This past week, things fell apart on a level I have never experienced. It started small- an order from a few months ago got list in the mail, and I went nuts trying to sort it all out. And then my vendor application for an event this Saturday got lost two.
I did what any blue blooded American would do- I cursed the I efficiency of the postal service to high heavens.
And then I considered how the term “postal” came about (as in “going postal”), and considered retracting many angry Facebook posts to appease any homicidal post men.
Then my glasses broke. I can’t see more than three inches past my nose, so this was a huge dilemma. All I can say is thank goblins for hot glue guns!!
But the worst my week had to offer was the near death if my dog.
The facts were these:
My mom went out of town with my aunt and uncle (who is a veterinary surgeon). I dropped my mom off at my aunts, and then went home to find copious amounts of dog vomit on the floor. Not good. So I call the local vet to tell them I’m bringing in my puppy, load Beasley up in the car, and lead foot it to the office.
Lets be really clear here, I called in and said it was an emergency, and needed to see a vet right away.
When I got there, I checked in and sat down to wait 40 minutes, with a crying dog. In those 40 minutes, some horrible man told me he was sorry my dog was dying (WTF???!!!!!), and watched the vet take back three dogs that came in after me for things like getting a vaccination, or getting their nails trimmed. I was displeased.
And after those forty minutes, when there wasn’t a soul in sight, my poor dog threw up all over me, and the floor, and the bench, and then collapsed.
I started screaming for help. It took five minutes for a vet tech to wander in and smirk at the fact that I was covered in gross smelling dog puke, and then another 15 minutes for a different tech to take me to a room with my poor dog. By then I was bawling my eyes out, because I was scared, and alone, and more than anything I was upset because my dog needed help and these people seemed dead set against helping him.
The tech whisked him away, and I found out later that Beasley had started to turn blue, so he had been put in an oxygen tent.
When the vet came in, I immediately set to work getting her on the phone with my uncle (a vet), which in and of itself ended up being a comedy of errors. But eventually all if the right people talked amongst themselves, and decided Beasley would spend the weekend in the hospital kennel.
So I called the vet every hour the entire rest of the day, and well into the night.
And when my boyfriend got all of the news, he offered to come over from work, so wouldn’t be in a panic, alone.
When he got to my place, he made sure I was okay. And then he told me I should have my dog euthanized. Because he is and old and stupid dog.
I’ve had better weeks.
I am pleased to say that all of the mail issues were worked out, and Beasley is home again, safe and sound, having survived heat exhaustion and dehydration. I’m much more careful to make sure he drinks more water than a camel.
My boyfriend is currently blacklisted, until I get over his comments.