What's Next?

The next five to seven days are going to be hell. Holiday stress? Nope. I’ll be suffering from under-exercised Labrador induced stress, AKA Toby. 

He developed a severe limp on his right front leg on Tuesday night, stumbling around the house like he had tied on a few. Of course, that didn’t stop him from waking me up at four in the morning while digging frantically at the hardwood floor in my bedroom, for what purpose, I’ll never know.

When I finally crawled from bed the following morning, I chauffeured him to the vet. The good news is that the X-rays came out marvelous - aside from some weird, abnormal protuberances on the bones of both of his legs, which are apparently normal for Toby.

The bad news?

Well first, ½ of the Deramaxx tablet that the vet prescribed for Toby to consume with his breakfast looks nearly identical to the ½ tablet of Phenylpropanolamine that Meadow receives with her meals, but that is apparently the least of my concerns. Since Toby appears to have some sort of soft tissue injury, he needs to rest his leg for at least seven days, possibly ten.

Did I mention that Toby is a Labrador?

I’ve only been home a few hours today, and so far, Toby serenaded me with pathetic moans when Nick went outside to play with Leah and Meadow, and then after realizing his pitiful cries would not gain him access to the yard, he brought me one of my slippers, which he pilfered from beside the sofa I was sitting on.

When I refused to acknowledge the thievery, he lay on his mat and began to chew on it until I had to request that he drop-it, or suffer a trip to Kohl’s to purchase a new pair. Not wanting to wade through the holiday hoards, I fell for his ploy, and began the game by taking away the slipper and returning it to its lonely mate.

A moment later, I discovered Toby chewing it again, even though I never noticed him getting up from his mat to retrieve it. After taking the slipper away from him yet a third time, I had the brilliant idea to cram my footwear far enough behind the sofa that he could not reach them without my awareness.

Defeated, Toby left the kitchen to go to bed.

    Or so I thought.

A moment later, he returned, curled up on his mat, and began to chew up a cardboard box that he had stolen from the recycle bin.

When I told him to get one of his own toys, he looked at me as if to say, “What would be the fun in that?”

Since I know that these are actually minor offenses for Toby, I am dreading what he is plotting to do next. More frightening is the realization that today is only day two…