It all happened on my second walk around 8:30 a.m. My neighbor’s nine-year-old daughter was walking her two dogs. Technically, these little dogs are called Papillons. But to me, they look like long-haired Chihuahuas. And I hate Chihuahuas.
So, I barked. I may have barked a lot. Anyway, my mother was trying to pull me back, as I may have been a tad bit aggressive and feigned an attack on them. It just seemed that way. I mean, I would never attack, especially when the nine-year-old daughter and her mom always pet me and give me presents.
Anyway, I fell off the curb and howled. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. And, it was my bum leg.
“What have I done now?” I wondered, as my mother bent down and tried to examine the damage. I, of course, would not allow her to help — at all. Remember, Chihuahuas. I have a duty to continue barking as I intermittently howl in pain.
So, Mom just picked me up and carried me home, scolding me (rather unsympathetically, I would say) along the way. I was still barking. To any observers, it probably appeared as though I was a naughty dog.
So, we get inside. The leg does not seem to be broken. However, I have a dangling, bleeding dewclaw, and it hurts every time I move. My mother Googles “dangling dewclaw.”
“In case of bleeding, call vet.” Oh no! The vet?
So, she called the vet. Closed. (Hooray!!! 4th of July; Independence Day; a holiday!) Oops. Celebrated way too soon because my mother then called the Emergency Animal Clinic and described the situation. (Why, oh why, does there have to be an Emergency Animal Clinic?) They wanted to take a look. Of course. Why not? Let them take a look. Ugh.
So, my mother (my dad is always gone in the summer, and she has to do EVERYTHING) carries me to the car and drives me way up to the Emergency Animal Clinic at Scottsdale and Williams.
Did I mention that I hate going to the vet? You know what happens, and it did. Yes, the thermometer in places it just shouldn’t be. Anyway, guess what you do with a dangling, bleeding dewclaw.
“Oh, well, we will just spray some antiseptic on it, and yank it out.”
I nearly pottied on the floor. They were going to “yank out” the nail. Oh my goodness. I started panting. My heart rate skyrocketed. “Yank?” Sounds onomatopoeic. What a terrible thing to do to a dog all because of “Papillons.” (And did I mention that they had barked first? Really, they did.)
Sigh. I am at home now … recuperating. The vet said bed rest for five to seven days. That’s like telling my mother to go on bed rest … IOW, not happening. Energetic. Can’t miss anything. I mean, there are lizards and baby quails and a baby dove even.
Yes, and those awful Chihuahua lookalikes. But, I’m not one to hold a grudge. In fact, I can hardly wait until my mid-afternoon walk. I just hope no one notices my bandage.