Friday, September 2, 2011

And we're off to the vet. Again. Pt3

Pt. 2 Here.  Read on for Pt. 3



Yep!  That fucking dog ran out of the cage.

Not only did he run out of the cage, but, he was jumping all over the place. I looked over at the nurse, shrugged and smiled sheepishly.  I swear I heard that dog sing “Hello, my baby. Hello, my honey.  Hello, my ragtime gal…” as he went to greet each and every dog, like he was running for mayor of Dogtown.

“It’s ok.”  The nurse tried to comfort me in my embarrassment.  “It’s probably a rush of adrenaline.”

“It better be.”  I muttered.  “And there better be something wrong with that dog.  Or he’s D E D, dead.”

                                                                                    ***

The nurse led us to an available examination room.  Now a little known fact about my dog is… He doesn’t like to be examined.  At all.  He’s not what you call a “calm dog”.  Especially when it comes to other dogs.  He doesn’t have any dog social skills, any dog etiquette.  He’s been hanging around us humans for too long.  So, when he comes across other dogs…he’s a real nut. 

The nurse attempted to take his vitals.  Talk about a comedy scene.    First it was the scale.  Yea, right. He doesn’t sit.  At all.  Oh…he’ll sit when you tell him too.  But when the stink of other animals is around?  Forget about it.  All bets are off.  All reason escapes his tiny dog brain.  The dog ended up weighing in between 9 and 30 pounds.  Depending on how much pressure I was putting on him to sit the fuck still!

I got to hand it to the nurse.  She was persistent.  She measured, poked, prodded all the while the dog is doing the Batusi on the stainless steel exam table.  His claws clicking and scraping, a noise very reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard.  If it were me?  I would’ve walked the hell out of there.  But, the big guy must’ve have granted this saint of a nurse the patience of Solomon, whoever the hell he is…


                                                            

                                                         I don’t mean this Solomon, either

“Ok.”  The nurse said, finishing up the “exam”.  “The doctor will be with you shortly.”  And with that, the dog leapt off the table and was back smelling up the floor like he hadn’t just smelled it up 30 seconds prior.

A few moments later, the Vet came in.  And the stupid dog jumped on the chair next to the exam table, then off the chair.  Then on.  Then off.  Then cartwheels here, back flips there.  “Hi.”  She said nicely taking in the high wire act the dog was now performing.  “How’s Snowflake?”

I smiled, nodding over at the dog.  “He appears to be fine.”  Much to my chagrin.  I ran through the story.  Again. 

                                                                                




“Okay, then.”  The doctor said, picking the mutt off the floor and putting him on the exam table.  More nails on chalk board. She held him tight with one hand has she pulled his legs this way and that.  Nothing.  With a quick switch, the Vet put the dog between her forearms and grabbed his head with both hands.  She turned it to the left, then back to center. “Good” She said aloud.  She then turned his head to the right and WHAM!  The dog screeched like a baby seal getting clubbed.  Not that I know what it sounds like when a baby seal get clubbed.  “Well…”  She said, letting him go.  He immediately jumped the three feet off the table to continue vacuuming the linoleum floor with his nose.  “He definitely has some sort of trauma to his neck.” 

            
                                                                        Clubbin’

She ran through some probable causes.  Thankfully she didn’t mention the high wire act from a moment ago.  “I don’t think there’s much to be concerned about.”  She said smiling as the dog walked across the ceiling.  “He seems fine otherwise.  To be sure, though, I’ll give him a shot for the pain, which will probably make him sleepy the rest of the day.  And I’ll give you an oral steroid and some additional pain meds if he needs it.  Also,” She continued.  “Two weeks of rest. No running.  No jumping.  Just rest.”

I stared blankly at her while the dog did another triple lindy off the counter behind her.  “No jumping?  You kidding?  Did you just see what he did?  Lady…you don’t know this dog.  That’s all he does is jump.”

                                                                                ***

I swear to all that’s holy…there’s only gonna be one more part to this story.  To make you feel better, I can say there’s a big pay off at the end…but, then I’d be lying.  And liars never prosper.

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