Two bad weekends in a row may not guarantee any future happiness but it definitely serves to put certain things in perspective. Things that made me furious two weeks ago would probably not even ruffle my feathers at this point, so bad-action-packed has my life been of late. If you have read my previous posts, you will know that the first bad weekend was predominantly overshadowed by the news that my Dad is really sick. This second bad weekend was all about hitting us a little geographically closer to home: our puppy and our money.
On Saturday night, I discovered that Doc wasn’t feeling good. After seeking the opinions of the emergency vet hospital, my neighbor (who is a vet), and my mother (who has so much experience with animals she may as well be a vet) I ascertained that Doc was, indeed, sick. I was advised to keep an eye on him and bring him in if he started vomiting.
That was his cue to get sick all over the floor. I loaded him into the car, called Wes, and asked him to meet us at the emergency vet. They admitted him and took X-Rays while Wes and I waited with mounting anxiety. When they called us back and showed us the X-Ray, we simply could not believe what we were seeing. Our dog had swallowed a large plastic clip and a rock that was roughly the size of a squished baseball. The two objects were obstructing his digestive tract and he needed emergency surgery.
The vet showed us the estimate and we just about died. I won’t say much about the total other than to say that it was almost twice as much as our mortgage payment. We agreed to the amount and went home, both of us a glum mixture of scared, sad, and angry. Scared because our puppy was sick and needed surgery, sad because it really sucks to lose that much money without warning, and angry because, well, our dog is pretty stupid to have eaten a gigantic rock and plastic clip (especially when we spend a small fortune on dog-appropriate items with which to entertain his seemingly unscrupulous mouth).
We picked him up from the vet this morning and brought him home. He is really mellow and fond of relaxing in his crate. He has a long, angry-red scar across his whole stomach and is really skinny from not eating much for the last two days. He also came home with a souvenir:
Looking at our puppy now is a lot like watching a fish in an aquarium. He has a lot of trouble with things like giving kisses, walking through doorways, and chewing on his toys. It breaks my heart to see him wearing it because I know it must be frustrating for him to have so much trouble with everyday things. Still, he did eat a gigantic rock and cost us a substantial portion of the down payment we’re saving up for our next house, so my sympathy is limited.
In other, slightly happier news, I made pie yesterday. It’s a recipe called “Forest Berry Pie” and my fourth pie-attempt. Behold, the literal fruits of my labor:
So as you can see, the weekend wasn’t all bad. Wes and I persevered through sheer strength of will, a healthy perspective of the situation, and our irrepressible senses of humor. Sure, pie helps, but if it isn’t the ability to laugh through an unpleasant situation that makes life bearable, I don’t know what is.