So as some of you know, on Friday we discovered an enormous anal gland abscess in poor Myshkin. So, down to Ellwood Park Animal Hospital to have it lanced, cleaned out, and a drain inserted by Dr. Ray, aka Dear Hubby, aka Dad. (The downside of being a vet: your own pets get to see you as The Guy With The Sharp Thing) But drugs are very good and poor, poor Myshi came home stoned, with his butt-end snugly wrapped in a towel which will henceforth belong to him.

For those of you pet-free people, let me give you more ammo for remaining pet-free: anal gland juice smells like a skunk-diarrhea cocktail left out in the sun to ferment. We dearly love our boy but that is not a lap-friendly smell. Not something you want curled up beside you at night. So the poor boy’s been relegated to a crate, which he actually loves, though he loves nothing right now. Nothing. At. All.

See? He won’t even look at me.

His misery is complicated by the fact that he’s intelligent enough to be super-easily stressed by life events. Fireworks, for example, mean that the house is burning down and safety may only be found by returning to the nearest uterus. So having a baboon-butt with two extra holes and a hunk of latex flapping out of it hasn’t done him any favors, stress-wise. And it’s obviously very, very painful. Dr. Dad took the drain out last night, but the canine appreciation has been slow in coming.

Unfortunately, he also has a history of pancreatitis, which tends to flare up when he stops eating, which he does when, say, when Mom goes away for more than eight hours (She’s dead! I knew it!) or someone lights a candle in the bath (Cordite! Hellfire!)

So, yes, now his belly is painful too, and he’s nauseated, which means we have to give his antibiotics by injection, rather than pills. So the two people he trusts most in his life are poking holes in him, prodding at delicate areas, then locking him away like a leper because, come on, dogs can smell. He knows he’s hideous.

Life as he knows it is over.

He’ll feel much better tomorrow.

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6 Comments

  1. Paula Altenburg January 5, 2015 at 10:58 am

    Is it wrong of me that my sympathies are all for you and Ray? Because come on. Dog butt smell. INFECTED dog butt smell. I’m grossed out just typing it. Okay, poor Myshkin. His nose is better than yours. Then again, dogs like gross smells.

    • Roxanne Snopek January 6, 2015 at 2:12 pm

      THANK you! I didn’t want to say it myself, but… yes, I’m suffering greatly. Someone should send me flowers and wine and a spa gift certificate. Only me, though. I have a bionic nose. My husband smells nothing.

  2. Rhianna January 4, 2015 at 2:53 pm

    Awww poor Myshi! Sparta was treated to a dear legbone at Christmas and it really irritated her anal glands. I was thisclose to following some internet instructions for helping them express but yikes no one wants to get friendly with my GSD’s butt, let alone me. A few days of discomfort and fortunately she felt better, I was dreading the vet visit almost as much as attempting it myself.

    • Roxanne Snopek January 4, 2015 at 3:59 pm

      I’m glad Sparta’s feeling better… sometimes “scooting” will express the glands naturally, but if not, get a vet to do it. An infection can blow up overnight, and trust me, no one wants that.

  3. Patty Degmetich January 4, 2015 at 12:38 pm

    Poor Myshkin ! Feel so sorry for him. Hope things start getting better real soon for him. :)

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