The Lowest Rider

The poor pregnant dog. I feel her pain. While I've not carried a litter, I did birth a huge little girl that shocked the doctors "from someone small like yourself." (Although I was also told that with my "nice wide hips," I wouldn't have a problem birthing much of anything. Some doctors sure know how to make a woman feel special.)

I don't think I remember having a dog this huge before. She is having much difficulty getting up the 3 steps into the house after a potty break, and can no longer clear the 6" jump to get into her crate at night. Waddling stopped a week ago and she has now developed poor posture in order to keep herself from falling belly-flat onto the floor. It would help if she had legs, of course. I am thinking this should probably be her last litter because I'm not sure I can watch her do this again. (I don't ever remember my husband getting to that point during any of my pregnancies. Does he like to see me in misery?)

I especially feel for the poor dog in the snow. With the stubby legs she has, her belly almost drags the ground. That can't feel good as she forges a path to do her business. But we find it amusing that you know exactly which path is hers when the pack of house dogs is released into the yard. There are four sets of footprints criss-crossing each other in random fashion, and one rolled-tire mark where Rhythm drug a path with her belly.

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