The Infinite Bladder and the Amazing Medical Soccer Sock.

Winnie has begun licking her leg at night. She’s like a meth addict picking invisible ants off her skin. Only, her self-mutilation doesn’t make you feel pity or disgust. To be honest, it’s down-right adorable. Even if it results in an sickly looking island of welts on her front left leg. Her leg hair has fled the constant licking only to leave behind a long stretch of red, irregular shaped hills that crest and then recede into the ocean of black fur like some volcanic archipelago. Only without the hula girls or the helicopter tours.

This is not the normal topography of our dog’s leg. We’re worried. We’re clueless. We’re driving Winnie to the local vet.

Luckily for us, Winnie loves the vet. She couldn’t be happier than to hop into my Mom’s car and by driven to a sterile room occupied by men and women in white coats with pockets full of dog treats. Winnie is a very smart dog.

We know she’s smart because Vets have told us so. Vet’s are experts in these type of diagnosis. And today, our expert of dog aptitude tells us this as she shaves Winnie’s blemished leg and pumps her butt full of steroids, “The steroids will make her drink more water and that’ll probably make her pee more often.”

I applaud the fact this vet used the word “Pee.” Pee is real, it’s natural. As opposed to “urinate,” which occurs only in textbooks or legal documents. It’s not like she needs to hide the fact that our pet has bodily functions. The blue plastic bags tied to Winnie’s leash prove we are intimately aware of her bodily functions. We know what her farts smell like, almost as well as we know our own. And Kudos to our vet for respecting us enough to realize that. But I wish she were slightly more technical regarding terms like, “More often.”

Unless, “More often” is the medical term for “all-the-fucking-time.” Which it just might be. Because that’s how often our dog has to piss. Not once every four hours, not twelve-times a day, but multiple times each hour. Squatting every few blocks, not to mark her territory mind you, but to unleash solid spikes of liquid, like the grand finale of the Bellagio fountains. In fact, just like the Vegas waterworks, Winnie’s also attracts a crowd. Every thirty minutes or so, a group gathers at the front door of my parent’s house. Each of us, ready to take Winnie out—yet again—so she can go pee. So we can stand there, leash in hand, jaw slack in awe as the endless torrent of spray contained inside our dog’s bladder creates a flash flood in a neighbor’s yard. Our dog’s bladder is an endless reservoir, sunk in a vortex, housed in a bottomless pit, packaged snuggly inside the loins of the black hole that is our ever-thirsty pooch. The shear volume of liquid contained inside that bladder violates the laws of physics. Not to mention the current watering ban effecting lawns all across Georgia.

And as walking down the street and seeing three or four people struck dumb at the sight of a dog taking a piss wasn’t enough of a show. That dog just happens to be wearing a single soccer sock. Pulled up high on one leg.

Why?

It’s a simple, yet genius invention by Anja. Although our vet did not tell us the get one of those lampshade collars for our dog, it didn’t take long for us to realize we needed to restrain our dog from licking her leg until her welts melt back into the ocean of fur from whence they came.

Of course, a lampshade would not only look ridiculous, it’d be hard to maneuver in the tight space of our bus, and according to Anja and my mother, it’d probably give our dog self-esteem issues.

So, Anja invented the medical soccer sock. And it works amazingly well. Basically, if the sock is up, Winnie can’t lick at her wound. If it starts to slump down her leg, you just pull it back up.

We promise to have an entire line of Medical Grade Soccer Socks out soon. Available in festive colors, adorable patterns, and some that look like sexy, fishnet stocking-clad legs. Stay tuned.