On Friday night we took Shiva back to the V-E-T with our hearts in our throats. I was positive it was too early but figured it was worth a free check-up at any rate. My PH went into the clinic while I waited with the dog outside. Naturally, she was ultra-hyped by the presence of a doorway, especially a doorway one of her people disappeared through. My nerves probably didn’t help.
Within a minute or so, he came out with a form for us to fill out. Within a minute or so after that, all three of us were inside the clinic and Shiva was being whisked away by a vet tech, all too reminiscent of that panic-filled night less than two weeks before. All that was left for us to do was wait. And wait. And wait.
It wasn’t very long, not ten minutes – maybe not even five. We spent it cooing over the resident clinic cat, named “Fox”, who decided to curl up at my PH’s side, much to the vet assistant’s surprise.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “He never sits with clients like that.”
I wasn’t surprised. My PH is the cat whisperer. Calm in all scenarios, he puts most animals at ease. Many dogs who hate men will warm to him quickly. He seems to just know instinctively how to behave. Whereas I, as soon as I saw the cat with the slight limp, was crouching down and calling to him, my PH sat back in his chair in the reception area, making no eye contact. Fox recognized a kindred spirit and responded immediately. Ignoring me, he padded over the chairs and laid down on my PH’s coat, purring softly. Once he was down he didn’t reject my chin scratches but he made it clear whose attentions he preferred.
It was precisely what we needed.
Eons later – or more like 120 seconds – another vet tech emerged from behind the swinging door with Shiva by her side. The two of us stood, Fox long forgotten. Given the speed of the turnaround time I assumed the worst: Shiva’s sutures just weren’t healed enough. The vet tech smiled and it was our turn to be stunned.
“All done!” she said. “Shiva’s stitches are out and she should be just fine!
I couldn’t believe it. “What about the cone?” I asked. “Can she take the stairs on her own?” my PH chimed in.
The cone could be removed after twelve hours, we were told, and Shiva was more than capable of walking on her own. It seemed too much all at once. Too much happiness. Neither of us knew how to handle it.
“Are you sure?” we questioned. “She is really okay?”
The tech seemed confused. “Well, you might want to wait a little while before you take her to the dog park, but yes, she is fine.”
So Shiva is fine and has been coneless since Saturday morning. It seems like too much. Two short weeks and we can almost pretend it never happened. Well, almost. She will have a scar for the rest of her life, for one thing, and for another… Let’s just say while Shiva was the perfect patient, all that energy had to go somewhere…
This brings me to the title of this post. It’s really not fair that the first day Shiva was finally able to go on a real walk, our city faced a blizzard. I’m talking twenty centimetres of snow, bloody cold, big mess all over the sidewalks blizzard. For evidence, see below.
Poor Sheevs, so much for the 30 minute walk I promised her on Saturday morning…
It seems the doggy spirits are against us. There was no long walk in celebration of Shiva’s return to a coneless existence. That’s okay. We celebrated in our own way, on the inside. Where it counts the most.