Thursday, July 30, 2015

Bette Week Continues

Holy crap. Apparently our real estate agent, Agent Al, has an offer on the table. Unfortunately, we don't give a damn right now because Bette has me so upset I'm afraid to make any important decisions at this time. It all started yesterday afternoon when we took Bette to the veterinarians office so that we could address the problem of her seizures. Everything seemed to go without incident. The doctor checked her out, took some blood, and told us that after the blood work he would put her on an anti-seizure medication. But first he wanted to find out if she had diabetes. Fine, we paid the bill and started out the door with Bette. Just as soon as I opened the door for her to walk out, right there on the threshold, Bette went into a seizure. In my warped little mind I thought, perfect, now the doctor can see for himself. I picked Bette up and handed her off to the tech who had run over to help. She took little Bette back into the bowels of the doctor's office assuring me that everything would be okay. About two minutes later we started to hear an eerie howl coming from somewhere.
"That's Bette." Mark said.
"No, I don't think so. That doesn't sound like her."
Still, throughout the entire vet's office, the horrible sound continued. The nice man we were talking to in the waiting room looked terribly worried. From the back of the office the vet tech came out looking for us with an upset look on her face.
"Come on back." She told us.
When we entered the examination room, there was Bette being held tightly by another tech. Honestly, everybody in that room, including the doctor, looked horrified by the sound coming from that little dog. It was the same sound I've heard many times before from Mark. Usually when he steps barefoot into dog puke, pee, or poo. Anyway, I tried to calm poor Bette down. She apparently came out of her seizure in a strange place, with strange people, and was terrified. Before I could get her completely calmed down the vet tech jabbed her with a syringe.
"It'll relax her." She said.
And relax her it did. By the time we got home Bette was stumbling around like a drunk. She tried to drink water but could only look at it. She tried to jump up on the sofa, but the sofa might just as well been Everest. I asked her if she wanted to go out. She did, but she couldn't. Her legs were splaying out in four directions, so I picked her up and placed her out on the back porch. All she could manage was to flop over into the dirt and lay down, so I picked her up and put her back in the house. This sort of thing went on for a couple of hours. It wasn't until late yesterday evening that she was even a hint of herself. She came stumbling into the living room and gave me that "I have to pee" look. So I picked her up and put her back out on the porch where she immediately squatted and peed. Bette was back.


  1. Such a poor baby. She needs extra snacks tonight. Took me a minute to figure out that it was Bette having terrible problems and not just another Thursday night for you and a bottle of vodka.

  2. Poor Bette! I hope she's back to herself today. Nothing is worse than seeing your pet in distress. It's a good thing she has such a wonderful daddy.