Worry
Oy, so OY. Many of you know this thanks to Twitter, but … oh man. Sunny. MAN. I didn’t know they were such high strung little beings, I really didn’t. And you know, all those people who tell you that having a dog is NOTHING like having a baby, let me just say that my dog has been exactly like a child, when it comes to the ass-pain factor. In the last six months, I’ve had more than one sleepless night thanks to the little shit darling, and look, I’m down with my kid pulling this stuff, but my dog is a grown-up. A GROWN-UP. For goodness’ sake, she’s 34 in dog years! She’s MY AGE. The prime of her life!
AND YET.
Without killing you with detail, she had some bloody, uh, stuff, the other night. Then, suddenly it was all blood, and my entryway looked like a small family of rabbits was murdered and then stealthily eaten in their entirety by some kind of predator. At that point, I realized that perhaps the emergency vet might be a good idea, because, well, that’s not normal. It was decided that I would go, because I am totally not grossed out by anything, as it turns out, even copious amounts of blood shooting from my dog’s ass. Even when it gets on my HANDS, for chrissake, it seems I just CARRY ON.
It’s good to learn about yourself, I think.
The vet is in Waltham, which is a large-ish town that is both nice in areas and SO COMPLETELY SKETCHY in others (not unlike the town where I reside, frankly), and while I was thrilled to find out I was in the mostly un-sketchy area of Waltham, I was NOT thrilled to find out that even if an emergency vet clinic is located next to David Ortiz’s house in tony Weston, there will be the sketchiest people you’ve ever seen in your life in there. My GOD, people. There was yelling! Hysteria! BLOOD! Dog blood! Scary people looking VERY ANGRY and like they’re about to cut a bitch! A totally thuggy and terrifying bald white dude who looked like he was THISCLOSE to joining the nearest Nazi organization, if his tattoos were any indication, was in with his girlfriend, her mother and their (oh I am sorry to say this, as I hate stereotyping dogs) pit bull, who had, as it turned out, bitten his fourth victim. Police were involved. Euthanasia was recommended.
WAILING ENSUED. At one point, the girlfriend ran out of the clinic screaming, “BABY MURDERERS!” which, when you think about it, is a bit ironic considering that it was HER dog who bit a kid and … well, there’s no use nitpicking now, is there? Two other dogs came in, one bleeding, one having a seizure, and by this point, Sunny had bled all over the floor and OH, I WAS DONE. SO DONE. What started out feeling like a little kid-free vacation (how sad that a waiting room now holds allure) was quickly turning into a bloody nightmare, and seriously, who expects this at an emergency vet?
Oh, well, as it turns out, apparently everyone knows that they’re scary but me. Lesson learned.
The net/net of all this is that my dog, MY DOG, has stress-induced ulcerative colitis. And while I’m ready to admit that an interstate move is probably stressful on a dog, I am not yet ready to fully grasp how I am supposed to reduce the stress of this dog’s life, which is what the vet tasked us with. Come on. OH COME ON.
Would the lady of the house desire a manicure? Would she prefer fresh beef instead of kibble?
Seriously, people. Seriously! What am I to do? What kind of DOG gets … colitis? FROM STRESS.
I … I’m lost here. And yet, I also feel terrible for Sunny, getting herself worked up into such a state that she just POOPS BLOOD. It’s the lawnmowing that really does her in, is the thing. And yet, short of getting blackout shades on all the doors and windows, I cannot shield her from this reality. REALITY IS HARD, SUNNY. GRASS GROWS.
In other news, swimming lessons for Sam went reasonably well, despite all of my anxiety — we were at a low-grade whimper throughout, but there was no all-out screaming, and for that, I am grateful, and consider it a rousing success.
Gym class, however, took a terrible turn for the worse, when a Russian newcomer spied Sam’s toddler-walk, declared her pigeon-toed, and announced in a heavy accent that “She vill neet leck bresses! From HEEP TO VAIST! That child EES PEEJUN-TOAD! Is VEDDY VEDDY DANGERUSS!”
And then she kind of left. Which was awesome. Thanks, angry Russian Gym Grandmother! We’re all over that shit!
(Except not really, because Sam just learned to walk two months ago, and this is totally normal and FOR THE LOVE, LADY. FOR THE LOVE.)
Happy Thursday!
*Widespread Panic
38 comments July 7th, 2010