I can’t think of a better thing to celebrate (other than National Charlee Day, right?)!
To the vet this week I went with Mom for my annual check-up.
Initially, my tail-wagging thought was: “Hooray! An adventure with Mom!”
But, unfortunately, once inside did I recognize sans aplomb
The scent of needles and sound of desperate dogs’ “yups.”
“Oh no!” I whined as I turned (tail uncurled) towards the door.
“Get me out. I want out. Out, out, out – out and now.”
My mom tried to soothe me, but I wondered, “How
Could she love me and to this place me lure?”
“I can handle this,” I coached myself. “I really am a smart dog.
I write poetry, right? I can do math, too. I even have my own blog.”
So, how does a smart dog survive at the vet? Just think of a way to hide!
Outside, outside, outside, of course, but an option is not outside.
Beneath two polka-dotted chairs I hid – convinced my spots would blend.
In walked the vet, something in hand, and with a mesmerizing tone,
Coaxed me from my hiding place with a large box of milk bones.
Then came that dreaded booster shot, shattering my state of Zen!
Lured by a box of milk bones? Yes, and impetuously, I did not even read,
If they were organic and gluten-free, as my mom always does for me.
The irony of my imperfect rhyme is that while I am a smart canine,
I ate humble pie, thinking it was a treat, while I got a shot in my behind.
Many have asked why I hate my elbows so much that I would name half a blog after them. While I’ve always made fun of my tacky elbows, why did they pop into mind when I was naming this blog?
Well, the vanity factor, of course, ranks as the number one reason. While plastic surgeons would tell you a cure for cellulite and baldness would be the Holy Grails in the world of aesthetics, a magic elbow potion would not be far behind in my opinion.
You can spend tens of thousands of dollars to look younger, to reverse sun damage, to remove birthmarks, to treat scars, etc., but the elbows are like a birthday card with your age plastered on the front of it. They may as well have a megaphone announcing your annual celebration: “Happy 35th!” “Happy 40th!” “Happy Whatever Your Age Is!”
An aesthetics expert once told me you can have a little “nip and tuck” at the elbow to somewhat tame their obnoxious eagerness to broadcast your biological age. However, admittedly, that could seem somewhat over the top on the vanity scale, even for a Texas girl like myself.
Some vanity aside, the second reason I hate my elbows is the lovely rash pictured here.Sadly, if I even look at wheat, rye, barley – anything with gluten – my elbows tell the world with a beautiful condition carrying an even more beautiful connotation … dermatitis herpetiformis a/k/a the gluten or Celiac Disease rash. Not only does it look and sound terrible, it hurts. Once it clears, I have purple polka dots on my arms (and legs and anywhere else it decides to show up … usually the elbows though).
Et voilà! Now you know the reasons why I hate my elbows. If you read this blog, you already know why I love my dog.