2006-11-03
Bark at the Moon
"Rosie?
Did you stay out drinkin' all night again?"
Rosie bruised her eyeball and whatever it was that she nailed had some kind of bacteria and, voila, infection.
In both eyes.
On Halloween, I cam home and put her out so I could change my clothes and run the sweeper and when she pressed her usual mournful little face against the screen door, as she is wont to do, I noticed that her eyes looked weird.
Upon close inspection, I noticed that they looked pretty awful, like a terrible case of doggy pink-eye.
Of course, I freaked.
I assumed she was allergic to my down comforter, to my floor cleaner, to the acrylic paint I'd used on my Halloween costume, to ME (it's true, there were a good solid 20 minutes during which I utterly panicked that my dog was allergic to me all of a sudden and we would have to seek separation from one another and I don't think it's a secret to anyone how much I could not live without my Rose-ette).
I also gave her a proper dose of Benedryl.
Have you ever done this?
Or maybe you've sedated an animal?
And you've noticed that they are drag-assed but trying SO HARD to do the usual stuff, despite being sleepy, oh-so-sleepy, right?
Well, another thing is that their eyes get BLOODSHOT.
I made it WORSE.
Mind you, this is a dog who wolfed down her dinner, who was chasing the cat before I dosed her up, who hurled herself at me repeatedly when I reached into the Magic Ball Cabinet - not to get a ball but to get a spray bottle for this other cat who is a stray that I hate because...
just because.
That's a different essay for a different day.
Eyeball drainage not withstanding, that dog was fine.
Until I dosed her with a powerful anti-allergy medication.
About an hour after, when the drug took full effect and her eyes were swollen shut and she didn't want to move but HAD to because she's a dog and that's what they do, they follow you wherever you may go... I started to chill out enough to start crying.
"Rosie I'm so sorry I fucked up your eyes!"
"Little dogger, I love you, please get better."
"Sweet puppy, it's not your fault I don't always make it home in time to let you out."
"Just get better, I'll do anything!"
I think the worst thing, the most embarrassing display, was that I didn't want to put her down. I carried that dog around all night.
27 pounds of dog in my left arm and I'm doin' the dishes with my right.
I'm flippin' the channels.
I'm brushin' my teeth.
I'm washing my face (I had to switch arms and wash the right with the right and the left with the left).
I'm turnin' out lights.
And the whole time, I've got Dog on me.
Pathetic, right?
Think about it: You've had an animal for 1.5 years and she's super-fine but you're not perfect. You're a dumbass sometimes who sometimes stays out until 6:30 in the morning and who sometimes substitutes Ball throwing for a walk when you don't have time and have to run from work to practice and won't REALLY be home until like 7:30 or 8.
Guilt is powerful, brothers and sisters, and I am weak to its demands.
I totally got over it, though, and took her to the vet first thing.
$150 later, and the vet knows Rosie isn't a big drunk who blew out her eyeballs on Mad Dog but I know that she smacked herself square in the eye and has to have some anti-biotic put directly on each eye, three time per day.
Check it out, though: I was feeling all crappy as a doggy-mama and the vet was like, "This dog is in perfect shape - not an ounce of fat on her! Does she run around all day while you're at work?"
"No, she's inside."
"Does she have a doggy-door?"
"No, I cruise home and let her out around noon."
"�"
"I give her tons of exercise and the dog park and walks and stuff.'
"Well, you are certainly doing something right for this animal because she is in fantastic shape"
In my head I'm like, "Dude YOU live with that dog and skip a day of major exercise. You would pull out your hair and bruise your own eyeballs. Lethargic isn't in her vocab, yo, and I would lose what's left of my fragile mind if I didn't run the crap out of her every, single day."
Her eyeballs are mending.
In the meantime, I had this horrible nightmare last night. It was brutal. It was the kind where you know it's a nightmare but you can't do anything about that; since you already are aware that it's a dream, it's going to go down, regardless of how you feel about that.
Which wasn't good, to say the least.
The chase to which I am going to cut is that me and my dog are so tight that at the worst part of the dream, the part where you are about it be cut or dropped or found� at the very tip when you wake up, my dog barked at my nightmare just like she would bark and growl at a stranger trying to come in through the window.
And that bark last night?
That, my friends, made it ALL worthwhile again.
She's my dog so much that she barks at my nightmare for me.
arizonasarah at 8:42 a.m.