Welcome to my running commentary on life.

Welcome to my running commentary on life.

Monday, August 22, 2011

A Twenty Pound Dog in a Ten Pound Body.


That’s what we had.  If you’ve ever seen a Bichon Frise, you’d know that they look like powder puffs with legs.  Our powder puff was now ten months old and time for her to get her “big girl” shots. 

The appointment was set for Friday afternoon.  As luck would have it, I had Friday afternoon off.  Cool.  A full afternoon to torture the dog, run errands, and write. 

The dog didn’t take it so well.  Poor little Lucy loves to go bye-bye.  When I came home to get her, she was thrilled.  She pranced into the vet’s office like she owned the place, even trying to bully the resident pets in the little room. 

They were unimpressed.

Then it was her turn to go into the back room.  By the time the third needle was jabbed into her skin, she was looking at me with horror in her little black eyes.  “What are you doing to me?  What did I do wrong?  I promise I won’t steal anymore underwear, just let me live.”  That’s what she was saying with her pained expression.

The man squirted something up her nose and something else down her throat.  I asked, “Are you sure you’re not overloading her little system?”

“Nah,” he said.  “She might be a little slow tomorrow, but after that, she’ll be fine.”

When he pulled out another syringe, she was done.  Just as she’d seen her nemesis, Fuzzball the cat do on the furniture at home, she started to claw her way up my body.  By the time she reached my shoulder, he had stuck her again.  This time she wasn’t begging for deliverance.  This time she was angry and that anger was directed at me.

The man pulled out a treat for her, but she refused, sticking her nose in the air as if his hand were covered in so much cat pooh.  If she could have verbalized, I’m sure she would have told the whole lot of us where to get off.

As I went to pay the bill, I showed the receptionist how matted her fine coat was and explained I was looking for a good groomer to give her a nice summer cut.  Well, the woman quickly volunteered her services and the appointment was set for Monday.  (I should add that I had taken Monday off as well.  The last thing I wanted to do was run more errands, but so many things needed to be done.)

Saturday came and with it, our local farmer’s market.  Streets are cordoned off every weekend and stands set up where you can buy almost any produce that’s in season, as well as dog treats, handmade soaps, creams, elixirs, flowers, herbs, and anything else you couldn’t possibly live without.  It’s a fine time to take your dog for a walk and commune with the townsfolk. 

At first, Lucy was excited.  Then the heat got to her.  I told myself it was just that thick winter coat she was still sporting.  That had to be it, right?  Just the same, we cut the shopping short when she looked as if she might be in trouble.

When we got her home, she seemed well enough.  The next day was much the same.  She drank a lot, slept more than usual and didn’t play much, but that’s to be expected, right?

Wrong.

Monday arrived and I took the dog back to the vet’s office for her grooming.  Then it was back to the house, clean the place and make it ready for the insurance estimator.  Seems the “harmless” plumbing mishap of last year had left its mark on all the floors in the house.  They were disintegrating. 

After Super Insurance Dude was gone, it was back to the vet’s to get the dog.  Lucy was very glad to see me, or at least the tiny wiggly mutt they held out to me was.  I brought in a beautiful powder puff.  What they handed back looked like nature’s cruel joke on dogs.  No, worse than that, she looked like a caricature of a stick figure—done in pink and white.

And she was upset.  Boy!  Was she upset—and embarrassed.  The poor pooch didn’t even want to go outside.  If she could have found a hole to crawl into, or a towel to wrap about her nude body, she surely would have.  She wouldn’t even look at the two other doggies there.  The poor animal was mortified and only spared me one glance, once she knew she was safe again.  It was a killing look, laced with daggers and venom.  She was promising that I would get mine. 

She whined all the way home.  I thought it was because she was so upset, but when I put my hand on her to calm her down, I could feel the heat coming off her.  She was burning up.  When I got her in the house, she drank a bowlful of water and cried for more.  Once she’d had her fill, she seemed cooler and much happier. 

Most puppy owners know that when your dog drinks that much, a trip outdoors is warranted—and straight away.  It was bus time anyway, so I put her out.  She gave me that killing look again and quickly hid her nakedness under the parked truck in the drive.  She glanced back at me as if to say, “If anyone sees me, I’ll never forgive you.”

I was highly amused.

The bus pulled up and I waited at the door to see the expression on my daughter’s face.  Lucy crawled from under the truck with her head down, her little tail barely wagging and a foul glance back at me.

Pat the bus driver lost it.  He laughed so hard he was incapacitated.  As the bus sat idling in front of my house with the sounds of laughter coming from the bus windows and doors, the dog shot me another venomous look and went to greet the princess.

At first, my daughter thought she was some cute stray until Lucy jumped up at her.  That’s when her eyes almost bugged out.  She immediately bundled the embarrassed little dog in her arms and ran for the house. 

A few minutes later, when I looked out the window, Pat wiped tears from his eyes, closed the bus door and pulled away.  He was still laughing, but had managed to regain his ability to drive.

Poor Lucy.

At dinner time, Lucy started hacking.  Hard.  Her tiny body was wracked with vicious choking and coughing.  I thought it would pass, but it didn’t.

Two hours later, she was running a fever again.  I fed her a couple of pieces of Pedialite Popsicle and that seemed to help, but she was still coughing.  It got worse as the night went on.  By midnight, I knew there was no way she would be alive in the morning.  Out of desperation, I gave her a baby-sized dose of kid’s Motrin.  It was all I could think of.  The sad thing was quivering, gasping for breath and hacking her life away.

I was up most of the night, worried, checking on her, hoping…My worst nightmare would be if my daughter were to get up and find the pup already in rigor, so there was no sleep for me. 

When I got up at six to check on her again, her little was tail wagging, her black eyes shining.  I didn’t know whether to hug her or to punish her.  She still wasn’t herself, but she was much improved.

Tonight, she was back to normal.  By that I mean, we were chasing her through the house trying to get the stolen underwear out of her mouth, admonishing her for chewing on the girl’s new sandals and listening to the sounds of her old nemesis, Fuzzball, being tormented into a full-blown hissy. 

It’s good to have her back.  I think I’ll go to bed now.  Tomorrow, I’m going to call that vet and let him have it.  Never will he ever again have the chance to make my dog sick.  It was all too much for her little system.

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