No Room For Another Ruminant

I don't feel that it will be necessary for any photograph submissions for this little journal entry, as again we are discussing some of the less than glamorous issues that come with being the guardians of animals.

I spent 15 years as a respiratory therapist working on creatures from the waist up--you know, lungs, hearts, that kind of stuff-- and now I find myself entrenched and preoccupied with what comes about from the waste down..er...I meant "waist down," but now I guess you really know what I'm talking about. In case you haven't picked up on the subtleties in these words so far, I am yet again on poop duty.

More specifically, I went out to do my barn chores this morning, and found the white Husky walking funny. He came into the barn from his outside kennel with back legs lower than fronts, kind of squatting and looking very frustrated with himself. Honestly, my first thought--which I did express to him-- was, "You got one of those mice that you ate last week stuck in there?" He did not answer, poor Gunnar.

I opened the kennel and he stepped into the barn which is too dark to really perform an adequate examination, so I harnessed him up and we went outside. That's when I discovered that Gunnar is still pretending to be a goat, and apparently ingesting small amounts of hay or grass. He had a bit of hay hanging out of his hinder: "hinder," a medical term for "bumper," more commonly known as the buttock region. (Incidentally, "hinder" is pronounced "high-n-der).

Grabbing a plastic bag to put over my glove, I discovered that big dogs aren't as cooperative as small, co-dependent, dysfunctional ones that are only too quick to be naughty, but in the same bark ask you for help. Here's an example: if one of the Littles in the house has say, an "issue" clinging to their bumper--or the fur surrounding such areas--they run into the house, point their tail at the nearest parent, and show us what needs to be removed. Seriously, Loki does this all the time, and Talon is another one who runs in to get his rear situation rectified..er..that didn't come out right. ?

I finally grabbed Gunnar's tail and quickly pulled a little hay/grass out of you-know-where and then we were off on our walk, which included an explanation of why dogs don't eat forage. When this didn't seem to sink into Gunnar's head I tried tactics such as, "Because God made you differently than the goats and even the horses." When that didn't seem to strike a chord I just tried, "I'm telling you not to eat forage because I am your guardian and you listen to me." That's when Gunnar turned to look at me: I could tell he wasn't listening....