Who? Us?

We are two disabled, oldish women who have been adventuring through life for years. We are talking about how disabilities, both visible and not, change the way we enjoy our retirement.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Donna Speaks: Adventures with Mike

You'll remember me mentioning dad's Weimaraner, Mike, in my last post: Pump It Up. Mike was a favorite of my oldest son. 

Mike was a very big imposing dog, as most Weimaraners are.  But they are obedient, playful, protective, lovable and loving dogs.  My dad had trained Mike and he unfailingly did my dad's bid.  

One favorite trick was tell Mike to lie down and put both paws straight out in front of him on the ground.  Dad would then place treats on the top of Mike's paws. The dog would sit, staring at the treats and, very patiently, wait for dad to say "OK, Mike."  I think the dog woulda waited forever, with those treats on his paws, to get dad's ok.

My oldest son was a little over a year old when we traveled in our VW camper van from Fayetteville, NC, where his dad was stationed, to Alexandria.  It was summer and we were all (mom, dad, me, my son's dad, and my oldest son) outside, sitting in lawn chairs under the mimosa trees.  Mike was there, too.

Mike got up from laying at my dad's feet and moseyed around to carport, probably headed for his water near the back door spigot.  Number One son toddled behind him.

Not long after the two had headed for the back, I heard moaning.  Initially, I ignored the soulful sound.  Then everyone noticed it and remarked.  Dad said, "It sounds like a dog... like Mike... What the hell?!".

I got up to investigate, following the "OOOUUUUOOOAAA".  As I rounded the corner, the sight I saw proved dad right.

Mike was standing very still and stiff in the green grass next to the carport with his head was lifted toward the sky in a mournful howl. 

Number One Son was strategically situated, and peering at Mike's rear end.  He had a very determined but curious look on his face.  His big brown eyes were twice their normal size. 

As I walked up by the side of the two, I saw Number One Son's little one-year-old-hands holding, and squeezing, as hard as he could, Mike's balls. Intermittently, he would kinda twist the balls.  (Testicle Torsion Twist.)  Mike moaned particularly loudly when Number One applied the TTT.  My son was mesmerized.

I called my son's name, "What are you doing?!"  Mike turned his head and looked at me with a "For god's sake, HELP ME!" in his bluish eyes.
"Momma, see?"  said Number One, wide smile on his face. "Balls, momma.  Balls!" He giggled. "See... see".  He was just tickled pink and very proud of his accomplishment.

Fortunately, a 25 pound, one year old's small hands do little permanent damage to a Weimaraner's balls.  So Mike was no worse for the wear and my son had had his first experience balls other than his own.

Coincidently, the "Mike Adventure" was, in a way, a predictor of things to come in Number One Son's future life.

Bless his little heart.

Have a great day, Miss Althea.

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