Saturday, April 23, 2011
Buddy's Story Part 1
A little background on the Bud, to begin. Buddy was found nearly 2 years ago sitting all sad and pitiful on the Beal's doorstep. He was just a little guy, apparrantly abandoned by stupid humans that don't recognize the sweetest dog on the face of the earth. He's a lemon and white mostly Beagle and something else, hence: Beagle-ish. My son Chad (this is his human mama telling this story) called me up and said, "Mama, can I have a puppy?"
No. No no no nononononono. He says he just wants to show him to me. And maybe we could just watch him for the weekend, because the Beals will keep him, but they have to go camping that weekend, but they'll come get him on Monday. That was two years ago this July. They haven't come back yet.
Buddy has gained some weight since we got him, and he's grown into the prettiest dog in the world. No really, I'm not making that up. It's been proven.
He's got the warmest brown eyes, and his ears are made of velvet. His nose is just perfect, and you know it because he's always got it stuck on you somewhere (usually somewhere you don't really want pointed out in polite company). He sleeps in less than modest positions, but he is a boy, so I guess we can't hold it against him.
But nope, it was not to be. At 11:15, the 8 year old screeched, "Mama, Buddy's bleeding!" Without even turning to look, I assured her that Buddy was fine. Chances were good that she was just trying to ruin my don't-do-anything-not-even-put-on-a-bra day. But the screeching intensified as the 13 year old saw Buddy and then Buddy started howling in tune with them. The 11 year old took a lookie loo and said Buddy's leg was dangling, and he even seemed concerned. Since he usually doesn't notice if someone has been decapitated, I finally hefted myself from my recliner (rather disgustedly, I might add) and checked and went to the front room to check on the stupid dog.
He was sitting there, looking sad like hounds do, and his leg... Good gracious, sakes alive, his leg! Call 911! Something's wrong with Buddy! Oh goodness! He's gonna die! His leg is broken! He's bleeding. Some neanderthal done hurt my sweet boy. I have my vet on speed dial so I called them and before they can finish saying their good mornings I shriek that my baby's hurt and I have to come right now right now right now.
The receptionist, let's call her Cathy to protect the innocent, said, "Kerri, is that you?"
"Yes! My baby's hurt! Fix it!"
"Is it your horse? What happened to Blitz now darling?"
"No it's not Blitz. I'd be upset if it was Blitz. It's Buddy. Something's wrong with him. Fix it!"
"Would you care to elaborate, honey?" Again with the calm voice. It's so annoying.
"Well, he's broken. His leg is broken and I need it fixed. NOW."
"Can you come at 3:15?"
"That's an awful long time away. Can't I come now?" I wasn't whining, honest. Sniffling a little, maybe.
"You could come now, but the vet's not here, so you'd just have to wait."
"Well, fine. Whatever." I'm a big believer in mature behavior.
While waiting to go to the vet, I called my mama, my husband, my son, my neighbors (all of them), put it on Facebook, emailed it to everyone, and maybe put it on the prayer chain at church. What can I say, I wuff my BudMan. Buddy spent most of the time looking all pitiful and moaning in pain. He did his chocolate melty eyes at me and made me feel sad for having working legs.
At the vet, he got a shot and his temperature taken, which he was quite offended about since he claims that was an exit only. After the shot kicked in, he didn't really care anymore though. Xrays were done (expensive!) and showed no break or anything. And that cinched it. He was snake bit. And why he couldn't tell me about this before I had $80 in xrays done is beyond me. After we got home, I got the whole story out of him, before he came down off his drugs. That was one seriously happy dog. I want me some of those drugs. Wow.