Two People and a Dog in Search of a Vet

 

Sketchy is a tiny chihuahua who lives with his two parents.  Now that he is a senior, he loves it when they carry him.  But, he still has the instinct to bound to the door whenever he hears someone outside.  Lately, he has been mistaking different sounds for a knock.  On this day, when a car door shut, Sketchy unexpectedly pushed away from his dad and fell to the floor.  When he landed, he yipped in pain and began limping.

His concerned parents picked him up and maneuvered the leg, hoping it was just a sprain.  Sketch’s shriek of pain proved otherwise.  It was on the weekend, so their only choice was to take him to the emergency vet.  With his mom holding the injured pup, his dad sped to the pet ER they regularly used.

Per COVID protocols, his dad texted the office that they had arrived and the issues that brought them.  A masked tech came to the car while Sketchy’s mom told him that he had to go with her, but his parents would be anxiously waiting in the car.  His dad rolled down the window and carefully lifted Sketchy to pass him to her.  

“I’m sorry,” the young tech said. “We can’t take your dog.  We are full.”

The woman took Sketchy’s dad aback.  “What do you mean full?”  He had never had a dog turned away at the emergency vet before.

“We can’t take on any extra patients; our recovery room is full.”

“We are not looking for Sketchy to stay overnight,” the father explained.  “We would just like an x-ray and maybe a splint.”

“Yes, I understand, but we could find something on the x-ray, like bone cancer or a condition that requires surgery, and we would have to admit him.  We wouldn’t be good doctors if we sent a patient in need of medical attention home.”  

“But, you’re not letting us get medical attention!” Sketchy’s dad shouted.  “How is that any better?”

“It’s like a pair of socks at Christmas,” the girl said.  Sketchy’s dad, his anger growing, held up his hand and shrugged to convey that he did not understand.

“Before Christmas, everything is wrapped under the tree,” she said excitedly, “There might be a box under the tree that catches your eye.  You get excited about what it could be, and then when you open it, you find out its Christmas socks, and you are disappointed and have to find a place in the drawer for them.  We don’t want to find out Sketchy is a box of socks so that we won’t be seeing him.”  She turned and walked away.  

Sketchy’s dad wanted to follow the woman and continue to argue, but his mom said they needed to concentrate on the dog’s health.  She convinced him to drive north, where there were several emergency vets, and hopefully, one of them could see Sketchy.

None of them could.  Each ER insisted they were full and sent them to the next one further North, until they had traveled 120 miles to New Hampshire’s Lake Region, where they drove to the shore, handed over Sketchy in a plain, brown paper bag to two indigenous people who canoed him to an island where an unlicensed shaman chanted over Sketchy, then put an ill-fitting splint on the poor baby.  When Sketchy’s dad tried to pay with a credit card, he was waved off and told they would take six fresh catfish as payment.  After a night of fishing, the debt was paid, and Sketchy returned home with his parents.

While fishing, the dad accidentally embedded a hook in his hand.  During the trip home, it became infected.  They stopped at a hospital and went to the emergency room.   They told him they could not see him because the facility was full.

They suggested a hospital on an island run by a shaman.

The dad told the tech it was okay.  He would take his chances with the infection.  So much for modern medicine.  

Wordless Wednesday Flashback

 

Beat This Caption

  

 

Take down the squirrel-proof feeder and nobody gets hurt

Monday Question

What is your parent's favorite movie featuring dogs?

Foley Writes About Pocket Helping a Blind Dog and Seeing Eye Cat

 

I have been very impressed with Pocket’s quickly adjusting to being an Angel. She has ascended to the position of patron saint for the infirm and scared.  I think it is the perfect position for my sister.  Mortal dogs like her are wearing bracelets that say “WWPD” for What would Pocket do.

 

Spike is the first dog who sought Pocket’s help.  A quiet, unassuming pup, he spent most of his life outside with his only friend, a cat named Max.  They had both been abused by their owner and were scared of humans.  When Spike began to lose his eyesight, he prayed to the angels for help.  Normally, I would have taken the case, but I figured Pocket would be the one to speak with Spike. 

 

Pocket told Spike that she could arrange for the duo to get a new home. She knew that their parents had hurt them, but those people were outliers.  The vast majority of humans, especially those looking to help him, were kind and would make his life better.

Spike had one good reason why he did not want another home.  He was afraid that they would separate him from Max, who had become his eyes in the world.  Pocket promised they would not be apart.

 

Pocket knew she had made a vow she could not keep and didn’t know what to do. At wit’s end, she came to me for help to keep Spike and Max together. 

 

She told me I was the only Angel she knew who could help her. Pocket knows nothing motivates me like flattery, and I said I would enter the parent's dreams and convince them that a blind dog and senior cat were too much for them and Spike and Max should be surrendered.  Meanwhile, Pocket prepared them for the abrupt change in circumstances that would be upcoming. 

 

Even if a dog is unloved and abused in his home, being surrendered is still a frightening proposition. Every dog is afraid of the needle that sends so many to the Bridge without love. After being left at the shelter in separate cages, both pets feared being sent to the Island of Misfit dogs, an urban legend commonly believed to be where unloved pets are fated to go.

 

A sign that they were undergoing a reversal of fortune was when they were removed from their respective careers and handled for the first time with kindness and love. 

 

The staff quickly determined Spike needed eye surgery for painful cataracts. At first, he had difficulty recovering from the procedure, but the dog immediately perked up when Max was put in his crate next to Spike. The staff realized they could not be separated.

 

As I have said, every pet in a shelter needs a hook to get adopted, and Spike had two.  He was blind and needed a seeing-eye cat. 

 When the shelter posted their profiles on the Internet, people were immediately interested, and the workers we able to pick the best possible homes for them.

 

Now, Spike and Max are in a new home together, always inside, not suffering from the rain or the cold.  They are fed regularly and get a lot of love.  Their lives are perfect, even with only one of them being able to see.

 

And it was another victory for the teeny tiny terrier duo.

On Grief

 

It moves in without you noticing to be a permanent resident. It seeps into your mind, heart, and soul, dominating your thoughts. Its name is Grief. 

Grief turns everything dark and makes you shun the daylight like a vampire. All the sun does is cast empty shadows reminding you who is missing. 

Grief brings his sister, Guilt, with him. Together they whisper in your ear that you are to blame. Grief is as mischievous as Loki and as powerful as Thor.

Grief hates laughter and causes you too to do the same. It makes you want to yell at giggling fools, “what’s so damn funny?”  And if you laugh, Grief brings Guilt to berate you.

Grief has a cousin called Misery. He is more social than Grief. He loves company. Grief hates it. Go away; I am with Grief. 

Grief loves the rain. You can stand with Grief during a storm and weep. It looks like you took too many raindrops to the face. Grief prefers anonymity 

Grief enters your mind and puts it in a vise lock. You have thoughts not connected to Grief, but they all lead back to him. Grief strives to be the center of attention.

Grief abhors sleep. His hosts must constantly engage grief. If you somehow ignore him and fall asleep, he will prod you until you are awake and slam into your weary state like a massive wave on a skiff. 

Grief remembers all the times he encountered you in your life and ties all the losses together in a black bow. 

Grief puts everything into perspective. What bothered you before he moved in is now trivial. Grief conquers all. 

Grief is angry that he doesn’t get more respect. Companies give their employees months off when a child becomes part of the family and a couple of days when someone dies. Grief thanks, it should be equal time because he knows no one can work with him dominating their thoughts. Grief is hitting people harder to prove his case. 

Grief is a Yankees fan. 

Grief prefers the respect he got in the past when people wore mourning clothes that signaled they lost a loved one and permitted them to be a bit of an asshole. You could get away with a lot wearing mourning garments. Then full-time assholes realized they could act with immunity by wearing them. The phony mourners ended the tradition. Their ancestors are currently making fake vaccination cards. 

Grief has a point. 

Grief has no patience. Grief is always itching for something to start. Grief can morph into anger easily.  Grief elevates the indiscretion of others. Grief makes you want to punch someone in the face.  If you do so, Grief will not join you in the jail cell. His cousin Terror will. It's another argument for mourning clothes. 

Grief never leaves. Grief becomes bored and turns into acceptance. Grief stays in this dormant state but can arise again on birthdays and anniversaries. Sometimes without warning, it comes back and slaps you in the head when you least expect it. 

Grief is relentless

Grief is here. 

Damn grief. 

Foley Takes Pocket on Her First Rescue Mission

 

It was time to teach Pocket how to save a mortal dog.  I was assigned the perfect pup in need.  A dog named SkipJack was playing on a private beach near the Rappahannock River in Virginia. His Momma sat nearby, reading a book and enjoying the warm summer day.  She would look up to check on SkipJack then go back to reading.  The last time she looked up, SkipJack was gone.

    The pup had been having a grand time chasing waves when one of them grabbed ahold of the slight dog and pulled him out to sea.  His mom ran into the water, calling his name, but could not see him.  Terrified, she contacted 911.

    Meanwhile, SkipJack was operating totally on instinct and tried to swim back, but the under-toad would not let go.  Desperate SkipJack prayed for help.  I looked to the sky and saw the head angels had lit the Foley Signal, a picture of my face in the sky, and I knew it was a prayer only I could answer successfully.  I told Pocket to come, and we took the Yorkie poles back to the mortal land.

    We found SkipJack struggling in the water a hundred yards from shore and going further out.  Pocket and I appeared to him.  I told SkipJack he had nothing to fear:  Pocket and Foley, the Yorkie sisters, were here for him.

    I turned to Pocket. “Okay, this is the situation.  This dog is being dragged out to sea and is growing weaker.  Rescuers are on the way, but they couldn't see him even if they arrive before SkipJack was dragged away. What should we do?”

    “Excuse me,” SkipJack interjected.  “What is going on?”

    “I am teaching my sister, Pocket, how to save a praying dog.”

    “Oh,” SkipJack said while spitting water.  “Could you do it some other time?  I seem to be drowning.”

    Boy, this was a needy dog. I told him to be patient, and we would be with him in a moment, then turned my attention back to Pocket, who was in deep thought.

    “He needs to stand out in the water,” Pocket said.  “I know!  He can stick his tail in the air, and the rescuers will save him.”

    I told  Pocket that was a brilliant idea.

    “Excuse me again,” SkipJack said.  “I hate to be a bother; for me to stick my tail in the air, my head would have to be underwater.”

    “Your point?” I asked impatiently.

    “I will drown.”

    That was a good point.  “He should extend his neck, so his nose is higher,” Pocket suggested.

    SkipJack said he would try.  His head wasn't high enough above the waves.  I told him to try and lick the sun.  He did; just as the rescuers arrived, they spotted the sun shining off SkipJack’s nose.  They sent a boat, and he was pulled from the sea.  The rescuers even gave him a life jacket, so it never happened again.

    Pocket and I went back to the Bridge triumphant.   We were lauded as heroes.  The only drawback was that SkipJack, on his customer satisfaction report, said we were too chatty.

    There are some customers you can never please.