Maybe We Should Just Run A Tab

For various reasons, we've been making more trips to the vet's office, lately.

Let's see, there's Dudley's neurotic licking, which results in big, raw wounds that have to be doctored with some type of super medicine which scares me to death. I have no idea what it's made of. All I know is, I have to wear gloves to apply it and it SAYS SO RIGHT ON THE LABEL, so I'm guessing they're not kidding. This was vet visit number one and two. Of course, we had to go back for a $30.00 re-check...you don't think they're gonna let us get by with just ONE visit, do you? Good news is, Dudley got PROZAC - bad news is - it DOESN'T WORK (maybe I'm supposed to be the one taking it? I offered, but the vet said no.)

A couple of weeks ago, Layla, the big, strong dog, who is bred to sit quietly, enduring sub-freezing weather until she receives the command to jump into ice cold waters and retrieve all manner of water fowl, stepped in a hole and sprained her foot. This would be vet visit number three.

Vet visit number four was scheduled as a well-visit for Layla with just a routine exam and shots...except she started REFUSING to jump up on anything. The couch, the bed, the car for our daily Sonic rides. You could tell she WANTED to, she'd approach the target, but she'd stall and whine and look at us with a really sad expression. She didn't even want us to help her and she'd run from us when we tried to hoist her ample self up.

Of course, most women would see that as a natural reaction. All women know that if anyone (and I'm talking males here) ever actually tries to LIFT us, the jig's up and we can no longer be coy about how much we weigh (which is always a lot more than they THINK we do).

Luckily (?) Layla's gimpiness happened the weekend before her Monday appointment, so Roger and I spent the weekend preparing ourselves for what might happen at the vet's office.

I explained to Roger that they might want to do x-rays and Layla would have to be sedated, which meant we might have to leave her overnight. One thing led to another and we found ourselves discussing the possibility that at the young age of 4 years old, Layla might be experiencing some early joint problems that would make it necessary for her to adjust her lifestyle and activities.

Daily walks might be a thing of the past and jumping up and down from the bed, even with her helpful step stool, might be too hard on her. We even talked about taking a huge financial hit, trading in our 2 year old SUV and buying something closer to the ground so she wouldn't have to jump, but could just step in and out.

Now, let me just stop here and say this should make perfectly clear to you, how very much Roger loves Layla. Usually, I'M the one who goes insane over things like this. I don't just go overboard, I HYSTERICALLY FLING MYSELF OVERBOARD, wholeheartedly. Roger, he's the calm, reasonable one. The one who keeps me grounded and reins me in when I start to run amok. Unfortunately, in this instance, he was just as amok as I was and we were in big trouble. We even went so far as to tell Alex that he had to give us HIS car and he could just drive ours. Uh huh...we were willing to drive a used (and I mean used HARD) six year old car and PAY for our 22 year old son to drive our almost brand new Santa Fe. I told you we were out of control.

Fortunately, none of that was necessary. We took Layla to her vet appointment and, when we walked in, a miracle happened. Layla, who, minutes before, had been laying around at death's door, walked into the vet and saw two of her very favorite things on Earth....a PUPPY and a FOUR YEAR OLD BOY! The retail stores are right!! Christmas DOES come before HALLOWEEN!

Roger wrestled Layla a safe distance away from both the boy and his puppy and I signed us in. What followed would have broken your heart - until you laughed out loud. Layla started whining and moaning something pitiful, trying her hardest to get to "her" boy and "her" puppy.

When she wasn't whining she was wiggling and wagging her tail, beating it on the wall behind her; and beating it hard enough and long enough, that a picture fell OFF the wall and crashed to the ground; slicing Roger's arm open and barely missing giving me a concussion before it hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces.

They got us in an exam room pretty quickly after that (big surprise). I DID offer to pay for the broken frame, but they refused. I think next time I'll just see if we can run a tab. Do you think they'd have a payment plan?