MidlifeDog.com

My fans always want to know what I eat, since I have a sensitive tummy and my skin gets itchy. Unfortunately, when they ask my mom, they get more info than they bargained for.

My mom serves Avoderm. She orders big bags from Amazon because they’re way too heavy for her to carry.

My mom started feeding Avoderm to Tiger, the cat who left us last July. Tiger had very sensitive skin. She licked all the fur off her midsection, causing great embarrassment to my mom. People were always asking, “Why is this cat shaved?” Yep…down to the bare skin.

But my mom sounds like a commercial when she talks about what happened next. Tiger’s allergies disappeared with Avoderm. She ate that food to the end of her life…well, okay, at the end my mom kept giving her canned food in vain hope that she would eat.

Now my mom gets Feline Avoderm for Ophelia. Ophelia has long scruffy hair but she doesn’t get mats. “It’s the food,” my mom says. “I sure don’t hang around and brush her all day.”

She even reviewed this food on Amazon. Go figure. I have better things to do, like eat the food. But Cathy says, “Maybe we can help another dog or cat owner.”

Yeah, right. I’d take a second helping but alas, the vet’s got me on a strict diet. None of those yummy bacon treats. I get (you guessed it) Avoderm biscuits.

Princesses deserve to be spoiled, I say.

Princesses have to set an example, my mom says.

The hand holding the bag of food always wins.

This is what happens when you get adopted by an owner who reads books and haunts the library. You’re curled up on the couch, trying to get some serious shut-eye, when your mom decides to share what she’s reading.

So she reaches over and gives me a gentle pat on the back. I half-open my eyes to let her know I’m trying to be polite. We Canine Urban Princesses (CUPPIEs) never forget who we are. But really, mom, I’m trying to sleep here. After all, I’m not allowed to disturb my mom’s slumbers. Let’s be fair.

Today she was sharing a book she borrowed from the library, Rescuing Sprite. Author Mark R. Levin is an attorney who’s somehow involved in politics. (My mom isn’t overly into politics, as you probably guessed.) He wrote a totally sappy, emotional book about adopting an elderly dog named Sprite. His other dog was Pepsi. Yep. Pepsi and Sprite.

Sadly, those people didn’t get to enjoy Sprite very long. He was old when they adopted him and he started failing about a year after they took him in. They were dedicated, caring owners and that dog spent a lot of time and money at the vet.

Meanwhile, Mark Levin has problems with his own heart. He needs to work out and eat better, my mom said critically, looking at his photos.

My mom thought the author spent way too much time dealing with grief. Sure, losing a dog or cat is hard. (I know. I had to be there for Mom when Tiger left and when Ophelia got sick, even though I personally think of most cats as easily disposable). But Cathy says, “We all have to go when it’s our time. As a human, I’m more afraid of being trapped in a miserable nursing home with doctors forcing painful, useless treatment on me. I hope I can exit the earth as peacefully as Tiger did.”

Thank goodness Mark Levin’s family insisted they get another dog right away. My mom doesn’t believe in waiting, either. Too many animals need homes, she says.

True. When I go, I want Mom to adopt another dog right away. Then she’ll look back on me the way she remembers Keesha: perfect. She’ll forget all those late-night walks when my tummy does the tango. She’ll forget how I pull on her leash and chew everything that isn’t nailed down.
She’ll focus on the new dog’s faults for a change.

Of course there are exceptions. Did she have to rush out and get Ophelia? Couldn’t we wait for a cat that was..well, more like a dog?

OK, I admit it. My goal for today (Monday, May 25th) is to get my mom to commit to a trip to our local dog park. She is supposed to be out and about, walking everywhere, due to her recent Close Encounter of a Medical Kind). No problem: she’s on the mend and just about back to her feisty self. She’s certainly strong enough to yell “No” every time I so much as look at a crumb on the floor.

But she just reminded me that I need to use my royal status to help others less fortunate. So she showed me this page — a heartwarming story about Vetdogs. Veterans returning from combat have all sorts of disabilities, physical and mental. And who better to help than a dog like yours truly?

Dogs are the best natural healers on the planet. My mom would be lost without me, even when she refers to me as “the nuisance” when I drag her out for a walk at odd hours.

So check out Vetdogs. And think about those brave K-9 dogs who actually serve in the military. My mom says I’d never make it, given my strong independent streak and my propensity to get spoiled rotten, whatever that means. I think I would be truly heroic in any situation…unless I got distracted by a treat.