So, I’ve been under a little stress.
I didn’t want to write about it until it resolved itself one way or another, but now I need to vent. I took my dog to the groomers last week, and they really hurt him. He always sees the same girl, and she likes him a lot, so I know she didn’t do it on purpose. But to cut a dog’s hair, and get the undercarriage done, they really have to wrench their legs around a lot.
He’s always a little lame when he gets home, because of this, but last week he couldn’t walk at all. He was moving funny when we got in the car, and by the time we got home, he could only drag his back legs out of the car, and then he collapsed on the driveway. I let him rest for a few minutes, and then called him. When he tried to stand up, his back legs collapsed under him.
I can’t lift him, so there was no way I could get him back in the car to see the doctor. Besides, the doc’s been treating his arthritis/dysplasia for years, and in that condition, I was about 75% sure he’d suggest I put him down. So I hiked up his back end, and assisted/carried him into the grassy back yard and let him back down, and ran inside for his arthritis meds. After the meds started to work, he was able to get up with help, and I boosted him up the stairs into the house (noticing also from the puddle of blood on the stairs, that she’d cut his nails way too short).
Note: I wasn’t freaking out or crying because I didn’t want to scare him, but not puking? Very close call.
He crashed in the living room while I ran to the store to get bandages and styptic for his foot. Honestly, he didn’t seem to be in any pain at all, even before the meds. He just couldn’t walk. He didn’t flinch or whine or snap while I poked and prodded him. And he was loving the attention, if not the yelling every time he tried to move. As I said, we’ve been through this in much lesser degrees before, so I figured he’d be better the next day.
Nope. So on Sunday I gave up on the couch, dragged a mattress downstairs and slept in the living room. It took a full week before he was walking normally this time, and we are never getting another professional haircut again. I’ll figure out how to do it myself. I’m just glad she only apparently hurt the muscles. I was afraid she’d damaged his artificial hip, and then it really would probably be the end.
Christ, what a week. I felt so awful that I seriously thought I was getting an ulcer, and not from tequila. I didn’t tell anyone what was happening, because I don’t want to be that poor pitiful girl who doesn’t have anyone but her dog, when of course I am that poor pitiful girl who doesn’t have anyone but her dog.
And if that wasn’t enough, my biological father emailed to tell me that his docs think the chemo didn’t work, and he has to go under the knife again in two weeks to be sure. The man’s pushing seventy, and he’s had like ten surgeries in the past year. I barely know him, but this isn’t how I want to get to know him. Jesus.