I am totally freaking out!

Mom left Sunday for her monthly trip to Canada. Tonight, Dad and I were just hanging out in the office when I hear Mom’s voice… “Hey, Dakota”. I look up and sure enough, I can see Mom through the window that’s sitting on Dad’s desk. Oh boy, Mom’s home! But when I run to the other side of the desk to greet her, she’s gone. Poof! Vanished into thin air.

So I go back to Dad’s chair to look through the window again and sure as I’m born, I can see Mom plain as day. I know she’s here somewhere… but she disappears every time I head in her direction.

Here I am all confused, Mom’s sitting there grinning like the cheshire cat and all Dad says is “Dakota doesn’t understand Skype”.

Will somebody please tell me who Skype is and what he’s done to my Mom?

I’m seven months old today! We don’t know exactly how much I weigh because we haven’t been to the vet in a couple of weeks and I’m way too heavy for Mom to pick me up… but we think I’m somewhere between 80 and 85 pounds.

I’m sure Diane will weigh me when I go to have my stitches taken out on Tuesday. Speaking of Tuesday… I’m just a little worried. Either Mom has completely lost her marbles or there’s something really fishy going on because she keeps telling me I’m getting new turd.

First of all, I don’t know why she’d want me to have more turds than the ones I deposit in the dog run because Dad’s already complaining about how long it takes to pick up after three Leonbergers. Second, there’s no way Mom could possibly find me turds that are more grander or smellier than the ones I produce myself. I am the master of turds! Third, I don’t see how a turd could ever be considered new seeing as it started out in the food bowl and took several hours to come out the other end.

Something tells me that getting new turd is not a good surprise. Not good at all, I fear…

Mom and Dad are very frustrated with me right now… not me personally because they love me so much, but they’re terribly tired of dealing with my boo-boo and very worried that it’s never going to heal right.

We were very pleased that Diane — she’s our vet — tried to fix my cyst without surgery, but the drains didn’t work. So she cut me open and removed the cyst. It was two inches wide! I was in good shape for a few days, but then my noggin started swelling up like a balloon. Diane’s only in the office every other Saturday, so Mom and Dad had to take me to CAVES.

The doctor at CAVES (I don’t like him one bit…) took something like a gallon of fluid out of the top of my head and said I had a something-or-another-oma. He said they had to use hot compresses on my head and keep me quiet until it healed. Well… they’re doing pretty good on the first part.

We’ve been to see Diane a couple of times so she could clean me up and open my drains, but they’re just weren’t working — so yesterday she removed them. Now Mom and Dad are having to work on me every few hours to clean me up and Dad’s a little ticked off because all I want to do is play and they’re having one heck of a time with that “keeping me quiet” bit.

Oops… gotta run. Here comes Mom with the towel and hot water.

For the last month, Mom’s been checking out the top of my head several times a day because she says she thinks I have a cyst, whatever that is. Well last Thursday, something bad must have happened because they took me to the vet on Saturday. That must have really caused a stir because I had to take pills for three days, I didn’t get to have any treats after dinner last night and I had to go see the vet again this morning.

I’m now missing fur on the top of my head, I have two funky tubes sticking out of my bald spot, I have to wear this huge clunky plastic cone thingy around my neck and I haven’t been allowed to play with Kisa or Larkin all day. The vet said I did have a cyst, but my hairs grew into it and caused quite a mess… and I”m supposed to wear my cone for five whole days so I don’t scratch and accidentally remove the tubes.

To make matters worse, Mom’s calling me divot-head. You just wait ’til the next time she’s having a bad hair day!

A Leonberger shares my life,
A dog that’s strong and true.
Affectionate and gentle,
Yet bold and fearless too.
A wonderful companion,
The very best you’ll find,
With a heart of purest gold,
This mountain dog of mine.
A friend that I can count on,
In which I can confide-
I can’t imagine life without
My “Leo” by my side.
- Anonymous

I’m lucky… I have three Leonbergers to share my life… and life would not be the same without any of them.