It is 6:36 p.m. on a Saturday, the first Saturday in August.
Hubby is on the couch, asleep with (this must be said) his mouth open.
We have had a very exciting day, he and I. First of all, Gracie mimed sickness enough that we were moved to bite the bullet once more and present her to the vet. And, luckily, this time the diagnosis was only constipation. And so great was our relief at this diagnosis (the result of two x-rays of her tight little tummy and rectum, and her stubby little legs, total: $180) that we gladly forked over the $420 for an enema and a muscle relaxant. Oh, did self forget to mention that the li’l crit also had an ear infection, which required a dose of a medicine that cost $24.95?
Anyhoo, the nurse said that the vet would try her best to get Gracie to evacuate before we brought her home, otherwise “she might have an accident in your car.”
Very well! Keep her until she evacuates! The vet said to return in 40 minutes or so. She’d send an assistant to walk Gracie around the parking lot.
(Self should say that this was a new vet, who was so uncommonly pretty. She looked to be about 40 years of age. She had brown skin and the dark eyes of a Middle Eastern woman. Self will just refer to her as Dr. H, for she doesn’t want this wonderful woman to be swamped with pet owners from all over the Bay Area)
So, hubby and self proceeded straight to Chevy’s and had “top shelf” Margaritas. And after that, with our faces shiny and flushed, we returned to the vet only to be told that they had not been successful in getting Gracie to evacuate, she might very well evacuate in self’s car.
“That’s all right,” self said, since she was so happy after the margarita. “No problem.”
So there we were, headed home with our little angel, whose tight little tummy turned out to be full of the most curious obstructions, and we arrived home before the first evacuation had time to begin.
What luck! And now self will go ahead and prepare dinner, since all this blogging is making her hungry.