We left this morning for our annual Easter
vacation cabin trip. The day was fantastic. We spent most of the morning driving slowly up the canyon while intermittently playing at the river with the dogs (my mom's dog, Boomer, and our baby, Lucy).
Two interesting things happened during this time.
1. Boomer kept frantically eating grass and throwing up in the car. We assumed he'd gotten car sick on the windy canyon road.
2. Lucy intentionally rolled in a huge pile of human feces. First of all, who takes a giant dump next to the river when there's a bathroom 100 yards away? And what kind of idiot dog rolls in it so furiously that her entire body is streaked head-to-tail with what I can only assume was a fully digested 7-layer burrito from Taco Bell.
When we finally reached the cabin, we settled in for an afternoon of sleeping, reading, and eating. The dogs rested. Lucy rested OUTSIDE. Boomer was still feeling under-the-weather.
Evening rolled around. Poor Boomer seemed to be feeling even worse. He was gagging, acting strangely, and twitching, so we started considering our options. The local vet wouldn't be open until 8am the next morning, and the closest animal ER was in Bakersfield, an hour and a half away. It was my mother's call.
In truth, Boomer is my mother's dog. She brought him home from work one afternoon, a starved, sad, little mutt of a puppy who had wandered through the school yard. My father was livid. "I don't want a dog!", he insisted over and over. "I do not want a dog."
Not soon after Boomer arrived at my parent's house, the company my father worked for was sold, and he was laid off. Nobody seemed to understand what my dad was going through better than Boomer. He laid at my father's feet while he searched the Internet for job openings, and sat patiently in his lap while he waited for phone calls. His soulful brown eyes and concerned wrinkled brow seemed to say, "I know what its like to feel unwanted and alone." Everyday during the searching an waiting, Boomer was there, and before too long, tiny cracks started to appear in my father's firm anti-dog resolve.
Days turned into weeks, and soon both Boomer and my dad began to grow restless. My mother was going crazy. "Go somewhere! Do something!" she pleaded, "Just get out of the house for a little while." So my father took Boomer to the dog park. The next day, he took him again. Pretty soon, they were regular fixtures there. They knew each dog and its owner by name. Boomer had regular playmates, and my Dad developed his own circle of dog-loving friends who looked forward to seeing him every day.
My father eventually did find a job, and by that time, Boomer was an official member of the Fowler family. Even after the most tiring of workdays, Dad always had time for Boomer, and Boomer was always waiting expectantly for my dad.
So when my mom looked at Boomer, twitching and gagging at her feet earlier tonight, she thought of my father. How could she risk the life of the dog who had so greatly enriched the life of the man she loved? She couldn't. We packed our bags and began the long journey down the canyon to Bakersfield to take Boomer to the 24 hour animal ER.
When we arrived a 10:45, the place was empty, except for a couple who'd brought in a large dog with a severe case of bloat. After a half-hour wait, a vet tech checked Boomer out and confirmed that he needed to be looked at by the doctor. Unfortunately the doctor would be in emergency surgery with the other dog for at least 3 hours. She recommended that we bring Boomer back later. Its a little after 1am, and I'm sitting here on my couch writing and waiting (and seriously considering giving Lucy ANOTHER bath) while my mom sleeps in the guest room.
More to come...
4/2
Update!
Boomer is still a little sick to his stomach, but feeling better. The ER vet didn't find anything in his trachia, which was good. Scary though. I don't have kids. All my love is spent on pets.
