I mentioned on plurk the other day that I had to take Bentley to the Vet, what I didn’t mention was how proud I was of him.
For years I’ve harboured resentment towards vets in general and my vet in particular. It’s not that they are bad people, it’s just that once the emergency has passed, the only pain remaining is in the hip nerve. I’ve often wanted to make them feel pain just a little too, call me a bad person..go on I dare ya!
But before we get to Bentley’s revenge, lets go back to the beginning. Last Friday Ben seemed to be limping on the other front leg (not the one that just paid for the vet’s new plasma TV, the other one). I monitored him for a while and he seemed to forget that he had a sore leg after about 5 or 6 steps, so I went on with my miserable sex-free life and let him do the same.
By Saturday he was still limping, but now he was whimpering a little when he moved. I resumed monitoring him and he seemed fairly stable, but was moving a lot slower. However on Sunday he was clearly in a good deal of discomfort, and so was I because he let out one of the most toxic farts I’ve ever encountered. Even after I opened all the windows and turned all the ceiling fans up full blast, you still couldn’t see across the room.
At this point I realised that he probably had a bowel blockage (he’s had them before) that was causing him to limp, or he had a bowel blockage and a limp for another reason. Of course, all my dogs are extremely aware of the days of the week, so he planned his rapid decline for Sunday afternoon when the vet rates quadrupled. But he was in a bad way so I called the vet and discussed it with him, and he was of the opinion that unless Ben was at the vomiting stage, we could wait until tomorrow (apparently there was no room for another TV anyway).
Bright and early on Monday morning we arrived at the veterinary hospital and he was seen immediately. We put him up on the exam table and the vet had a good look at him. No matter what the vet did, not matter how much pulling and pushing of his front leg, an no matter how many awkward angles he tried, he simply could not get him to wince or pull away, so he declared that a non event and started to focus on the other issue. Speaking of issues (I’m sure you all know what’s coming next, but I’ll tell you anyway). Ben appeared to be arching his back and in addition to this, he seemed to be bending his body in a ‘C’ shape horizontally as well. At this point the vet manoeuvred him so that he was facing directly away from him in order to get a better view of the curvature of the spine.
Come on, you really don’t need me to lay this out for you, do you? Well ok here goes, so if Ben was facing away from the vet, that meant that his butt bazooka was facing directly at him. Being the perfectionist that he his, Ben waited until the exact moment when the vet’s face was closest to him before he let fly with a blast that took at least three layers of paint of the exam room wall and left the vet alternating between gasping for breath and retching. Damn! I was one proud doggy daddy; good boy Bentley! It may not make up for all the gouging I’ve suffered over the years, but it sure as shit (literally) helped.
It was now determined that he would be kept under observation in one of the cages out the back for a few hours, and if nothing happened they would knock him out and x-ray him to see what the deal was (that’s vetspeak for “get this goddamn putrefying dog out of my exam room!”).
Later that day I got a phone call to tell me that they called in another vet (one who had lost his olfactory glands in a childhood accident) to examine him before they resorted to a general anaesthetic, and by poking and prodding he found that there was an impaction rather than an obstruction, so working on him from head to tail (ie a heavy duty laxative and an enema) they were able to move it.
So it seems that not only am I full of shit (as I’ve been told many times), my dog was too! Good boy Bentley, and thanks for the memory of the vet with the ghastly green face.
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