I've been enjoying a full time live in mail order husband to be. Mark survived a week of Southern food and my family- each of whom are as unique as myself. My father actually likes him. Having received their seal of approval, I brought him home. We've now enjoyed just over two weeks of togetherness.
All of which brought us up to last Friday.
Which started innocently enough; a barrage of emails, morning coffee. Oatmeal.
And then...
Puke. Kora Chops (the affectionate name for my adorable St. Bernard mix) puked no less than four times in the front room. Five minutes later, she snuck upstairs to puke all over the hallway.
Needless to say, she managed to dust the front half of the house in puke.
Having emptied her stomach, she then went outside. Explosive diarrhea. Which is disgusting to discuss, but excused by the fact that she's a dog.
Mark and I assume the poor pup just ate something bad. The rest of the day Kora was subdued and not willing to eat, but that's understandable right?
Fast forward to Sunday night. Kora is still refusing to eat; having eaten nearly nothing in three days.
I begin to Google. Truly, too much information, is a terrible terrible thing. Within twenty minutes I've discovered twelve diseases that she can have, and four new disorders.
Insert panic. I start to hyperventilate.
Knowing my tendencies to blow things out of proportion; I call the vet. I figure that they can assuage my fears and make an appointment for the morning. It's after hours, but I get the girl on call. I describe the events.
Her words, EXACTLY: "I don't mean to alarm you, but it sounds like your dog has Parvo."
Sarah: "What?"
Vet: "Yeah. Sounds exactly like it. I'm looking through your files right now, and it appears you've never had either of your dogs vaccinated"
Sarah: "What??? They're shelter dogs. You can't get them without having them vaccinated"
Vet: "Yes but you haven't kept them up to date"
Sarah: "I bring them in all the time. How can this be?"
Vet: "I'm not certain. But my advice for the night is to separate your dogs, and bring them both in tomorrow morning to be tested for certain."
I make an appointment. I promise to bring them in. I hang up. I reflect that the conversation did not have the desired effect.
I google.
For those that don't know, Parvo is essentially a death sentence for dogs. If caught in the first 24 hours it's treatable, if not, your dog is a goner. Quickly, miserably. It's terrible.
With each new website I move further past hyperventilating, straight into full blown panic. Stricken with complete guilt. I tear apart the office looking for their vaccinations papers. I find nothing. I start to cry. I'm in bed, rocking my puppy. Huge tears running down my face. I cannot speak for the sobbing. Mark tries to comfort me, but nothing works as I hug my baby girl close to me.
Somehow, I make it to morning. I leash both dogs. I drive to the vet. The girl at the desk asks me what I'm bringing them in for.
"Parvo" I whisper, "She told me they have parvo."
Needless to say, those aren't words to be spoken lightly in an animal hospital. The entire front desk is alarmed, they spring into action to quarantine the diseased animals. They round the desk, and encounter my dogs. Who are wagging happily at them.
"What? These dogs don't have parvo" states the front desk lady. They're appalled at the diagnosis I was given. From my disheveled appearance they can tell it's been a long long terrible night for me.
Fast forward through a barrage of tests, blood samples, updating all Hercules vaccinations (he was almost due on a couple), new ear medicine for Hercules, two shots for Kora and two sets of medicine. It's a three ring circus and I'm texting Mark frantically to keep him updated.
At which point I receive the message back, "That's nice, tho I don't know why you're telling me"
Suddenly, I'm livid. I've been a pent up ball of nerves for 24 hours and the idea that Mark isn't sick with worry over the dogs??
I'm halfway through a "WTF is wrong with you that you don't car about the fate of our dogs...." message, when I realize. I've been texting Demetrius. At which point Mark starts texting frantically because he hasn't received an update. Because he IS worried sick.
Feeling decided retarded, I return, to the front desk.
The bill is $800!
Seriously. $800. I start to make a fuss. I mean, seriously, this is almost highway robbery! But Mark is still texting, still worried sick. Kora is going mad over a puppy in the corner that's barked at her. Hercules thinks he's getting a biscuit. So I pay, and start pulling them towards the door.
I somehow manage to shove two unwilling dogs in the back of a Mercedes coupe. I drive home as my phone continues to ring.
"No Parvo!" I practically scream as I enter the door. "She's going to be fine!"
"Oh, and there's this" I remark as I hand him the bill.
"Oh my god! $800? You were only gone for an hour! What did you do? Did you take them shopping?"
He turns to Kora, "Did mommy buy you a pretty new dress??"
And all is well again.
