Coffee heat rising

Spayday

Ugh. Five o’clock in the morning and nothing will do but what the dogs have to get up. Pup has to be at the vet’s by 8 a.m., which means a two-and-a-half-hour wait  before leaving the house with her. During that time she can’t be fed, and so therefore neither can Cassie. This is going to cause some doggy outrage.

I’m s-o-o not happy about having to do the spay job right this minute. But it’s painfully obvious that it had better get done before I get rolled off to the ER, since a) we have no idea how long it will take me to recover and b) my son is coming over here to babysit, bringing his male dog in tow. Having to drag her off to the vet to be spayed while trying to recover from an incision in my boob sounds a lot less fun than accelerating the project, and having her come into heat while Charley is holding forth (and you just know that’s what’s gonna happen, because it never fails!) would make things just freaking impossible.

Yesterday’s Mayo adventures were not as bad as expected. Everybody was extremely friendly and nice, which made a series of annoying (and in one case mildly unpleasant) tests at least tolerable.

The time wastage wasn’t good. Though I hit every green light on the way out there, it still took 40 or 45 minutes one way. They moved right along, so I got out by 3:10 when my last appointment was scheduled for 3:40, but that meant I didn’t get any work done while cooling my heels in waiting rooms. I’d just get the damn computer open and fired up and they’d call me in again. The only exception was the mammography waiting room, where as usual one waits until one is blue in the face, but one’s gear is locked up in a cubicle — leaving you with nothing to do for an hour or so but look at pictures in sappy women’s magazines.

Noticed a BevMo on my way in and, remembering that a friend who’s coming to dinner next week favors martinis, decided to stop there on the way back in to pick up a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. I’d thought, earlier, to buy some at Costco but then decided I really didn’t need enough gin to fill the swimming pool.

Well, they had small bottles of the stuff for a more or less tolerable price, but did they have Q tonic water? Ohh noooooo….  Not because a place in tony Scottsdale doesn’t carry premium tonic waters, but because, dammit, they were SOLD OUT!

So that meant I had to stop at the Whole Foods at Tatum & Shea.

That store was undergoing some sort of remodel, and they had half the shelves emptied and discombobulated. Couldn’t find the stuff. A clerk recruited to help couldn’t find it, either! Finally, after traipsing all the way through the store three times, we found a small stash of Q, but the WF was also sold out of the large bottles, so I had to buy a four-pack of little bottles at great waste of funds.

By the time my friends show up next week, I’ll need more, since I drank one of the little bottles with dinner, feeling a great need for a gin & tonic by the time I got home around 5 p.m.

Think of that: two hours of trudging through traffic (every light turned red on the way home, not surprisingly) and traipsing through stores. Ugh.

Just to frost the cupcakes, now I’m getting those eye flashes and floaters in the other eye. So really, I should go back to the ophthalmologist and jump through the endless, unnerving eye exams again. But I just quail at the very idea.

I am so overwhelmed with this cancer flap and all the medical hoo-ha  around it, with all the time consumption and fear and pain and expense, I just can NOT deal with any more!!!!!!!!!!! Plus I think this is the same thing as before, and if it is, there’s really nothing to do about it. Plus I did not like that last guy I saw, which means somehow I’ll have to track down a competent ophthalmologist that I feel I can trust, not an easy trick in this town.

At the borderland between sane and stark raving crazy, I’m really past being able to deal with any more.

Weird Weather…

…portending what is going to be a bitch of a week. Along about 5 p.m. the dogs and I were rousted from a little nap by the sound of thunder. Got up to let the corgis out before it starts to rain. It was 112 degrees out there, black clouds, gusting wind.

{ugh}

Temp has dropped 12 degrees in the half-hour since then: down to 100. So it actually could rain. Normally rain will not hit the ground here if the air temperature is above 104. The weather service has one of its hysterical-sounding “WARNINGS” posted: Severe Thunderstorm Advisory. Apparently they think a storm cell down in the southeast Valley is capable of winds of up 60 mph.

LOL! Rain is SUCH a bizarre rarity hereabouts, that the local news stations fill the airwaves with photos of it. Eeeek! What is that?

Apparently 7,000 people have already lost power.

Ruby has to go to the vet’s to be spayed on Tuesday. (Ruby’s Tuesday…lovely) (sorry) (couldn’t resist that) I was supposed to take her in tomorrow afternoon and leave her overnight. But after that was arranged, the Mayo called and announced that they had unilaterally decided I will show up at 1:00 tomorrow and spend the entire afternoon having lab tests, more mammograms, EKGs, and on and on. Because the Mayo is an hour’s drive from my house, this will absorb the entire afternoon. I won’t get home before the vet’s office closes — and the vet is a half-hour drive from my house.

So that means I’ll have to show up at the vet’s at 8 a.m. on Tuesday morning, eventuating an hour’s drive through rush-hour traffic over a circuitous route to escape endless no-left-turn signs, speed bumps, and roundabouts.

Of  course, the cleaning lady is supposed to show up Tuesday morning. So to get her in the door, I’ll have to hide the key at  a neighbor’s house. I don’t have the cleaning lady’s phone number, so that means I have to call the neighbor who hooked me up with her and have her call the cleaning lady to let her know where the key is. Oh, cripes.

The vet wants to keep the pup overnight, presumably by way of inflating the bill. So I’ll have to schlep over there again through the rush hour on Wednesday. Then what we will have is a sick puppy to take care of for the next week. As though we hadn’t already had enough sick-puppy care in these precincts…

Thursday morning is the SBA meeting: another rush-hour drive across the Valley.

I have not started working on our new client’s project, mostly because I haven’t heard back from them about a question asked. This project will require coordination of sub-editors, since when I’m not too busy I expect to be too sick to do much editorial work over the next few weeks.

So next week is shaping up to be a whirlwind tour of some of the things I hate most, in descending order of hateworthiness:

boob X-rays
needles in the arm
time wastage
sick puppy
city driving through rush-hour traffic
city driving not through rush-hour traffic
cleaning lady hassle
stiff vet bill

It’s taking a calculated risk, this spaying thing: if any complications happen to the dog, we are gonna be in deep doo-doo. And you just know, don’t you, that this is going to blow up in my face… If anything happens to her as a result of the spaying surgery, she’s going to have to be boarded at the vet while I recover from being surged myself.

On the other hand, it’ll be just as much of a nightmare if she comes into heat when my son is here, trying to take care of me, with Charley in tow. Just imagine THAT circus!

Really, I still don’t know which chance is the worst risk to take:

that the pup won’t come into heat for another couple of months (she’ll be 7 months old on August 10; I’m surged on August 7); or
that she won’t have some untoward reaction, infection, or complication from the spaying surgery.

Holeee mackerel, what a pain in the tuchus!

* * *

A member of the church’s pastoral care team just called to offer moral support. She’s also on the choir, a very dear and lovely woman. Isn’t that nice? She offered to help out with running around or just to socialize, as desired.

I can always use socialization. 😆

1024px-Derobrachus_geminatusThe storm is over. We didn’t get a drop of rain here. She said they had rain downtown, where she lives, but it’s blown past there, too. It actually never blew in to our part of town. It’s dark, 100 degrees, and humid out there. Ruby took off after a paloverde beetle, apparently mistaking it for a gigantic specimen of her favorite snack, the cockroach. Besides killing your paloverde and citrus trees, the damn things pack a fierce bite.

There’s what I need to make my day: for the pup to get bitten by a four-inch-long beetle capable of bringing down a large paloverde tree.

If You’d Asked Me, I Would Have Told You…

Water-saving, power-saving appliances are about as ecologically unfriendly and consumer-unfriendly as it is possible for a device to be.

P1030121How d’you like what came out of my washer this morning?

The new, fancy, water- and power-saving EXPENSIVE clothes washer creates a massive tangle if I have the chutzpah to put a shirt in with a pair of blue jeans. To avoid a huge wadded mess, I have to put anything that has a strap or a sleeve into a mesh bag.

Today that strategy didn’t work. The entire load of colored clothes came out in a single gigantic knot.

This annoyance is characteristic of the Samsung top-loading high-efficiency goddamn washing machine I bought a year or so ago. I’m told it’s characteristic of front-loaders, too.

Before Samsung (BS, appropriately enough), I could run a load of colored clothes through the old-fashioned top-loading actually functional Kenmore washer, hang the knit tops and cotton bluejeans on ordinary clothes hangers, and let them air-dry on a laundry-room rack. Now, to beat the wadded-in wrinkles out of them — after I’ve spent ten minutes untangling the mess — I have to run them through the dryer!

BS, I hardly ever used electric power to dry my clothes. Most of them dried, with no need for ironing, on clothes hangers that could be carried, once the laundry had air-dried, from the wash area to the closet. Now all the jeans and most of the shirts have to be run through a dryer, wasting electric power and running up the power bill.

A twenty-minute wash cycle has morphed into an hour and ten minutes.

One might avoid the knotting conundrum by washing all of one’s pants separately from all of one’s other clothing. Consider what this would do for you (or to you):

Now you would have to separate out every pair of pants from every other category of clothing. This would, at best, present you with four loads of laundry: colored pants, colored shirts and underwear, white & beige pants, white & beige underwear. Two 20-minute loads (one white, one colored) now convert to four one-hour-and-10-minute “high-efficiency” loads. Four hours and forty minutes to do a forty-minute laundry job! At least two of those loads — the ones including the pants, whose legs will knot together willy-nilly, will have to be run through the dryer whether you prefer to do so or not, to get rid of the knotted-in wrinkles. This more than doubles your water and energy use on the washer, and if you are one of those wily consumers who figured out that few clothes really have to go through a dryer, it increases your power bill accordingly.

It’s in the same category, isn’t it, as the water-saving toilet. You know, the one that supposedly needs 1/3 less water to flush than real toilets used to need, but that has to be flushed three times to get the stuff down. And the ugly fluorescent light bulbs that make everyone in the room look green, that dump mercury into the landfill (and all over your house if you drop one), and that give you a migraine whenever you turn them on.

Big-Brother-Knows-Best good intentions lead people to find workarounds with counterproductive consequences.

The high-efficiency clothes washer and the water-saving toilets are obvious cases in point.

Another one: we know that in 2015 the city probably will institute water rationing. From California’s experience, we know the strategy will be to tell people they will face fines  unless they cut water use, as measured by the present smart meters, to 60% of their prior use. Some folks, then, realize  they need to use about 40% more water than necessary now, so that when the cutbacks come, enough water will be available to keep their citrus trees, energy-saving shade trees, and vegetable gardens alive.

More immediately, though: Our dearly beloved paternal city has installed counter-intuitive roundabouts up and down the ’hood’s main north-south feeder street, and they’ve put infuriating, alignment-wrenching speed bumps along the east-west feeder street. The result? Pass-through traffic is diverted off the feeder streets onto smaller, once-sleepy neighborhood roads. In the few weeks since I found my way around the damn things, I’ve noticed that LOTS more drivers are joining me in the several routes that take us around the stupid speed bumps and the wreck-inviting traffic circles. (Ever had anyone try to pass you in a one-lane traffic circle? I have…)

Want to slow down the passers-through who don’t give a damn about our kids, our pets, or our old ladies trying to walk off a few pounds? Two easier, cheaper solutions: a) install traffic cameras; or b) station a nice, sturdy traffic cop in the neighborhood during rush hours.

Dogs, like humans, should eat real food.

That means actual balanced, unprocessed diets consisting of cooked meat, vegetables, fruits, and healthy starches — not the junk food humans normally eat these days.

Ruby the Corgi Pup has made the transition, at last, to a diet of full-blown real food. Shortly after losing the ultra-premium dog food, she lost the chronic diarrhea. And now, a few weeks after having made her escape?

Her fur is so shiny it practically glows in the dark. Her eyes are bright and clear. Her mood is happy, rambunctious, and funny. She radiates good health.

Cassie the Elderly Corgi, who has never been off real food since she entered my precincts, continues in good health. Her fur is rich and radiant; her eyes…yes, bright and clear. Her teeth, good. Her everything, healthy and strong. No vet has ever been able to find anything wrong with her.

The difference in the pup since I took her off the commercial dog food is incredible. Reminds me of what happened when I started feeding real food to the aged German shepherd and the aged greyhound, in response to the Late, Great Melamine Scare. The Gershep, who at the time was so advanced in decrepitude she could barely haul herself to her feet, suddenly was chasing her ball across the yard, something she hadn’t been able to manage for a year or more. Both dogs thrived on a diet of 1/2 cooked meat, 1/4 cooked vegetables, and 1/4 starch (such as sweet potatoes, rice, or oatmeal).

Folks. Dogs do best when fed a diet approximating a healthy, balanced human diet, less the onion, the garlic, the sugar, the salt, and the chocolate.

Commercial dog food is a huge scam.

This morning I threw out a half-dozen cans of ultra-premium dog food. At $2.60 per can plus tax, that came to a little over $17, directly into the garbage. That expensive commercial dog food made Ruby good and sick — she had projectile diarrhea for a good ten days, until I finally gave up and took her off the stuff.

Do you think it’s in the natural order of things that when you switch a dog from one food to another, it should get gastritis, manifested by diarrhea and possibly even vomiting?

Well, no, my friends: it is not. When a dog  becomes accustomed to eating real food, it can shift easily and with no ill effects from one type of protein to another, from one veggie or fruit to another, from one source of starch to another. Ruby has readily adjusted to the following:

chicken
hamburger (i.e., beef)
pork
sweet potato
rice
oatmeal
peas
carrots
winter squash
banana
blueberries

But moving from Castor and Pollux ultra-excellent canned dog food to Wellness ultra-excellent canned dog food gives her a violent case of the doggywobbles???? Excuse me? What IS wrong with this picture?

Welp, think about it. Dogs have lived with humans for some 15,000 years. Along about 1860 — about 157 years ago — some entrepreneurial human came up with the idea that doting pet owners could be persuaded that their “pet children” should be fed special pet food! This idea redounded to the vast profit of said entrepreneur, and to that of all the pet industry entrepreneurs who came after him.

Before this genius came up with a scheme to persuade us that nothing would do but what we must feed our animals special pet food, unrelated to anything we as humans would ever dream of eating (would you put a piece of dog kibble in your mouth?), dogs ate whatever people ate. Humans, who at the time did not overindulge in Big Macs, french fries, pizza, and soda, would put down whatever was left over from their own meals, or whatever offal they took out of the animals they hunted for sustenance. Over the millennia, dogs evolved to eat what humans eat.

In just 157 years, they have not un-evolved. Dogs still thrive on the kind of food you and I would thrive on, were we not presented with over-processed, over-sugared, over-salted junk food! We would thrive on it, too, if we could be persuaded to fire up the stove and cook our own food.

At $2.60 per 13-ounce can, a puppy that needs to be fed 2 1/3 cans per day racks up a much, much higher food bill than she does when her human goes out and buys some hamburger, pork, or chicken on sale (it’s a myth that pork is bad for dogs, BTW), a few sweet potatoes or a bag of oatmeal, and some frozen vegetables. It is far cheaper to cook your dog’s food than it is to feed comparable food out of a can or a refrigerated roll. And the results, in terms of your dog’s health, appearance, and temperament, are far superior.

And now for the Conspiracy Theory of the Day: Does it not strike you as odd that once a dog is acclimated to real food, it can switch readily from ingredient to ingredient with no distress, whereas a switch from Purina to Science Diet or from Castor & Pollux to Wellness will cause spasms of doggy diarrhea?

Odd, indeed. IMHO, the only reasonable explanation is that dog food manufacturers spike their product with ingredients that cause gastritis when the consumer switches abruptly from one brand to another. It is, in a word, a scheme to scare consumers into keeping their dogs on the given commercial brand they start with. Dog food is jiggered to make dogs sick when they’re switched from product to product.

Real food decidedly does not have that effect.

Way too often, veterinary bills are  inflated by unnecessary testing, unnecessary “wellness” exams, and unnecessary procedures.

Remember when your vet tried to get you to come in once a year for an annual pet exam? Well, they’re accelerating that: today when my vet’s assistant left me on hold to listen to the endlessly annoying, uneasy-making advertising tape, I was informed that he now wants customers to bring their pets in twice a year!

If you’ve been paying attention, you know that many of the vaccines we’ve been told our pets must have, over and over world without end, lest they die of some dread disease are truly unnecessary. Endless annual booster shots operate, at many veterinaries, as a tool to get you back in the door, where you can be subjected to the Big Upsell: persuaded that any number of unnecessary procedures, from expensive dental cleaning to daily medications that require expensive semi-annual blood tests to routine over-vaccination…to god only knows what. These procedures, many of which may be unnecessary, cost pet owners some very big bucks.

And while we’re on the subject, humans also are subjected to massive unnecessary medical examinations and testing.

I tire,  so let’s abbreviate:

The annual physical exam (thank god) is going out of style.

Annual physicals are unnecessary.

Unnecessary, we say.

Annual pelvic exams for women are unnecessary.

Routine physicals lead to invasive, dangerous, and unnecessary procedures, even among the one-percenters.

Routine screening tests lead to exorbitant unnecessary costs.

Studies show unnecessary tests rack up 40% of Medicare spending.

Do I regret allowing myself to be subjected to the “routine” mammogram that has sucked me into a mutilating surgery and an uncertain future? Maybe. Maybe not. From what I can tell, the extremely low-grade entity discovered in my boob may or may not morph into an invasive cancer. Apparently no one can tell. If I were six or eight years older, cutting open my breast and yanking this thing out would be a destructive, pointless, harmful exercise in futility — I would die of some other natural cause long before this thing could kill me, if it ever decided to spread around. But because I’m  not quite 70…it’s ambiguous.

Probably nothing would have happened if this thing had never been discovered.

On the other hand, getting rid of it may insure — provided that I’m not subjected to radiation therapy, which over time will elicit some unpleasant and possibly life-shortening side effects — that I’ll have a shot at a ripe old age.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

P1030120

 

Ruby-Doo Ascendant

So Ruby the Corgi Pup seems finally to have thrown off whatever was afflicting her with chronic doggy diarrhea. She’s  no longer squirting brown puddles all over every flat surface she encounters, and she’s gaining weight apace. The floors have been soaked with enzyme odor remover — I hope not to smell that lingering schmell the next time I walk in the front door — and all is quiet at the Funny Farm.

Uh, well…no. “Quiet” is probably not le mot  juste. Now that Ruby is feeling much, much better, she’s rising to full puppyhood. Where before she was a mild, well-behaved, and mostly silent little dog, now she has learned to pester and to BARK. Just now she’s driving Cassie nuts, which is good because it means she’s not driving me nuts. They’re chasing around the yard like rockets. Cassie knows, by instinct, that the way to control a kid is to run ’em!

With her newly discovered Voice, Ruby is also coming into her own as a watch-puppy. Holy mackerel, is that dog turning into a watch-puppy!

Last night my neighbor María called. I didn’t pick up the phone until the voicemail had started to record her, which meant (for those of you who have forgotten how land-lines speak to humans) the base phone and all six little walk-around phones flashed a reminder light. I forgot to delete that message, so the base phone in the room across the hall was still flashing when we all went to bed.

Four o’clock in the morning:  FRENZY FROM THE FOOT OF THE BED! The pup is growling — as in really growling, deep and fierce — and she’s on full alert, every muscle in her little body tense. Cassie is trying to sleep, leading me to think this is not very serious. But the pup will not be calmed.

Finally I realize she can see the light flashing in the other room. Dunno what she thinks it is, but apparently she’s never noticed it before. To quiet her down, I had to pick her up off the bed, carry her across the hall, let her inspect the flashing phone, and erase the damn message to make it quit nagging.

Within the next day or two, I need to wean her off the “bland diet” of hamburger and rice with the daily vitamin pill supplement. I’m thinking it would be good to start by adding a teaspoonful or so of yogurt to her food, by way of jacking up the calcium content — beef and rice are devoid of calcium, and a growing pup needs that for bone health. The vitamins have a dose of the stuff, of course, but I’d rather rely on real food than on pills by way of nourishment.

Cassie needs some more fiber in her diet just now, and so whenever I get out of class, come back and check on the cleaning lady (yes…today is CL Day), and check the e-mail, it’ll be off to Sprouts to pick up some butternut squash and yams.  So those can be the first additions, too, to Ruby’s expanding diet. Want to try one item at a time, to ascertain whether any one ingredient makes her sick.

In my experience, when a dog eats real food (meat, starch, and dog-friendly veggies) it does not experience the intestinal upset that happens when you switch commercial foods. Cassie can eat virtually anything and switches between chicken, beef, pork, and turkey without a problem. The same was true of the German shepherd and the greyhound, both of which, before I discovered real food, would get violent diarrhea anytime I had to change commercial brands.

I suspect this was the case with Ruby, too. She got switched among a  half-dozen dog foods as she came off the prescription diet and I tried to find a similar canned food that would sustain her without bankrupting me. I should’ve been a little more confident — or, shall we say, a great deal more resistant to Big Pet Industry’s propaganda — and simply have gone directly to meals of real food.

Also I would like to get rid of the space-eating X-pen in the family room. Ruby no longer needs to be penned up when I’m gone — she’s fully housebroken, and she’s not inclined to eat the furniture, ô mirabilis! But just now it serves the purpose of keeping her from raiding Cassie’s food dish during the dinner hour. All she has to do is look crooked at Cassie, and Cassie will back away from her food. So I’ve been feeding Ruby inside her X-pen and Cassie in the kitchen.

Dawned on me that I could set Ruby’s food outside the back door and close the security door while they eat, at least in the mornings. On a 110-degree day, of course, it’s too hot to banish her to the porch for noon and evening meals, but the mornings are plenty cool enough.

The crafts room and the storage room are both barricaded off with step-over baby gates, thereby reducing the number of square feet for Ruby to pee and poop on. Those gates could go away, I think, now that she’s house-trained. But just now Petsmart has a hinged gate on sale. I’m thinking to replace one of those inconvenient stationery gates with a gate that opens and closes, and then Ruby could go in a back room to eat, until such time as she learns not to bully Cassie. That, of course, may be never…but kulawahed. With a gate that the pup doesn’t have to be lifted over and that won’t trip me and land me face-first on the floor, I can feed them separately for as long as both dogs are living.

How exactly these animals are going to be dealt with when I’m convalescing from surgery remains to be seen. The appointed date is a Thursday, and my son is going to take off a day or two to watch out over me. So if he’s here on Friday, he can feed the dogs and pick up and refill the heavy water dishes. Maybe he can help on the weekend, too. But after that: ?????

Oh well. More pressing matters await: to wit, it’s time to get ready to go to class.

Only two more days of class left! Thank goodness.

Somethin’s gotta go…

And I think it’s about to be this puppy…

Today or tomorrow, the biopsy report is supposed to come in. If it’s cancer, the first thing that’s gonna happen is Ruby is going straight back to the breeder. I certainly can’t care for her if I’ve got half my boob lopped off and am looking at weeks of irradiation and subsequent radiation sickness.

Even if it’s benign, I may have to return her. Mortal illness or no, we’re rapidly reaching the point here where I can’t take care of her.

She barfed all over the bed again last night. So at midnight I had to pull ALL the bedding off and remake the bed. This was after she’d had me up about once an hour from 10:00 forward.

Of course she went back in her crate at that point. Briefly. For the rest of the night, she was up about once every hour. I finally had to put her back on the bed to get her to settle down long enough to get 90 minutes’ or an hour’s worth of  uninterrupted rest.

I think her UTI is probably back, since I can’t find any new dog mounds in the yard, which means she’s not wanting to run out to squirt brown puddles on the ground. And what causes the barfing, I can’t imagine. This was SIX HOURS after she’d been fed. Normally, a dog’s food moves through its stomach quite fast. The entire digestive process takes six to eight hours. So she shouldn’t be woofing up virtually undigested food after six hours. Since the food does seem to be undigested, she actually may be regurgitating rather than vomiting, but if that’s the case, it’s mighty weird that the food would sit there without moving for all of six hours. In either case, it sounds like an expensive fix. Or a lifelong nightmare struggle.

{sigh} So. To add hassle on top of headache on top of worry, I’ll have to call the vet this morning and make an appointment so as to get in the door if I don’t have cancer (50-50 chance, we’re told), and then explain that if the biopsy results are positive, we’ll have to cancel because the puppy is going back where she came from. First thing, though — like right this minute — I’ve got to wash the sheets, blanket, and doggy throw.

In any event, the pup’s health issues are starting to drive  me crazy. I can’t deal with all this sh!t at once. Last night I didn’t read the stoont papers that came in — figure to read those while the students are in class today, since they’ll be in the computer commons putatively working on their 2500-word final papers (read “playing computer games, checking in at Twitter & FB, and surfing the Web”).

Even if the stress of the cancer scare goes away, come next Tuesday I’ll still have 62,500 words of drivel to read in a matter of maybe three days. Fortunately my associate will be back in town pretty quick, but since one invariably becomes sick after riding on airplanes and since she’ll be coming in from halfway around the world, it remains to be seen whether she’ll be in any shape to help out.

Day from Hell? Or Day from Monty Python’s Flying Circus?

I have exceeded my capacity to write much further about yesterday’s little drama, so feel free to go to the my corgi blog and read all about it. [?? I do not know why this link isn’t working. Enter this URL instead: mycorgi.com/profiles/blogs/parvo-really]

Not for an instant do I believe Ruby has parvo (forgodsake!). For the past hour she’s been flinging herself around pestering Cassie, barking at the neighbors, racing up and down the hall squeaking a toy, stealing a sandal and banging it on the wall, climbing on top of me, grabbing Cassie’s ball, and (let us never forget) chasing cockroaches around the backyard. This is not the behavior of a dog that is trying to slip past Cerberus and sneak into Hades.

What I do believe is that last night I encountered an unethical veterinarian who took one look at an old lady with a puppy of an expensive breed and heard the cash register ring.

The pet industry in this country (and make no mistake: that is what it is officially called — even vets will tell you they’re part of the pet industry) is a vast cash cow. There is so much money to be made in fleecing people who are besotted by their animals, it cannot even be estimated.

I should have known when I drove up there and saw signs in the parking lot reading “Reserved for Pet Parents.”

Pet parents! SNORT!!!

That is a trope whose purpose is to encourage people to conflate their animals with their children. Once they have you thinking about your dog or your cat as though it were your child, it’s easy to play on your emotions and get you to fork over any amount of money the various merchandisers in the pet industry choose for whatever service, medication, food, tool, doodad, or piece of kitsch they can come up with.

Parvo, indeed. I’m still so mad, just thinking about it, I could throw this computer across the room!