|Who can resist that face? Me, for one. She's a bit fatter these days, but this is the look she was giving Dr. Smith.|
Gigi put on an award-winning performance as "The Poor Little Matchstick Dog" for Dr. Smith. She panted heavily, gazed sadly at him with her big, brown eyes, and limped around the examining table while softly whimpering. The best he can tell is that she's sprained her shoulder; given that the dog swan-dives off the back of my mother's fully-elevated lift chair several times a day, this was bound to happen. She just took a big leap and landed wrong, much the same way my mother, a swimmer and diver in college, did off of a dormitory bunk bed. That's how Mom ended up having her first back surgery.
So, anyway, I got home with Widget (one of her nicknames) and her medication, only to be greeted by a heaving Smooth Fox Terrier. I had Foxies of my own until Jane died of renal failure and Ozzie succumbed to cancer...we had Fox Terriers throughout my childhood too, so suffice it to say that I've been mopping up terrier barf all my life.
I must love my parents, because no sooner did I get down on my hands and knees to attack the first mess, than I heard: "Hurka, HURKA, HUUUUUUURKA!" *SPLAT*. My father was on the way to the garage to get another roll of paper towels as the damning sound of "urrrrrrrrrrp, urrrrrrrrrrrp, HURKA HURKA, urrrrrrrrrrrrrp" resumed behind me. Good thing we keep surgical gloves for just such eventualities.
Now, I am a dutiful child, but I'm going to be away from work off and on for the foreseeable future due to the current situation. I needed to take an online compliance quiz for work that had to be completed before the end of this week, and today was my last guaranteed chance to do it online. No sooner did I tell my folks I was going upstairs to the office to do the quiz, I heard: "NO, QUINN! NOOOOO!" ***hurka, HURKA, HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURKAAAAA*** SPLAT!
Dad had to get that one.
Yes, that's why we both have these advanced degrees. I'm sure he thinks med school was a superior preparation for this situation. (I have the sneaking suspicion that I'm going to be seeing Dr. Smith again tomorrow, with a different dog. I just hope the little guy doesn't yak up the back seat of my car on the way.)