I've Been Hosed.

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Big Pupi has ISSUES.

When the clock strikes 4:30 PM my brother and I begin begging for our 5:15 feasting. We are never late, nope. Not ever. It drives mom crazy!! We stare at her, silently screaming through body language. Every time she looks up at us, I lick my lips and step gingerly from the right paw to the left. This is a polite way of saying: FEED ME YOU USELESS HUMAN!!!!
This goes on for the better part of an hour, and will not end until we are fed. Staring makes humans feel all squirmy and uncomfortable. It's pretty awesome!

A few nights ago, during my begging, my mom noticed that I was the one looking uncomfortable for a change. I tried to hold my gaze but kept feeling the need to tend to my manliness. As a beast which normally has laser focus, this was a tip off that something was indeed very wrong, and it didn't take long for my mom to realize that I once again suffered from a case of Angry Weebelitis. Again!! Why??!!
I immediately fell into a depression. I knew where this was heading - straight to the Place of Tile and Steel where I will be poked in the most inappropriate of places and handled in the most inappropriate of ways. DANG WEEBLE! Why must he spend the entire summer giving me grief?!

Mom and my vet were concerned about putting me on another dose of oral or injected antibiotics since this problem seems to continue throughout all of the warm weather months. That makes for a LOT of medication and a majorly increased risk of breeding some sort of super bacteria in my manliness. This sounds rather unpleasant, and I happen to be a big fan of my weeble. I don't want to harm him.

So the vet gave my mom some tools to bring home. I got all excited, thinking for sure that Dr. lady had set my mom up with some super awesome stuffy tools for my construction endeavors, but NO. What she got was this:
Sure, it's seriously better than the torture element she was given last year, but c'mon. Is this a stinkin' JOKE? I don't come up with these sorts of things and use them on people? What the heck is wrong with you humans?!

Unlike last summer's dentist's-looking monster device (which would inspire me to get outright violent with mom [a first], and which was never again attempted after I made my thoughts on it clear), this new device hooks into a soft rubber tube with holes at the end.
The evil contraption gets shoved a few inches into my manliness! THE HORROR! Then the medicine gets flushed through and when it's all done I get to feast on some serious cheese. Actually... I have to be honest with you... it's not so bad, especially compared to its predecessor. As long as my medicine is warm I'll stand there Like Good Boy for the few seconds until it's over with, and so far it hasn't made my weeble fall off. I know this for certain because I spend much time checking on such important matters.
I haven't had one single hint of Angry Weebelitis since this process began. I guess this is a good thing. E. coli of the wee was never all that enjoyable.

Once it is all said and done I feel the need to protect my manliness, and so I sleep with my legs in crossed protection positioning. That stinkin' hose can't get in here!
While all this torture and cruelty is happening to me, Stanislaw is being all Lounge Boyish in his man cave and mocking me for my weeble disorder. Whatever. He's got a bad case of noodlebutt and he knows it.
After a traumatic event my singing stuffy elf always makes me feel better, and so I thrash the heck out of him and force him to sing "Jingle Bells" about 3,543 times over and over and over again. I do this just to make my mom go insane and to remind her that even though she's got that hose thing, I've got the power in this place.
Oh, and don't think this whole event is going to deter me from staring you down for my dinner, dearest mother. Heck no. In fact, I'm thinking of pushing my start time up to 4:15, so I can get a FULL HOUR of slightly unnerving staring in every single day. Yeah, that's right. For as long as that hose is in the picture there will be staring contests and singing stuffies. Deal with it.

From a disgruntled dog with a happy weeble,
Big Pupi