The continuing adventures of not-my-dog: expensive vet edition
Not-my-dog still lives here. And he still has a bum ankle. It’s really pathetically sad to watch 103 pounds of yellow Lab limp around sadly. Especially when said Lab gives you the “this foot would hurt so much less if you’d only share your cookie” look.
So, despite the fact that he’s not officially my dog, I took the poor creature to the vet this week. Simpson was delightful, wagging his tail and smiling his doggy smile at everyone except the French Mastiff who tried to bite his head off. He didn’t even growl at the vet, which surprised us because he still sometimes growls at my brother who, you know, LIVES HERE.
Anyway, the doctor didn’t think he felt anything in Simmy’s hip or knee but felt some fluid around his ankle (which I had misidentified as his knee – eighth grade science only gets you so far, apparently). He did a Lyme test, the results of which we’re still waiting for, and gave us some antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. With that and a small car payment’s worth of vet bill, we were cleared to come home.
If, God forbid, this Lyme test comes back negative, we will probably need to take the dog in for an x-ray of his leg. Or just keep feeding him doggy aspirin wrapped in American cheese.
Because remember, this is not-my-dog.
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The things we humans do for our animals!
I have friends who had a spectacularly bad string of luck with their cats one year — one cat needed emergency vet service (including surgery) over Memorial Day weekend (extra expensive), followed by the other cat needing equally expensive surgery over Labor Day weekend. Even though my friends were a partner in a law firm and a CPA with a big firm (therefore rolling in dough), he was so mad about the cats’ vet bills (around $7K) that he declared that they would not be celebrating their anniversary or Christmas that year. In other words, no gifts. Because THAT would totally make up for the thousands they’d already spent.