No one likes getting surgery. For most folks, it's uncomfortable, expensive, and requires days or weeks of convalescence and rehabilitation in order to get back to one's former self. But for dogs, it has an added component to it.
It is quite the fashion disaster.
It's a week before Thanksgiving and since the whole family has the week off from work and school, we figured now would be a good time to take the pups in for a myriad of surgeries we had planned. It's not like I am a fan of surgery, it's just that I wanted to have them go under anesthesia once and only once, so let's get the whole combo platter now. We had always planned to have them spayed and neutered, but Bodie was also sporting an umbilical hernia that we opted to fix now rather than when he was younger (again, for the one-anesthesia reason). Since they were both having a belly-slice in the process, we also decided to do a preventative measure called a gastropexy, an incision that adheres the stomach to the abdominal wall which helps prevent stomach torsion in the case of bloat (another big-dog malady). Not a great way for a puppy to spend the day but let's get it out of the way and move on, shall we?
The pups love going to the vet's office, as the girls there make a such a great fuss over them they feel like royalty. Never before have I seen a dog who bounds out of the truck and runs up to the vet's office door, scratching at the glass in order to gain entrance. If only these two had any idea what was in store for them on this particular visit, they might not be so eager. But with typical puppy frenzy they danced and leapt all over Alyssa at the front desk and bounced merrily to the back room where we waved goodbye and prepared to see them again at dinner time.
This was a very long day. I paced the floor and worried the entire time, waiting for the phone to ring and for them to tell me all was well. The vet assured me that the procedures were all pretty routine but is there really such a thing? Finally by late afternoon we got the call that everything had gone great and the pups were awake and ready to come home. The only thing on life support at this point was my checkbook.
When we go to the office we were expecting to see two groggily-staggering, wide-eyed puppies wobble out to greet us, but instead they high-stepped it to the front waiting area and broke into a run when they saw us. I figured they were probably not supposed to do that post-surgery, but I was so thankful nonetheless. But as with most dogs who have had surgery or other procedures, they were not only sporting a pink shaved belly that stood out like a beacon against their shiny black coats, but also the most dreaded of dog accessories that man has ever invented.
The Cone of Shame.
Oh sure, the gals at the vet's office dressed up the cone with a jaunty ribbon of cute patterned fleece, but they still looked a cheerleader that had been sucked down inside her megaphone. The pups, still working to rid themselves of the last of the anesthesia, could not quite figure out where the heck their peripheral vision had gone to. Had the vet removed that, too? They could hear each other but not quite see them, so they swung their heads from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of their sibling and/or us. It looked like a canine version of Marco Polo. I asked how long they would have to wear the cones and was told "oh, about ten days to two weeks." Riiiight! Let's see how long that lasts!! Apparently the cone manufacturer underestimated the fact that puppies, not unlike humans, really do not like looking like dorks.
We got them home and they immediately made their way to the family room where their favorite blanket was already laid out for them. I noticed right off that walking with a cone on your head was a little like knitting while wearing boxing gloves: it's generally do-able, but comical in the process. Bodie headed into the room first, cutting the corner a bit tightly and catching the edge of the cone on the couch, bringing him to a sudden halt and knocking him off his feet. He looked in vain for the culprit who would dare do such a thing to him. I laughed a little at his plight just as Leila, upon hearing my voice, rushes over to me and plows the cone edge into my shins. Ouch! Not laughing now, I tell you! I turn to take care of her and Bodie turns to me as well, ramming his cone into the back of my knees causing me to crumple like a house of cards in a high wind. By now my kids are in hysterics and I'm crawling to the freezer for ice packs. This was one side effect that was not mentioned on the after-care form! I suppose I am being paid back for giggling at their cheerleader wardrobe. It is, in a sense, their way of saying "nuts to you!" (especially from Bodie!)
The rest of the night was a fruitless effort to get them to just lie on the blanket and chill so they didn't bust a seam. My daughter attempted to lie with them which worked for about two minutes until one dog decided to sit bolt upright for no apparent reason and try to run to God-knows-where, usually to be stopped by the cone edge catching on something and spinning them around again. What was a long day was shaping up to be a very long night. I spent the night lying on couch cushions on the floor with them, trying in vain to get them to sleep. The tranquilizers the vet gave me to give them did nothing at all (yes, I was tempted to take one myself so at least ONE of us could sleep!) and by the next day the pups were back to their crazy couch-jumping, puppy-wrestling selves: all the things the vet told me to have them avoid for two weeks.
My only saving grace, my only partner in crime to help keep them on the down-low was the same partner that had viciously attacked me on Day One: the dreaded Cone of Shame. I would take it off the pups occasionally so they could eat, and that's when the silliness would commence. They didn't seem to have a need to lick at their incisions so much as they just wanted to run. But the minute that cone was shoved back on their heads and that jaunty fleece ribbon tied, all manner of self-respect went out the window and they embarrassingly moped to the blanket to plop down and glare at me. It was like some kind of dignity-sucking contraption that even a four-month old puppy knows is worse than wearing white after Labor Day. If they knew I was posting photos of them in it on the internet, they might never recover from the humiliation.
It has been a month and a half since their surgeries. Their incisions have healed nicely, their hair has grown back and they are back to their crazy active puppy selves. Only now they weigh in at 50 pounds and when they come running at me and fly through the air to greet me, that cone-in-the-shin pain is the least of my worries!! Sometimes I feel like climbing up into the attic and retrieving the cones just so I can get a moment of peace from these two!
But just like those paisley pants with the rainbow-striped shirt you wore in high school, some fashions are better left to quietly fade away. I'm sure Bodie and Leila would agree.
No comments:
Post a Comment