Yesterday went down in the books for one of Miss Oddi's most stressful days ever. And don't think I'm exaggerating. I wish I was.
It all began at precisely 8:03 in the morning when my stupid cell phone started vibrating. Blearily groping for both the phone and my glasses, I struggled to disentangle myself from the mass of sheets that had entrapped me. My tired eyes worked hard to focus on the tiny words of the text message sent by my dad. When they did, I broke down in tears.
"Good morning," it read, "I am at the vet with Mequa, [sic] she lost another fight. I will call you with more info."
As you may or may not know, Mequa is my 13-lb Bichon Frise. She has this uncanny knack for getting into trouble, compounded with a Napoleon Complex that's out of this world. Mequa doesn't seem to understand that she can't quite take a dog 5,000 times her size. Two years ago this November, I was busy typing away when I heard some serious yelping. I instantly recognized it was her and began screaming for her to come up to the house, all the while throwing my flip flops on and rushing out to find her. I swung the beam of the flashlight out across the road just in time to catch a glimpse of an enormous animal slinking into the shadows. You know that part where Harry first thinks he sees the Grim in Harry Potter? Yeah... that's about how I felt. Freaking terrified. I knew in that instant that my dog was dead. No way she could survive something that huge.
Surprisingly, she didn't die. While I was frantically searching for any remains of my little white fluff ball, my stepbrother was trying to get my attention from the back door.
"She's up here!" he cried. "Hurry! She doesn't look good."
When I got back up to the house, I was mortified. Mequa had deep gashes all across her back and shoulders. I was sure she was a goner. I flew through the house gathering my keys and wallet and put her into the car. Though it was almost midnight, I had to get her to the vet. Fast. Twenty minutes later, we pulled up at the after hours emergency vet clinic. They made us wait for almost an eternity, and then said they couldn't do anything unless I had almost $1,000 up front. I'm a college student. Of course I didn't have that kind of cash. They sent Mequa and I home (of course, I'm bawling my eyes out) after charging me $60 to do absolutely nothing besides waste almost six hours of my time.
The next morning, I took her to our normal vet. Needless to say, I was quite relieved to find her in about the same shape as the night before. Exhausted, sore, and in shock, but not dead, dying, or even bleeding really. The vet agreed that she was stable, if still hurt pretty badly and set to work putting her back to rights. With nothing left for me to do for her, I went on to school where I proceeded to break down crying in front of one of the grumpiest professors I ever had (though I do love him dearly after a semester of crazy writing). I think he was more than a little shocked, especially since all he said was that the stuff I was writing that morning wasn't quite up to par with my normal work, but was still good. The rest of the day traveled down a similar vein until about six in the evening when my step-mom called to let me know Mequa was out of surgery and at home. She also informed me that the vet's best guess was that she had been attacked by a mountain lion, which she thought was crazy until I reminded her of the one that lives only about two miles away. Immediately after my final class for the day, I sped all the way home, getting pulled over and breaking down in front of a police officer on the way. Oddly enough, I didn't start crying until after he said I was getting off with a warning. I was just so relieved to be able to return on my merry way that I couldn't help it.
Since that night, Mequa has made a full recovery with little to no scarring.
And then yesterday she had to go get herself hurt again. From the bite wounds, it is clear that this time, it was a dog that got her. It looks as if it grabbed her by the nose and throat. Outwardly, her cuts don't look nearly as bad as the last time. However, the placement is a huge issue. The mountain lion got her by the back, where she has crap loads of loose skin that the stupid cat ripped right through. This time, the dog ripped an artery or something in Mequa's neck, causing it to fill up with a pocket of blood. So while it didn't look as bad, it was far more serious. Mequa is one lucky dog, however, because she again didn't die right then and there, nor did she bleed out while waiting for the vet. They fixed her back up, drained the pocket of blood, and sent her home around six thirty last night.
All day yesterday I spent shrouded in guilt. If only I hadn't been so tired the night before. If only I had gone home instead of staying in town for the night. If only I had asked someone to let Mequa into my room for the evening. If only I had made the time to finish patching up the fence last weekend. If only... then she wouldn't have gotten in another fight. All this self-imposed guilt literally made me sick.
Not good when you are going in for a physical first thing in the morning. "My, your pulse is up," the nurse said.
"Yeah," I thought. "Of course it is. I'm having a freaking panic attack over here."
On top of all this, I found out my mom, who I mentioned was sick last week, isn't responding to medication and is actually getting worse. Luckily, the doctor isn't worried and just prescribed her some stronger stuff.
Between my mom, my dog, and my stupid doctor visit, I was completely overwhelmed yesterday. It was clear that Dex wanted to do something to help, but was totally at a loss when it came to determining what I needed. I didn't want to do anything, didn't want to eat anything, and especially didn't want to talk about it. I curled up in the recliner with my Kindle and told him not to worry and to get some homework done.
Apparently not long after that, I fell asleep. Sometime that afternoon, Dex had me go lay down and tucked me in, though I don't remember that at all. All I know is that several hours later, he was waking me up to see if I was doing OK and if I was staying for dinner. I think that I totally crashed because I unconsciously made the decision that sleeping was a far better alternative to having yet another total meltdown. About half an hour after I woke back up, I got a phone call from Dad saying Mequa was OK and that he was taking her home. I immediately gathered my things and headed out to the house, pulling in the driveway only seconds after Dad.
To relieve some tension, I went to Jen's house for a massage this morning. I didn't realize just how much I needed it until I left, and I'm so grateful that I have her to help me out. Pretty much everyone in my family tried to convince me that Mequa's attack wasn't my fault and, while I still feel a little guilty, I am certainly feeling much better. I realize that my being home had nothing to do with it, as she could get hurt at any time of day, in the yard or out. She is a small dog, after all.
I am pleased to say that, while she is still obviously hurting, Mequa seems to be doing so much better than yesterday. She's had more water, walks around more, and even has the audacity to beg for treats (of course I give in every time... I'm just so happy she's alive for me to dote on). Right now she's sleeping, but a few minutes ago I took a break from writing to play with her for a few seconds. She seems to have regained her unique, silly personality that I have come to love so very much.
tl;dr version: My dog got attacked and stressed me out, but she is doing OK now and I am very happy. :)
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