Herbert Vet Visit

I’m here at the vet now, just me and the Herbert. Tears keep falling down my face, even when I don’t feel like I’m crying…..tears are there.
He’s not good.
I’ve put my foot down. We either stomach tube him or put him down, he is uncomfortable and miserable and that is not fair to him. I feel like if he could get nutrition; he would be able to heal. His stomach works, but his traitorous body won’t let any food or water get there. I feel ya Herbie, my body is a traitorous bastard too.
I just hate this so much. I’m tired….like soul-weary tired.

Herbert’s in the doggie hospital on an IV. He took a turn for the worse. I discussed with two very competent veterinarians as to whether it was time to let him go, and the decision was made to give fluids and see how he was in the morning.
I will let y’all know if/when I know anything.
Also, if there is ever a HIPPA-like act enacted for dogs I will be screwed, as I managed to hold my shit (barely) together by blatantly listening to consults happening throughout the clinic and either emphatically agreeing or disagreeing with stuff I heard.

FoodLady Chronicles – I’m in Hell edition:

FoodLady Chronicles – I’m in hell edition: Well, ya ever live on an island and your service dog develops a chronic vomiting illness that you are hoping and praying will be made better by a new and expensive piece of equipment your vet has purchased and you are just doing the best you can while waiting for that fancy sum’bitch to arrive via boat? yeah? me too – it totally sucks, right?!. But wait! There’s a fresh new (kinda funny) hell! Ya ever have a second pet dog figure out that the sick dog gets attention when he starts coughing/pre-regurgitating and has learned to MIMIC THAT NOISE?!? Dear SamSam the Asshole – please stop making me freak out randomly! kthanks! Love, FoodLady

FoodLady Chronicles- yeah….things. edition:

So things have been bad, I feel crappy whining about things because they are really more “first world problem” bad than truly bad.
Example? I am without a car. My old taurus has officially died the death of oh dead dead which means I have been walking to work. Herbert (service dog) thinks this WAY better than driving and it is only about a mile. Yes, this sucks, and yes, it sucks trying to do things like “buy food”, but really…things could be worse.
For example, it would have been worse if last night when I got home from work the two dogs at home could have gotten into the trash, destroyed a pillow, disassembled the couch, and begun gnawing on the arm of the couch which was *just* paid off. (I wasn’t worried about the new couch because it is made of METAL)
oh wait, that *wasn’t* a bad dream, that actually happened.
*whimper*

FoodLady Chronicles – heard this morning edition:

Everyone has their own language with their loved ones. Thankfully there were no other humans around to hear my conversation with the dogs this morning because in reflection, I may have sounded a wee bit macabre:
*FoodLady leaves bedroom, sees Sam in hallway*, “Sam, where did you get that trachea?! I didn’t give you a trachea……Herbert!?! you have a trachea as well!? I see….so we raided the treat box. Mia, no….you can’t steal Herbert’s trachea–he’ll kill you…….here, here *grabs bully stick from box*….have a penis. Okay, fine….Sam, have the penis. Mia, here is a trachea.”
*happy peaceful canine munching sounds*
*FoodLady walks past bathroom, sees another stolen trachea carefully half hidden under a towel and bellows*, “Herbert! we do not hide stolen trachea in the bathroom!” *picks up trachea and stomps around looking for more stolen bovine anatomy.*
Good morning from the anatomy thieving fuzzy-butts.

FoodLady Chronicles – I’m tired. edition

Dear Miss Mia (a/k/a pain in my ass hyper-happy pibble o’ doom) and Mr. SamSam (a/k/a asshole),
We (FoodLady, FoodMan, Herbert (only. good. dog. here), and Lucille (kitty) formally request that both of you knock. it. da. fuq. off. now. please.
It is a superbigpainintheass to keep the two of you separated and my limited ‘speriments (shut up, I’m a scientist) of allowing the two of y’all to hang out always start out promising until Sam gets a bug up his butt about…..I don’t know….a misplaced fart?!? maybe Mia makes faces at him behind my back??!! and then Sam gets bitchy and Mia gets all “I’m Godsdamned Xena Super Kung Fu Puppy, Asswipe – let’s rumble!” and then Herbert can’t help but get involved but he has no horse in the race and basically acts a fool trying to be rough and tough too until I start to play, “Now. Everyone. Must. Die! No Food For You! Or You! Or You! edition” and poor special “I’m involved too!” Herbert ends up looking the fool with a leg of whatever dog he could reach in his mouth.
it. is. exhausting.
Additionally, Miss Mia? I love you. I do. Sure, you are a rather gross pustule-laden, scarred, drooling monster of adoration – shit, that’s kinda right in my doggie wheelhouse – but as much as I adore you, after I spend 20 minutes massaging in that sulfur-rich goop into your scaly bits you stink like, well, sulfur. Please don’t be offended that you get locked in your baby-gate area following your bath & goop sessions. Look on the bright side, you got a bully-stick (smoked bull penis, nope – not kidding, it’s a thing) to chew on!
Smooches,
FoodLady!