We got Miss Layla home all safe and sound yesterday and she was nice and mellow...I need some of whatever it is they gave her - that stuff is fantastic!! In case you haven't been paying attention, Layla is my 18 month old, 102 pound yellow Lab. Now concentrate..there may be a test later!
This latest adventure starts out with Roger and I getting to the vet's office around 5:00. They were packed and it was HOT in there. They call us back so the doctor can show us Layla's x-rays..let me just stop here and ask WHY?? Why do doctors always feel compelled to SHOW you stuff? If I could handle all that medical stuff, they'd be paying ME the big bucks!
Anyway, we're ushered into this teeny, tiny little surgical room (swear to GOD, there was ACTUAL FREAKING SURGICAL STUFF JUST LAYING AROUND!!)
and the doctor proceeds to show us Layla's x-rays and explain what we're looking at (which was pictures of perfectly healthy legs)...he keeps talking, and talking, and talking (let me also pause right here to say that, in case I haven't made it ABUNDUNTLY clear to you, I DON'T DO MEDICAL STUFF REAL WELL!! There's a reason my oldest son passed out in the bathroom at the doctor's office, after a blood test..he's his Momma's Child!!)
Sooo, this vet just keeps droning on and on and pretty soon..you guessed it, I'm thinking, I'm gonna hit the floor if I don't get the Hell Outta Here!! I pretty much cut the doctor off in mid-sentence, grabbed Layla's meds and RAN out the door.
I thought I'd be okay once I got out of that Hell-Hole, but Noooo, once you're on the path of passing out..there IS no relief in sight, so I mumbled something to Roger along the lines of "Give me the car keys so I can die in peace", and I ran to the car, leaving him to wrangle Layla and her big old cone-headed self.
I got to the car, kicked back and thought "I'll just lay here until I feel better or I die" and to tell you the truth, I didn't really care which one it was. I hear a thump and then the car door opens and Layla hops in. They've given her something to help keep her quiet, and she has no idea where she is, and, basically, doesn't care.
Roger gets in and asks how I'm doing. At this point, I can either #1 talk or #2 continue to live...I can't do both at the same time, so I just tell him to get me home.
We're flying down the highway and I'm feeling worse by the minute...which NEVER happens. I mean, once I get myself prone I usually snap out of it, but now I'm feeling NASEOUS!! I think I'm gonna throw up!! What the Hell? I don't DO throw up!! Honest to God, I've puked maybe three times in my entire life...I was pregnant twice and had the flu the other time...I DO NOT URP!!
Roger asks if I want him to pull over and, of course, I say no, because, remember I DON'T THROW UP...next thing I know, I've blown chunks in my very own lap!
Let me tell you a little known fact...you haven't LIVED until you've driven 20 minutes sitting in a puddle of your own puke. Uh huh...it's an experience, allright.
To tell you how looped Layla was, that big old girl, just sat in the backseat and looked at me like "Dude, you just hurled all over yourself." She could have cared less that my lap was full of undigested lunch and she hadn't eaten all damn day.
Anyway, we got home, I stripped in the utility room and Roger, God Bless His Heart, hosed the car seat off for me.
Why can't I just lead a normal life?
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