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Drawn & Quartered

Lately I have been fascinated by the concept of pet therapy. You know, those dogs that go and visit people who are ailing for some reason or other. I’ve often thought that Murphy, my transgendered girl dog would make a great therapy pet.   

This morning I discovered a new application for dogs as therapists — chiropractic. Being that my problem was brought on by the presence of Jacky the Wacky Weim in my bed, there is some payback expected for the stiff neck I got. He has been suffering from a bout of colitis brought on by some overindulgence last weekend, including a heapin’ helpin’ of pipe tobacco fed to him by some drunk guy at the bar where we were attending the birthday party of another Weim. The drunk insisted that tobacco is good for dogs, kills parasites, etc. Sounds like a good excuse for humans to partake in tobacco-related activities (would Jack’s ingestion be considered “Wacky Tobacky”? I’ve never actually known that particular type to get rid of parasites…mostly, it just attracts them…but if it actually kills them…hmmmm….). 

Anyhow, Jack’s been very needy this week, snuggling in tight whenever he finds me in a prone position. He’s awfully sweet this way since he doesn’t feel like doing all the activities that usually make him totally obnoxious. Last night on the couch he lay along my side with his head resting on my chest. Unlike Murphy, he is incredibly flexible and often reminds me of a chicken wing when he is curled up. “Jack-knife” is another of his nicknames inspired by his bendy-ness. After battling his knobby, pointy joints in the bed I must have finally fallen asleep in a position that was not conducive to the full functioning of my neck this morning. Damn, if I were an owl, I’d be S.O.L. I now vaguely resemble my osteoporotic neighbor who is hunched quite completely over his walker. He should get a little mirror on the bottom rung so he can see who’s coming toward him, sort of an upside-down periscope.  

Wow… I can’t think a single thought without going completely out-of-bounds. I shouldn’t make fun of old people — I’m becoming one of them. Actually, I’m not that far off track since the whole point of this pertains to my neck. I took the doggies out for their morning constitutional and as I was contemplating the uninflated Christmas decorations in the neighbor’s yard, Murph went one way and Jack went the other, causing my arms to cross over my chest and yank my shoulder blades apart, inspiring me to emit a loud “Ahhhhh…….!” What normally might have been painful was instead a glorious relief and it made me wonder about the more practical applications for the aberrant actions of undisciplined dogs. Of course, scientifically there would need to be a predictable outcome for each action, which is sort of antithetical to the whole concept. It is only in the unexpected jerk that the therapy is provided, that sort of feeling of being drawn and quartered, only not quite as extreme since the hope would be that all limbs would remain essentially intact.   

Isn’t it amazing how we can justify our lack of responsibility? In not training my dogs well, and not wanting to, I instead look for ways to absolve myself. It would be better for the dogs to have a sense of discipline, but since I have none myself, it seems hypocritical to expect it of them. Boy, there I go again…..    

Next time your dog pulls your arm out of the socket, try getting them to run in the opposite direction to reverse the dislocation. You might really like how it feels! If not, you can’t blame me…. my theory is only yet in its hypothetical stages.

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