Since Mr. Blue no longer knows when he’s going to poop or pee* till the last second when it’s usually too late, I’ve become the “hall monitor” so to speak. (*His lower half is paralyzed by the disease.) DM is such a terrible disease. If I hear him thumping his front paws and dragging his limp back half about the house, I run (okay, I
don’t can’t run) to see if I can help him scoot faster to avoid another in-house disaster. I’ve come to call it the “Eat, Drink, Pee and Poop Loop”.
You may think it’s an exaggeration to call these events disasters, but you try hobbling about gathering lengths of paper towels, bags, 409 and a cane, all in an effort to prevent a one foot (+/-) by 10 to 12 foot swath of urine from soaking any deeper into the Chinese cut wool rug (11 x 15 feet or so). All while avoiding stepping in the mess.
My little bun-bun only pees and drinks once a day despite what’s open and given to him. No clue why. By the time I’m done cleaning it all up, usually 45 to 50 minutes has gone by and I’m sweating profusely (still in the 90’s here). And I’m exhausted, though most grateful I didn’t loose my balance and fall while bent over. Sounds lame but this is what happens when you have no cartilage (among other things) left in your knee. Balance comes at a premium.
Add to that having to follow him when he seems to know he needs to get out, helping him down the cement back porch steps. The last part is to prevent him from falling down them. Lately, as he tries to navigate, he winds up actually turning himself around and his front paws are gaining no traction but rather pushing his butt precariously over the first cement step. Sigh.
This must be real love.
And for a bit of humor to balance the frowny face-ness of all this, I give you the following…
P.S. A long time ago I realized I had a choice to laugh or cry at things in my life. I remember thinking “I choose to laugh” and have tried since then to do that despite obstacles I encounter.