Topic 145: Humorous Dyspepsia

Carol:

    Excuuuuuuuuse Me!       

Dyspepsia is an old-fashioned word we don’t hear much anymore, like consumption and apoplexy. And, most people don’t associate it with humor unless they are 5-year-old boys or fans of the Farrelly brothers (Dumb and Dumber, There’s Something about Mary, Hall Pass).  I had to look dyspepsia up because I wanted to make sure I appreciated the full scope of the word. We all get the “dys” part; anything with “dys” means it isn’t working well (dysfunction, dystopia, dysentery dysturbance). The complaints associated with dyspepsia generally fall into the “rude and disgusting” realm of bodily sounds and smells that are definitely not humorous to the dyspeptic.  We have three kinds of dyspepsics in our family. And there are rules about each type.
 

The first are the senior members of the family (i.e. “the old farts”), whose digestive systems begin to talk back after spicy meals and whose discomfort is clearly not funny. We show an appropriate level of compassion for their bloated moaning and provide a few sympathetic moans for emphasis as they go to the medicine chest and grope around for the antacid tablets. We do not poke fun at them until after they have gone to bed and are out of hearing. We are polite.

 The second type is the youngest members of the family, several of whom right now are at the prime age to to fart and belch on demand and to make that “whoopy cushion noise” with their hands and armpits. Parental authority dictates that such behavior is inappropriate and should not be encouraged, and definitely not during meals. Adults are thus expected to keep a straight face and enforce the rules even when the parents aren’t around. This is not as easy as it sounds given the gusto and comic timing of the junior family members. But, as I said we are polite, so we wait until they have left the room before we explode with appreciative laughter for digestive prowess of these Farrelly brothers wannabees.
 

The final category is the non-human family members. We get all of our dogs at the Humane Society, so we have a 35-year history of bringing home pound dogs whose digestive tracts take a while to “adjust” to their new homes. First there was Freebie, an 8-week old puppy Marc brought home from the Santa Monica Pound in 1974. Freebie (a cute but ironic name it turns out) immediately collapsed on the floor of our living-room and no manner of treat or talk would jar him out of his gastric distress. No, that’s wrong. All it took was a midnight trip to the vet and 30 seconds on the cold metal examining table for Freebie to pop back to life. Then, there was Annie, a 10-month old cocker mix that Marc brought home from the pound after Freebie’s untimely demise. Annie expressed her lack of enthusiasm all over the back seat of Marc’s car. Our current pound dog Milo the Magnificent had such bad dyspepsia the first week in our home that he could clear the room with his flatulence. Luckily, tinkering with his diet got rid of the odors although he still belches, much to the delight of the family Farrelly brothers wannabees.
 

The animal population in our house has doubled since yesterday, the details of which I will leave to Megan. Let’s just say that we are going through the same digestive adjustments, but the rules have changed. It is Megan’s job to clean up after Megan’s puppy.  We don’t want to aggravate the senior family member’s dyspepsia.

Megan:

Bella the Beautiful

I am writing this from my bed and Bella is asleep next to me. Considering that she is only a third the size of Milo (for now), she shares his habit of taking up the entire space.  I feel like I should take advantage of her naptime, and sleep a little myself, but I already skipped out on the essays twice this week.

Here is how we decided to get a puppy. It was an incredibly impulsive, yet carefully thought out decision. I have been asking for another dog since I moved back from England but my father would not agree to it.  I would bring it up from time to time, bargaining and making promises, but still couldn’t get him on my side (mom, of course, was on my side from the beginning).  For a while we got distracted by the idea that we might get new furniture for the loft, which would require re-training Milo to stay off the couch, and that would have meant a new dog was out of the question. Luckily, Mom couldn’t find any couches she liked.

Then I applied for a job here in town. When I was notified of the date of the phone interview, I started thinking about a puppy again, and how it would be easier to train the dog if I was home during the day, as opposed to working full-time. Then I got a second interview, which is why I didn’t write on Monday. I thought it went pretty well, and when I got home I said, “If I get this job, I’m getting a dog!”

Yesterday morning I got the call that the position was offered to someone else, so I had a little cry and went on the Yavapai Humane Society’s website. I found pictures of two Lab/Retriever/Hound puppies and took the computer up to show Mom. She told me it was okay to be upset about not getting the job, which made me cry some more, so I just pointed at the picture of the puppies.

After a brief conversation where I convinced her to come with me (Mom can’t handle animal shelters – they make her upset), I called my father at work and told him I was taking Mom and Milo to the Humane Society. He asked if I had come to my senses and was finally getting rid of Milo. I told him I didn’t get the job, so I was going to look at the puppies and we had to take Milo to make sure he approved --Milo’s approval mattering more at this point than my father’s.

On the website, there were two puppies – litter-mates – a male and a female. The male looked much cuter, but I wanted a female that wouldn’t pee on my bed whenever children came around. When I got there, it was clear the pictures had been reversed on the website, so I wound up with the female and the cute one.

According to my mother, I picked a pretty good time to get a puppy. My father is spending nights at my grandmother’s house this week, so he won’t be around for the events which will turn him against the new dog – the accidents, the howling from the crate, and the humorous dyspepsia (excitement induced vomiting) from playing too hard with Milo. I keep thinking that if we’d got the puppy when I first suggested it – last summer – then she would be trained by now.  But that’s just because I need a nap.

Milo, by the way, seems to approve of her. She may just be the first dog he’s ever met that is submissive to him – although it’s hard to say if that will last.  

She's even harder to see than Milo. Click image to enlarge.