Archive | October, 2013

Stitches In, Stitches Out

21 Oct

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Recall from my last blog how I had to make a little trip to the vet. I left the office with a tummy full of stitches. Okay, six to be exact. But hey it’s my tummy. What goes in must come out. And today was the day. I wasn’t exactly in a cooperative mood to say the least. All day long Mr. and Mrs. human tried to quiet me down, patting me on the head, blowing sweet nothings into my ear. I wasn’t having a bit of it. Every time they got me in position to attempt to remove one of my stitches, I squirmed and clawed like there was no tomorrow.

By the end of the day, Mr. and Mrs. human had enough of my victories. So they called in a ringer. The Vet. You may remember him from the Mystery Solved! Part 1 blog. I barked like crazy when he showed up. “Hey, no fair. You can’t bring in a professional. I want to call my PETA lawyer.” My barks went unheeded. Well, The Vet made nice and all. Let me sniff his hand, but I was still leery of what was coming my way. After the niceties were out of the way, we got down to brass tacks. I was put on a table, but not before The Vet managed to tie a nice little muzzle around my snout. En garde. The battle was on.IMG_3157

And boy was it ever. First, he sprayed my tummy with a numbing solution. And nicely rubbed my tummy. But, when those medical scissors came out I knew I was in for it. I should stop and mention at this point I was outnumbered, four humans to me. Neighbor Alan, and he always had been so nice to me, was whispering to me and taking photos! Okay, they were blog-worthy in the end. Mrs. human was near my back side and Mr. human had me by the leash. Then the first snip. Ow! I jumped and squirmed all over that table. I think Mr. human muttered something about a sissy. Or was it pissy? Okay, so I wet the table. Big deal. For not tipping the scales at quite 30 pounds, I was a cantankerous ball of jumping wiggling energy. At the end of round three, they only managed to get one stitch out. Ha!

This went on for a while until I heard a frustrated Mr. human tell The Vet, “Knock her out.” I quickly scanned for rubber mallets. None in sight. But The Vet drew out a not so friendly looking syringe. Man that hurt. Right into the muscle in my rear leg. I whimpered and squirmed. Mrs. human had sympathy whimpers. But before I knew it I was milquetoast personified. The next five stitches came out in 2 minutes or less. I, however, did not come out of it for another hour or so.

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I did have one moral victory. The Vet said I was the only dog he ever had to sedate in order to get the stitches out. Score one for the Pepper. Mr. human said he was thankful I wasn’t a Great Dane. Mrs. human had a whiskey.

Ms. Pepper

16 Oct

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I’m back from my secret mission. I am excited to tell you about it. But, I sort of got waylaid with a medical situation. It seems, from what Mr. and Mrs. human said, I am no longer a puppy. I am a young lady. I wondered what the sudden fuss was about from all the boy dogs. Who knew!? So I had a trip to the doctor.

It all started innocently enough. One day I was having a great time practicing the purple ball with Mr. human, and the next I’m up bright and early heading for the SUV with my crate in the back. I didn’t like the looks of this. Was I being sent back to the orphanage? So, I wiggled and squirmed until Mrs. human managed to get me into the crate and zipped in. Did I mention they didn’t even give me breakfast either? Traveling on an empty stomach is not my forte, especially on a winding mountain road. I am prone to motion sickness. By the time we arrived at the doc’s office, the same office where I had been handed over to Mr. and Mrs. human, I left what had been in my tummy in the crate. Little did I realize my day wasn’t getting better.

Once inside, I was put into an iron crate along with the other inmates. Good news was that the place didn’t look a thing like Stephen King’s Green Mile, so I breathed a sigh of relief there. I could hear Mrs. human talking in the lobby. Then, I heard the SUV start up and drive away. This was not a good thing. I was getting a bit of doggy depression. However, a while later, a nice lady came in to get me. Ha, I was getting special treatment. Eat your heart of out inmate doggies. I discovered special is not always better mind you. I got a shot. Woopsy! The next thing I knew I was back in the iron crate, totally spaced out. All the other inmates were gone. I was the last dog standing.  Looking out through the bars, I had no idea what happened to me. Had I been abducted by alien cats in a UFO and experimented on? I looked down. I had the incision. Maybe this place was not a vet’s office after all, but a space portal for those cat beings Oopsy Woofwoof warned me about.

Before I could sort this out in my foggy state of mind, Mr. and Mrs. human appeared, rescued me and took me home. The drive home was a blur, except now and then I’d howl with unexpected pain for a few seconds. Then, it was gone. This unnerved Mrs. human to no end. The vet got a couple of phone calls and an email. Apparently, I was given a quick acting anesthetic so I could go home the same day, which when wearing off, has these effects. It’s par for the course. Yet, I’ve heard golfers get this same pain when they don’t get par for the course. Life is weird.

Back at home that evening, I was still a bit loopy. Not making sense of this yet, I reverted to natural instinct, which, by the way, drove Mrs. human frenetic. It was a rainy, dark night, too, which added to the drama. With the discomfort I was feeling, I looked for all my familiar haunts. I tried to get under the outdoor sofa, a favourite place, but my posture and stitches wouldn’t quite let me get there. I had a hunched back, got into a downward dog position, with my tail hanging low. And as if to punctuate my alternating chemically induced euphoria/depression, I’d have a couple seconds of whiny crying. When this happened, I thought for sure Mrs. human was on the verge of becoming psychotic. Anyway, I eventually settled for lying down and sticking my head under the sofa. That worked for a while. Restless, I got up and moved under the dining table. My portable travel crate had little appeal at this time, even cleaned up.

Mr. human kept reassuring Mrs. human that this was normal behaviour on my part. I have to admit, I was hurting, but Mr. human was right. I just wanted to get my own space away from EVERYONE. I needed some time alone. My Bones N’ Crate book, Medical Analysis and Weird Doggy Behavior said my actions were 100% normal. But Mrs. Florence Nightingale was determined to keep an eye on me no matter what. So, I decided to change venues. I got up, and hobbled in the rain and in the darkness, which I never do I might add, out to my cabin in the yard. This heightened Mrs. human’s anxiety exponentially. Risking underlying disease, I dug up a little fresh dirt, and plopped myself and my stitches into it. Despite my hypodermic shot of antibiotic, this had the effect of freaking out Mrs. human. Freakityemphysema is the correct medical term according to my Bones N’ Crate’s book, Medical Analysis and Weird Owner Behavior. It said this behavior is mostly exhibited by female owners, but not so much with the males. In the pouring rain, she’s out there trying to wedge a clean towel between me and the mud-dirt, which hurt. I let out a yelp. Clearly frustrated as to what she should do, I decided I should get into the dog house … in the back corner and curl up. So I did. Finally, Mrs. human relented.

But not for long I suspected. I heard her telling Mr. human during the trip home she was concerned that I might try to remove the stitches on my own. Having adult teeth in place, that sounded good to me. I was not prepared for what she proposed next. A satellite dish! Really?! Why not a couple antennas too? This way, I can reach Oopsy Woofwoof whenever I wish. I’m too embarrassed to show my face. Put one on and you go to work. Still funny? She also mentioned something about a robe. A robe and a satellite dish? Why stop there? Maybe glue some feathers to it while you’re at it. And booties so I can’t claw the stitches off. Those red slipper jobs from Aladdin’s lamp and his flying carpet should do the trick. I give up.DSC_0339_2DSC_0431_2

Through all this, Mr. human understood that I was operating on natural instincts. And by morning, I’d be as normal as one can be given the circumstances. He was right. But it didn’t help that while Mrs. human was out at midnight in the drenching rain with towel in hand, worrying to no end, Mr. human was snoring away, dry and comfortable as can be.

In the morning, Mrs. human was up dark and early. I was back in the crate by then feeling much better. But I was still in the BACK of the crate with Mrs. human at my door. At least she didn’t have a towel in hand. After a broken night’s sleep, she had made me some breakfast, eggs and rice. She was trying to coax me out, but I wouldn’t budge. A short while later, Mr. human arose from his cozy bed and appeared at my crate. I wagged my tail, got up, walked out of my crate and and enthusiastically greeted him like a long lost friend. Pardon the language, but after all Mrs. human had put herself through on my behalf, she was #&*#%^&@% upset. Hey, it’s just my natural instinct to acknowledge alpha dog.

It’s nice to be back.