Hello. My name is Izzi. And, I'm an addict.
[Hello, Izzi!]
Maybe I should tell you a little about myself before I tell you how I ended up here at DogDrugAnon. I live in the leafy suburb of Lexington, where I have - for the last two years - run the household. It's a pretty stressful position, what with making sure that the people who live there behave properly: putting dishes of food down a couple of times a day, picking them up, refilling water dishes and - most importantly - cleaning up my bathroom. I found after just a short while that if I didn't stay on top of them all I found that they would get terribly out of shape and would have difficulty keeping in 'work' shape (and who knows what that would lead to?). But, all in all, I have to admit that my life was stress-free.
Then, my world came crashing down in the middle of June. We decided to adopt a stray dog, one that was little and fuzzy and full of energy. Immediately, I felt that my whole world had changed. I mean, sure, I was still the "top dog" and sure I was able to show this little thing that I was the boss (I'm sure you've all had a similar experience: a good leg lift on top of the newcomer usually does the trick). And, I have to be honest: she and I got along swell after a very short break in period. But, something was gnawing at me: the low level of stress I had in running the household was now amplified by my having to be responsible for the actions of this outsider. Oh, sure, I could still find a place to sit and relax outside of the Tasmanian devil-like actions of the little one. And, sure, I still ran things.
But, little by little, I noticed a shift. Dinner, although still served when I asked for it, was now to be shared. And, my new "room mate" was like a little vacuum cleaner, leaving me very little. Not that I couldn't stand to use a smaller calorie intake; a girl has to keep her figure, and I do have my boyfriend (a stuffed bear) to think about. And, there was less quality time with my mama, since she had to pay attention to the little thing (I believe it was out of pity).
Stresses just continued to mount, and my normal way of dealing with it (barking at everything that moved outside of our house, humping my boyfriend, going for long walks in the yard.... None of them seemed to help me get over that hump. I needed something and i didn't know what it was.
And, then, like a miracle, my new friend got sick. No, the miracle wasn't her illness (something to do with her floppy little ears) but the medicine that they gave her for it. When she came home from the doctor last Friday, I noticed something different about her (and not that she'd matured...that's - like - never gonna happen. Gag me with a spoon). When we were left alone, I thought I caught a whiff of something intoxicating, but I couldn't place it.
That night, my "sister" (and - yes - I begrudgingly will call her that) had to have some sort of drops put in her ears. She struggled (who wouldn't) so I turned away. But, then I caught the aroma and I knew that I had to have it. I knew that whatever was going into her ears was what I'd been looking for to get me out of the blues I'd started to feel. I ran over to her, sniffed her head, and started to lick her ear. And lick them more. And more. And more! I could not stop. I was wild for the drug, and I didn't even know what I drug was. My mama tried to get me to stop, but I wouldn't. She even moved me to another room that night (for the first time EVER), which should have been a sign for me to stop.
But, I couldn't. I was jonesin' for that smell, that drug, that high that I felt. And, fortunately, every morning and every night my "sister" got more of the treatment. Followed by me following her around to get a whiff of that intoxicating smell. I didn't want to do anything anymore (except sleep, poop, and eat). I just wanted to lick her ears. And lick and lick and lick and.... Sorry, I lost myself there for a minute.
And, my mama did what she could to break me of my addiction. She put the drops in "sister's" ears and then hid her for a while so that I wouldn't get my hit. She moved me into another room for an hour so that the sweet smell of the drug would fade before I had a chance to really get a good hit off of it.
It's all I wanted. I counted the minutes every day until the next few drops were slipping into my "sister's" ears. I couldn't think of anything but the feeling I had when I licked those cute little triangles of fur.
And, then.
And, then.
And, then, I realized what I was doing. I realized that I was only hurting myself. I saw my reflection and realized that my once six pound body had wasted away to five pounds, 15 1/2 ounces. And, I knew that I had to stop. Cold turkey. Just give it up.
And, so I did. This morning. And, I'm happy to say that I'm now 12 hours free of the drugs, and I know that I'll always be an addict, but a "recovering" addict. And, I'm happy that I had a chance to talk to all of you about it. You're making me stronger, and I need that.
No, I have to stop thinking that way. Her health is more important than my addiction. My sniffing and licking those ears and finding myself transported to a cloud high above this mortal plane, where the air is filled with whipped cream and cheerios. Ahhhh....
Oh, right.
So, like I said: my name is Izzi. And, I'm an addict. But, I've now been clean and sober for 12 hours.
Arf, Yip, Arf, Yip
Izzi
[Hello, Izzi!]
Maybe I should tell you a little about myself before I tell you how I ended up here at DogDrugAnon. I live in the leafy suburb of Lexington, where I have - for the last two years - run the household. It's a pretty stressful position, what with making sure that the people who live there behave properly: putting dishes of food down a couple of times a day, picking them up, refilling water dishes and - most importantly - cleaning up my bathroom. I found after just a short while that if I didn't stay on top of them all I found that they would get terribly out of shape and would have difficulty keeping in 'work' shape (and who knows what that would lead to?). But, all in all, I have to admit that my life was stress-free.
Then, my world came crashing down in the middle of June. We decided to adopt a stray dog, one that was little and fuzzy and full of energy. Immediately, I felt that my whole world had changed. I mean, sure, I was still the "top dog" and sure I was able to show this little thing that I was the boss (I'm sure you've all had a similar experience: a good leg lift on top of the newcomer usually does the trick). And, I have to be honest: she and I got along swell after a very short break in period. But, something was gnawing at me: the low level of stress I had in running the household was now amplified by my having to be responsible for the actions of this outsider. Oh, sure, I could still find a place to sit and relax outside of the Tasmanian devil-like actions of the little one. And, sure, I still ran things.
But, little by little, I noticed a shift. Dinner, although still served when I asked for it, was now to be shared. And, my new "room mate" was like a little vacuum cleaner, leaving me very little. Not that I couldn't stand to use a smaller calorie intake; a girl has to keep her figure, and I do have my boyfriend (a stuffed bear) to think about. And, there was less quality time with my mama, since she had to pay attention to the little thing (I believe it was out of pity).
Stresses just continued to mount, and my normal way of dealing with it (barking at everything that moved outside of our house, humping my boyfriend, going for long walks in the yard.... None of them seemed to help me get over that hump. I needed something and i didn't know what it was.
And, then, like a miracle, my new friend got sick. No, the miracle wasn't her illness (something to do with her floppy little ears) but the medicine that they gave her for it. When she came home from the doctor last Friday, I noticed something different about her (and not that she'd matured...that's - like - never gonna happen. Gag me with a spoon). When we were left alone, I thought I caught a whiff of something intoxicating, but I couldn't place it.
That night, my "sister" (and - yes - I begrudgingly will call her that) had to have some sort of drops put in her ears. She struggled (who wouldn't) so I turned away. But, then I caught the aroma and I knew that I had to have it. I knew that whatever was going into her ears was what I'd been looking for to get me out of the blues I'd started to feel. I ran over to her, sniffed her head, and started to lick her ear. And lick them more. And more. And more! I could not stop. I was wild for the drug, and I didn't even know what I drug was. My mama tried to get me to stop, but I wouldn't. She even moved me to another room that night (for the first time EVER), which should have been a sign for me to stop.
But, I couldn't. I was jonesin' for that smell, that drug, that high that I felt. And, fortunately, every morning and every night my "sister" got more of the treatment. Followed by me following her around to get a whiff of that intoxicating smell. I didn't want to do anything anymore (except sleep, poop, and eat). I just wanted to lick her ears. And lick and lick and lick and.... Sorry, I lost myself there for a minute.
And, my mama did what she could to break me of my addiction. She put the drops in "sister's" ears and then hid her for a while so that I wouldn't get my hit. She moved me into another room for an hour so that the sweet smell of the drug would fade before I had a chance to really get a good hit off of it.
It's all I wanted. I counted the minutes every day until the next few drops were slipping into my "sister's" ears. I couldn't think of anything but the feeling I had when I licked those cute little triangles of fur.
And, then.
And, then.
And, then, I realized what I was doing. I realized that I was only hurting myself. I saw my reflection and realized that my once six pound body had wasted away to five pounds, 15 1/2 ounces. And, I knew that I had to stop. Cold turkey. Just give it up.
And, so I did. This morning. And, I'm happy to say that I'm now 12 hours free of the drugs, and I know that I'll always be an addict, but a "recovering" addict. And, I'm happy that I had a chance to talk to all of you about it. You're making me stronger, and I need that.
No, I have to stop thinking that way. Her health is more important than my addiction. My sniffing and licking those ears and finding myself transported to a cloud high above this mortal plane, where the air is filled with whipped cream and cheerios. Ahhhh....
Oh, right.
So, like I said: my name is Izzi. And, I'm an addict. But, I've now been clean and sober for 12 hours.
Arf, Yip, Arf, Yip
Izzi
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