I know my last post was about my dog. I KNOW you don't want to hear about it. That's why I haven't posted anything new, but now you're stuck with it. You see, I have once again been bitchslapped by Irony.
Previously, I wrote about loving beer, and then was put on a super-sucky diet of total suckiness by a doctor. THEN, I write about dobermans and Odin gets all cut up. I get it Irony. Sorry if I stole your boyfriend or showed up at that party wearing the same dress as you, or whatever it was. I promise not to do it again. Pinkie swear.
Now, come with me on the magical journey of aging pets. {Swishhhh}*
*You know, that sound effect that represents transitions in movies and sitcoms. Come on people, keep up.
Odin is 7. And, in big dog** years, that's like a gazillion or so. He doesn't know this of course. He runs, plays, and bounces around the house and yard, same as always. But he is starting to get a tiny bit of gray on his muzzle and he has developed fatty tumors on his tummy - my previous vet affectionately called them old dog lumps (when I say affectionately, I mean my knee-jerk reaction was to slap him across his face and tell him to watch his mouth because HE was the old one).
**aka: "Holy sh*t your dog is HUGE;" "Wow, that's a big dog;" and my personal favorite, "Are dobermans supposed to be that big?"
Odin became lumpy overnight. I had starting worrying about how quickly the tumors were growing. But, we were moving, then we were getting settled, and last week I kind of panicked because I hadn't got the tumors looked at (or even found a new vet), which was making me get that sick-to-my-stomach-ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away feeling.
So, I found the dogs a vet, and Odin went to get checked out on Tuesday. The vet had me point out the two tumors that were growing the fastest, aspirated them, and called me later that day to tell me that one of these tumors was bad, as in a mass cell tumor. She wanted to remove it as soon as possible. And, moments later, an appointment had been booked for Odin to go into surgery the next day. Gulp!
The vet had warned me that, to be sure they got it all, she would have to take a "good chunk" around the tumor, in addition to the tumor itself. The growth was maybe 3/4th of an inch. I was expecting a 3-4 inch incision, so I was a bit freaked to see the 7-8 inch row of stitches bulging from my poor puppy's side.
Ridiculous details later, and Odin is fine. He had a small growth on his lower eyelid removed while he was out, so he could see better. And a big chunk of his left side was taken out. He was very whiny, and remains very clingy, but is doing great. Though he smells. And the details include gross things that I will spare you from; things that are best described by words like 'seep' and 'exude.'
You don't know it***, but the vet just called me while I was typing this - to check on Odin. That's nice of her. He really seems to like her. At least, he liked her during the first appointment where she fed him cookies and poked him with needles. He might like her less now.
***An aside: Now you know it.
Anyway: dogs, dogs, dogs. I swear, I'm not quite that focused on them. Though now I'm feeling like Karma is getting left out. I love her just as much, and she has even better surgery stories, and more of them, and thinking of how much money I have thrown down on these dogs makes me feel a bit foolish and a quite a bit more defensive. And, obviously, it is hell on my grammar and sentence structure. So, that's that. I have been working on grant applications, forcing drugs and t-shirts on my doberman (the t-shirt keeps the incision site clean and lick-free), and forcing my doberman-rottweiler to leave the other dog alone, and trying to air out the house as much as possible because healing is a smelly business.
In closing: You win Irony! I will never do it again! Just, please, tell me what IT is!
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