Today started off normal enough. Wake up, shower, get to work, see patients, heal sick puppies. But it wasn't to stay like that. Oh no. After seeing a few patients and performing a spay on a chihuahua, I was just about ready to head home for lunch, when my receptionist came back to tell me that there was a dog that was in a dog fight. This bad boy was a 100 pound lab mix that was on the receiving end of an ass-whopping. She had puncture wounds all over her. I mean legs, chest, belly, tail, everywhere but the face. Two women brought the dog in (I assume a mother-daughter team of about 65-30 respectively). I tell them that I was going to take care of her and get her cleaned/stitched up. O.K. no problem.
Her's where it gets interesting. They come back later that afternoon to pick up their dog. I go through and tell them about the medication that I was sending home, how to keep the wounds clean, and what not. They both understand and so I send them out with their dog. Now mind you, the waiting room is full of people and the parking lot is too (this is going to become more important to the story later, I promise). A few minutes later, my receptionist comes back saying that the dog is bleeding, and they want me to look at the dog in the back seat of their car.
So I head outside to the car to check out the dog. The dog is in the back seat and I go to the passenger side of the car where the daughter is standing telling me about the blood coming out of her dog. I start to examine the dog, as she's telling me about the blood as I'm straining to look at this 100 lb dog in the back seat of a 4-door Ford Escort (in other words, this dog is PACKED into this back seat). The daughter tells me that the blood is coming from the other side of the dog, so I walk around the back of the car to get to the driver's side, which is where the mother is.
Just as I round the corner of the back bumper and place my foot down by the rear tire, I hear the gut wretching sound of HUGHUHGGGGHH! My heart stops as I try with all my might to stop my momentum, as I'm heading directly into (wait for it, wait for it) a growing pile of vomit!!! You guess it, the mother hurled on the asphalt right as I was rounding the corner of the car. I check my boots and they were clean and right after the woman's first stomach-emptying contraction was over, she apologized, a split second before the heaving began again.
I told her, "No problem." like I see this every day, stopped mid-stride, and turned around to head by from whence I came. So I return to the passenger side of the vehicle where the daughter is standing there, completely unaffected by her mother's vomiting (odd huh?). She is asking me all sorts of questions, and I'm thinking, "Isn't she gonna check on her mother? And how am I still keeping a straight face?" I tell her that the dog is O.K. and it's just a couple of the roughly 20 or so puncture wounds draining, and that it's a good thing. All of this is happening as the mother is continuously hurling her guts out. I kid you not. I'm trying soooooooo hard to concentrate on what the daughter's saying (and doing quite well, I might add), while thinking how glad I am that I didn't start hurling along with her. 'Cause that'd be nice, both of us tossing our cookies in unison, while there's a 100 pound dog in the back seat of a car, and the daughter stands there without a care in the world. Real professional, I know.
Here's what's funny: Mom keeps apologizing to me in between the wretching, while I'm trying to calm the daughter down, and the dog's in the back seat saying to me, "Dude, now you now what I have to put up with." Amazing.
Now have a Merry Christmas, 'cause I don't know if I'm gonna be able to write anything for the next 4-5 days. Hope this keeps a brotha laughing during the Christmas weekend.
So remember the real meaning of Christmas while you are with you families. Keep on keepin on, because I think I'm gonna blow chunks now.
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