Zip's Pearly Whites

How is it that I could begin blogging and write a week's worth of articles and not one single one is about the great Zipster?  Anyone who knows me also knows that the center of my world, for good or for bad, is a 17 pound, almost 12 year old Jack Russell Terrier named Zippy.  The truth is that he was, in fact, 19 pounds at his last weighing, but that's just because he hasn't lost his winter chunk.  He is so much a part of my world, that I even lie about his weight as I do about mine when I go to renew my driver's license.  I admit to having gotten annoyed, almost to the point of being offended, when my veterinarian said that Zip was "overweight" by two pounds.  That's akin to her calling me fat, and, therefore, them's fightin' words.  Well, readers will be glad to know that we've been out exercising as weather permits, and I'm relatively sure that Zipster is closing in on his lean weight of 17 pounds again.  I, on the other hand, am more than likely approaching new records for the amount of cellulite one thigh can hold.

There are dog people and there are non-dog people, and the latter fail to comprehend how a four legged, shedding, drooling, barking creature can become so important as to achieve the status of "family member" in a household.  Conversely, those of us who are dog people have absolutely no understanding of those aliens from outer space who can actually mouth the words "I don't like dogs."  It is absolutely incomprehensible to me that someone could meet Zip and not like him, and yet, it happens...frequently.  OK, so maybe people don't like having their arms humped.  And I agree, I don't appreciate spending 30 minutes every morning with the tape brush, trying to remove the fine Zippy hairs from my black jacket and trousers.  And yes, there was that time he went out back, using his doggy door, stepped in his own poop and then came bouncing back on the bed, squirming his way under the covers.  And I suppose nobody likes cleaning up doggy ralph on a weekly basis?  But really, are these things his fault???

A few months back, the vet told me that it was time for dental work.  I looked at her stupidly and said "huh?" Growing up, we always had dogs in the family.  We had dogs who lived well into old age.  Never, at any time, did we have to take them in for a cleaning!  But, as in all things medical, veterinary medicine has also advanced.  I was asked if his breath was bad.  This is the understatement of a decade.  His breath smells as if he's been sucking on fish heads, and washing them down with raw sewage.  Well, apparently this is because of the black tartar building up on his teeth. And so I figured, how bad can this process be?  Well, I soon found out that it can be over $400 bad!  I thought MY dentist was a ripoff!!!   Apparently, it's not so much the actual cleaning as the massive tests that have to be performed prior to putting him under anesthesia (!!!!):  heart tests, blood tests, etc.  No, they don't put him in a little chair that leans back, and put the little towel around his neck.  They don't spray water in his mouth and then ask him to rinse.  They have to actually put him under, and the tests are to determine whether he is in sufficiently good enough health to undergo the anesthesia.  OK, so they want me to pony up all that money and risk my little doggy's life so that he can have sparkling whites?  I admit to not being so keen on this.  But then they scare you with:  "Well, if the teeth and gums become infected and there has to be an extraction, it will be much, much worse."  When I started to envision what was worse than $400, I started feeling nauseous.

Since I am a dog person and my dog is part of my family, I now stand out on the corner of Ironwood and Douglas next to the poor guy who is holding the sign about needing to feed his family.  My sign says "I need to have my dog's teeth cleaned."  I haven't been too successful in collecting money.  But I imagine this summer will see me taking Zip in for his first dental visit.  I couldn't envision not doing the right thing by him.  That's the thing with animals.  Once you take them in, you are beholden to a unilateral contract--one that requires time, money, and sacrificing going on trips.  However, unilateral though it may be, there is a return on this investment, and it's one that I find difficult to verbalize.  If I had to build a list of the top ten best things in my life; very near the top would be something about being greeted at the door by the Zipster when I came home from work.  Or maybe I would say how much I love having him snuggle next to me in bed (sans poop on paws of course), or hiking out in the woods with him and watching him pretend to ferociously chase a deer (after he pretended not to see it until it got very far ahead of him), or watching him dive in the pool after his rubber stick and then swim to the steps, or letting him loose to chase after a squirrel (but only after I was very sure the squirrel saw him and was near a tree), or witnessing how he manipulates my friends for treats--something at which he has become quite expert.  Dogs give joy, and it matters not that it is not intentional or conscious on their part.  I'm sure it was God's intention, in creating them.

So, stay tuned and I will update you as need be on Zippy's oral health proceedings.