Friday 12 February 2016

Bowie Gets Stitches



Unbeknownst to us, Bowie gashed his lip open on something. You would think something like that would bleed heavily, but it didn't even leak. We'd know, his whole front half is pretty much white.  You'd also think he'd show signs of discomfort, but he was his usual Bowie self. It wasn't until I was giving him some rubs and hugs that I noticed his lips didn't match.

I started calling as soon as the vet's office opened. If they have call display, I'm a potential stalker. I got a 12:30 appointment. We arrived early. Bowie got weighed. He still a chunky lad. We saw the tech, we saw the vet, we were presented with a startling estimate and I signed on the dotted line.

I recommended sedating him immediately, knowing Bowie would unleash his inner bloodhound the second I left. They said they don't do that. Only when an O.R. became available would they sedate him. I admired their ethics. I also need to avoid any job that lets me dispense sedatives.

Also to never again feed the dog cookies from the jar on the counter in the exam room while waiting to see the vet. Don't do it. If your dog needs surgery, which ideally occurs on an empty stomach, you won't have to then fess up to the three cookies you swiped.

The vet tech took Bowie away and I made my way back to the reception counter to follow up. I saw the young guy whose conversation with the vet assistant I had been listening to through the other side of the exam room door. He knew very little about dogs and I didn't like the sound of what he did know, but his pup was friendly, healthy, and he cared enough to take the pup to the vet.  A man came in with an English mastiff therapy dog. It was the biggest dog I have ever seen. He was huge! The young guy asked how much the mastiff weighed. His owner said about 200 lbs. I said he looked like a really nice pony.

I watched the clock all afternoon waiting for the vet to call. When she did call late afternoon, it was blissful news all around. Bowie was repaired, his stitches would dissolve, he was a "cheap drunk" who didn't need general anesthetic (or take after his mother), and his bill was just under half of what was quoted. A choir of angels sang. Not really, but it felt that way.  The vet tech would call when he was walking and ready to come home.

My phone rang on the drive home so I continued on to the vet's office. A little brown terrier mix that looked just like Benji met me at the front door. I said to the dog, "Hey, you look just like Benji." His owner said his name was, in fact, Benji.

The tech brought me a very stoned Bowie. He gently swayed back and forth as I paid his bill and received instruction from the vet.

As high-as-a kite Major Tom and I headed for the door, a lady on the young side of senior came in carrying a white miniature poodle. "Look at his eyes!" She said of Bowie, in a heavy French accent. "He's David Bowie!"

I told her that his name was, in fact, Bowie. That we named him Bowie because of his different coloured eyes.

She laughed and gestured to her little white dog. "I have another poodle at home, a black one. Her name is Oprah."

Regardless of gender, we're calling our next dog Sport.

No comments:

Post a Comment