Aging Like a Fine Whine

In the past, a few people have asked me to post more often. Well, what am I going to write about? I know some blogs post about the daily events in the authors' lives. I guess I could do that.

Here goes. This is a typical day. I wake up. I pee. I eat. I drink. I sleep. I poop. I sleep. Rinse and repeat.

I guess I could write that every day, but it would get old in a hurry.

Speaking of getting old, my birthday was this week. That's right; I'm now the big one-one. Yup, I'm 11, but I don't feel a day over nine.

Now that I've reached what some refer to as "senior citizen" status (don't let me hear you say that or I'm likely to have a "senior moment" on your butt, if you get my drift), I guess I'm going to have to finally give in and join AARB. (That's American Association of Retired Beagles for those of you not up on your acronyms.)

They've been after me to join ever since I turned eight. I think of all the trees that went into printing those materials, trees that could have been marked as territory by other beagles, and it makes me want to howl.

Anyway, the benefits look pretty good: discounts on Nylabones and dog treats; reduced pricing on trips to places like Dog Walk, Kentucky; Dog Town, Alabama; Dogtown, California; and Dog Bluff Landing, South Carolina. I'm seriously thinking about a trip to Beagle Bay, Australia (seems a no-brainer), but I think I'll skip the trip to Kathmandu. (Those sneaky felines, adding a silent 'h' and starting the name with a 'K' trying to fool folks, but I know this is a cat town. You can't fool us beagles.)

On second thought, all this talk of traveling has worn me out. Maybe I'll just take a little nap. The daily routine works fine for me, and if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Bark. Bark. Howl.

Does This Thing Make My Head Look Big?

I know I haven't been around for a while, but you know how it is. It's a dog's life - eat, sleep, poop, howl. Same ole, same ole. Not much happening

Of course, I did turn the big 1-0 last September. I celebrated by marking a few new spots in the yard and howling at the neighbor's new dog. Have to show him who's boss, after all.

Other than a birthday and another new Nylabone for Christmas (when will my humans wise up and get me an electric ear scratcher?), it's been a pretty uneventful life since I last visited. Until recently, that is.

My male human, well-meaning as he is (he's only human, after all), decided I needed some medical attention for some new growth on my left rear leg. My feeling has always been if it ain't broke, chew it, but he apparently isn't familiar with that philosophy.

So my human took me to the vet, and the vet decided the growth should grow no more and should be removed. I didn't mind too much. They gave me some nice drugs and some good ear scratches.

I just don't think it's me.

At least I wouldn't have minded except for the lampshade I have to wear that makes me look like I drank too much at a party and fell into the lamp snout first. I mean, seriously, look at this thing. Does this look like something any self-respecting dog would choose to wear? I look like a satellite dish with a head.

I guess it's to keep me from licking where the vet did his thing, but what good's a sore if a dog can't lick it? Plus, I can't get to any other spots. What's up with that?

Hopefully, I won't have to wear this thing too much longer. After all, somewhere there's a lamp going around topless. And if you've even seen a lamp go topless, you know it's not a pretty sight.

Bark. Bark. Howl.