Here’s a truth that should be universally acknowledged: When you have pets, you have drama.
Especially when you have MY pets.
Wednesday morning I was in the kitchen trying to extricate myself from the obscene number of vegetables our garden has produced this summer by making a huge pot of tomato sauce. So there I was, literally up to my elbows in tomatoes, when I heard Princeton P. Kitty tear across the living room at top speed.
This was followed closely by the sound of Sassy and Bubba tearing across the living room at top speed…
Followed even more closely by the sound of loud threats and an irate, sauce-covered woman storming into the living room at a slightly slower pace.
Which is when I found Sassy lying on the floor, whimpering in pain and unable to put any weight on her back foot.
As near as we can figure, she jumped off the back of the couch in the manner of Super Dog in some bizarre attempt to catch the cat.
But she’s not cut out for the doggy Olympics because she clearly didn’t stick the landing,
Anyway, in case you have never met me, I should mention that these are not situations I take with stoicism and calm. I prefer to call Opie at work, scream hysterically, and then rush to the vet’s in a panic—caring not at all that the vet’s office wasn’t officially open yet.
The rest of the morning went something like this:
7:45 Arrive at vet’s office, hoping that vet has arrived early and will be able to see whimpering dog immediately.
7:50 Learn that vet has arrived early but is performing surgery and will not leave other dog on the operating table. Pretend to be understanding but secretly consider bursting into surgery and shoving own dog into vet’s face while screaming things like “Help us, for the love of heaven, help us!”
7:51 Pretend to agree with vet tech that heading to emergency vet is best option. Jump back in car and start hysterical journey across town.
7:55 Scream profanity at idiot woman on cellphone who careened across 2 lanes of traffic, nearly smashing into own car.
7:56 Become idiot woman on cellphone as attempt to call family and friends to shriek about dog and other idiot driver.
7:57 Realize that in dramatic exit from home, left tomato sauce boiling on the stove. Have horrified vision of losing other two pets, not to mention entire house, in a sauce explosion.
7:58 Try to say every curse word have ever heard, pull up in front of house, slam car into park and begin running across dew-soaked lawn at top speed. Nearly dislocate own knee in process as flip-flops, water, and running are a poor combination. Kick off shoes, finish run in bare feet. Turn off sauce, fly back to car, jump back out to grab shoes, and drive to emergency clinic like a maniac.
8:10 Get to emergency vet…which is only a problem because it sometimes takes new people awhile to really appreciate the mysterious ball of emotions that is Kimberly. The emergency vet was DEFINITELY one of those people. Our conversation went a little like this:
Vet: Unfortunately, her knee is completely dislocated. If you feel right here—
Me: I don’t want to feel it.
Vet: But you’ll be able to feel how far out of position—
Me: I believe you; I don’t need to feel it.
Vet: I just want you to see that it’s completely—
Me: Seriously, I’m about to vomit.
And, fortunately for everyone involved, he believed me and stopped trying to convince me that I should immerse myself in some sort of sick doggy torture and began to explain that the knee would need surgical repair. I agreed, he said I should make an appointment to get that done in the next few days, and then he made the fatal mistake of acting as if that was all.
Me: So, she’ll get surgery in a couple of days but what about TODAY? What are we going to do TODAY?
Vet: We can’t fix it today; it’s so far out of position—
Me: So, we’re just going to do NOTHING? We’re going to let this poor little dog sit around in EXCRUCIATING PAIN for the next two days? IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK WE’RE GOING TO DO?
I don’t know if that’s originally what he thought, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t think so once I started yelling and waving my arms in the air.
It’s probably a bit of a miracle that he didn’t try to sedate both of us.
And I have to say, Opie was quite the trooper throughout all this because when I pretended to be a reasonable person and asked “Do we need to talk about how much we’re willing to pay to get this fixed? Do we have a number we won’t go above?” He just rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t know do WE?” and then added “You know you’re going to do it no matter what, so why even debate it?”
The man is wise beyond his years.
So, this knee has been completely reconstructed, the other knee might need surgery in the future, and Sassy has been sentenced to 6-8 weeks of puppy prison.
6-8 weeks of no running, playing, jumping or climbing the stairs….I feel doggy drama, drama, drama coming on.