August 07, 2007

More Tales from the Vet

[Note: Not for the squeamish]

There is a point where you discover how much you love your dog. Not when it’s a puppy, when it’s still cute, when you run and play with it and it sleeps on your feet; that’s infatuation. I mean love. I mean insulin, or incontinence, or eating squirrels, catching botulism from rancid tomatoes, yearly doggy EKGs—the little birth defects and mental peccadilloes of your pet that you deal with because you’re the parent. The cycle of acceptance, annoyance, and whipping out the credit card without looking at the bill. Because, as long as it’s not terminal, you can deal with it—even if it’s inconvenient (four times a day?), baffling (asthma? The hell?), or just plain foul beyond imagination.

I love my dog.

My dog has a really disgusting condition. Her scent glands, which dogs use to mark their territory, do not function properly, which means that every month or so I have to take her to the vet to get them expressed manually. These glands are located... in her butt. Anal glands. Expressed. It means all you think it means and more. More, since I haven’t yet mentioned the nauseating gelee this produces (if you’re eating, stop now, because: fish sauce) and the accompanying smell (skunk, mixed with septic tank, with a hint of Cream of Mushroom soup). Also, my dog is prone to infections, so every time we go through the process she will come back to the vet two weeks later for antibiotics. For her swollen, infected butt glands.

So when the vet told he could do surgery to remove the glands altogether, I was understandably psyched.

VET: Here’s how it is: I can do the surgery...

ME: …yes?

VET: I don’t like to.

ME: Um, ok. Does it hurt the dog?

VET: No, it just… ok. (picks up a marker and starts drawing on the whiteboard) So, here’s your dog’s ass…

ME: [Snort!] Hee!

VET: Sorry, should I say ‘rear?’

ME: No, I’m just tired, sorry. So, the butt.

VET: And here’s the anus… (draws purple asterisk)

ME: Hee hee... um, yeah.

VET: And here are the scent glands. (draws two orange balloons under the asterisk)

ME: Gotcha.

VET: So, in order to do the surgery, I’m like this. (opens eyes wide and zooms entire face into cartoon-dog’s asterisk)

ME: Hee hee hee—

VET: Yeah, so, you can see why I’d rather not do it unless it’s really a problem.

ME: Yeah, I—hee—I…. HA HA HA [snort] hee, ahhh. Sorry. Just, the expression, with the eyes, it was funny.

VET: Believe me, I have to laugh.

ME: Well, with your face all up in my dog’s business…

VET: For like two hours, yeah.

ME: Hours? Does, um… what if she, y’know, under the anesthesia—

VET: Has to poop?

ME: Hee. Yeah.

VET: She can’t.

ME: Why not?

VET: I sew her ass shut.

ME: HA HA HA HA HA—wait, WHAT?

VET: Just for the duration of the surgery. That muscle is relaxed, so I have to.

ME: Ohhhh.

VET: Otherwise, the dog would just poop right in my eye.

ME: [Snort!] HA HA HA HA HA hee hee HAAAA—

VET: You don’t wanna make that mistake twice.

ME: (nods breathlessly, snorts, arm waving in pathetic apology) I’m… (gasping) hee—sorry… (wiping tears away) I swear, I’m not usually five, but—

VET: You’re tired.

ME: Hee! Yeah. This is why I’m not a med student.

VET: Oh, it gets waay worse than—

ME: I believe you. Please, I believe you.

A few choice diagrams later, involving words like ‘sphincter’ and ‘rectum’, and I am both determined to get the surgery and thoroughly ashamed of myself. My poor dog has been sitting next to me this whole time, sober as a stone, her pitiful brown eyes begging can we please go home now? She’ll probably hate me during the long healing process, and I haven’t even seen an estimate yet—but really, in exchange for not being anally violated six or seven times a year to drain your painful, infection-ridden butt juice, what price would you pay?

6 comments:

crdrue said...

What the hell is the job of these ass glands in the first place? Why would a dog need such things! You know what we do up north when this sort of shit happens...

Sarah Beedoo said...

You'd shoot the bear.

Anonymous said...

Saaaraahhhh......

This is your conscience speaking.....

Why does your favorite sister...okay, favorite oldest sister....have no coffee in her mailbox? You love her so much....show it with coffee!

mamaclsn said...

Glad to hear it. I have always felt sorry for Molly and her butt juice. Good dogs shouldn't have to go through that.

Love you!

Sarah Beedoo said...

Hey conscience: if my favorite sister were here, she'd be lousy with coffee. We'd bathe in it, do lines of it. We'd make coffee pudding. Why don't you give her conscience a buzz--maybe we can all do lunch?

Jason said...

This has to be one of the funniest blogs, right up there with Attack of the Killer Dog".

Also your conscience would still like you to send Coffee.