Baby, You're On the Brink
“You are sixteen going on seventeen Baby, it's time to think Better beware be canny and careful Baby, you're on the brink” – Rolf, Sixteen Going on Seventeen by Richard Rodgers
What a week. On Sunday, we enjoyed time outside and then brought the dogs in where they each enjoyed their heartworm prevention. That pill apparently rids your dog of any worms. And by rids, I mean your dog will poop worms. Which is as disgusting as that sounds because what do you know? Georgie had roundworm! Which wriggled out on Monday while he was at dog day care. Dog day care frowns on roundworm so I had to pick him up like he was a kid. I don’t have kids for a reason people – I don’t know how you all do it. I had to drive my dog and his bag of crap to the vet so they could confirm for $68 that I am a Googling genius. I’m super grouchy this week so let me say here – do some people not know how to Google? If I see one more goddamn Facebook request for recommendation, I may lose my shit and say something like, “DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW TO GOOGLE?!” Maybe they do know how to Google and they’re attention whores. I don’t know. I needed a dumpster because I am throwing away all the things here and guess what. Found one. GOOGLE, people. GOO-GUL. Or Yelp. People give you their opinions on anything from hotels, to veterinarians, funeral homes, Whatever. Back to the round worms. Apparently your dog can easily get these – so says Google. After the Interceptor, Georgie began farting. A lot. I assume this was the souls of the worms but was unable to confirm this on Google.
On Wednesday, I realized I’d successfully kept my shit together for 16 consecutive sober years. I dealt with WORMS SOBER, people! I don’t recommend it. I’m going to spare you some of the details. But suffice it to say, I recommend dealing with worms shit faced because GROSS. On Thursday, we dropped Georgie off at the vet early to be neutered. The poor unsuspecting chap happily trotted back with the vet tech. I was on 495 South when I realized my shirt was inside out and that my hair looked kinda bad. I got off the highway and my cell phone rang.
“Hi! This is Dr. Eric. Georgie’s sedated – doing well. While I was palpating his stomach, I felt something hard. Like he got into something. Did he eat anything?” “What? No. I don’t know. Jesus.” I say, bewildered.
“Well. It feels hard and I feel it would be hard to pass so I feel we should remove it.”
“I don’t even know what this could be.” I mumble, looking down at my inside out shirt.
“Well! I’ll save it for you! You can see it later!” Dr. Eric chirps.
“Great.” I resist the urge to ask if he could dip it in gold to preserve it because I can just imagine my vet bill climbing like the national debt. Besides – if he dipped it in gold, I wouldn’t get a good look at what it was. I hung up, sighed, and yanked my shirt off in a Mobil parking lot to put it on right, silently apologizing for the peep show that the people sitting at a red light got. Whatever. I will never see those people again. Or maybe I will if they are affiliated with the building I was headed to. Hm. Well. Turns out my cell didn’t work in that building so here I was imagining that Georgie had a roundworm castle in his stomach that was taking long to disassemble. Somehow, a voice mail rolled through and it was the vet telling me to pick Georgie up at 330 PM. Thanks for the heads up. Andrea and I both wound up heading there for a whole lot of discharge paperwork, medication, and his neuter certificate that said he was “permanently incapable of procreation”. AND! The hard object from his stomach which was wrapped in bloody gauze. Turns out it’s sticks and “debris”.
“How much more did the debris removal cost?” I asked, holding up the bag with the sticks and debris in it.
“$200ish.” Andrea replied, all mathy like.
“Well. I am keeping this forever and putting it in his baby book.” I say. The tech laughs but looks concerned - am I serious?
Andrea, sensing I am serious, says, “You can’t. It will get all smelly and gross.”
I shrug and resist the urge to ask for his balls dipped in gold when the tech tells me how much I owe. I imagine them mounted on a little stand in my “oddities cabinet”. The vet tech remarks about how gassy Georgie is and states it's due to the roundworms in his GI tract. I imagine Georgie crop dusting Dr. Eric during surgery and consider asking if they will throw in a surgical mask so I can muffle the stench.
Last night we slept in the downstairs guest room with the patient. This was to spare him going up and down the steps. In addition to the evisceration of his man bits, he got a stomach tuck that will prevent his stomach from twisting if/when he gets the bloat. Georgie weighed in at 51 pounds yesterday so he’s a bit large to schlep up and down stairs. ALL the pets found us in the guest room and piled on.
“This bed. It’s smaller than our bed!” I moaned.
“It is not.” Andrea said.
“It feels smaller.” I grumbled while trying not to move my legs into Georgie.
I gotta go. I need to get on Facebook and ask for a recommendation on which cat back pack is the best. There are a lot of options out there....according to Google.