As a boy and a young man, I always owned a loyal canine. I guess through the years of losing four-legged friends and not wanting the responsibility of taking care of another living creature, I decided no more after my last pooch passed. I was still fond of the noble creature but found that fondness drifting to being fond of what I coined “OPD’s” or other people’s dogs. It’s kind of like the grandchildren of the canine world. You pet them for a while then back to their owners they go.
I’m the opposite of my personal assistant, and yes, I need an assistant because of this guy in a white lab coat who jabbed me in the back with a needle I could’a spit an olive pit through, then shoved me into a tube two sizes too small that commenced to sounding like someone was pounding on a pipe with sledge hammers, cinder blocks and jack hammers. Then he had the nerve to tell me I had multiple sclerosis. This made my fingers hopping mad, so they went on strike… but I digress.
My assistant owns four dogs. Each one visits their veterinarian more than most children visit their pediatricians. They eat special food and have luxury accommodations for napping. These animals are considered special-needs, four-legged children. One has colitis and the other is a diabetic. She’s still typing, but giving me the “stink eye,” so nuff said.
I remember as a child our dogs would receive no more medical treatment than a rabies vaccination and live a long healthy life well into their teens.
It’s a good example of “the more things change, the more they stay changed.” Not to be confused with “the more they stay the same.”