As you probably know, my dog Blue is a hot mess. He’s doing so much better after a year with us but is still overly anxious, especially after Uncle Al or Shawn come over and rough-house with the kids. I swear he just about has a nervous breakdown after they leave.
He doesn’t know whether the kids are having fun or if he should rescue them. He usually spends the rest of the night growling at every noise he hears. As a result I put him in my room when I sense rambunctiousness in the air.
I had him evaluated by the Humane Society shortly after we got him (to make sure he wouldn’t attack the kids or anything) and the trainer said he “made good choices” but is a very anxious and I should consider medicating him. I rebelled against this because it seems like such a first-world problem. And, frankly, a neurotic Boulderite thing to do.
My dog is has anxiety attacks. I think it’s the gluten.
After about nine months I decided it was time to give drugs a chance. (No, I don’t want your dog psychic’s phone number.) My vet recommended it after having to do an exam on the doormat in his waiting room because Dumbass is freaked out by the “scary” floors.
Now Blue is on clomipramine and it seems to be helping. I tossed the bottle to Zeb and asked him to see if he could get some India or wherever he gets his internet pharmaceuticals from. Canada? I don’t know.
I mentioned getting discount drugs on the internet to someone and she was like, “You have to be careful about that stuff! It might not be as potent or dangerous!” and I was like, “Lady … HE’S . A . DOG.” Who cares if it isn’t A-one? He’s lucky to be alive. People are starving. I feel dumb enough owning a purebred for chrissakes.
Zeb looked up the drug and got all excited. “Check this out!” and made me read the Wikipedia page on clomipramine.
Side effects: In a few patients (both male and female), it can cause inadvertent orgasms when yawning.
This explains a lot of things. Now I know why Blue yawns so much. I also know why the pills have been disappearing at a rate not commiserate with the dosage recommendations. It looks like Zeb’s got some ‘splaining to do.
Does he look post coital to you? He does to me.
Time to cut the crap.
Speaking of explaining. How does Zeb explain this?
Kid’s water bottle that doesn’t close all the way. Fail. Recycling.
My dad was all breathless about this cup. He likes to go on missions to find unique items in strange places, it’s his entertainment when he travels, which is a lot. This is a cup from Starbucks that fulfills his esoteric criteria for perfection (whatever) and because it apparently takes him 15 hours to drink a cappuccino, he felt it needed an insulated cozy. So he bought one from Starbucks (he has a major hard-on for that place, much to my acute chagrin) and he hired a Thai seamstress to alter it to fit this cup. He waved it in front of my face, hoping I’d say, “Oh my God! It’s the answer to all my problems! Where can I get one?” and he’d say (in his fantasy), “You can’t. It’s custom made.” and feel all superior.
Sigh. The things I do to amuse my dad. I tell you what, he better not leave that corporate shit at my house or else it will be Item Number 4284.
This was an easy one! Mac admired this cookbook on my shelf and before she knew what was happening to her, I stuffed it in her suitcase. Whew.
Supersoakers that the dog decided were chew toys. He doesn’t chew on much but he liked these. TRASH.
Stupid shit I found in the car. TRASH.