A few weeks ago, untitledhusband called my attention to the increasing level of stank emanating from our dog. The bouquet was one of old socks, corn chips and parmesan cheese. If you have a dog, I’m sure you can pick up what I’m droppin’.
He is getting older, we thought. And isn’t that what old dogs do? Yes, it is. Indeed, stinking is what they do best. Their mouths stink. Their paw pads stink. Their throbbing little pink buttholes stink. So being the attentive pet owners that we are, we didn’t give it another thought. We took to doubling up on his doggie baths and saying “that dawwwwwwwwwwg STINKS!” whenever he mosied our way. Even untitledson took up the battle cry. And how cute was that.
Fast forward a few weeks. We’re at the vet’s office, getting untitleddog his yearly vaccinations. During the perfunctory exam, the doc took one look in his ear and said, “Has he been itching this ear a lot, or shaking his head?” I thought about it, and realized that even if he had been ramming his ear into the wall on an hourly basis, we probably would’ve thanked god that The Wiggles had finally added some rude slap bass to their ensemble.
To uncover the root of the problem, the vet takes a 12-inch q-tip and proceeds to scoop out what had to be a half-cup of brown ear goop — a sure sign of an advanced ear infection, he says. I’m sure he was thinking what horrible dog owners we must be, not to notice the fungal equivalent of a panini loaf baking in our dog’s ear over the past few months. But all I could do was wonder exactly how much of that foul marmalade had flaked off and accumulated in the crevices of our sofa and at the foot of our bed.
Five days and five doses of ear drops later, we were able to reclaim our diginity as decent, upstanding dog owners. But on the downside, we now have to find another place to rise our pizza dough.