By Lumi Dabbene
I suppose I should begin by introducing myself—the name’s Lumi, and I’m a young dog who has (ahem) “discovered” access to a wide readership through my owner’s account. It took some time learning the alphabet, figuring out a keyboard, uploading files, and using a mouse without opposable thumbs, but really, it’s not all that difficult. Even my weak spelling wasn’t much of a problem—with spell check, the computer practically does the work for you. I must say, I was surprised to learn this is the kind of thing my owner spends most of his day on.
Anyway, there’s this operation for dogs called spaying, a procedure required to get into all the hottest and most exclusive dog day care spots and overnight kennels. It also helps prevent being pregnant on your first birthday. Having recently recovered from this somewhat traumatic experience, I thought I’d share some of my takeaways from spaying, and my nine months of life thus far. So “throw me a bone” and read on:
It’s Not Always Fun Being the Girl Wearing a Lampshade on Her Head: The idea that lampshade-wearing equals wild, crazy fun is a popular human misconception, first mentioned in print in the Baltimore Evening Sun in 1928, as an act performed by the “life of the party.” The idea’s been perpetuated in television and cinema ever since, but for a complete understanding of the true inconvenience of this accoutrement, we need to turn our lampshades around and look back to 16th century England, the Elizabethan era.
The device dogs wear to keep them from scratching or reopening wounds is officially called an Elizabethan collar, because of its similarity to the stiff pleated neck ruffs the upper classes of that time chose (!) to wear. And all you have to do is look at a few of the many unsmiling portraits from that era to know that those people weren’t having much fun.
Since the 2009 movie Up, the term “Cone of Shame” has also been a popular colloquialism for the veterinary collar. This is a classic example of blaming the victim—if we dogs appear shamed or remorseful, I assure you, we’re actually just embarrassed.
Have Tunnel Vision, but Without Blinders: A lampshade collar allows you (forces you, really) to focus on what’s directly ahead, a rare gift in this age of distraction. This forward focus prevents navel-gazing and losing one’s head up one’s butt (literally—I’ve tried both), but it can also make you insensitive to what else is happening in the world.
The challenge is to maintain forward focus without losing a larger awareness. This is not so easy for horses, for whom blinders were invented to keep them from seeing what’s going on around them. As for dogs, I should point out that it’s helpful when your lampshade collar is transparent, not opaque plastic. This allows improved forward focus, but without losing sight of other important things in your life, like walls and sharp corners.
Don’t Give Up: I believe in you. You can get through that narrow passageway, even wearing that huge collar, if you hit it just right. Sometimes you just have to attack the problem from another angle (again, literally). Try, try again. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
Sometimes Give Up: Sometimes, that narrow passageway is just too narrow, and there’s no point banging your head against the wall (once again, literally) trying to pretend otherwise. Also, gates and blockades are there for a reason, preventing falls down staircases or into swimming pools. It’s not necessary to test every limit. Curiosity killed the cat, and it could do the same to you, despite the inherent superiority of every other species to felines.
Drugs Can Be Good! In the most anxiety-filled moments of my recovery, my owner decided to try using CBD chews. He even shared some with me! Along with painkillers prescribed by the vet, they really helped me to relax. I wouldn’t give up a hot dog dinner for them (or nearly any dinner, for that matter) but they can certainly take the edge off when you’re supposed to rest and heal but you just feel like running into traffic after a squirrel.
Relying on medicine can be a bitter pill to swallow (yet again, literally), but don’t just spit it out! Drugs can’t solve every problem, but used as directed, they can be an important part of the formula to keep you happy and healthy—kind of like the Cap’n Crunch in those massive “complete breakfast” table spreads from old human cereal ads.
The Power of Puzzles: The operation (and the drugs) forced me to slow down and forget about digging holes and chasing animals for a while, in favor of the pleasures of using one’s mind. Slow feeders and dog puzzles, especially the ones where you slide and lift flaps to get food, proved challenging at first. But with some thought and occasional violent behavior, I was able to reach all of the treats inside.
This provided me with a satisfying feeling of accomplishment, matched only by my desire for more treats. I have now mastered level 2 puzzles (dog puzzles are rated up to level 4 in difficulty). It’s a little insulting that they started me at level 2, but the fact that I’ve stepped in to write this column—and am doing a fantastic job of it—shows that either I’m smarter than they think, or that writing a column is a level 2 dog intelligence activity.
I know you humans love your GLP-1 drugs, and as I observed above, sometimes drugs are good. But have any people tried using slow feeders or food puzzle feeders, tying a mental challenge to their food intake? Not only would humans be a lot thinner, you’d also be a lot smarter.
Carpe Diem (“Seize the Day”): Live life to the fullest every day, because you never know when something’s gonna happen. I mean, there I was, sniffing some pee-scented grass at a new location, and the next thing I know I’m waking up minus a few organs. It sounds a lot like those urban legends about being kidnapped and waking up without a kidney, doesn’t it? Of course, in hindsight I recognize the necessity of the operation, given the large numbers of unwanted pups and homeless dogs in this country.
Plus, I’m a young dog on the go—I can’t have a bunch of puppies slowing me down. It’s a lot harder to Carpe Diem when you’re a parent just trying to Sustine Diem (“Survive the Day”).
Make the Best of a Bad Situation (or, to continue with Latin, “Optima ex Malis”): If you’re a dog with level 2 intelligence or below, your vocabulary is probably too limited to lodge a formal complaint, should any particular aspect of one’s treatment prove upsetting. As an example, the aforementioned donning of a lampshade collar comes to mind. But members of the conehead club need to accept the limitations imposed by the lampshade, while also appreciating its benefits, like having a built-in umbrella for one’s head.
It’s Okay to Let People Take Care of You: In human circles, there’s something called pride, which is apparently the opposite of shameless self-interest, a concept more familiar to me (and most dogs). Pride sometimes keeps humans from accepting help from others, even when they could benefit from it. Don’t confuse pride with stubbornness, though—stubbornness can get you a longer walk or more food, but pride gets you nothing. Ergo, pride is dumber than stubbornness. It’s okay to take what they’re giving. They do it because they love you.
I’ll stop here since after two weeks of inactivity, I’ve got a lot to catch up on. Maybe I’ll start with some crotch licking, or roll in a mysterious substance, or taste some street debris. I’ll take my time and savor each moment, though. Unlike my owner, I live a life without deadlines.
Lumi Dabbene’s owner has a website, www.peterdabbene.com. Her owner’s poetry/photo book The Lotus Eater (and Other Poems) is available through Amazon.com for $20 (print) or $10 (ebook).
