Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen, or Oops, I Did it Again

Look at this face, Dad...eager and well-contained for the train trip

And here is the Village Idiot, sitting up on the sofa as if she knew what she was doing.

I know, I know, dear reader, that my lament grows tedious but there seems to be no end to the indignities I both must suffer and inflict upon those I love. As I have mentioned over the past two years, growing old is neither for the faint of heart, nor for sissies, and yet it is something both humans and animals must face. In addition to my growing incontinence, I have apparently lost my hearing. How do I know this, you ask? By watching the frantic and exasperated expressions on my parents’ faces while their mouths move and hands gesture wildly, I am able to ascertain that whatever sound they are producing does not reach my ears.

I do try to control what happens in my hindquarters but am rarely successful any more and yesterday’s accident set off my dad in a particularly alarming way. Since Mom is out of town this week, it falls exclusively to Dad for our care giving, and he is both thorough and conscientious; however, yesterday he failed to take us out before feeding us dinner and I was unable to stem my flow after inhaling my meager but long awaited meal. Dad then stepped in it, reacted violently by taking his urine soaked shoe and throwing it into the wall, opening up a sizeable hole. Lizzie and I could only stare stupidly (Lizzie’s normal gaze) in amazement. Since I am no longer of the hearing world, I could not actually hear his imprecations but I am pretty sure they involved my name.

And there was the ill-fated morning that I unfortunately released several unsavory offerings in the elevator and poor Dad had no bag to contain them. He, being a considerate and civic-minded pet owner, had no choice but to scoop them, run to the apartment, and flush them away, all the while invoking my name in a very derisive manner.  After explaining his anger to Mom, she asked where Lizzie was and of course it was clear one pug had been left behind. That’s right, folks, Lizzie was once again riding mindlessly up and down our building’s elevator just waiting to be rescued.

I must dedicate this blog to my dad who gives us such loving and efficient care on a daily basis, but like Job, must suffer the many trials I inflict upon him unwittingly and unconsciously. I love you, Dad, and wish my final years were not so challenging, but I have so much enthusiasm, energy, and lust for life that I am not about to bow out at this time. Bear with me and I will try my best to be a pug of fewer accidents.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason