Tuesday, October 1, 2013
K 9 Lives
This is my dog, Nelly.
A year ago, she was on her deathbed. She hadn't eaten for a week. The emergency vets couldn't diagnose her condition. And she could barely move. To this day we still don't know what was wrong with her.
Before administering the dirt nap gas, my vet suggested trying some simple analgesics, doggie aspirin if you will. The next day at the hospital, Nelly awoke with an energy we hadn't seen in a week. And her appetite returned. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but when I walked back to her cage and saw her, I cried.
I'm sure the Mexican lab technicians were thinking, "Pinchy puto."
But frankly, I didn't care.
That was a year ago.
And Nelly has made a full recovery.
In fact she was strong enough to go back to the hospital to have a large fibroid tumor (benign) on her belly removed. This is a common procedure with older dogs. Particularly, lab/retriever mixes.
What was uncommon however, was the second tumor the doctor found along her shoulder blade. It was, in a word, enormous.
So enormous that the vet was itching to show it to me.
I've come clean about my squeamishness and aversion to all things medical, but the vet made it clear I wasn't leaving with my dog until I viewed the hunk of meat removed from Nelly. Moreover, despite my objections, he insisted I take a picture of it.
I didn't cry when he showed me his handiwork. But I did squeal like a 7 year old little girl.
Once again, thankfully, Nelly has made a full recovery. But now she and I both have good reason to avoid any future visits to the veterinary hospital.
She, for what the doctors might do to her.
And me, for what the Mexican lab technicians think of my manhood.