going to the vet – Page 2

The $100 Poop: Don’t Read If You’re Squeamish

My mom Cathy lives on the Internet but she’s shy to the point of being ridiculous when it comes to talking about certain topics. When she got the First Dog, she had to figure out how to tell the vet that Keesha wasn’t um…doing her business…yeah, that kind of business.

Now Mom’s a pro and she knows that we dogs need time to adjust our digestive systems after we get adopted or move to a new city. But back then she was a certified cat fanatic, desperately trying to learn how to be worthy of her splendid new dog.

Mom’s also discovered that dog owners actually look for ways to discuss these solid matters.

When Cathy lived in New Mexico, for instance, she was a volunteer marshal with the Tour of the Gila bike race. She and another volunteer were posted at an intersection to stop cars from running down the bikes. Naturally she took Keesha. And, she tells me, Keesha took the opportunity to make a very large deposit during one of the traffic breaks. The other volunteer (a cute young school teacher) called out, “Feeling better now, Keesha?”

Mom wanted to hide under her own signal flag.

So she wasn’t surprised when a neighbor in New Mexico commented, “Big poop for such a small dog!” (although she really didn’t know how to respond). Or a current neighbor commented on my output with, “Wow, that’s really solid.”

Alas, I have a delicate tummy and I eat everything in sight. On Wednesday we rushed to the vet because I had produced blood along with the usual products. The vet gave me a shot (ouch!) and pills (yuk – I’ve gotten really good at spitting them out). Mom paid just over $100 for all this.

Nothing happened. Cathy emailed the vet with a frantic message and was advised to “observe” me for 24 hours. No problem. I sleep next to her while she works so she observes me all day long.

Then it happened. Perfect. I get to go back to normal food. Mom can take her gaze (and her mind) off my rear end. I still get a few horrible pills but I can deal with them. dogs cost money

Mom calls it the $100 poop. But she doesn’t complain. “At least Gracie didn’t wake me up at 2 AM for an urgent call of nature. We live on the third floor of a city apartment.”

Under the weather

Aargh…yesterday my delicate digestive system created an unsightly mess when we went our walk. My mom dragged me off to the vet. Do you think she was worried about me? Nope…she doesn’t want me to drag pull her out of bed at 3 AM with an urgent need to do my business.

So I got prodded and poked and jabbed. Ouch! That nice Dr Morris said I need antibiotics in case there’s an infection. That nice Malari jabbed me with a needle so I’d get better faster.

Look, just tell my nice owner, my mom Cathy: enough with the walks and the running! I need a rest. She’s tired too but she’d never admit it.

Good-by to our housemate…

My mom has been hovering over Tiger for the last month. She would get so excited when Tiger ate a few bites of food or jumped up to the couch. Yesterday, Tiger stumbled as she tried to navigate from the living room to her favorite spot in Cathy’s closet. She couldn’t jump anymore.

So Cathy bundled up Tiger in her trusty backpack (“Tiger hates carriers”), grabbed my leash and we caught a cab to the vet. The tech asked if I wanted to say good-by, but I declined. Tiger’s been living on borrowed time. I haven’t teased her in ages.

Tiger has been a part of Cathy’s life for over 14 years and Cathy was feeling really sad. “Worse than losing Keesha,” she said.

I think I’m worth ten cats, but that’s another story.

The good news is I scarfed some leftover canned food that Cathy bought for Tiger’s sensitive palate. Yum!

The bad news is we’re probably getting another cat. The ditzy Creampuff gets lonely. I’d like to show her what lonely really is but my mom is in a fragile state. My job is to help Cathy keep some perspective on what’s really important, like treats and toys.

Oh no…they said the “D” word!

On Monday afternoon my mom dashed into the UrbanVet office. She carried a cage with our ailing (and wailing) housemate, Tiger. Cathy was supposed to give fluids to Tiger. She gave up Saturday after stabbing her own finger.

Cathy is terrified of human doctors so she panicked. It took several emails from an online support group to convince her she was going to live.

So what was I doing at the vet? Mom took me along to our vet because she thought I had been paying entirely too much attention to my … um…rear parts. No comment.

The vet tech poked around in places that are never publicly mentioned by Canine Urban Princesses (CUPPIES) like me. Yuk.

But as we were leaving, that nice Dr. Kira stopped by to say hello. She adores me. She told Cathy, “I’m so glad you adopted Gracie.”

Me too, most of the time. dog lose weight

But then Dr. Kira looked at me with a whole different expression.

“Gracie, you’re getting a little chunky here. Better watch it.”

“Right,” my mom said. “She gained about 7 pounds since I adopted her. Time for a diet.”

Oh no. The D-word. Just what I don’t need. I get so much exercise…what more do they want?

This time, I didn’t get a treat on the way out.

Mom gets healthier…dog gets hungry

My mom was getting really tired of my finicky digestive system. So she bought some bland diet food at the vet and Mallory, me at the vet the vet tech, gave her a measuring cup.

“When Gracie’s on a bland diet, move her back to the regular diet very slowly,” Mallory said.

Here’a a photo of me with Mallory (on the right), the vet tech, and Ruth, the office manager, when I visited the vet last March. I’m trying to keep their attention focused on my front end.

Ruth remembers when Cathy first adopted me. “Doesn’t look like the same dog!” she always says. Well, I’m now a Cuppie: a Canine Urban Princess.

Cathy realized she hadn’t been measuring my food, the way she had with Keesha, my predecessor.

“Hmm…maybe that’s why your tummy keeps rumbling,” she said. So now she measures my food — 2 cups a day.

If I don’t eat, it’s gone. No more food for me to nibble when I’m in the mood for a quick snack. My only hope is to sneak over to the cat food.

Then Cathy decided she should walk more. Translation: we will walk more. So yesterday we walked all the way home from the dog park. I’m exhausted. Cathy is too, but she won’t admit it.

“If there’s any justice in this world,” she says, “I would be skinny.”

No comment. You think I’m gonna go there? I’m heading straight for my cushion, saving my energy for the next sock available for chewing.

Dog owner to eye doctor, dog to park

gracie the dog getting treat at vet On the right you’ll see a photo of Ruth, Office Manager of UrbanVet. She knows how a vet visit should be concluded: with me, the VIP client, getting a special treat. So I look forward to going to the vet.

My mom, Cathy, avoids the human equivalent of vets – the MDs. “Mostly arrogant jerks,” she says.

But on Monday she got busy on the Internet. I heard her telling someone on the phone, “I keep seeing this black shape…like a large bug floating in front of my left eye. Yuk. I really hate doctors…maybe I’ll wait.”

Oh no. I am too old to be trained as a Seeing Eye dog. I gave her The Look. She gave in, canceled her afternoon appointments and turned me over to Aunt Sara for a trip to the park.

When it comes to doctors, my mom is a wuss. I try to set a good example for her when I go to the vet, but no luck. Fortunately I wasn’t allowed to accompany her to the eye doctor. I would have been so embarrassed.

First, every time she meets a doctor (even socially), she clenches a fist, points to her bicep and says, ”How many women my age have muscles like this?” Usually they cave in and agree: she’s in awesome shape. She never used to tell her age but now she loves to brag (not to mention being the miserly type who grabs all the senior discounts).

And then she pitched her services…to the eye doctor. True, they really need a website and she’s pretty good. And we can use the money to buy me treats, manicures, dog lounge visits and trips to the park.

Anyway my mom got a clean bill of health. She wasn’t really surprised. But she was surprised with the service. “They were so nice,” she said. ‘Not at all arrogant. No talking down to me. I was amazed.”

But she didn’t get a treat, did she? Hah. They’ll be sending her a big bill.

“I bet it’s bigger than the bill we got for your eye infection,” she sighed when we were back home together on the couch.

Good. Nice to keep things in perspective here.

Food for thought

So my mom Cathy put me on a bland diet last week. I woke her up four times in one night, demanding to go out and “do my business,” as we say delicately in this house.

This time, Cathy followed the instructions of the vet’s assistant, Mallory. She measured my food carefully and doled out careful ratios of bland food to regular food. “Take a week or so to work back to normal,” Mallory said.

Cathy nodded solemnly. No more late night wake-ups.

I had other ideas. I know how to beat the system.

Sure enough, one day Mom forgot and left the cat food out. Whoosh! It waas gone.

“Oh no!” Mom yelled when she saw the empty dish. “You better not get sick again.”

No problem. I’m back to normal food again…and I came within two seconds of capturing a live muffin.

Going to the Vet and Helping My Owner

Last Saturday we went to the vet so I could get updated on my bortadella and giardia vaccines. I need them to get admitted to the Dog Lounge. They’re very strict.

We walked through Kinnear Park and I sniffed out all the crocus and jonquils, along with other scents I can’t discuss on a G-rated journal. Then we went to the dog park.

And on Sunday, my eye started looking a little watery. A greenish dot appeared in the corner. Not a big deal.

Cathy freaked.

“On no. Not another trip to the vet. Maybe it’ll go away…”

But it didn’t. So on Tuesday, bright and early, we traipsed over to the vet. My mom was busy so we hopped a cab. Our vet, Dr Clare Morris of UrbanVet, said, “Awfully red. We’d better do something about this.”

Oh no. That doesn’t sound like I’m getting a treat. Sure enough, I ended up with goop in my eyes.

“Gracie, you are driving me to bankruptcy,” Mom sighed, handing over her credit card one more time.

Actually, I’m just doing my job. If my mom didn’t spend her money on me, who knows what she would do? She’d start drinking. She could get into drugs. Who knows? Maybe she would even buy some new outfits at Nordstrom’s.

OK, my mom falls asleep after half a can of beer. She thinks drugs are boring. Don’t even mention clothes shopping.

But who knows? What else would Mom spend her money on? She hates traveling since 9/11.

So I’ll make sure she’s got a worthy cause. Me.