’t get stopped during that week…
Re losing a pet (and hoping that’s not a subject for our host for a long time, I expressed it like this when I lost my cat a few years ago:
“Of all the animals that are out there, it’s amazing how a select few species can come into our lives and be like famliy. We give them food and shelter, and whatever they give us back, whether it’s love and affection or mostly indifference and occasional acknowledgement, it’s always hard to let them go.”
And the indifference part referred to my grumpy old cat. I still miss the hell out of her.