Thanksgiving For Our Butterballs

The Baron and Molly stopped over the other night bearing oatmeal cookies with white raisins. It was really terribly sweet of them, and Molly out-did herself. Thanks, Molly! They gave Will (me) some unbelievable farts. Thanks for that.

Are white raisins a key ingredient in rocket fuel? No? Well, they should be.

Singed eyebrows aside, during the evening I thought that Wednesday,



seemed a little sluggish, but I didn't pay much attention.

And then, I saw Gomez licking his chops as though he had just finished a bit of a feast.



But again, I thought, really, what could he have gotten into? Betty Boop's fur burg is long gone... So, I didn't pay it much attention either.

The evening progressed and I was wiped out from my day not wanting to move from the chair and ottoman where I was ensconced. Will was watching "Lady in the Water", which began to creep me out, so I thought I should really get to bed and get some rest to prepare for an early morning bitch-slap at work.

When I went back into the bedroom, I happened to look in the corner at the dogs' bed and there it was; a small bag of GARBAGE that was holding the remnants of a rotisserie chicken container and an empty jar of enchilada sauce. I looked in horror as there was NO sign of the chicken carcass.

None. It was gone.

Chicken bones can be deadly to dogs.

I yelled for Will. And when he came back to the bedroom, I asked him really politely, "WHERE THE FUCK DID THIS COME FROM??? WHAT THE FUCK?? WHAT THE FUCKITY-FUCKITY-FUCK??? CHICKEN??? WHERE THE FUCK IS THE CHICKEN???"

See how calm I was? I know. I'm really proud how cool, calm and collected I can be under stressful circumstances.

Then, he remembered that he had left the bag on the counter in the kitchen and ran out in a rush in the late afternoon forgetting to take it out to the garbage.

And of course I didn't blame him...especially when I yelled, "YOU'RE CARELESS!! DAMN IT!!!"

Well, Wednesday is part Jack Russell, which translates to part flying monkey. The other portions of her consist of Mother Theresa and Janice Joplin, which makes for a terribly sweet crack ho. So, she must have leapt up grabbing it off the counter, dragged it back into the bedroom, where she devoured an ENTIRE chicken carcass.

I have no idea how we didn't notice that Wednesday was having trouble breathing because she was packed full of cartilage and bones, let alone that we failed to notice that she looked less like a Jack Russell,



and more like a polar bear. She was ENORMOUS.

I was completely panicked. Her breathing was shallow; "eh-eh-eh-eh-eh", like she was going to give birth to a monster turd.

So, I called the animal emergency hospital in Santa Barbara and calmly described what happened, "AAAHHHH!!!! DOG!!!! AAAHHHH!!!! CHICKEN CARCASS!!!! AAAHHHHH!!!! GONE!! HHEELLLPPPP!!! POLAR BEAR!!! AAAHHHH!!! WILL!!! REALLY BAD FARTS!!!! GLOBAL WARMING!!! JACK RUSSELL!!! JANE RUSSELL!!! FULL FIGURE GAL!!! CROSS YOUR HEART BRA!!! AAAHHHH!!!!"

She instructed us to leave Jane Russell and her bra at home, but to bring the Jack Russell in right away.

Will said, "She seems fine, though. Should we really bring her in?"

I contemplated punching him in the face and ripping his hair out, but decided to instruct him to put a nearby box up his ass and then I put the dogs' harnesses on instead. See how wonderfully supportive I can be? Philanthropic martyr to the bone, I tell you.

We rushed her down there where we sat and waited for over an hour.

A poodle came in with a terrible cough. I could tell she was a big time boozer in her day. It was obvious that she was a smoker and used to fast times with any dog that still had balls. And even then, I bet she was humping any leg that let her. I tried to shield our babies' eyes from such filth and told them to pay no mind to that little slut with the hack. Oh sure, she was all fluffy and primped, but we knew better. Whore.

Eventually, our little butterball was seen by an angry lesbian. She wasn't that angry, but she wasn't that friendly either. Call me silly, when a health care worker enters an examination room, I like it when they introduce themselves. I know, I'm edgy like that.

I worked in hospitals for years and have some hardened opinions about how the staff should behave and how they should treat their patients and their patients' families. And I believe that the same should hold true for Veterinarian clinics as well. And if you're not a "people person"? Try harder and learn.

I also really dislike that we are supposed to call someone "Doctor". Fuck hierarchy. It's my health, or my loved-ones' health - our very lives we're talking about. Not your ego. So, when I know a doctor's first name, I use it. Let's bring it back down to a personal level, not some detached communication between shivering patient and demi-god. After all, there can still be respect without titles.

Hummm...Who's ass shall I kick next?

So, before I forget what I was talking about, "Irene" helped us and even though she wanted to kick my balls, she took care of Wednesday.

She showed us X-Rays of Wednesday's distended tummy. It was four times its normal size and full of bones. They had to keep her overnight and when I went back to say "goodbye" to her in her kennel, she was whining. I had never heard her whine like that before and I wanted to buckle and cry on the spot. She's our little girl.

I looked in the kennel underneath her at a poor Rottweiler that had gotten ahold of some rat poison. He was panting heavily and drooling all over the place. I thought, "Rat poison my ass, I bet he was licking on that slut-poodle's skanky pussy last Friday night. And now the poor devil caught poodle crabs on his tongue."

We left and I wanted to cry the whole way home. Wednesday of course, couldn't understand what was happening, and that's just heartbreaking to me.

I barely slept that night and called first thing in the morning. They reported that she was doing fine, but that she should be transferred to our vet for the remainder of the day for further observation.

I had to run back to the Bitch-Slap Fest that was taking place at work that week, so Will picked her up and took her to our vet who happens to be a very large, jovial lesbian. As far as we know, she doesn't wish to kick our balls. Although, she could pick me up and throw me at least 10 feet if she wanted to (I love foreplay). She's very sweet though, so I don't foresee that happening...damn it. You never know though, she could surprise me one day.

So, flash ahead to now and Wednesday is doing fine. We had to bring her back to the vet once more because she was extremely uncomfortable and moving quite slowly. She whimpered again as I dropped her off, breaking my heart for the 100th time that week. But, she's doing much better.

She's lucky. And so are we. It scares me how much I love them.



And even though I don't feel worthy of such awesome beings and their unconditional love, I do feel thankful. Extremely thankful. Thank you, you big wide wonderful universe, for our little butterballs.