Tuesday, August 10, 2010

When Daddies don't listen to their dog doctors

There is noting more frustrating to a doctor then when a patient won't follow their instructions. Somehow my Daddy figured out my plans for his operation, perhaps because I blogged them on the Internet, and he chickened out, deciding to go with a human doctor, which completely contradicts Darwin's survival of the species, which states mammals should not operate on their own kind, which is why there are no dog veterinarians.

But Daddy decided to go with a human surgeon and I think he has regretted it ever since. Mommy drove him to the hospital and only almost hit one car. It wasn't her fault, that mail truck should not have been parked there and the mini van was going too fast. Anyway if they had an accident, they were headed for the hospital, which was a whole mile away.

They got him to the hospital and had him sign screw up forms. I would not have had him do this. Screw up forms are what they have you sign in case they screw up. It says that you would be very happy if they screw everything up and you won't say a bad thing about them after they do. Humans are big on screw up forms. Sometimes they even sign them before they get married.

Then they made him change his clothes and put on some cheap little dress with his butt hanging out. They kept asking him when his birthday was. It's all part of their plan to break the human's will. "You're old, you're poorly dressed, we're going to rip you open, and we're probably going to screw it up, sign here."

Then they started sticking pins in his little arm with the accuracy of one armed blind whale harpooners, stabbing over and over until something squirts in the air. I wouldn't have done any of those hurtful things. Just a conk on the head and down to business. Finally the anesthesiologist arrived. Now listen, we are all different kinds of dogs from different places, but we all bark the same. This lady, she spoke in some silly language no one understood. Daddy kept saying yes because holy heck how would he know what he was saying no to.

Then they rolled Daddy away from poor Mommy who was very worried. Gramps was going to be there to wait with her. He's the Worrier King so there isn't much comfort there. I can't believe they rolled Daddy away. I would have hung upside down. But humans have their owns ways. They then moved to a new table, spread out his arms like he was getting a prison tattoo, put a mask on him telling his it was to help him breathe, and told him that he would feel a burning in his arm before he went to sleep.

But Daddy wasn't getting any air through the little mask and he said "Can't breathe" and the anesthesiologist lady said "yes it burns" and he said "not burns, can't breathe," but then he was out.

When Mommy next saw him he was sitting up eating Nilla Wafers. Mommy soon brought him home. First she got a pillow over his stomach and we came down stairs. Foley and I both jumped on him (wise choice, that pillow) and sniffed and neither of us were very happy with their work.

That night Daddy went up to bed where we examined him very thoroughly. We licked just about every spot on his body. We were concerned about his long term prognosis. Daddy had become very fat during his operation. Not fat and jolly like St Nick but fat and mean like St Roseanne. Whenever he tried to lie on the bed it put pressure on his tummy, which pushed pressure on his lunge, and he couldn't breathe.

He went downstairs to try and sleep on the couch. I heard him at 4:00 in the morning. He had tried to get off the couch but fallen, and the hard floor constricted his lungs, and he couldn't breathe, and he was lying going "awk, awk, awk" like a penguin. Foley thought we should go check on him but I said he would be fine, and anyway, this is the only way for humans to learn not to let other humans operate on them.

Mommy helped him in the morning. He sat on the couch and tossed the ball for me but soon he was awking in pain. I wasn't being selfish. I was giving him a stress test. He failed miserably. (I did terrific.) He went from the couch, to a hard chair, to the recliner, to walking, to whining.

Little by little he has got better. He slept in bed Friday night after starting on the couch. By Saturday night Foley and I were doing our lick tests again and he is improving. Just for all humans out there, please, if you feel something is wrong, contact your dog, and if it is an emergency dial rug ruf ruf,.

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