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Was reading an amazing article on the weekend and must share, Sorry it is long, but please leave in it's entirety so I don't get sued. This guy is a great writer and his books are wonderful homour. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Jake was a basset and it was one of us. This just shows how goofy dog people are. ENJOY.

A One-Mutt, Ten-Day Pity Party Revisited
William J. Thomas lives on Sunset Bay in Wainfleet, Ont., with his unfaithful dog Jake. He is the author of seven books of humour including The Dog Rules (Damn Near Everything? And The Cat Rules (Everything, Including the Dog.) Visit William at www.williamthomas.ca.

Editor’s Note: William Thomas is on vacation, so in his absence we asked his dog, Jake to pick a favorite column from the archives.

My dog Jake knew the personal massage was a set-up. Like me, he believes nothing really good happens without something bad waiting in the wings. As soon as the hour of bliss was over and his personal masseuse was pulling out of the driveway, he took up a defensive position on his monogrammed bed in the corner and waited for the other shoe to drop.

It didn’t take long. When the electric clippers buzzed across his body and large tufts of black and white fur dropped to the floor of the Clarence Street Veterinary Clinic, Jake knew full well he was about to pay dearly for the $50.00 massage.

Minutes later, I was saying goodbye to him. Dr. David Thorne led him back to the operating room to be cut and thrust 14 ways from centre. This was the second time Jake had to undergo major surgery to remove benign but aggressive lymphomas; fatty lumps that grow large enough to crown organs or interfere with the nervous system.

The operation was long and invasive, involving eight incisions to remove a dozen tumors. With Jake at 14 years old, I worked most about the anesthesia but a skillful veterinarian and a very fit dog rarely produce unwanted results.

The next morning, I bundled Jake up in his favorite blanket. Dave’s assistant Karen held my car door open and said, “Wow, did he ever demolish that breakfast/” That’s my boy, never missed a meal in his life, except when utterly unconscious.

The first day home was agonizing – yelps and whimpers of pain in every position he tried. The second day, he was up and around like he was just a bit still from walking too far.

The third morning, he bounded up the bed ramp and barked, “Walk time! Rise and shine!” shaved bald in large patches with stitches still swollen and purple, he was rarin’ to go.

On the fourth day, he must have reflected on all the special treatment he’s been getting since arriving home form the operation – the extra treats, the flannel blanket, the heating pad – because he threw himself what turned into a ten –day pity party.

Like the kid who gets unlimited ice cream after he has his tonsils out, Jake began taking liberties around the house, with no apparent fear of retribution. With two beds and a TV room couch to choose from, he instead started napping on the new living room sofa. The one he knows not to jump up on. He just looked at me with those big, sad, brown eyes that said, “You wouldn’t kick a patient off his hospital bed, would yah, Bill?”

One morning, he brought a fresh baguette wrapped in crinkly cellophane to my bed. He was wagging his tail and wiggling his bum to say, “Look what I found for us, Bill!”

Now, Jake knows when he does bad things, he gets the loud lecture and can’t use the family car for a week. But that morning, I simply took the baguette and placed it on top of the toaster oven – where Jake promptly went and brought the snack back to bed, so we share half of it and cancelled breakfast.

Then he decided his recovery could be sped up by having the bed all to himself. Usually, when he stretches out and starts pushing me off my side of the bed, I get up, grab all four paws and gently turn him over, so his legs are extended in the opposite direction. But this time, his pushing came with a pathetic and pleading look, like “You wouldn’t disturb a patient with more stitches than an official Major League baseball, would you, Bill?”

So, I went and sleep on the couch in the TV room which, as it turned out, was relatively free of crumbs.

I know at some point I’ll have to crack down on him.

“What? A French Poodle in a nurse’s uniform? That’s it! Party’s over. Now get off the bed and gimme back my beer.”
 

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That was great, thanks for sharing.

~Heather
 

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That was soooo true about the ways we get manipulated by these wily and crafty creatures!!! They're already the "Kings of the Universe" but toss in a little pity and forget about it, you are just plain WHIPPED!!!
 

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That story could have been about Moe after his surgery last fall to remove nine cysts. There is nothng more pitiful than a frankenbasset in an e-collar. :blink: Jake sounds far more sophisticated than my country-boy Basset, though. Moe has never even seen a baguette... :lol:
 
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