Zippy - Jan 1994 to April 2012

Today I made the very difficult decision to let Zippy go to the bridge. Run free Small Dog - you have been well and truly loved. Zip made many friends over the course of the 6-1/2 years he lived with me, and I felt blessed to have many adventures together. Adopting him at 11 years old I thought surely we might only have a year or two together. Little did I know it would be almost seven.





This photo here was taken on a walk with Julie. He did loves him some walkies. I will miss him something awful. I already do. Though blurry, this is my absolute favorite picture of him. It captures his essence:



Safe journeys, Smallness, until we meet again.

Happy Birthday Zippy!

Happy Birthday Small Dog! Zippy is 18 today. Wow. I never thought when I adopted him at 11 years old that we'd have at least seven years together. What a ride it's been, too. So much joy and laughter... and frustration too. But mostly the good stuff. Happy Birthday wee man.

Now for an update (which I know we've all been waiting for). I took Zippy in yesterday for his teeth to be rechecked, and to ask about his pecker situation. With regards to the teeth, they look great but the smell is returning. The vet thinks that it could have to do with the sutures, and we're going to give him another three weeks and look again.

With regards to the pecker... it turns out that his pecker pucker string is broken, more or less. The opening to the prepuce is not drawing shut tightly enough, and his penis is basically falling out. It collects debris and bacteria, and then gets all infecty and swollen, and either gets erect or just sort of pokes out some.

Realistically speaking if I was 126 years old I'm guessing some of my puckering abilities would be a bit compromised too.

The vet has decided to try (instead of ten days) a 21 day course of antibiotics. He says that we *could* possibly do some surgery to tighten the prepuce back up, but so far Zippy seems to cruise along fine and not have issues but about every six months, so if that's the case we'll leave it alone and just hit him with ABX on an as needed basis.

As I was getting ready to leave the vet's office I asked if I should put some antibiotic ointment "in there". They asked the vet and he said I should just... wash it. I said, "Um... I've never just washed a dog penis before. I don't even know how. What do I do?"

Needless to say the three vet techs and I all got tickled. I still don't know for sure how I'm supposed to wash his penis, but we're sort of figuring it out. A cold bath I can do. But wash it? I mean, do I need to make it poke out (not that it's not already poking out) or do I just wash what's already exposed? Am I just washing outside? Am I washing inside? What do I wash it with? Who washes dog penises anyhow?

No way was I sending them back in there to ask him all of that. We're just going to wing it.

Another Small Dog Chronicle

Last week I noticed one evening that Zippy seemed hesitant to sit down. He seemed uncomfortable somehow, though it wasn't clear exactly how. He didn't seem to want to lie down in his bed for some reason (or anywhere else).

I took him out at bedtime, and saw that he was doing that weird run/sit thing again. The good thing is that now that I've seen this before I automatically knew what his issue was.

Zippy had a stiffy that wouldn't go down.

So a cold shower before bed (he was not impressed) and finally the wood receded so that he could lie down in his bed for the night. He yarked in my ear as he was not impressed with the whole cold bath thing, but I learned last time that the cold bath seems to help.

Yes. This is what my life has become.

I think I'm going to go into business for myself. I'm going to call my new company "The Spiffy Zippy Stiffy Company" and my tag line will read "For when only a cold shower will do..." or maybe "For when your dog's light switch is stuck in the 'on' position..."

Letters to a Small Dog

Dear Small Dog,

Though we've only been together for six years now, sometimes it feels like a lifetime. At 17.5 years old I often wonder just how much longer you'll be with me. Then somehow you do things to make me think that you might be like a parrot; that you might outlive your human. So if we're going to make it for a while longer yet, we have a few matters to discuss.

First premise: swimming is bad. Do not try it again. Ponds are not your friend. Because of this new obsession of yours I can no longer trust you to not go wading into water and then drown. This is both hysterically funny and frustrating at the same time. I have no desire to have to retrieve you from Robin's pond, so when we go out there next you will find yourself on a leash. This is really too bad because I KNOW how much you love walkabouts there.

Secondly, please stop launching yourself off of the back steps. For that matter, please do not launch yourself off of anything anymore. Last time at Julie's you launched yourself off of her front porch. It was distressing. Don't do it.

Please do your best to not face plant onto the sidewalk. I'd appreciate it if you'd try also to not chin plant into the steps going back up. Maybe it would be best to just not even go near the steps. Besides, you've already declared the doggie door a no-fly zone, so this is really the next logical step.

Since you don't see very well anymore and your body hurts, much of the time I find it necessary to carry you up and down the (two) steps, in order to avoid the above-mentioned face plant scenario. Seeing as to how we don't have much choice in this - at least not until I can build you a tiny little ramp - is it REALLY necessary to growl at me? Every time? Your displeasure has been duly noted. Truly.

Thirdly, please note that jerking your feet and bucking like a bronco when I'm trying to trim your toenails results in blood. Jerking your feet while I'm trying to stop the bleeding only results in the bloodstop stuff smeared all over both of us, and very little of it actually winding up on your toes. While I'm on the subject, please also refrain from howling like a banshee in my ear. Oh, and holster the teeth, OK? I don't know how we did toes for 5.5years with no complaint and now this is where we are. It's just no good.

Lastly, please stop enticing Pia to play. Every time I convince her that she shouldn't pounce on you because you're old, doddery, arthritic and cantankerous you blow it by going over there and play bowing to her. I don't even know how you CAN play bow since everything ELSE seems to hurt. I understand that playing with her makes you feel like a young buck again. I get it! But please... when I've intervened on your behalf be the bigger dog and walk away. Ok?

In return, I promise to take you to the groomer next time your bloomers need a trim. I am truly sorry for the butcher job I did to your tiny little hiney.



Clearly I won't be quitting my day job to become a groomer.



I AM sorry about the bloody toes, so next time I'll do it when you're sleeping (like I did last time).

If you will do these things for me I will give you extra sardines on fish night. I'll also stop offering you up free to a good home to every person I meet. Probably.

Zippy's Excellent Adventure

For the holiday weekend I loaded up dogs and went down to cook out, work dogs, and spend the night with Robin, Julie, and Victoria. This was Pia's first road trip, and she did really well. I was pleasantly surprised.

Yesterday afternoon Robin, Julie, Victoria and I all took the bigger dogs down to the pond to hang out for a while. We sat under the trees while the dogs frolicked in the pond. Much fun was had - Ginger waded, and the border collies swam. Zippy inched up towards the pond, and then suddenly (I thought) he fell in!

I ran down there to find him just standing in the water. It was up to about his shoulders. Let me stop here to say that while Zippy has waded into a creek up to his brisket, he has never offered to get into a pond, and he's never gone in past his bread basket. Anyway, he appeared to be just standing there looking around. From the bank we could just see his ears swiveling back and forth.

Assuming he might be in distress, I walked down to the bank, got in his line of sight, and waved him to me. He crawled out, so I sat back down. Not thirty seconds later there he was in the pond again... standing... ears swiveling. The other dogs were splashing around him, and he just stood there.

I sighed, and went down to wave him out again. This time I encouraged him on up the hill... planning to go pick him up and move him away from the pond. That's when the little blighter took off running down the shore line towards the brush. He did an end run around me, and took off around the pond.

I just shrugged and went back to my chair. Fine. If he's that determined to play around who am I to argue with a 17 year old tiny dog?

A minute or two later he made his way back to the pond and quite intentionally went in. He was up to his withers in the water... just standing and looking. I'd say he stood there maybe 10 minutes that way until...

He started swimming. Yes, really. There was Zippy, out there tooling around the pond.

Except...

He could not get his face out of the water. He has some arthritis in his neck, so he was tooling around with his ears sticking out, but his face was under water.

So out into the pond I went. Fully clothed. I could see his little eyeballs, and I could see the air bubbles coming out of his nose. I grabbed him, and the second his little face cleared the water he started shrieking at me. Obviously he hadn't taken in any water. To add insult to my already soaked injury I got bogged down in the mud at the bottom of the pond and was having trouble getting out. My boots got sucked down in there, so I grabbed at the grass along the edge to try to help me get some purchase (all the while having a vocalizing Zippy under my arm).

Julie left the peanut gallery (which incidentally was practically falling on the ground laughing - I would have been) and helped pull ME out of the pond. I had to set Zippy down... and the minute his feet hit the ground the blighter took off running again.

Fortunately for me he got caught in the brush again, and Julie yelled "Quick! Grab him while he's stuck!"

I squished my way over there, snatched him up, and carried him back to the van. He yowled at me the whole way. While I toweled him off he yowled and flopped like a fish, and continued to voice his displeasure.

Clearly he was not finished having fun. But my heart couldn't take any more action, and I was out of clothes. He spent the rest of the day in his crate where he couldn't get into any more trouble.

Small Dog Update

The vet found no blood or notable bacteria in his urinalysis, so concluded that he must have an infection down inside the sheath (there was a bit more green goo in there than expected). She sent him home, day before yesterday, with some antibiotics.

If you have delicate sensibilities or are not a dog person, please take this opportunity to skip to the very last paragraph. I urge you.

As soon as I got home he started that bizarre running and sitting thing that he'd been doing a few weeks ago. When I was finally able to catch him I found that he had an erection, and it wasn't going down. I facebooked. I posted on dog boards. I called all of my friends in a panic. I called the emergency vet.

After reading some articles and talking with friends I decided to put him in a tub full of cool water to see if that might... encourage the turtle back into the shell. I knew that the Viagra commercials mention to see a doctor after four hours... and it had been two, but still I was worried. Tiny dog had a wood for two hours. He's neutered, by the way. At any rate, after the bath and talking with the emergency vet I headed over to him with some vaseline, intending to lube up the works a tad. It was then that I finally found it had retracted. I've never in my life been so happy to see something go down!

I've been a crazy person over this. I am aware of it. I am also glad that my friends are all still speaking to me.

Anyway, when the wood finally subsided he started walking normally. My relief was short lived, though, because not long after that he started walking all hunched up and started flipping his tail weird. The pencil was still in it's holder, but it was still obviously... uh... quite stiff and swolen.

Yesterday morning he was laying near me licking himself, and crying. I went over to take a look and he'd licked himself bloody (on the outside of the sheath). I cleaned him up and hit him with some neosporin, and he finally went back to sleep.

Fast forward through another call to the vet and an elizabethan collar for the Small Dog (which thoroughly enraged him) and when I got home from work last night he was completely normal.



Last night I called Pam and was telling her how at lunch his pecker felt... softer and squishier. I explained that I had squeezed Nick and Linc's pieces parts to reference, as well. I then suggested she should go squeeze Rogue's pieces parts to give me a comparison. She declined. I don't know why.

Yes. Crazy person = me. I've never said the word "penis" so many times in my life as I have in the last three days. I am becoming an expert on dog penises, and penile anatomy. It is like having my own... but not. Also, dogs with ouchy penises apparently run sorta sideways. And they buck like broncos. In case you were wondering.

You may start reading again here, if you ducked out back at the beginning...

This morning he is completely normal. He's had four doses of the antibiotic, and they are clearly working. The package is still wrapped and it feels normal to me. It has become glaringly obvious that it has been swolen lately, in general. He appears to have some external sensitivity, but by and large I think he's quite on the mend. It is very stressful when tiny old dogs get sick.

Impotent and Furious

First off, my apologies to my Facebook peeps who've already heard this. I need to rant. The top of my head is about to blow clean off.

I got home from work last night, and noticed that the Small Dog (Zippy) had some brownish spots on his back legs. I thought it looked unusual, so got down on the floor to take a closer look under the chassis. What I found was some dried goo on the outside of his pecker - looks like maybe dried blood. Poor wee guy! I loaded up my bathtub with warm water and Epsom salts, and filled it up to about chest level on him. I put him in, and basically soaked it off of there. He didn't seem to mind that part very much, though when I started to rinse him with clean water he started bucking around the tub like a bronco.

He's still my little wild thing, even at 17.

At any rate, he's had a small handful of accidents lately (though nothing major), but I've mostly chalked that up to cognitive dysfunction. He does seem to go out, forget why he's there, then come in and pee on the carpet. Sigh. Then about two weeks ago he had that bizarre running through the house at midnight episode, which again I wrote off to cognitive dysfunction. But this... this is an obvious enough indicator to make me think he needs a urinalysis done.

So this morning I managed to catch a urine sample, and tossed it in the fridge. On my way to drop off the urine I called the vet's office to give them a heads up that I was coming. My regular vet (who rocks, by the way) is out this week. The receptionist told me they wouldn't take a sample without seeing the dog since it's been a while since she's seen him (uh... it was late November/early December). Oh, but they don't have anything today... the earliest they have is tomorrow at 11:30 am.

Now that I KNOW he's having troubles the waiting to help him thing INFURIATES me. Not just a little bit, either. I don't understand why they wouldn't just take the sample, and go on and give me something to help him (if it was a clear course of action), and THEN let me bring him in tomorrow. Maybe I'm being unreasonable. But it's Zippy. He's tiny. He's feisty.

Thinking that one of my dogs is in pain makes me a crazy person.

What I feel at the moment is furious at being impotent. I'm almost tempted to drive home, get my dog, and go drop him off in their laps. I want to call them back up and scream at them. I want to go over there and yell at someone.

I won't do any of that because I am a nice person. However, I plan to satisfy the urge by picturing it over and over in my head all day.

I think the Zip-man will be OK... it's twenty four hours from now. My fury comes partially from the fact that I get the impression that the receptionist thinks I couldn't possibly have a clue. What I'm hoping is that by the time I go over there tomorrow I'll be able to have an intelligent adult conversation with the vet. She doesn't know me from Adam. I'll be nice, but firm. That's the plan anyway.

I have pee in my car, in case you were wondering.

Small Dog Goes for a WalkAbout

This is what happened one day at Robin's when the Small Dog went on a walkabout...



No dogs or sheep were harmed in the filming of this video.