I am wearing #2 out of 4 awesome shirts Sasha sent me today.
As you can see, Wags is bundled up in my less-loved baby blanket, Pinky. (Yellowie is my jam. Pinky’s just kind of Yellowie’s bastard sister.) At some point in the middle of the night Wags started to whimper. Like a really slow, long whimper. Kinda sounded like someone was hypnotizing a cat or something. I don’t know how else to describe it. I’m really dumb when I’m sleeping, I just assume that whatever is going on is less important than how much I’m enjoying my sleep, so I kinda just reached down to the end of the bed and pulled him up under my chin and hugged him until he stopped. Then this morning I noticed that he wouldn’t put any weight on his right hind leg, the same one he hurt last year. It turned out that he limped around on three legs for no reason for about two months last year. He faked a hurt leg in order to gorge himself on turkey slices and be walked around the world on the top of a pillow. Yes, I am certain he was faking. I caught him one day running around on all fours and then when he noticed I was watching, he tucked his hind leg up to his chest as if I would fall for it.
I don’t know if he’s faking right now, to be honest. There’s nothing in his paw that I can see, there’s no visible damage. He can stretch his leg, so I don’t think there’s a broken bone involved. At worst, homeboy has a strained muscle. It’s very possible becasue we played fetch for six hours last night. Also, who the fuck knows what that baby monster does when I’m sleeping? He could have been climbing the neighbor’s tree, making forts, or running for senate for all I know. I let him have free reign of the house because I’m a horrible mother.
I guess now I’m just going to wait. If it’s still hurting him on Saturday, I will take him to the animal hospital and maybe sometime in the next week I will attempt to acquire pet insurance so if he does need some kind of long-term medical care (this thread has left me both hopeful and horrified), I will be able to afford it.
And hey, Internet? I’m real worked up about this on the inside already, so I would appreciate NO EMAILS on the subject of my dog’s health. Seriously, if I get anything from anyone about how your dog stepped on some poisionous leaves and it ate their leg and by the time you brought him to the vet there was only three minutes to save his life, I’ll come to your house and I’ll kill you. I may not have time and money to take my dog to the vet, but I certainly have time and money to fly to wherever you are in the country and drive a dull knife in to your throat. I actually have a special fund for that. So yeah. I shared with you, but I don’t need you to share with me on this one. The last thing I need is to spend a week at work wondering if my dog has a life-threatening blood disease or something. What would I fucking do if I came home to a dead dog? Can any of you imagine me handling that well? What do you do with a dead dog!!?!? Do you throw it away? Burry it? Do you have to report the death to anyone but the Internet (if you’re me)?
Wagandstuff can’t die because then I probably will quit the business and move home to my mother’s house. That’s what I’m saying. He’s not allowed to die or my career is over. Let’s just pray it’s a bruise and move on.
little dogs sometimes have something called a luxating patella, in which the groove their patella bone/tendon lies in is really shallow, so their kneecaps shift in and out of the groove, which leads to irritation and swollen tendons and a hurty puppy :( look at his knee joint and see if it seems to be like, shifty and shady… poor monkey.
