Once upon a time….
…there was this tiny, little spider. I’d show you a picture of him, but I wouldn’t want to scare Blue...cause we all know how Blue loves spiders. But I could tell you that he was no bigger than a quarter, legs fully extended. This seemingly innocent little dude set in motion a chain of events that ended with the death of my beloved English Bulldog, Boris.
Apparently, and I saw the dog chassing him around the dryer when I was folding clothes that evening, the spider bit the dog. We aren’t sure if it was on the tongue or the paw—he has had a very, very LONG tongue. So anyway as the story goes, no one knew he’d been bitten. Night falls and we all go to bed. In the morning I wake up at 5am to a dog panting very hard as if he’d just run a marathon or walked down our driveway twice ( it’s a long driveway and he was out of shape). I thought nothing of it and let him outside to do his business. It could have been that he and his woman, Natasha, were playing ‘house’ and he got a little winded, which has happened before.
He didn’t come back, but this is not unusual. Actually, he never comes back and I always have to go and get him. When I did, he was still panting; the cool morning air had done nothing to relieve him. I feed them breakfast and instead of eating, he begins acting stupid. Boris charged at the bi-fold doors separating the laundry folding area from the rest of the utility room. Over and over he bashed his head, eventually breaking them…the doors not his head.
Well naturally I yelled at the mutt, and then threw him back outside. I wasn’t sure what had gotten into this dog’s brain for him to act this way. After a while, with hubby watching, the dog started going around in circles and then falling over only to get back up and do it again. “We need to bring him to the vet,” I told my husband. But guess who it fell on to do so? Yep, me.
“I can’t…I have a dentist appointment with your daughter at 9am.”
Needless to say, I put the dog into the car and brought him. I explained to the lady kid behind the desk what the dog was doing and how he was behaving. I even told her that I had noticed that his paw was swollen and he would not stop panting— which was not normal—he needed to see someone right away.
“You’re a walk in; It will take awhile.”
“Can I leave him here with you, go to my dentist appointment, and then come back so that he will get in sooner?”
“Yes.” (remember those words…)
So I left my dog with them at a little before 8:30 am and watched as he struggled to get away from them. He never struggles. He thinks going to the vet is the greatest thing in the world— social hour with other dogs. But I left anyway and went to the dentist.
On the way back from the appointment, I called the vet to check on my dog. He hadn’t been seen yet. I told them I was on my way there. It was now around 10:30.
Upon my arrival I asked to see the dog. The kid wouldn’t let me. She said it was against the rules to let anyone who didn’t work there behind the door to the kennels. Normally, I would have insisted and just walked right on in. What are they gonna do, arrest me? But I didn’t. I’m not sure why.
The kid informed me that he was to be seen soon. I asked her if he was still panting hard and she replied, “Yes.” I told her that I was under the impression that he was penciled in line when I had dropped him off earlier. She apparently didn’t see the dogs condition as an ’emergency’ and hadn’t done so or even told the doctor. I say singular in doctor because there was only one working on this particular Friday, naturally.
I got a little angry and told her that I wanted to either see my dog or have a doctor see him immediately. “Oh, the doctor is looking at him now. He says his the dog’s tongue is swollen and thats why he’s panting hard.”
But that was all she told me as the room filled up with other folks and their pets. I left again…not really sure why…but I was relieved that my dog was being looked at. I was told to call back in an hour which then changed when I did to 2:00pm cause the doctor was out to lunch and then he had surgery afterward with another pet.
I called around 1:45 and asked about my dog—same stupid girl answered. “Oh, you can probably pick him up in an hour or so. He has congestive heart failure and we’ve got some medicine for you to take home with him.” That was all she would tell me. I’m freaking out by this time. At 2:00pm the doctor calls me on my cell phone and tells me that my dog died.
“His heart stopped. There was nothing we could do for him; we’d tried our best. He had an allergic reaction to something…say an ant bite or bee sting (or spider bite). His heart was enlarged and he had a lot of fluid surrounding it. The fact that his tongue was swollen was causing him to pant hard to breath made his heart to have to work harder to get oxygen to the blood and it just killed him. Sorry for your loss. We all loved Boris here.”
I was in shock and hung up to let my husband know the news. He was upset as was I and the kids. The dog was only four years old. I picked up my dog on Saturday for burial. I cried. Even though that little dog loved to pee on my curtains, unfurl his massively long tongue on my toes and leave it there while I folded clothes (yuck!), never listened to a thing I told him to do, and kept sticking his rear end in my face for me to scratch or the fact that he loved to steal clean socks out of my dryer and bite me if I tried to take them away, I loved him.
And I won’t mention the eight times I had to pry his mouth open as his eyes rolled back into his head, reach down his throat, and pull out the wad of food that he was choking on because he was too retarded to take smaller bites or the three times I saved him from drowning in our pond because he couldn’t swim, but insisted on jumping in anyway. No sir, I won’t mention those times.
Days went by and I wasn’t satisfied with the ‘explanation’ as to how my dog died. Turns out after a little investigating on my own, the dog could have been saved. If the girl had let us see a doctor right away or had at least penciled him in and got him in sooner, the doctor could have counter acted the spider venom.
But woulda, coulda, shoulda, the fact still remains that It would’ve only prolonged his death and not by much. The heart problem would have gotten him sooner or later. It runs in his family and breed. Of course this in no consultation to his mate. She has done nothing but mope and search for her lost love. She knows something happened to him and it breaks my heart. They’ve never been separated.
Well, there you have it: My reason for having the blues of late and hanging out in cemeteries.