Monday, June 24, 2013

The Cure

If you have a dog you know that this is how it happens every time. A perfectly happy and rambunctious pup will suddenly reject their food, stop drinking water, refuse to go out to pee or poop, and then lay lethargically in their favorite bed as if they are on the verge of death. Always on a weekend when you can't get them to the veterinarian. This time it was Sasha and in addition to her getting sick, I have to deal with Mr. Panic, a.k.a. Mark. In a screeching voice, I hear from the bedroom, "Alan, come in here! I think she's dying. Oh my god Alan she stopped breathing!"
Knowing there is really nothing I can do, I make my way to the death bed of our little schnauzer.
"Look," Mark screams at me, "there's something horribly wrong with her!"
I bend over the little lump of a dog and her eyes look up at me as if to say, leave me the fuck alone. She is definitely sick, I've known that all day. What I don't know is what's wrong with her.
"She'll be alright. If she is still sick in the morning I'll call the vet's office."
"Oh my god Alan, how can you be so callous? She'll die before then."
No amount of explaining about how dogs do get sick, or about how much it would cost to take her to an emergency veterinarian would make Mark stop looking at me as if I had already buried a knife in Sasha's heart.

The next morning when Sasha again refused her walk, her food, and any water, I called the vet's office.
"Okay, but we are only open from ten to noon on Saturday, and we have five other emergencies ahead of you."
I instructed Mark to get dressed, I put my shoes on, and I hooked Miss Sasha up to her leash.
"Come on Sasha, do you want to go in the car?"
Sasha loves riding in the car. She jumped up, ran to the door, dragged me down the porch, through the gate and to the car where she stood on her rear legs pawing at the car door. It was the most action I had seen from her in over thirty six hours.
"Well look at that Mark. I think she's cured."
So we put her in the car, drove around the neighborhood for a few minutes, and then I instructed Mark to let Sasha and me out of the car a block from home. It was a miracle. She peed in the Crumb's yard, pooped next to Ryan's front door, barked at the Dalmatian dogs a block away from us, and made friends with a couple of terriers we came across. By the time we got home she was famished and devoured a hot dog along with a bowl of her regular food. I don't know if they teach this in veterinarian school, but I think they should. Right up there with how to suggest to a grieving dog owner that they should spend thousands of dollars just to keep their beloved pet alive one more week, they should teach the ride around the block cure.


  1. Oh poor baby. She should get steak tartar for dinner and so should Chandler. You and Mark should get martinis for being such good dads.

  2. Jeez. It sounds like she got a wee depressed and then rebounded by that ride. And I know exactly what you mean when you say that animals always get sick on the weekend. We've been to the emergency vets four times in the past three years.