Today, if it is indeed still Saturday, my aunt Stella (my Godmother and the Duchess of Warsaw) put her Chihuahua to sleep. Her Chihuahua was very old and in poor health but it is still painful to see a pet go. I am not going to write about how important pets are in our lives – we all know that pets are better than people – I will instead repost a slightly edited piece I posted at my old address about my (late) friend Buddy, an amazing Dalmatian who died rather face a second (or is it third?) Bush Administration.
On the occasion of Buddy losing part of his tail.
Originally Posted on June 20, 2003
getting to the tail end of things
I stayed home from vacation this year under the very transparent pretense of taking care of the dog. However, my parents weren’t home twenty minutes and we were packing out to the Emergency Veterinarian’s Office.
My parent’s had gotten in from their vacation and Buddy (our dog) was terribly excited to see them so, like all dogs, needed to be let out of the house immediately. It is important to note that Buddy has two speeds: asleep and get the hell out my way, slowpoke. Buddy usually speeds right out the door and I slam it after it so we don’t let mice, bugs, Democrats, Mormon missionaries or neighborhood mongrel children into the house.
Today Buddy stopped and now the last inch, inch and a half of his tail stayed in our kitchen and the part still attached to his body went wagging out on the porch.
Is there a mouse in the house?
Buddy hadn’t noticed that his tail was missing but I noticed that there was a mouse by the door and was none too happy to see it. I bent over to pick it up. I’m a boy and a teacher of small children; dead rodents are common fair in my world. That is when I noticed that it was the severed tail of our canine. While I’ve never been a fan of blood or other germ conducting bodily fluids I am and always have been a guy and a brother so I have chucked all manner of animal (alive and dead) at my sister. The severed tail of the family pet (even if Buddy isn’t my buddy) is quite another story.
I mentioned to my parents that the dog’s tail had been cut off and Mom laughed that laugh that Moms laugh when you tell a joke in poor taste to indicate that you’re not as funny as you think. If you were the Mother of Spritopias (sounds like a horror film) then you too would have a prize-winning laugh. She came over to where I was, rolling her eyes and doing the requisite strut of the Republican Party and gasped, I had indeed severed the tail of our dog.
Major Dad. Thank God for my father because while I was busy taking in the comedy of the scene in our kitchen and my mother was processing that I had altered our dog he went outside to get the dog. He barked orders (when he goes into “Major Mode” he ceases speaking and starts to bark) about stuff to get and things to do. My sister is a Princess and my mother apparently was one because it fell onto me to follow these orders. My mother started calling veterinarians while I rounded up the stuff we needed to stop the bleeding.
Our dog does have Downs Syndrome but he wouldn’t have noticed his tail being gone if he wasn’t stupid. There aren’t enough nerve endings there to feel much pain and even if there were he bangs the damn thing up and down everywhere he goes. He didn’t even notice that his tail was partially gone. As a result he wagged on down, across the porch onto the lawn and part of the way up our way getting his blood all over the place. It looked like a Crime Scene
The Major does not like the dog and it would be safe to say that he hates it. The poor old man had to catch the dog, wrestle him to the ground and then bandage his wounds using the best of Boy Scout First Aid. If you are ever in need of medical attention and your only hope is the Boy Scouts of America write a living will in your own blood and pray that they let you die. It’s quicker that way.
After our inept attempts to bandage the dog had failed several times Mom came outside to tell us that she had made an appointment with the Emergency Veterinarian.
Who gets to tell Chaos Bean?
Mom and I coaxed the dog into car where I got to ride, sans seatbelt in the back like a Hoosier down Preston Highway (one of Kentucky’s most dangerous roads) and onto the Outer Loop (the other dangerous road in Kentucky) while my mother called my Aunt Stella (an avid dog lover, Buddy especially) and then my Grandfather (her father) and the subject came up, “who tells Chaos Bean.” Chaos Bean, my sister and THE Princess, is the last to hear any important news whether it is her business or not. It is also “her dog” and she has had people killed for lesser offenses. She likes this dog better than she likes her nephews (but you would too if you knew them), most of the humans she encounters, even more than she likes me. If that wasn’t true this morning then it is now.
Well, Buddy remained blissfully unaware that his tail was missing as we drove to the vet – he was thrilled to be on a car ride. The only thing on his nerves was that I was holding his leash and his tail (he’s a huge Dalmatian) and every chance he got he’d free his tail and wag blood all over the place. I was embarrassed but the people at the Vet didn’t have a problem at all, they were very understanding about blood all over the place not to mention his shedding.
Bitch, Please! When I say that I’m really berating someone or expressing contempt but Buddy was saying, “Yeah, honey, I’d like fries with that!” This dog, bleeding all over the place and a part of his vertebrae sticking out wants to cruise for female dogs. There is nothing as comedic as the sight of me trying to hold both ends of the dog and keep them from meeting up. He wanted me off his tail and was dragging me all over.
Finally some nurses took him away and bandaged him up while we waited for a doctor. It took them twice as long as the Major’s inept but noble efforts but theirs worked. The amazing thing is, they used a lot of duct tape. Normally that is what a man in our family would do but this time we didn’t. Who knew that his was actually the correct answer this time? This time and no other.
In short order the veterinarian came out, assessed the situation and dispatched us back home. Buddy is staying over night while they cut more off his tail, close the wound, clean him up and make him comfortable. If I had known vets were so efficient I may have been born a dog instead but its probably better not to be a dog - you could end up with me as your owner.
Pets make a big difference in people's lives - even fish can help cut stress.
Posted by: Suburban Island | Tuesday, 03 April 2007 at 09:37 PM