So our beloved Rebound, who more than makes up with cuteness what she lacks in intellect, has a way of falling prey to more physical challenges than the other dogs. So yeah, she's mentally and physically challenged. And it's even possible that sometimes one thing leads to another, though it can be chicken-and-egg to try to figure it out. Example-- she might decide she wants to hop up on the futon. (I mean, as much as she is able to "decide" anything.) Being a Boston, she can do a vertical leap of maybe 3 feet, straight up, except she never remembers this. One option for futon conquering is the very simple Plan A-- stand in front of the futon couch and hop up. Super easy. Plan B, her preferred choice 99% of the time, is to go around to the arm of the couch-frame and attempt to clear it. At which point she smashes her head, falls back, and then repeats this, usually getting it right on the second or third try.
Well, okay then-- is the head banging further depleting her "intelligence"? Or is her "intelligence" the reason she keeps banging her head? I have no idea.
Other health matters have nothing to do with the ways she chooses to conduct herself. For example, I must take the blame for the heart worm she suffered this summer. She wasn't on preventative. She tested positive. This necessitated $1000 of painful shots and also the need to keep her almost perfectly still for two months. I bought her the best crate money could buy, and boarded her at a great facility when I went to Israel. And her Uncle Big Red visited her there everyday. Still, I felt like shit. And she ballooned up, doubling her weight due to the steroids. Then, when she was allowed to walk again, I took her out and her little pads had gotten so soft that they blistered. Poor Rebound!
All that was behind us for many months, and things were exotically calm over here. Then, the other night, I noticed a very bad ass smell coming from Rebound. Not as in she's a Bad Ass. As in, her butt really stank. I tried to ignore it. But it was bad. I mentioned this to a friend who had brought her adopted dog back from the edge of death. "Anal glands," she said. "You need to express her anal glands."
I'd heard of this before and instantly blocked the idea, the way I've tried to block certain traumatic childhood events. But oh, the stink. So I used my medical assistant, Google, sucked in my breath, and started surfing for YouTube help on how to attempt this intervention at home. (Since my office job ended, we're back to cutting corners over here as much as possible.) I found a perfectly nice video, watched closely, wondered if the dog in the video was actually taxidermied (he stood so still-- I would never stand like that if someone grabbed the 5 o'clock and 7 o'clock periphery of my sphincter and pushed in and up and squeezed).
Then I loaded little Rebound into the bathtub, a place for which she holds much suspicion. I positioned my paper towel, did a quick "time check" around her asshole, got my fingers in there at precisely 25 til 5 (or was it 25 past 7?)---and puuuuush and squeeeze-- and fully expected a major Hershey squirt to sail past the paper towel and right into my new bionic eye. But when I looked at the paper towel, it was clean. (Okay not "clean" as in you could eat off of it, and it did smell a little, but it was absent of butt juice.)
I figured I was doing it wrong. For her part, Rebound just seemed a little confused and a little excited, like she wasn't sure what this new game was but maybe it wasn't a bad thing. I released her from her bathtub prison and sent her on her way.
Later, in the bedroom, as I decided some sheet changing was in order to clear out the residual smells from the night before, I spotted them. Two perfect little brown parentheses on my formerly pristine white pillow case. Had I not watched the anal gland expression video, I might never have suspected it, but with my knew knowledge I quickly understood-- before I'd even gotten to the task REBOUND HAD EXPRESSED HERSELF! Forget about that dog that knows 1200 words. My dog knows how to express her own anal glands.
GOOD GIRL REBOUND!
Now, about getting laid. The day after this miraculous feat, Uncle Ross showed up, still jet lagged from his trip to New Zealand, Australia and Hawaii. He came bearing a fresh lei from Hawaii, and if you've never whiffed one of those floral garlands up close, let me tell you they are PUNGENT. I quickly bedecked Rebound in this glorious gift leaving at least one end of her smelling much, much better.
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