By Heather O.
I think my mom must have been way busier than I thought.
My family consisted of 6 kids, 3 dogs, (one of whom was old, ugly, blind, and incontinent), 2 cats, and a variety of rodents that inevitably met gruesome and untimely deaths. (Yeah, whoever thought a couple of gerbils would survive long in a house with 3 dogs and 2 cats was a little bit too optimistic.) As a kid, this was just par for the course. As a mother, the whole thing makes my stomach turn and my head spin.
Why am I bringing this up now, you ask? Well, my dog has, um, problems. Between the mysterious bloody paw, the sudden onset of peeing in our hallway, and her excessive itching despite the best flea treatments, I figured she needed a trip to the vet. Turns out the poor animal has a huge cut on her pad, a bladder infection, a skin infection, and ears clogged with copious amounts of wax.
The blood and pee I picked up on, but seriously, who really knows what dog ear wax looks like?
The vet gave me $75 worth of medicated stuff that has to be administered in a variety of ways, in a variety of places, so we can give our dog that Hi-Pro glow again.
The antibiotics is a huge pill, and I do mean huge. How am I supposed to give this dog this thing? I tried disguising it in a big hunk of cheese, but she expertly chewed around the pill, spit it out, and looked at me like, “Did you honestly think I would eat that thing?”
I called my mom, the expert in dog stuff, and she said just to jam it down the dog’s throat so far she had to swallow it. Eww, yuck! Dog spit all over my hand!
“Yeah, well, you’re a mom. You know how to wash your hands.” she said.
And it’s true–I can’t get the dog to eat it any other way. So hand down the gullet it is. Good thing she’s a happy go lucky dog who doesn’t really seem all that bothered by my fist activating her gag reflex.
But I’m realizing that my mother must have done all these disgusting things, and more, without me even being all that aware of it. Sheesh, the woman deserves a medal. I’m only 5 tears into my motherhood journey, and I already feel like I’ve run a marathon. And I’m definitely looking for my gold star. Nobody seems to have shown up with it, yet, though. Dang. Maybe if I cleaned the kitchen AND mopped the floor–on the same day?
Anyway, here’s to you, mom. I think of you every time I wash Maggie’s spit off my fingernails. And I mean that in the best sense.
Oh, and Segullah readers, take note. How you deal with a dog bears little or no relationship to how you parent. Why? Because dogs are not, despite what Oprah says, people with fur. Trust me. Here are just a few examples of why your dogs are not people:
You can scream, “I will beat you with a stick, you stupid animal!” when your dog pees on the floor, and the dog will have no visible emotional set backs.
You can correct them verbally and with a choke chain.
You can put them in the garage all night for licking your toes.
You can name them stupid names like Hercules, Apollo, Athena, Bazzard, or Zernog, Queen of the Night and Destroyer of Sod, and nobody wonders what kind of wacko you really are.
They will eat their own and other people’s vomit. Ok, yes, it’s gross, but it sure comes in handy when you are 2 steps away from the toilet and you projectile vomit into the bathroom after just 1, and have to give immediate attention to the vomit in your hair. (Someday I’ll tell the whole story, although that might just be enough info right there.)
They do not require emotional validation, endless rounds of “Wheels on the Bus”, or a college education.
You can leave them locked in a crate all day, and nobody will call protective services.
And, finally, when they won’t take their medicene, you can literally ram it down their throats. 2 minutes later, they will wag their tails and still think you are the greatest thing ever.
WordPress database error: [Can't open file: 'wp_comments.MYI' (errno: 144)]
SELECT * FROM wp_comments WHERE comment_post_ID = '528' AND comment_approved = '1' ORDER BY comment_date