In which our family has a string of bad luck
It has been a long, hard week. You don't realize how happy you are to have a dog with a properly working anus until you have a dog that doesn't. Let me tell you, it is no fun. We had a couple of instances during the week where I was more intimately acquainted with his butt than I care to be. Not only did I have to check his butt sutures daily, but I was often having to check to make sure that poop wasn't poking out, since it hurt him to poop and he would wait until the last second when it was almost too late. I'm happy to report that his butt is now working a lot better, and we are very thankful to the Butt Gods. They have been good to us.
However. . .
The most HORRIFIC THING ever also happened to the poor dog this week, and it was just so awful, given everything he has already been through. Dogs are so trusting and stupid, and they think that everything that happens is just their fate to endure. Anyway, before I get ahead of myself, what happened was that on Saturday morning, while I was busy getting ready to depart for Lummi Island, I noticed that Atticus was acting very strange. He was hopping around the kitchen in this spastic way and he kept lying down and then getting up in a jerky manner and then lying down again. I thought this was his painful incarnation of the poop dance, so I rushed to leash him up to take him outside for a poop. He was happy to go out, but he only continued to lie down and get up again, in a crazy sort of way. I then noticed that he was trembling all over, and I reflected on how he had been especially depressed during the last couple of days, and how he hadn't eaten very well either. At that moment, Bob arrived with my brother, who was driving up with me to the island. I commented to Bob about how weird Addy was being, but we dismissed it as ouchy butt. Then Bob noticed a spot of blood on his leg, and then I remembered how he had been incessantly licking a spot on his bed (dogs like to lick blood). THEN my brother Schuyler noticed that his collar seemed bloody too. I stooped down to get a better look at his neck. I pulled his Elizabethan Collar (a plastic cone worn to keep him from biting at his sutures) away a bit and ALMOST PUKED. It had been tied on with gauze by someone at the hospital, and the gauze had sawn away at his tender throat until there was a would about six inches long and three quarters of an inch deep, as though someone had taken a switchblade to his throat. My first thought was that he was nearly decapitated and was going to die and I panicked and chased down Bob (who was already in his car to go back to work) and cut off the offending collar and gauze and sent Schuyler and Bob to our regular vet (as opposed to our butt vet), which is only a few blocks away. Luckily, it was "only" a flesh wound, but the dog has the most grisly line of sutures and scabs on his neck now, in addition to having baboon butt. I just feel SO GUILTY that I didn't know he was suffering like that, probably since we brought him home from the hospital, and I'm also angry that he didn't whine or SOMETHING to let us know he was in pain. Of course, we are also PISSED at the surgical animal hospital, for being so negligent. How could they tie something on so tightly that it would saw away at flesh? I just imagine myself being in my poor dog's place, having something cut away at me and not being able to say anything about it, all the while having a swollen butt, and it is so depressing. I guess I'm glad I'm not a dog.
The weird thing about that 24 hour period though was all the bad things that happened to our family. My brother's car broke down on the way up here and my dad had to drive three hours to fetch him, our dog's throat was slit, and then my mom's bicycle was stolen out of our garage. All was resolved, but what is the universe trying to tell us, huh?
However. . .
The most HORRIFIC THING ever also happened to the poor dog this week, and it was just so awful, given everything he has already been through. Dogs are so trusting and stupid, and they think that everything that happens is just their fate to endure. Anyway, before I get ahead of myself, what happened was that on Saturday morning, while I was busy getting ready to depart for Lummi Island, I noticed that Atticus was acting very strange. He was hopping around the kitchen in this spastic way and he kept lying down and then getting up in a jerky manner and then lying down again. I thought this was his painful incarnation of the poop dance, so I rushed to leash him up to take him outside for a poop. He was happy to go out, but he only continued to lie down and get up again, in a crazy sort of way. I then noticed that he was trembling all over, and I reflected on how he had been especially depressed during the last couple of days, and how he hadn't eaten very well either. At that moment, Bob arrived with my brother, who was driving up with me to the island. I commented to Bob about how weird Addy was being, but we dismissed it as ouchy butt. Then Bob noticed a spot of blood on his leg, and then I remembered how he had been incessantly licking a spot on his bed (dogs like to lick blood). THEN my brother Schuyler noticed that his collar seemed bloody too. I stooped down to get a better look at his neck. I pulled his Elizabethan Collar (a plastic cone worn to keep him from biting at his sutures) away a bit and ALMOST PUKED. It had been tied on with gauze by someone at the hospital, and the gauze had sawn away at his tender throat until there was a would about six inches long and three quarters of an inch deep, as though someone had taken a switchblade to his throat. My first thought was that he was nearly decapitated and was going to die and I panicked and chased down Bob (who was already in his car to go back to work) and cut off the offending collar and gauze and sent Schuyler and Bob to our regular vet (as opposed to our butt vet), which is only a few blocks away. Luckily, it was "only" a flesh wound, but the dog has the most grisly line of sutures and scabs on his neck now, in addition to having baboon butt. I just feel SO GUILTY that I didn't know he was suffering like that, probably since we brought him home from the hospital, and I'm also angry that he didn't whine or SOMETHING to let us know he was in pain. Of course, we are also PISSED at the surgical animal hospital, for being so negligent. How could they tie something on so tightly that it would saw away at flesh? I just imagine myself being in my poor dog's place, having something cut away at me and not being able to say anything about it, all the while having a swollen butt, and it is so depressing. I guess I'm glad I'm not a dog.
The weird thing about that 24 hour period though was all the bad things that happened to our family. My brother's car broke down on the way up here and my dad had to drive three hours to fetch him, our dog's throat was slit, and then my mom's bicycle was stolen out of our garage. All was resolved, but what is the universe trying to tell us, huh?
posted by mariko at 4:51 PM
3 Comments:
who took your mom's bike? you said all was resolved...d
Some kids from the reservation across the way took it out of the garage while the garage door was open at Lummi. Luckily my uncle noticed it was missing when he got back, and he and my aunt called the ferry and asked the ferry workers if they saw anyone down there riding the bike. It was pretty stupid of those kids to steal that bike because it is a recumbent tricycle and thus pretty unusual and attention getting. So the ferry workers stopped them and my uncle went to retrieve the bike so all was well. Except the kids managed to run away when they got to the other side.
Remember when you guys were thinking about getting a dog and I said "Don't do it! It will be the biggest mistake you ever make!" Well, at least you don't have two of the monsters (like us stoopids). So my advice to you is this. DON'T EVER GET ANOTHER DOG!!!!!
Love, Noble
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