The local vet is a only a few minutes from the house. I got the dog into the lobby, where he bled profusely. So much that the girls behind the counter whispered about how much blood it was. I looked down and suddenly realized that, yeah, it was. Especially given how much was already on the floor and furniture at home.
I went catatonic. Which apparently upset other customers. So they put me in an exam room.
My ex husband texted me to ask how Starbuck was. I thought about ignoring him, but was a grownup and told him. I hate being a grownup.
Eventually the vet came in. I’ve seen two vets there. One is Dr. Hippy – he’s young and has hair down to his waist, but he’s a really good vet. The other one – the one I saw that day – is Doc Oct. For Octegenarian. He’s clearly going for the record of Oldest Practicing Vet in the World. He has GOT to be the frontrunner. I have no idea if he’s a good vet. I don’t understand a word he says. I am pretty sure he uses poultices and treats ague. He’d decided to use pressure bandages to stop the bleeding – because the dog had somehow torn out TWO toenails. No, I don’t mean broken them off, as dogs are wont to do – I mean TORN THEM OUT COMPLETELY. How? No clue. Also, why did he not use silver nitrate? The vet, not the dog, obviously. No idea. I texted my cousin, who happens to be a veterinarian (but he’s a long drive from my house for emergencies, which is why I didn’t go see him for this) to ask about it, and while it was OKAY, pressure bandages are not perfect when there’s a risk of infection, which there is here, on, you know, feet.
So I went out to the lobby, dog in tow – who had, by the way, completely forgotten he was injured and was prancing around just fine. They’d given him pain meds and he was in that sweet spot where the foot had stopped hurting but the grogginess hadn’t set in yet.
I pulled the card out of my shirt pocket and handed it to the cashier. I wrapped up the transaction and put the card back in my pocket and got back to the middle of the lobby and, for the first time in his entire life, my dog grabbed my skirt – a simple, long knit skirt – in his teeth and pulled it down around my ankles.
I just stood there and said, “Yep. That’s about right.”
I pulled up my skirt and trudged out to my car wondering where my life and dignity had gone.
And realized they were not going to be found today.
Do you know what the only thing worse than having your skirt pulled down in a veterinary lobby and then making it safely out to your car is?
Having to go back INTO that veterinary office to get your purse, which you left in the exam room.
I asked my cousin, and those girls behind the counter are NOT trained to deal with that situation. They are not.