My mom Cathy tends to ignore most physical symptoms with, “It’ll just go away if we wait.”
She says she gets her philosophy from the time she actually visited doctors who were prejudiced against women, especially single women. Eventually she stopped going to doctors because, she says, “I don’t have to pay big bucks to hear, ‘It’s all in your mind.’ ”
Of course she drags me to the vet if I sneeze twice in a row, but that’s another story.
But Cathy finally admitted her running shoes were creating a blister. She switched shoes so the yucky red area would be exposed to air and heal, a trick she learned when I got nicked at the dog park last year.
Does anyone remember the episode on Seinfeld where Kramer goes to a dog doctor for a cough? My mom didn’t laugh. She thought it was a great idea.
Cathy dug out her only other pair of wearable shoes: her 10-year-old Birkenstocks. Not quite as comfy as her running shoes so we’re walking less.
Yesterday we bussed to the dog park and I had to run around whether I wanted to or not.
“We can’t go on a long walk,” my mom said, “or I’ll get new blisters from the Birkies. So you’d better run around now.” She herself went to an exercise class where she got to go barefoot.
Someone once told my mom, “A tired dog is a good dog.” That’s one saying she never forgot.
What happened to, “Dogs need treats every day?” I like that rule.