I had a conversation with Taylor on Wednesday night about Mack. (You know – our beloved lab mix who is sometimes on Prozac.)
“He’s getting old, babe. He just doesn’t keep up like he used to. He’s always kinda just in my way and doesn’t hear as well as he used to.”
I mean he is technically 56 years old…so…he’s pretty ancient. JUST KIDDING, MOM.
Anyway. Had this conversation Wednesday night.
The next afternoon as we were doing the leave-the-house/”WHERE ARE YOUR SHOES”/”IF YOU DON’T PUT THAT TOY DOWN RIGHT THIS SECOND” shuffle to meet some friends at the park, I began making my rounds to shut all the doors in the house. Why? Because Prozac-Mack gets all nervy when we leave and sometimes eats things. Like couches.
Mack was doing his usual – following no more than .5″ behind me.
As I shut our bedroom door, he yelped. Like a normal, you-barely-stepped-on-my-foot-and-it-maybe-hurt yelp.
I turned around to see what the deal was, and this:
I thought, “That’s weird, it looks like a clump of hair. It must have gotten caught in the door somehow.”
I looked at Mack, he seemed fine. Shocked, but fine.
I kinda shrugged it off…and then I saw the blood.
Droplets all over the ground. Sprays all over the walls.
I followed the trail all the way back to his happy, wagging tail.
A tail that suddenly looked a little less pointy.
A tail that WAS MISSING AN END.
It took me a while to realize what had happened and even longer to make a game plan.
Did my door seriously just chop off the end of my dog’s tail? How is that even possible? And what am I supposed to do first in this situation? Bandage the tail? Google “how to bandage tail”? Call Taylor? Call the vet? Clean up the blood? IS THIS REAL LIFE??
I called Taylor.
He answered on the first ring.
I started explaining the situation, but out of the corner of my eye I saw the “hair clump” on the floor. And then I thought about calling my friend Lauren and telling her why we couldn’t come to the park after all.
And I lost it, you guys.
I started laughing uncontrollably. The doubled-over, gasping for air, horribly inappropriate (which makes you laugh even harder) kind.
Blood all over the place, my baby screaming, my dog confused, my husband waiting for an explanation, and I can’t even function I’m laughing so hard.
Something is horribly wrong with me.
I finally got myself under control. After calling Lauren and having the weirdest “Sorry we can’t make it because” conversations I’ve ever had, I MacGuyvered a bandage out of a sock and duct tape…
…called Taylor and made a plan to get to the vet…
…cleaned the crime scene…
…gave Mack one of his “in case of total freak out” sedatives…
…and updated the love frame in our master bathroom.
One $340 vet bill later, Mack is on antibiotics and pain pills and receiving 3 laser therapy treatments to try and heal the wound.
LASER. THERAPY. TREATMENTS.
I’m still unclear what that even means, but I’m very clear that if the treatments don’t work, they’ll have to amputate part of his tail. Because of course this dog would lose half a tail in a standard wooden door.
Wouldn’t that just be his luck?
Despite what his sad, this-cone-makes-me-die-inside eyes say, he’s acting completely normal. I mean, scraping the cone of shame on everything and occasionally getting stuck between objects in the house, but otherwise normal. And shockingly calm. (Possibly because he’s finally given up all hope of a normal life?)
We’re hoping his treatments work. I rather like his (slightly less) pointy tail.
So that’s our freak accident of the week that I couldn’t make up if I tried…what’s new with you?