A doggie deluge

"You have a rottweiler?" my administrator (a man I've known for over twenty years) asked incredulously. Okay...I get it. I do tend to go on a bit about the dachshund but, c'mon people, I love Juno too. It's just that Chlo is my spirit animal...my canine bff. And Juno is my dog...a sweet, beloved pet. And...when her health and well-being is in jeopardy, I will lose sleep and move mountains to get her ship-shape again.

It started when Juno suddenly started favoring a front paw to the point that she refused to use it. She didn't cry out. She didn't complain. Simply adjusted so as not to inconvenience us. Really, it's no trouble at all, she seemed to say with her dark, expressive eyes as we poked and prodded her, I still have three functional legs. Until she didn't. Because she didn't want to move all that much, Juno's back legs seemed almost to atrophy within hours. We had to lift her hips, massage her shaky back legs, and then escort her out for potty breaks. Again, Miss Juno was apologetic in demeanor. This couldn't go on.

Vet appointment made, I was first relieved and then horrified when my dear friend Liz walked into the exam room with her intern. Relieved because Liz is highly proficient, compassionate, and realizes how ridiculously emotional I get when it comes to my animals. Horrified because I was ridiculously emotional. Embarrassingly so. Following a thorough examination, blood work, and x-rays, my greatest fears were set to rest:  My sweet dog was NOT at death's door. Relieved and grateful, we headed home with some medication, Liz's gentle warning about some possible incontinence barely a blip on my radar. Little did I realize that the forecast wouldn't include just sporadic sprinkles...not even torrential rain...no...we had a tsunami on our satellite map.

Juno's medication worked like a wonder drug. She was her usual energetic self the next day. However, when Brad arrived home from work, he found a flood of biblical proportions. She'd ravished rugs. Baptized blankets. Okay. We made some adjustments.  We needed a water-proofed room. The following day, I would be the one to walk into the canine cataclysm. Wet walls. Flooded floors. And then I gasped. Could it be? Was my dachshund DRIPPING? Chlo..who refused to be separated from her ailing pal...who insisted on cuddling up next to Juno in her friend's moment of need...who only wanted to be a source of love and comfort...my poor little dachshund had been doused.

Suds-ed up and soon sparkling again, I fluffed Chlo's fur while scrolling the inter-web-net for a dachshund-sized raincoat. Juno, naturally, was ashamed and embarrassed but Chlo and I were quick to reassure her. As a now-clean Chlo quickly cuddled with the rottweiler, I reminded them that "in every life, a little rain must fall." But, boy, I can't WAIT until that precipitation...I mean...prescription runs out!