Another Reason I Hate Mail

Apparently my dog Gus believes that the mailman is here to kill us. Daily. Can you imagine having that blinding anxiety arrive every single day at 4:00 p.m.?

Yesterday, in his usual late afternoon frenzy, Gus actually crashed through my glass front door with a head butt, followed by what he must have been thinking was the lead-off for a triple lutz, but actually resulted in a lacerated artery and a torn leg tendon. The bathroom, after a vain attempt at stopping the bleeding in the bathtub, looked like a Hitchcockian murder scene.

And so we loaded up the Cedes and took Gussie to the Animal ER. (Have I mentioned that my car is white? Well, not anymore.) The animal hospital on Lake City Way is open 24 hours and filled with human and animal loving people - once you get past the shape-shifting bull terrier receptionist, who shouts out well-rehearsed questions with hostile indifference and appears unhappy with the answers to all. She obviously doesn't want you there and certainly doesn't want you bleeding on her linoleum.

Can I just stop here for a minute and say that I really wanted her to like me. WTF? I actually worked at it, compliments and all, and finally pulled back with the thought occurring that perhaps I need to step up my AlAnon meetings.

Anyway, all she said specific to our situation was, "Well he sure did a number on that flipping leg!" and hauled him off to the back room. Needless to say, I did not find any comfort in this opening number to the Summertime For Gusgus musical and asked her meekly several times if I could go back and check on my dog. "No Civilians Allowed" was barked back at me and I took this sitting down for a couple of hours, until I finally got my New York back up and demanded to see the doctor.

I finally got to see the vet and immediately regretted it, as he had me sign $1,200 dollars worth of papers and leave Gus overnight for surgery. Upsetting to say the least, first because Gus is my nearest and dearest dogpal and second because they don't take foodstamps and that's all I have.

So I had to leave him there in the care of the lycanthrope and her band of happy vets and hope for the best. It was hard to sleep without Gus's snoring, but I did it, and got up early to pick him up. Apparently last night after surgery, he came up out of the anesthesia so quickly that he began to kick out and now, of course, he has stitches and a cast on his back leg too. His whole right side, back and front, is wrapped in really fun, neon-colored doggy cast material, and the front one has a waterproof stump cover on it for rainy day potty breaks. Wow. That was an extra $46. Plus the supply of four medications and the overnight boarding.


Now I just have to feed him pills and keep him "quiet" for six weeks. Riiiiiiight.

Today I am grateful to still have a sense of humor.