FLOAT | THE DAILY POST
Last night, Bonnie the Beloved Scottish Terrier of myth and legend, did not feel well. She was shivering and could not seem to find a comfortable position. When we gave her a careful looking over, she was all puffed up, like a blowfish about to pop. I had known for a few days that she was a bit constipated, something I thought might be related to the leftover New Year’s Eve rosemary roast potatoes. It might have been the potatoes — or for that matter, the rosemary — but Bonnie was an unhappy pup. Which made us unhappy dog parents.
These things never happen during veterinary business hours. I had no way to know if it was a genuine (potentially deadly) blockage or bloat (though bloat is uncommon in small dogs) … or just a normal backup during her digestive rush hour. After considerable soul-searching, we decided better safe than sorry and packed her off to the Doggy ER, about 20 miles away through some of the most labyrinthine and unlit roads in the commonwealth.
Night vision isn’t one of the things that improves with age. There aren’t many things that do improve with age, but vision in general is definitely not one of them and night vision in particular. I don’t like driving at all anymore and Garry is only slightly happier about it. But he will do it because he is Garry and he does what he has to do. It’s a thing.
This was a job for the GPS. However, the GPS is a Garmin, made in Germany, and it is not at it’s best in rural areas where its internal maps seem to believe roads exist in places where they are not. But these illusory roads are on a map, somewhere, and Garmin will send us there. This can be funny, but at night, with a sick dog in the car and limited visibility, not so funny.
It was snowing very lightly. Big, soft flakes floating slowly and gently to the ground. Not enough to make the road disappear. Not heavy enough to be of much concern, but not a big help in navigation, either. We did eventually find the hospital. Find the ER. Get Bonnie in. And then, we waited. Like a human ER, the most serious cases go first, and Bonnie seemed stable and in fact, was apparently a really big hit with the doctors, who popped out periodically to tell us she was doing fine and what a charming girl!
Yes, indeed. By the end of the waiting, it was nearly two in morning. Bonnie was beginning to look downright chipper. She had been given some doggy Sennacot, an x-ray, a gentle probing, and some basic blood work because her liver is a bit big. They also found that at some point, she was shot. With a bee-bee, clearly visible under her skin. Not infected or anything. Just … there. No idea who shot her or when, but I suspect the nasty neighbors.
When we came out, finally, it had snowed a little. Mostly, it had snowed over the hospital parking lot because there was no snow anywhere else. When we finally crawled out of be this morning, it had snowed here too. Less than an inch. Nothing worth shoveling or plowing, especially in view of a prediction more snow tonight into tomorrow. Thus far, the big ones have been up in the hills, or down on the coast, giving us the “miss.” I do not expect this pattern will last, but I can hope.
These are pictures I took this morning as the flakes were floating down. Pretty. I wish I could appreciate the beauty without dreading the shoveling and plowing and slipping and sliding.
Bonnie is just fine, thank you. And they gave us six months to pay off the bill.
