The second best dog to ever live went in to the vet Friday to have a growth removed from his mouth. Since they were going to have him under anesthesia, we had his teeth cleaned and a molar extracted at the same time. My husband had scheduled the procedure last week not realizing his business trip would end up getting extended indefinitely. Thursday night he told me I'd have to be the one to take the dog in.
I mentally groaned when he told me. Mostly because Ike is his dog. I don't mean that in the "his dog, his responsiblity" sense. I mean that in the "his dog doesn't listen to me" sense. Ike just stares at me when I tell him to do stuff. If he's in the mood and what I'm telling him to do isn't too much of an inconvenience for him, he'll slowly get started on it. But if what I want him to do doesn't fit in with his plan, he just sits there looking at me. And not, "Did you say something?" pretending to not to hear me staring. His stare is more of, "You're an idiot if you think I'm listening to you. Do you know who I am? Stop wasting my time. You bore me."
My husband can motivate that 11 year old dog to jump up into the back of an SUV. I, on the other hand, got to lift that 100 pound beast up into the car Friday morning all by myself. I hope our neighbors enjoyed that show.
Once we arrived at the vet, the precious decided the vet's floor was slippery and he didn't want to walk on it. Much like my two year old would, he then laid down on the floor and made himself dead weight so I couldn't get him up. So me and the vet tech each lifted half his body and sort of slid him down the hallway together. I then gave them my cell phone number and proceeded to head off to work where I subconsciously worried about that dog all day. Mostly because that dog is not allowed to die on my watch. He is the prized possession of a man with very few prized possessions. He is the best friend of a man that's not great at close personal relationships. He is the family jewel. I don't even like him to walk across the street to poop in our neighbor's yard when my husband's out of town. I'm all, what if a car whips around the corner?
So anyway, I was really happy when I saw him weeble wobbling down the hall afterwards still woozy from the anesthesia. I didn't even mutter under my breath when I was breaking my back getting his rotund butt back in the car. Except then my duties as nurse maid and full time worrier began. That 100 pound baby has pain medication and twice day antibiotics to remember. He looks heartbreakingly weak and pathetic and he's compounding it by refusing to walk. I was unaware pain in your mouth could render your limbs useless but he did have an IV in one paw so I like to pretend that might have something to do with it. It took him 4 stop and start tries to get all the way from the car to his dog bed. I was flipping out bringing his dog bed to him in the garage where he made his initial rest stop along the way. I even brought him his water bowl during his second rest stop in the dining room.
This morning when he deemed his legs capable of carrying him outside to pee, I put my five year old on duty at the window to monitor him. It took him four stop and start tries to get all the way back inside when he was done. The kid on duty kept bringing me status updates on his progress. When he finally got close to the door, the kids and I began screaming and frantically running to the door to get it open before he got there. All day I've been scooting the other dogs and the kids out of the room so he can have peace and quiet to rest. I've even become an expert at tricking him into taking giant horse pills. It involves cheese slices and lots of smooshing.
Last night my husband was all, you're the greatest and I'm sorry I'm not there to help you. By this afternoon, I guess his appreciation had worn off though because he had the nerve to ask me if I've been working with the puppy on puppy training. Right. Good one. Because Florence Nightingale often trained puppies in her spare time.