There is an Inuit tribe up near the Arctic Circle where the span of time that covers from approximately January 15th – February 20th is loosely translated as “the-month-that-is-so-cold-that-when-dogs-pee-they-pee-on-themselves.”
If only that were the case at casa de Mooch.
Mooch, as you will recall, had some
wenis complications in 2007 that resulted in his chariot swinging low and Chef donning rubber gloves about 6 times a day to lube the old man. Mooch has since healed, his wenis stays well hidden in his furry undies and the gloves have since collected dust. But still on every walk, due to the pain our wallets continue to feel from the surgery, Chef and I make sure that Mooch takes a pee and the plumbing is still operative.
As I am sure the weather-man, or possibly the national news, has told you we here in the Midwest have fallen in to the 9th circle of Hell and are living along the banks of the
Cocytus. The high today, the HIGH, was -5 degrees. With the wind from Lucifer’s wings, the wind-chill brought us down to -20 in some areas of the city. Mooch has let us know, in no uncertain terms, that this is an unacceptable temperature.
As Chef is home during the day, he gets the honor & the glory of walking the boys in the morning and early afternoon. With the recent cold, the walks have been very short to nonexistent as all three of them are insisting on peeing, “studying physics,” and running home; we haven’t made it off the block, let alone our side of the street, in over a week. Today it was so cold, one little puggy did his duty and ran inside. The next little puggy didn’t do anything outside, ran in and hit the pee-pad. Mooch, the third little puggy, didn’t do anything outside, nor inside. He came in from his walk and laid down. Chef wouldn’t have worried but the voice from the
Care Credit card sang to him “Mooooochie has to pee! His wenis may be broken! Check his pipe snake!” Between the hours of 9am and 3pm, Chef took Poor Mooch out in to the cold seven times. And not once did he pee.
One time they went out, Mooch ran steaming down the sidewalk and jumped into a huge snowdrift and “studied physics.” He jumped out and ran for home. No pee. The next time, he showed some interest in spot where another dog had peed.
“Hey Guy, someone peed over there!” exclaimed Mooch as he dove in a snow bank.
Chef/Guy shook his head as he watched the old pug leap through the snow. Suddenly realizing that he was a) cold and b) up to his jowls in snow, Mooch looked up and Chef as if to say “Holy fuck! Guy, it is freezing! What the hell?! Get me out of here!” And they went home. And not once did he pee.
It was now 3pm and Mooch had not peed since 11pm the night before. That is 16 hours with out a whiz. For any dog (or person for that matter) this is not healthy, especially not for one that has had extensive surgery on the area. I consulted the good people over at pugs.com, but to no avail (really, the best anyone there could give me was “offer him a treat!”). Chef decided to call the vet and see what he should do…
“So he hasn’t peed in 16 hours you say?” asked the vet.
“Yeah,” said Chef, “I’m really getting worried.”
“It is a concern, the bacteria found in urine is not good when trapped in a warm bladder for so long, especially one that has had issues before,” said the vet confirming Chef’s fear.
“Okay, what can I do?”
The vet then went on to explain to Chef that he needed to get on the floor with Mooch and gently squeeze and apply pressure to Mooch’s bladder and wenis. Chef sighed a heavy sigh as he realized that this was once again his heft to bear.
Gallantly, Chef descended to the floor and firmly (but gently) applied pressure to Mooch’s bladder, and then his wenis.
Nothing.
Feeling that he was going to need a strong drink before getting back to servicing Mooch, Chef prepared a spot (two spots he insists) of tea. As the water began to boil, Chef noticed that Mooch had begun the dance of pee on the pee-pad near the kitchen door. Spinning like a whirling dervish looking for God, Mooch twirled the pee-pad in to a ball and then walked away. He walked over to one of the dog beds and lifted his leg. Fearing having to go outside to get to the laundry room should the bed become soaked with urine, in an amazing feat of strength and quick thinking Chef launched him self out of the kitchen, grabbed the ball of pee-pa, flung the dog bed out of the line of fire, and got the pad under Mooch just in the nick of time. Mooch snorted a sigh of relief as he emptied a lake on to the pee-pad and floor.
“Treats all around,” yelled Chef and the pee-party began! There was much dancing and rejoicing. And mopping. Much mopping. And then Mooch, so happy to have finally gone pee, curled up in the bed and fell asleep.
We took him out at 6pm for the evening walk. He didn’t pee.
He just looked at Chef and winked.
