Bad, Bad Mama

I am a bad, bad mama.

Please don't call the "Bad Mama Dog Police."

Poor Freckles Warrior Princess. I've been talking about getting her deformed dew claw clipped...I had planned on doing it this week....but, it must have been one day too long, as illustrated by the bleeding of her paw all over the kitchen floor. I tried to see the injury but Freckles had other ideas. I could tell she was in pain, as she kept sticking her paw in the air and waving it like she was bringing in a 747. It was obvious the blood was coming from her dew claw area. I felt bad, bad, bad. I figured it meant that the nail had grown into the skin and now was bleeding.

Did I mention I felt really bad?

The wife and I fretted about a game plan; after all, calling your vet on a Sunday is not exactly an option. I knew that the teenagers at PetSmart wouldn't be able to cut the nail-it's a tricky one and takes two people to do it while at the vet. A search of the phone book led us to the only open place: the animal hospital. Now, I didn't think a bleeding dew claw would be worth an emergency vet visit, but it was certain something had to be done. I called the hospital and the lady confirmed that I should bring Freckles in. Sigh. She warned me it was $85 just to walk in the door.

I realized at this moment that this was going to be the most expensive nail clipping in the history of the Addiverse.

I packed Freckles into the car and we were off to the doggie emergency room, her paw wagging in the air.

Once we got there, I realized that this was REALLY a place for emergencies. I am not exaggerating when I tell you about what transpired while we were there in. I felt really stupid bringing in a dog due to a bleeding dew claw.

The first thing we saw was a little schnauzer who obviously was not feeling well. He kinda looked like Freckles when she was sick two weeks ago--pacing, miserable, shaking. Then, a giant glob of blood SHOT out of the little guy's butt. I'm not talking a little blood. I am talking about pure, liquid blood--and, lots of it. I decided he was a lot sicker than Freckles was when she was vomiting in the puke-a-torium. I picked Freckles up and stayed far away from that little guy. FWP was shaking so hard she was blurry. I squeezed her tighter and assured her everything was all right, even though everything was not all right.

Next, two grown men came out of the exam room. They looked like farmers or hunters or something to do with the rugged outdoors. The younger man had obviously been crying, red eyes giving him away. The shorter, older man (probably his dad) kept saying, "Thank you. Thank you for all you did." It didn't take a brain surgeon to tell their dog had just been put to sleep. They get to the door to leave and the older guy just starts sobbing. Gut-wrenching sobs. He had to stop because he couldn't even walk he was sobbing that hard. I choked back a tear and squeezed Freckles a little tighter. What the hell are we doing here?

The lady sitting next to me explained that her cat had been "in the back" for an hour and a half, something about not being able to pee (the cat, not the lady). She was getting nervous. They called her back and I never saw her again. A little prayer to St. Francis seemed important at that moment.

The next was a giant dog who was hacking like there was no tomorrow--I'd guess kennel cough but who knows--it was awful and loud and echoed through the place. At least that didn't seem too scary, although it was really loud. As the dog was hacking, a frantic call came in--the receptionist was calm and said things like, "now, take a deep breath for me." That can't be good. I began thinking we should just leave and call the regular vet tomorrow, but the assistant came and took Freckles temp and pulse. She thanked me for waiting so patiently. I said, "are you kidding? This is nothing compared to what is going on out there!"

Then....then came in the dog who had just been saved by its owner via mouth to mouth resuscitation. No kidding. The dog had bitten through an electrical cord, literally electrocuted itself and was not breathing, no pulse--and, the husband had gotten down on his hands and knees and brought that dog back to life. The wife was hysterical (understandably) and the man kept trying to calm her down. I sat there in terror and in awe--for god's sake, this man just saved his dog's life! The dog, by the way, walked in under it's own power but I have to say it did look very unsteady on its feet. Swoosh! They swooped the dog away to the back.

I was SOOOO sure we should leave at this point.....but, in walked the vet, a 12 year old female who I thought was the vet tech. I confessed that I felt like a moron for being there; she assured me it was fine that we were there (and why shouldn't it be? That's a lot of cash for two minutes and a clipping of a dew claw). Freckles waved the paw frantically, avoiding all attempts to take a peek at the wound. She took Freckles away, waving paw still in the air, assuring me as she walked down the hall that they would give the dog something for the pain.

As I waited for Frecks, I was "treated" to more of the same: sick dogs, hurt dogs, dead dogs. I got to hear about choices in cremation, how to call the county to dispose of the body, of how to call poison control. This bad, bad mama felt horrible. It really was too much. It took everything in me not to burst into tears. How DO these people do their jobs? They are dog angels in human form.

The vet returned Freckles Warrior Princess to me after only a few minutes, cute little cast covering her paw. (Cute being a relative term: no cast is really cute when you consider there is a reason the cast there.) Um, it wasn't her dew claw digging into her skin like usual--it was that the dew club had RIPPED OFF.

I am such a bad mama I want to throw up.

The vet says to keep a baggie on it when she's outside. I take a baggie out of my pocket (always ready for an unsuspecting poop) and borrow some scotch tape to secure it for our ride home. We are return to our own vet in four or so days. (Ca-ching!) Anti-biotics and a huge vet bill later, we are ready to go. I am more ready to go than necessary, but that's because Freckles has just pooped on me. Really. Pooped out some goo all over my bright yellow coat. I stink. She stinks. I thank to the receptionist and add, "That was the most expensive nail clipping I've ever paid for!" She comments, "Lesson learned."

Indeed.

The Addiverse is an awfully exciting--and expensive--place to be these days. Anyone who would like to make financial contributions to "The Addiverse Dog & Wife Medical fund" may do so at any time. It won't be tax deductible but we promise to use it exclusively toward medical expenses.

Well, that and chocolate.

On a funnier, parting note, we've decided that the wife is getting "spayed." After all, our dogs don't have their parts, so why not call the wife's surgery the same thing? It gives us something to laugh about.

Oh, and Lucy's nails? You bet I'm taking her in this week to get those diddies clipped.