I’ve been a little quiet lately, so you probably think that things have settled down on the home front with Momma. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, there are stories that I haven’t told you because they are so predictable – and repetitive that I was concerned you may think they are “Fake News.” I have finally realized though, that I must not let the current political climate (led by the Tweeter in Chief) silence my voice. Woof!
So the other night, Momma and I are peacefully sleeping the night away when – wait for it – the house alarm goes off again. You’d think I would be used to it by now, but the mind blowing noise was as bad as ever, nearly sending me into shock. Nevertheless, I took up my usual “attack” position on the bed, carefully listening (to the extent I still had hearing) for suspicious noises coming from downstairs. Just so you know, I would have gone down to check things out, but Momma had the door closed.
Meanwhile Momma grabbed her cell and called 911. The duty officer told her to stay on the line and keep the bedroom door closed. (I rest my case – I couldn’t attack anyone if I wanted to) and he would send a squad car over.
Next Momma grabbed her trusty “weapon” – a can of WASP spray, guaranteed to “shoot” up to 29 feet – from her nightstand. Thinking for some reason that it was necessary to give a progress report to the officer on the line, she informed him that it was just her and her little (guard) dog in the house and that she was armed with a can of WASP spray. She further informed him that she was sorry she hadn’t bought a gun as she had planned after completing her “carry” training.
This, of course, got the officer’s attention and he cautiously asked, “there are no guns in the home, are there ma-am?” “No,” Momma replied regretfully, “but I’ll be getting one.” (Editor’s note: “Please, God, no.”)
Luckily for all the parties involved, the cops quickly arrived and entered the house through a first floor bathroom door that had blown open (it was an especially windy night, but why the door was not locked – or even firmly closed – will likely never be known). Thankfully, once again, this was a false alarm.
After a quick search of the house (the cops knew it like the back of their hands by now), they told us the coast was clear. Before they left, though, they gave me a few sympathetic pets. In fact, I think they may have been sizing me up as a possible police dog.
More Vet Visits
The visits to the vets, and their accompanying drain on Momma’s pawketbook (“There will be no presents for Christmas, this year, Lina!”) have not gone away either. But to be honest, she brings a lot of this on herself. Just woofin’.
Take last August. The day before my book signing at “Yappy Hour,” I threw up a couple of times. Now for most dogs, this would not be a national emergency, but for Momma, it was a crisis. What if I couldn’t appear at the signing? Wouldn’t she make more money if I was there to attract attention?
The question almost answered itself, so off we went to the vet – she finally found one who would see us on an emergency basis for an additional fee of $88.00. Predictably, I was given a battery of tests and diagnosed with gastroenteritis, aka, an upset stomach. Momma got a bill for $346.46. Now I’m not an accountant, but I somehow doubt that she made that up in book sales.
A month or two later, I had a couple of accidents on Momma’s favorite area rug. I don’t want to point any paws, but I think they could have been avoided with more frequent trips to that great big grass pee pad known as our back yard. In any case, this was another crisis in Momma’s mind, so she hauled me to the vet again. This visit resulted in another break-the-bank series of tests that en”tail”ed a urinalysis, blood work and x-rays. Because the technician was not able to get a good x-ray of my bladder (it was empty by now), she told Momma to bring me in the next morning with a full bladder. That meant Momma made me “hold it” until the clinic opened at 8:30a. Are you beginning to get the picture?
Anyway, the tests showed that I did not have the suspected urinary tract infection, but that I did have crystals in my urine. “Crystals?!?” Momma almost barked (up to this point she only knew of the kind she wore). Anyway, the upshot was that I was put on a special diet to get rid of them. The tab for everything? $327.83.
We weren’t done yet though as it turns out. Along with the bill, the vet also told Momma that my teeth should be cleaned and handed her an estimate of $388.95. Momma was crazed. It didn’t costs her that much to have her teeth cleaned – or filled for that matter! “And you have such tiny teeth, Lina!” Nevertheless, she could see the plaque buildup and (while silently vowing to get someone to brush my teeth) agreed.
The cleaning took place the next week. Other than the fasting ahead of time, the inability to eat afterwards, the lengthy recovery from the anesthetic and the sore gums, it was a pleasant experience.
There was more. Later that month, Momma went on one of her many trips to Florida and Dr. Becca (my trusty sitter), noticed that I was having trouble going poops. And in case you’re wondering – she did not rush me to the emergency room, she just used patience and coaxing. Becca wisely surmised this could be a result of the prescription dog food, so when Momma came home, she brought me to the vet again for more testing. Thankfully, the crystals were gone and I could go back to my regular food — whatever it was.
Just when I thought the torture had ended, the vet decided to express my anal glands – just to be extra sure there was no impediment to my pooping! Really, does life get any better than this? After all was said and done, Momma was handed yet another bill for $137.38. This included “Cranberry Comfort,” which was apparently to – well actually – I have no idea what it’s for and neither does Momma.
Yappy Thanksgiving to all of my readers! I will be resting up at home for my next alarm scare or vet visit. WOOFDA!
Lina, Honest Journalist, Future Police K-9 and Per”pet”ual Patient