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TWENTY DOLLARS

3 April 2000, 00:26

I love my dogs.

They are the most overpampered, overmedicated, overprotected mutts on earth. Anybody will tell you, I’ll usually take dogs over people anyday. When one of my dogs has some problem, I’m usually there to overreact to it. And Kodak. Dear, sweet Kodak is the most accident-prone doggie you’ll ever meet (and also the smartest – go figure.) A couple of years ago, when Kodak was a little younger, and more awake generally, I saved a little dog from a horrible life, named her Afga, and introduced her to him. She was a spaniel puppy, cuter than a baby bug, and just loved everyone. She was about five or six months old, and immediately became attached to Kodak, even though Kodak found the puppy an ANNOYING little mosquito. They lived in relative civility in the house and all was good in the land.

Well, one cold winter night, when it was about ten below, I was pulling up into the garage, my car headlights illuminated both dogs who were standing in the back – or more accurately, Afga was dancing about, wiggling her behnd and Kodak was stiffly stoic with his back arched a bit. I got out of the car and found out why – Kodak’s little winkie was stuck out as far as it could go and as purple as all get out. I freaked. I laughed. I freaked and I laughed. It turned out that Afga had gone into her first heat and although, my dear, sweet neutered Kodak who was basically genderless up to this point, apparently it spurred some dormant little urges in him. And in the cold weather, as a tongue sticks to freezing metal, so did the warm, moist winkie did stick to dry cold skin. So he was immobile, and losing circulation. I, panicking, but yet hysterical, gave a buzz to the Emergency Vet Clinic (where Kodak has visited so often, he has frequent accident miles). I’m on the phone, TRYING to explain to the nurse what has happen, but yet avoiding the p-word, the h-word, the s-word and a lot of other words I find difficult to form with my mouth.

The nurse gets back on after probably laughing her ass off and starts in with “Well, you’ll have to resheath the penis….” WHOA NELLIE!!! Needed to stop that train right there. “But you’ll have to massage…” HOLD THE PHONE, THERE buddy… Love my dog more than life itself, but NO WAY IN HELL or GAWDS GREEN EARTH was I touching a doggie winkie. “ Well, then, you’ll have to bring the dog in…”

Easier said than done. Poor Kodak, looking at me like I flushed his goldfish, was REALLY troubled when I tried to nudge him to the car. All this time, Afga is dancing about frantically, shoving her butt into Kodak’s face or pushing it against my leg. EGADS. Well, after about 15 minutes of trying to get him into the car, I gave up – his back leg muscles were hyper extended because of his woo-woo being out, so moving the poor bastard was not really possible. At this point, I’m back on the phone with the laugh nurse, trying to explain that I couldn’t get him into the car. “Well…. you’re going to have to get a little slack into his muscles..” I felt like one of the dumb monkeys in 2000 when they are trying to figure out just what the hell to do with the black monolith. Mama. So I pulled a sheet off the bed, and tied his winkie to his tummy and was able to move him toward the car. This had the added advantage in covering the purple winkie to prevent accidental touchage by me. I heard you could go to hell for this sort of thing, you know.

And Afga wanted to go. Fair enough. She probably thought she was going to get some at one point in the night. Yeah, right – the dog is going to get lucky before I am. She can wait nineteen or twenty years like I did.

So, its the middle of the night, me and two dogs are driving to the emergency vet. My life can’t get any better. We get to the Vet, and I had to show them evidence that I had some money that I was going to fork over before they serviced my doggie -$45 to be exact – to get in the door. The vet is leading the dog back to the examining room, and the nurse starts with “Well, wouldn’t you like to come back here and see what we do so that next time…..” WHOA NELLIE!!! LA LA LA LA (I don’t here you) LA LA LA… She left me in my reality coping exercise mode.

Here I sit, with my little dancing horney dog in the lobby, when I hear a big commotion and a couple of yells for help from the back room, and of course I rush to see what problems people are having with my dogs wankie.

I stood in the door. One vet and two nurses have Kodak upturned on his back in the air, his purple winkie waving back and forth rapidly. Kodak, not wanting to be hoisted upon the examining table, had stuck his foot under the lip of the table, preventing anybody lifting him further. His feet are flailing wildly and nurses are laughing. I, of course, scream. This shocks the poor doggie enough, he retracted his foot and they were able to get him on the table.

Eventually, $90 poorer and resheathed, my motley crew and I go home.

But don’t let this discourage from getting a dog.

They’re great