The adventuresome life of a Great Pyrenees/Newfoundland dog in Northwestern Ontario

Posts tagged ‘Jenn’

Bittersweet Day…

Today we went to see my pals at the Kenora Veterinary Clinic. I really like going there. I meet so many new two-leggers and other animals. There are always some dogs to meet and greet, too. Yep. The vet’s is one of the great social hubs of the region.

When we walked through the door: “Stelllahhh!” cried two voices in unison, “It’s been a whole month!” I went back behind the counter for an ear scratch and a cuddle. They give good hugs back there.

Then one of the assistants came out with a clipboard and called me and Elizabeth to go to the operating room. That’s where this raised metal bed with a thin rubber mat is. When I sit on it, they tell me how much I weigh. Last time I was in, Dr. Julie told me I was getting fat. I am NOT (That’s my wool that sways when I walk, not a jiggle!). I don’t like people saying I’m fat. I decided that if I put my paws on the floor today, I’d weigh less.

It almost worked.

When they realised I was cheating, they asked me to sit properly. Fair is fair, so I did. No one called me fat today though, even though I’ve gained two pounds since my last visit.

Jenn saw me as I was about to return to the waiting room. I pretended not to see her and walked through the swinging door. But I came back for a hug. I like Jenn, even if she did shave my bum that day (See Oh Dear, a Deer 2. The wool still hasn’t grown back fully, and she wonders why I give her a momentary cold shoulder!).

When we got back to the waiting room, the assistant called in the next patient to get weighed. She was a really cute little wispy-haired dog. When her owner came back, she said to Elizabeth, “She weighs 10 pounds!”

“Really? Stella is 96 today.”

They looked down at the two of us. “She doesn’t usually like big dogs,” said the little dog’s two-legger. “One really beat her up once.” I can’t imagine anyone wanting to beat up someone else. That’s just wrong. I really like little animals, and this little dog and I were getting along just fine. I had to say good-bye though when Dr. Roseanne called us to the examining room.

She took my lead from Elizabeth and we went back through the operating room (I sat down on the scales again to show the Dr. how good I was at it) to the x-ray room. Been there, done that, still hate it, but I’m a good girl. While they waited for the pictures to come up they also gave me a manicure. Dr. Roseanne told Elizabeth later that I had quite a set of talons on me….

The good news – and it is finally good news – my lungs are clear!

NO MORE BLASTO!

I was so happy! And then another thought struck me… No more blasto means no more big cheeseballs. I LOVE cheeseballs. Suddenly, I felt kinda sad.

A really lovely boxer named Athena came in from the other examining room then. She’d heard my news and stood up and gave me a quick right, left, right to the shoulder. I was a bit taken aback ’cause no one has ever done that to me before. But she was very friendly and playful, and we were good pals, too, by the time her two-legger was ready to take her home. She was really pretty; she should be in one of those dog food ads! I hope we meet again some day.

Kay came to pick us up, and I said good-bye to the girls behind the counter. They told me not to be sad… they were sure I’d be back again, soon!

I don’t know why, but Elizabeth gave them a funny look when they said that, and they laughed….

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Oh, Dear! A Deer. 2

I didn’t really enjoy the trip over to the bookshop. I hurt so badly. I was really scared, too. I just squeezed myself into the floorspace behind Elizabeth’s seat and panted.

When we got to the shop, I found the darkest corner and curled up there.

Within half an hour, Elizabeth went down to see Donna in the tanning salon out front. I heard her say, “Something is really wrong with Stella. I’m going to take her to the vet’s, so I’m closing up. I should be back around 12:30.” She made a sign and taped it to the big door, put my leash on me and we walked down the hill to the vet’s. I heard someone say, “What a pretty dog,” as we passed them. I sure didn’t feel pretty.

The vet’s is just two blocks from Elizabeth Campbell Books. They’ve come to know me really well since I moved to Keewatin. And we are good friends. I usually love going there. But today, Elizabeth and I just sat in the corner where I curled up.

“Stella!” cried one of the vet’s helpers. “What’s the matter with you? You aren’t yourself at all today.”

You got that right.

It was Dr. Celia that looked after me. As she examined me, got to my hind quarters, she exclaimed, “Whew, Stella! You stink!’ Then she looked at Elizabeth. “She’s definitely experienced a trauma. Her anal glands have released. Could have been another animal… but…. Does she go after cars?”

As they discussed my capacity as a car-chaser, I looked at Elizabeth. I was willing her to get off cars. It wasn’t a car. I could see the idea of me chasing cars really upset her. She has been working hard to keep me from them. But I’m a speed demon…. Anyway, it wasn’t a car.

But Elizabeth didn’t get it, and Dr. Celia convinced her that a car was likely the culprit.

“We’ll need to give her an x-ray.”

“She’ll be glowing in the dark, soon,” Elizabeth doesn’t seem to like the idea of me having an x-ray. It’s no big deal. I’ve had them before. I had one just last week. I’m good at x-rays.

It hurt when they lifted me onto the x-ray table. Elizabeth came in and held me while Jenn, my good buddy Jenn, started running some sort of buzzy thing over my backside! “Poor Stella,” she crooned, “I’m sorry, but it’s the only way we’ll get rid of that stink!” Since it was Jenn, and because I was feeling awful anyway, I put up with the indignity. I watched as she gathered up my wool and threw it away.

We all gathered to look at the computer screen (Elizabeth’s mom, my other two-legger, had come by then). The vet said my spleen was slightly out of place and my stomach was full of air (not to mention breakfast. I could see all the kibbles there. I wished I hadn’t been so eager for breakfast this morning…). Dr. Celia turned to my two-leggers and pronounced, gravely that she’d keep and monitor me. I’d get another x-ray around 3:00 to make sure my stomach wasn’t twisted. If it was, Dr. Celia would need to operate.

Operate! Been there, too. Oh, misery. They put me in a cage and I curled up in the corner. Oh, misery.

I could hear them walk away. Dr. Celia got another patient. My pals started talking to someone in the waiting room. I recognised their voices – the nice two-leggers with the little black dog who live down the road…

“It wasn’t a car,” I hear one say, “It was a great big buck! We saw your dog on a rock face, barking right into the face of a big buck. We ran around to get a picture, but we had to go out of sight for a minute. Then we heard an awful sound – must’ve been your dog screaming. When we got to where we could see again, your dog was gone, but the buck was still there.”

[to be continued…]

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