My Dog Is An Alcoholic

So, our Dane has post traumatic stress disorder from his horrific treatment before he came to us (No! Wait! The post gets funny, don't click away, I swear this is great).

So after many failed training attempts because of his fear and triggers, the vet agreed that a temporary medication could be helpful in minimizing his fear, while letting him learn with our new C.E.T. dog trainer.

We did it. (Go ahead, I'll wait while you judge me. S'ok.)

Yes, my dog is being treated for anxiety. He has clearly spent too much time around me.

We are now discovering that this is seriously going to curb Schultz' (not Schiltz) hard partying ways, and his weekend social pub crawls. Take a closer look:

Good thing they warned us!!!

Sorry my little (huge) furry buddy, looks like mommy won't be making you any more martinis any time soon.

It's for the best.

Damn, this tough love is so hard.

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He's a Simple Dog...

I just don't have the heart to tell him that he's lying on the PUPPY'S bed, which is approximately half the width, length and thickness of his dog bed.

Um, Schultzy? You're lying on... oh... never mind...

Oh well, I guess he seems comfortable. And in all fairness, they LOOK the same, not that he can see the colour.


Oh... it appears that this isn't his first confused experience:

Your legs are kind of.... oh, forget it.

He seemed to prefer my parents' dog's bed when they were dogsitting before.
(Also note the creative use of headboards and wooden furniture, acting as barricades to prevent his Great Dane butt from overtaking their lovely sofas).

*SIGH*


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Heartburn or Esophageal-burny-cancer-destruction?

So, as my stress level elevates, so does my acid reflux.

I'd like to think this is just run of the mill heartburn.

Then I made the mistake of mentioning it and drinking coffee at the dentist's office the other day and DEAR-LORD-AND-MOTHER-OF-ALL-THINGS-CANCER-FREE, it sounds like my esophagus is slowly killing me in my sleep.

As a sleep-deprived, stressed girl in her last days of pre-wedding planning (read: AGONY), she ASSURED me that what I need is water. WATER. That'll keep me going on the tough days! Water is the cure all! Wateroiahngvia sdiuhauow gvoijhdowerijd bgvpa;ojd... oh, sorry, I fell asleep at the keyboard.

Yeah, sorry tootsie, but water just ain't gonna cut it right now. I even bought a huge Coke after that, and it didn't even help, as I sat listless on the couch doing the DJ play list with Feyoncé™.

So, back to my esophagus and it's stealthy plan to kill me. For the acid reflux I can feel, she said there's a ton more I DON'T feel that could be eating away my tissue at this very moment.

*cue horror music*

Suggested:
I am supposed to raise my pillows up.
Raise the head of my bed up.
Stop drinking anything but water.
Perhaps re-think the 80 Tums/antacids per day.

Actual:

Assume it will get better after the wedding.
Tell myself I'll drink less coffee later on.
Not do a damn thing and start popping Nexium.

Everyone's a critic.

*cue Tums commercial music*

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