It's really tough being a dog, don't let those humans fool you

Her Highness sits on her bed in the floor and stares at me with a mixture of confusion, sadness, and indignation. "Why will you not let me on the couch?" she seems to silently say. Eventually, she gives up and turns round a time or two and flops down in protest.

By Her Highness of course, I mean Pixie. She has some sort of compressed disc in her back, and in the couple of days leading up to the inevitable vet visit, it was making her life very, very painful.

We rushed her to the vet's office on a Friday afternoon, half terrified that something was terribly wrong. The veterinarian assuaged our fears, but said that she will need FOUR weeks of hardcore rest. That means no jumping, no running, no coasting up and down stairs, and no vigorous play time. He might as well have sentenced her to doggie jail.

She's not extremely playful like a puppy or a young dog is, but she's still pretty active for her age - and we learned, fiercely independent.

We're nearing the end of week 2 of what is clearly complete and utter abuse. No jumping on the couch? How dare we. No going up and down the stairs unaided? But Mom, I'm a grown dog, and I can go up and down the stairs by myself! No jumping in general? Well, I'll just pretend I didn't hear you say "No" then.

What do you mean this isn't MY couch?

From what I know of other dogs, she's really done fantastic. She's more or less accepted what she must assume is her new permanent lot in life, and in general, constant crate time hasn't been a necessity to keep her still and help her heal.

Here's to two more weeks house (ar)rest.

P.S. Finding pictures of Pixie awake is difficult. We take an absurd amount of photos when she's sleeping. It's embarrassing really.