Happy Birthday Sparky

Happy Birthday, Sparky!!

Enjoy your low-cal dog biscuit.

Mwah-hahahahaha!

Happy Birthday To Me!

Happy Birthday To Me
Happy Birthday To Me
Happy Birthday Dear Sparky
Happy Birthday To Me!

Did I get a fancy cake? Did I get a big party to celebrate the big day? No and no. Oh, mom and dad gave me something all right. Can you guess what it was? No? Okay, it was a #%$#&! LOW CALORIE dog biscuit! They said it's for my own good and so I can live at least 7 more years. Who wants to live 7 more years eating that tasteless crap? I'll just continue to scavenge for the tasty treats the rabbits leave for me in the backyard. There! Problem solved.

New House Rule Causes Unrest

Dear goodness, I have been going through quite a rough patch lately. Life has been pretty cruel since my last entry where I was happily modeling my new bling. The post before that concerned my skin irritation, but that was a tiny blip on the radar compared to the last few weeks. Since then, I have had two bouts of severe vomiting and an allergic reaction to carrots, of all things!

Sparky accuses me of being all diva-like, but I assure you that is not the case. He also claims my unfortunate circumstances are simply a ruse to get the human parents' attention. This is a blatantly false allegation which I resent wholeheartedly.

The truth is, I have a most delicate constitution. Sparky is a horrible influence because he is constantly begging the humans for their food, and not to be outdone, I try to follow suit. Of course, my methods are more sophisticated, except for the drool that collects and then drips off my tongue as I wait patiently for a tidbit.

Sparky has a stomach lined with iron. Nothing seems to bother this stout bloke. Yes, I said it. And I could have used a harsher word than stout. Let me assure you, that is an understatement.

Chance regurgitates the human food occasionally, but he keeps it extremely low key, even cleaning up after himself as best he can. In my case, if I get a queasy stomach, it causes near death. That is no exaggeration, either.

Due to my inability to handle even the slightest human morsel, all handouts from the humans have ceased. Sparky is quite upset with me since the legislation was handed down directly because of me and my weak stomach. My opinion is that Sparky can only benefit from the new ruling. He waddles around like a grumpy dictator as it is. Therefore, in the end, we all win. Right?

Spoiled

I bet you think I'm going to talk about how spoiled I am, right? I wish! It's not me, it's Izzy. Look at her showing off her necklace like she's Queen Isabella of France instead of the ordinary canine she actually is. She's spoiled rotten by mom and dad, and she's also spoiled the fun for Chance and me, so the title of this post has a dual meaning. I'm really, really, very, VERY put out with Izzy right now.

Ever since Christmas, she has had some sort of ailment requiring medical attention. After the big to-do over her hospitalization, she has had three more "episodes". Such a drama queen. A few weeks ago she had a vomiting spell so severe that dad actually prayed to God to transfer her illness to him. She was incoherent, wobbly, and weak. After injecting water in her mouth with a syringe, she started coming out of it. Dad really thought she was a goner that time. They made a big deal over her for several days.

I was a little hurt.

Last week she had vomiting and diarrhea. More dramz! Izzy gets the whole house in a tizzy with her hysterics.She received special food that I was shooed away from at least a dozen times. Sometimes I don't feel so hot either, but I don't make a big deal about it. Perhaps I should feign illness to get special food and treatment.

Fast forward to last night: Mom came back from the store with fresh vegetables, saying she was finally going to eat healthy. Right away I didn't like the sound of that. She bit down on an orange stick and gave Chance and me a small piece. As I suspected, this food was revolting. We both spit it out in disgust with a WTF look on our faces. Izzy ran under Chance's nose and snatched the rejected scrap. Mom tried chasing her around the house to get it back, but she was too fast for mom. A couple hours later, Izzy's muzzle swelled up, making her look like a Shar Pei.

Once again, mom went into panic mode. Here we go!! Dad grabbed the benadryl and syringe in a knee-jerk reaction. Mom started telling him in that stressed out voice I hate, to let her call a friend to see what the correct dosage should be. She couldn't get her friend, so she googled and googled for almost an hour. Finally, they settled on a minuscule amount. They also decided that human treats were out of the question for ALL OF US. I can't tell you the state of depression that has put me in.

This morning Izzy's face was back to normal. Mom and dad were relieved. I just wonder what other shenanigans this hypochondriac has up her sleeve. To be continued...