calgarygirl
01-08-2007, 09:32 AM
LIFE WITH NEWMAN – PAWS FOR REFLECTION
Dave and I have been very fortunate in that we do not know our veterinarian. In his almost 4 years of living, Newman has been blessed with good health, although burdened with the clumsiness of a circus clown. We go to a vet clinic by our house where there are 5 vets and each time I have taken Newman for his yearly physical, we have seen a different vet. And other than the removal of his manhood, for which I am still given the evil eye every time he visits Emma, the yellow lab across the street, Newman has not needed a vet. And for that I am thankful because I would resent helping to fund their sports cars, their summer homes on the lake and the new estate collection of jewellery from Tiffany's. There is no question that they are a talented, skilled and brilliant group of doctors, but is a consult really worth $120? "Is Newman sick"? "Yes he is. Will that be VISA, debit or cash"?
On New Year's Eve, we noticed that Newman was incessantly licking his paw, which is unusual unless he's been doing Tequila shooters again and had access to the salt. Upon closer inspection, we noticed that he had split one of his nails in two and the quick and the nerve were exposed. This in itself made me queasy and I had to throw water on my face. I am not good around blood let alone the reddened exposed pulp of my beloved dog's inner nail. I touched it, he yelped and like most "moms" of a fur-kid, I felt the pain more than he did. I had my coat and shoes on in a nano-second and the car keys were in my hand when I yelled for Dave to call 911 for a police escort. He rolled his eyes at me, but agreed that we couldn't leave the nail like that for another day. I wanted to bundle Newman in a blanket and rock him on my shoulder, but he weighs 80 pounds and I didn't want to dislocate my rotator cuff.
Fortunately for the City of Calgary, a new 24-hour Emergency Care Animal Hospital opened a few months ago and they never close, not even on the holidays, so we headed there. It's a lovely new facility with a phalanx of doctors, a huge reception area and the paperwork and waiting times of a hospital for humans. I was handed the clipboard with the four-page (two-sided) questionnaire and took a seat. As with most animal clinics, this one was decorated with posters and framed artwork of dogs and cats and there was a particularly enormous print of a yellow lab. Newman promptly stretched out on his front legs, put his butt in the air and assumed the "wanna play?" stance and started barking at the picture. As I looked at him and reviewed the form I was filling out, I also requested that they examine his obvious head injury and failing eyesight.
We were introduced to Dr. Boudreaux and taken to a smaller examining room, whereupon she looked at Newman's dangling nail and said "ewww". At least, I think that was the technical term she used, it might have been "yuck". She prescribed a painkiller to be administered to Newman's behind, a local anesthetic on his paw and clipping off most of the nail. She said it would take about 45 minutes, so she led him to the "back", where owners are mysteriously never allowed to tread, and told us we could leave and come back when it was done. Leave? As in, ABANDON Newman in his hour of need and desert him while he enters the secretive and dank environs of the unknown "back"? Dave had to hogtie me and drag me from the hospital to take my screaming self to Tim Horton's.
What I am sure was about five hours later, we returned to the hospital. Dr. Boudreaux came out to the reception area with Newman, who was now bandaged and limping, and said he was just fine. She then announced that "this is what I removed" and opened her palm to display what was once part of Newman's foot as if it should be on display at a gallery. When I came to with the assistance of smelling salts, we decided that there was only one place for the pitiful-looking Newman to go. Grandma's. Dave had to lift Newman up and down from our vehicle and then he hobbled up the step to a waiting Bubba who cradled him and prescribed her own medicine in the form of eight pieces of cheddar cheese, two Milkbones and some sausage. Not only did we have a wounded dog on our hands, but we now had a wounded dog who could imitate the campfire scene from Blazing Saddles.
While we were sipping our tea and munching on cookies, a once vertical Newman started to list like the Titanic. I wanted to yell "timber!", but there was only enough time to catch him. Whatever drugs he was on, I want to acquire a handful of them for every moment that Lindsay Lohan's snot-nosed mug is going to appear on the cover of "People" magazine this year. We took the Michael Jackson of canines, circa his one-handed glove era, home for some R&R and proceeded to our New Year's Eve get together with friends. While we counted down to midnight and the prospect and possibility of a New Year, I thought of Newman at home, probably attempting to shred his bandage into confetti. When we got home and he was obviously coming down from his "high", we found him surrounded by Doritos, salt and vinegar chips, Twinkies, M&Ms and an extra-large double cheese pizza from Papa John's.
On New Year's Day, we returned to the hospital to have his paw inspected and his bandage removed. Yet another vet, whose name I didn't catch in our generic rotation of anonymous DVMs. Amazingly, there was a sick falcon in the waiting room that morning and this time Newman didn't want to engage in play, he was just curious as to where "the Snowman" might be for a drug transaction.
In 2007, I wish you and all your pets, whether fur, finned or feathered, a happy and healthy year and the joy of being strangers with your vet.
Dee Clair
Calgary, Alberta
Dave and I have been very fortunate in that we do not know our veterinarian. In his almost 4 years of living, Newman has been blessed with good health, although burdened with the clumsiness of a circus clown. We go to a vet clinic by our house where there are 5 vets and each time I have taken Newman for his yearly physical, we have seen a different vet. And other than the removal of his manhood, for which I am still given the evil eye every time he visits Emma, the yellow lab across the street, Newman has not needed a vet. And for that I am thankful because I would resent helping to fund their sports cars, their summer homes on the lake and the new estate collection of jewellery from Tiffany's. There is no question that they are a talented, skilled and brilliant group of doctors, but is a consult really worth $120? "Is Newman sick"? "Yes he is. Will that be VISA, debit or cash"?
On New Year's Eve, we noticed that Newman was incessantly licking his paw, which is unusual unless he's been doing Tequila shooters again and had access to the salt. Upon closer inspection, we noticed that he had split one of his nails in two and the quick and the nerve were exposed. This in itself made me queasy and I had to throw water on my face. I am not good around blood let alone the reddened exposed pulp of my beloved dog's inner nail. I touched it, he yelped and like most "moms" of a fur-kid, I felt the pain more than he did. I had my coat and shoes on in a nano-second and the car keys were in my hand when I yelled for Dave to call 911 for a police escort. He rolled his eyes at me, but agreed that we couldn't leave the nail like that for another day. I wanted to bundle Newman in a blanket and rock him on my shoulder, but he weighs 80 pounds and I didn't want to dislocate my rotator cuff.
Fortunately for the City of Calgary, a new 24-hour Emergency Care Animal Hospital opened a few months ago and they never close, not even on the holidays, so we headed there. It's a lovely new facility with a phalanx of doctors, a huge reception area and the paperwork and waiting times of a hospital for humans. I was handed the clipboard with the four-page (two-sided) questionnaire and took a seat. As with most animal clinics, this one was decorated with posters and framed artwork of dogs and cats and there was a particularly enormous print of a yellow lab. Newman promptly stretched out on his front legs, put his butt in the air and assumed the "wanna play?" stance and started barking at the picture. As I looked at him and reviewed the form I was filling out, I also requested that they examine his obvious head injury and failing eyesight.
We were introduced to Dr. Boudreaux and taken to a smaller examining room, whereupon she looked at Newman's dangling nail and said "ewww". At least, I think that was the technical term she used, it might have been "yuck". She prescribed a painkiller to be administered to Newman's behind, a local anesthetic on his paw and clipping off most of the nail. She said it would take about 45 minutes, so she led him to the "back", where owners are mysteriously never allowed to tread, and told us we could leave and come back when it was done. Leave? As in, ABANDON Newman in his hour of need and desert him while he enters the secretive and dank environs of the unknown "back"? Dave had to hogtie me and drag me from the hospital to take my screaming self to Tim Horton's.
What I am sure was about five hours later, we returned to the hospital. Dr. Boudreaux came out to the reception area with Newman, who was now bandaged and limping, and said he was just fine. She then announced that "this is what I removed" and opened her palm to display what was once part of Newman's foot as if it should be on display at a gallery. When I came to with the assistance of smelling salts, we decided that there was only one place for the pitiful-looking Newman to go. Grandma's. Dave had to lift Newman up and down from our vehicle and then he hobbled up the step to a waiting Bubba who cradled him and prescribed her own medicine in the form of eight pieces of cheddar cheese, two Milkbones and some sausage. Not only did we have a wounded dog on our hands, but we now had a wounded dog who could imitate the campfire scene from Blazing Saddles.
While we were sipping our tea and munching on cookies, a once vertical Newman started to list like the Titanic. I wanted to yell "timber!", but there was only enough time to catch him. Whatever drugs he was on, I want to acquire a handful of them for every moment that Lindsay Lohan's snot-nosed mug is going to appear on the cover of "People" magazine this year. We took the Michael Jackson of canines, circa his one-handed glove era, home for some R&R and proceeded to our New Year's Eve get together with friends. While we counted down to midnight and the prospect and possibility of a New Year, I thought of Newman at home, probably attempting to shred his bandage into confetti. When we got home and he was obviously coming down from his "high", we found him surrounded by Doritos, salt and vinegar chips, Twinkies, M&Ms and an extra-large double cheese pizza from Papa John's.
On New Year's Day, we returned to the hospital to have his paw inspected and his bandage removed. Yet another vet, whose name I didn't catch in our generic rotation of anonymous DVMs. Amazingly, there was a sick falcon in the waiting room that morning and this time Newman didn't want to engage in play, he was just curious as to where "the Snowman" might be for a drug transaction.
In 2007, I wish you and all your pets, whether fur, finned or feathered, a happy and healthy year and the joy of being strangers with your vet.
Dee Clair
Calgary, Alberta