A diet! Talk about insult to injury. They knock you out, scrape the shit out of your mouth (in her case, literally and figuratively), drug you up on doggy downers and decide you are a sausage.
Let me tell you the tale (or, should I say tail?) of her dental visit.
Seeing as we are still trapped in pandemic times, you don't go in to the vet's office. You sit in your car and talk to them on the phone. A tech eventually comes out to get the dog. They call you when everything is done, which includes the gathering of payment information. A tech eventually brings the dog back out. Done.
Upon arrival at the office, I called to let them know we were in the parking lot. I warned them that Rosita looked like a hot mess and that she'd be going to the groomer in two days. (As a mom, I was embarrassed by the unmade bed, knotted fur kind of look.) The vet tech came out to the car. I hopped out to greet her, mask in place.
Side note: It's really wrong to schedule a dental appointment and the groomer in the same week. Apologies to Rosita.
Me: "Good morning! Hang on--I have two dogs in here." (I had brought Bandido along for the ride, as I thought she might do better with me than staying home alone.)
Tech: "Well, I'm only taking one!" (We both laugh.)
Me: Unable to get Rosita out of the car because Bandido keeps getting in the way.
Me: "Bandido! Knock it off!"
Tech: Waiting...waiting...
Bandido: Jumps out of the car.
Rosita: Hides in the corner of the backseat.
Me: Grab Bandido. Throw her back in the car.
Tech: Waiting... waiting...
Me: Grab Rosita, hand to tech. "She has both her collar and harness on...she's a runner!"
Tech: "I'll just carry her." (Score points for her. Good plan.)
Tech: walks back to the office, Rosita in hand.
Bandido: Screaming. Whining. Barking. SCREAMING!
Me: "Trust me. She'll be back. Enjoy it while you can." We drive away.
A few hours later--MUCH sooner than anticipated--I get a call from the vet's office. It's the tech.
Tech: "Rosita's done!"
Me: "Wow, that was fast! This is a lot earlier than I thought you'd call." I figure they are calling to tell me Rosita is in recovery and she's done with procedure.
Me: Do I need to wait to come get her?"
Tech: "The staff requests you come get her immediately."
Me: Laughs nervously. "So, I should come now." This is a statement, not a question.
Tech: "She's quite the...talker."
Me: I recognize this is code for "this damn dog won't stop barking and whining and she's interrupting our work and scaring all the other animals."
Me: "I'll be there in 15 minutes."
I get there as quickly as possible, calling as I pull into the parking lot. I figure they need to know help has arrived and they are saved from certain doom. The tech answers.
Tech: She did great! We did have to extract a tooth, but otherwise her teeth look great."
Me: Surprised. Her teeth looked like shit when I dropped her off. How could her teeth look great?
The tech and I have a bit of small talk, dental talk, review of health.... and... after a brief pause....
Tech: Rosita weighs 14 pounds--
Me: (interrupts tech) "Wait--what? She weights FOURTEEN pounds?"
Tech: "Yes. The last time she was here she weighed 11 pounds and..."
Me: "She weighs 14 pounds." (A statement, not a question.)
Tech: "Her original weight was 8.9 pounds and the last visit she was 11 pounds..."
Me: "Fourteen pounds." I'm stymied. I knew she had gained weight but this was more than I could have imagined. I've been telling the wife that Rosita has gained weight...
Tech: (Pause) "Eleven pounds is perfect for her."
Me: "She's a sausage! The pandemic hasn't been good to her."
Tech: "It'd be good for her to lose three pounds."
Me: I feel like a terrible mother. "I knew it!"
Tech: "She's quite the chow hound."
Me: (VERY nervously) "She does love to eat." (I think to myself--don't we all?)
Tech: "We gave her some food after the procedure and she gobbled it right down...."
Me: "Oh good! She's eaten. She wasn't happy she didn't get fed this morning..."
Tech: "Then, since there was a little food left over, we gave her that and she gobbled that down, too."
Me: "Oh my. (Nervous laugh.) She does love her food."
Tech: "Are you sure she's not eating Bandido's food, too?"
Me: "I don't think so." (I know that she is NOT eating Bandido's food. In fact, it would be the other way around if we didn't monitor meal time. I have no idea why I didn't just say that wasn't an issue, but I went the don't know route.)
The tech goes on to give me directions about food and aftercare, followed by me paying over the phone. She brings Rosita out, who now looks like an even worse hot mess. I can't help but think about how she is a sausage and that I've done this to her.
Me: "I don't know how to tell her, but she's going on a diet."
I shove her into the car.
Bandido: She's back! Happy, happy, happy, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing.
Rosita: I hate you all.
The tech hands me the pain pills and sends us on our way.
We get home. The chow hound is obviously looking for dinner.
Me: "It's not time for dinner."
Rosita: I hate you. I hate you all.
Have you ever tried to tell a dog they are going on a diet? Those words fall on deaf ears. And, even if those words were heard, they wouldn't be taken seriously by a dog like Rosita. Suffice it to say, she will be bitter. BITTER. This is not going to be taken kindly.
Since the announcement of chow hound status, I've done some research, ordered some new food and announced we need to walk more and be couch potatoes less. We are on Day 2 of the "new and improved" way of eating. Since I know Bandido is also overweight, she's on the same journey. To her, I apologize. It's not her fault her sister got us in this bind. I've heard that given dogs green beans is a great way to help them feel full while eating less, so I'll be looking into that, too.
This is the #1 reason you won't find me going to the doctor anytime soon. I know that I've gained winter/pandemic weight, too. I know that I've been a big couch potato all winter. I know that getting up off the couch and going for a walk will do me a lot of good, too. So, unless my uterus falls out onto the floor or I am in dire need of medical attention that I cannot avoid, I won't be going anywhere near someone who will tell me to step on a scale.
I'm a chow hound, too.
You know.... maybe I should eat some of those green beans, too....
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