Parrothead Ramblings

Good friends are hard to come by. These are two of the best: Missy and Scully.

We have an old dog. A real old dog. No, I mean a really, really old dog. She will turn 17 in September, which in dog years is.....is.....er....I dunno, my calculator doesn't go that high. She's an ancient Sheltie mix, and we call her "Missy." We rescued her from some crazy bastard who set his house on fire in 1988.

I've never had a dog this old, which is kind of a no-brainer, since almost nobody has ever had a dog this old. She's just like a little old lady: She moves slowly, sleeps a lot, loves buffets, and can barely see. She can't hear, either, but she hasn't much given a shit what anybody has had to say for several years, anyway. Oh, and she has trouble holding her water. If she even so much as looks at the back door, you beter be letting her out, 'cause she ain't waitin'. Not only that, but lately she's been a little leaky, to put it delicately.

The vet decided he needed a urine sample to see what's going on with her. She didn't cooperate at the vet's office, so he sent her home with a couple of syringes. Well, it ain't like you can hand her a plastic cup and point out the bathroom, right?

My job? Yep, you guessed it. Wait till she pisses on the floor, then suck it up with a syringe and squirt it into a bottle. It took some time, but she finally made a teenie little puddle. I would have had better luck following her around with that plastic cup. The syringes were so little, and the puddle so shallow, it necessitated me getting down on my hands and knees with my nose practically in the drink, so to speak. I got barely enough to dampen the stupid bottle, then the vet pronounced it unsuitable. Something about being polluted.

Huh?

It's piss. How can it be polluted? Hell, it is pollution.

So, The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog ran her back down to the vet for another try. Of course, Missy squatted and pissed in the parking lot of the vet's office, and was done for the evening.

Today, it was my turn to take her in for yet another attempt. Being The Crime Dog, of course, I had a strategy. Everybody pees when they first get up in the morning, right? I'm not giving her a chance. I wake her up from a dead sleep, hustle her out the door, down the walk, and hoist her in to the car before she can even get her eyes completely open. We haul ass to the vet, jump out of the car, c'mon girl! Let's go! Good girl! Keep moving! and head for the door. I'm not breaking stride, see? I'm giving this dog no chance at all to pee.

None.

I get to the door, and shit, I have to stop for a split second to open it. I open it, start in, and feel that telltale tautness on the leash that says "just a minute there, bucko," and.....and.....she squatted and took a leak right in front of the vet's door.

Aaaaaargh........

So the vet kept her a couple of hours and made her drink water. He finally got his sample. I don't even want to know how. Cost me $90.

Nothing's too good for a lifelong friend, eh?
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