The day appears to be ending on an up note. I have decided not to take Stella, one of the 8 week old chihuahua mixes to the emergency vet in order to pay $75 to be told that she needs to rest and to watch out for any worsening of her injury. The injury. Ah, yes. I was getting their food ready, and that in itself is a bloody drama in my household because as I yank the pull can lid off the canned food which I add to their dry kibble, the entire household converges on the kitchen and begins to jostle for position. So I was getting the puppies food ready, and that also poses some problems as Dolly is one of those picky eaters who grabs one kibble and takes it to her room (metaphorically speaking) for half an hour while she chews 150 times as instructed to do in the Holistic Dog magazine she subscribes to, and the others are either not happy with seeing their reflection in the metal shiny bowls, or are freaked out by the white porcelain of the other plates, so you get the idea that mealtime is dreaded by me even though I get entirely neurotic if I think they aren't eating enough kibble and putting on the requisite ounces every week when they go to get weighed at the vet. On Thursdays. I am nothing if not a protective Jewish butch.
So, I'm grappling with the can and I lose my grip on the remarkably heavy teaspoon I am holding and I watch it freefall through the air towards the pups, lying happily in their dog bed. It was one of those slow motion moments as the inevitable happens and the next thing I know is that Stella starts screaming, running for the door and tripping down the stairs into the garden, howling in pain as a bump starts poking up through that black furrowed brow over the cute little tan eyebrow. The others start howling in sympathy, the mother dog bites my ankle, Riley hides in horror, Allie makes a beeline for the injured pup, Roo starts yelling epithets at me and Target never takes her eye off the kitchen counter and the teetering can of food....it was not one of my best moments in my five weeks of caring for these miraculous survivors of human neglect.
Finally I managed to lift her from the gravel in the yard, she was shaking like a chihuahua on ice, and I felt like a total and complete bastard. This on top of the fact that they had their first vaccine on Thursday, the first invasive assault on their perfect little bodies. But Stella, even with the ugly lump on her head, wagged her tail at me while I hand fed her and then went and bit Vincent in the gut.
After walking my dogs in the park, I came home to find Stella a little lethargic - not surprising, she has a freakin' bump on her head. I called the emergency vet hoping for some 'take two aspirin and call me in the morning' type of advice but of course was told I had to rush there immediately. Which I won't do. I will probably be up every two hours to shake her awake which is what you are supposed to do to people with possible concussion. As it is, I slept on the leather couch in my office last night (there were two many damn dogs on my bed and no I couldn't kick them off), and tonite I may well find myself curled up on the kitchen floor staring at her till daybreak.
But the day is really ending on an up note. I am not telling you any of the nasty death and destruction tales that have tormented me this past week (but tomorrow is another day, another blog), and Susie just called excitedly from her job to tell me she got hit on by a very attractive younger woman.
oh dear
Posted by: susie | August 03, 2010 at 12:45 AM