As our readers know, we have a rodent of a dog named Mr. Pete. He happens to be a Chihuahua which is a breed I swore we would never own. They are yappy ankle-biters with bug eyes. To me, Chihuahua’s look like rats, and that is why I call our dog a rodent. Leave it to my daughter/GM to get a Chihuahua. I have told you before, and it is true that my children don’t listen to me.
I really like animals, so don’t get me wrong, but I could have lived my entire life very happily without a Chihuahua. (Pug dogs are also really low on my list, too, because they snore so darned loud.) I was tricked into getting this dog. First of all, my daughter, and as many of you have probably experienced, is an expert at the doe eyes and sad, droopy lips pleading face that make me give in when I don’t want to. (My granddaughter has become an expert with this technique. I think she even does it better than Daphne does.) Second of all, I thought the dog was a baby Lab. I really like Labs. Mr. Pete was six weeks old and didn’t have the bug eyes. Nor did he make a yappy sound when we encountered him so you can see why I believed he was a real dog. So, pleasing my daughter (which is often a mistake) and thinking I was getting a $200 Lab, we got the dog. Imagine my shock when the dog turned out to be a Chihuahua! I wanted a refund and to return the dog, but we didn’t have a receipt with an refund policy, and there wasn’t a way to find the people who sold this dog to us by standing on a sidewalk holding him up for my daughter with the animal radar to see. (Daphne and I are really against puppy mills, and would rather have gotten a pet from the animal shelter. We have done that before, but honestly, I wasn’t in the market for a pet.) However, Daphne gave me that look and the dog looked sickly, she said, which he did somewhat, and her idea was that if he was going to die, he at least ought to die at a home where he would be cared for. (I have come to learn that children are masters at making you believe what they are saying.)
So, why am I telling you about Mr. Pete? Because once I realized that I had been robbed and fooled, I should have had an inkling that this dog was going to be nothing but trouble. I read the book Marley and Me. The author claimed that Marley was the worst dog in the world. Ha! I’d tell Marley to move over, except he is in heaven. At least the makers of a movie about dogs insist that all dogs go to heaven. (I am telling you that Mr. Pete won’t be going there. Ralph Kramden from the old TV series, The Honeymooners, has a better idea of where Mr. Pete is going – to the moon, Mr. Pete!)
Mr. Pete is awful and he is spoiled, too. But I would argue with Marely’s owner and say that Mr. Pete is the world’s worst dog. (I’ve been thinking about writing a book about him because he has some odd behaviors.) And on top of that, he is the most expensive. While I don’t approve of Obama care, I think there needs to be an Obama care for animals. We could call it Dogama care. (I am not just referring to dogs, but I won’t go into my politics. My father always said not to discuss politics and religion with others.) We have a doggy wellness plan for $42 dollars a month, but it doesn’t cover doggy emergencies. Mr. Pete has turned 8 years old, which is 56 in human years. Many of us start to break down in our late 50s, so I guess he is age appropriate for health problems. I just wish they weren’t so expensive. By the way, we have had a few pets in our lives, and none of them had the problems or the expenses that Mr. Pete has given us. (I knew that dog was a bad seed when I first laid eyes on him and saw that he had a small circular bald spot on his side. He had a birth defect! And I get tired of each new vet asking if he had a biopsy or cancer there. I quickly tell them that we just have a defective dog. Thank you very much, Daphne!)
About 6 months ago, the “rodent” began to vomit and have the diabolical squirts of the blow hole. He’d eat and a few hours later, throw up. (And it is true as the Bible says, dogs do return to their vomit. That is just so gross!) Then he’d have diarrhea just running from the opposite end. And since he is the world’s worst dog, he wouldn’t go on his potty mats. He’s just let it rip all over the carpet. I really did feel badly for him. He’d lie around all listless-like. Then he’d have a few good days before the cycle started all over again. He has been to the vet several times in the last few months. He’s been on antacids and antibiotics and probiotics and expensive special diets. Again, he’ll be fine for a few days, and then bombs away! Recently he had an XRay off his abdomen for over $200. This just showed swelling of the lining of his lower intestines. (Truthfully, XRays are not really meant for soft tissue. They are the best for filming bones.) Of course, the XRay was inconclusive.
A couple of nights ago, he was so sick that we took him to the pet ER thinking that it was time to put him down. The vet didn’t agree and came up with a treatment plan that was going to run $1700 to 2 grand if they kep thim over night, gave him IV fluids, and sent him by doggy ambulance to another office for an ultrasound. What in the world? Of course, I have a car to repair and a root canal to get done, and I can’t see spending two grand on a dog anyway. (Remember, I like animals.) We ended up going home with multiple different meds and having the ultrasound on an outpatient basis.) The vets recommended an ultrasound! An ultrasound? I guess veterinary medicine is moving up to high tech. $445 dollars later, the diagnoses is Irritable Bowel Disease (IBD). I even told the vet and my family that this was what was ailing Mr. Pete before any Xray or ultrasound was done. Oh, by the way, the ultrasound showed possible diagnoses and a group of vets had to sit around and confer on the diagnosis.
So, on the way to the poor house, a rotted tooth, and a car that won’t pass the smog test, we know Mr. Pete has IBD. He goes back to the vet this afternoon to get a special allergy-free diet (which no doubt will cost more than a meal at Red Lobster) and B12 shots. Some humans get B12 shots. Gee whiz! What will the veterinary world think of next?
So what is the point of all this, besides complaining? Just this, if you are thinking of getting a pet, 1) may he/she not be as troublesome as Mr. Pete, and 2) make sure you have a money tree growing in your backyard because you are going to need it, or even better than suggestion #s 1 or 2, #3 – Just don’t get a pet and don’t listen to anyone who gives you the “look”, the pleading sad eyes and the curled lip. You’ll be better off. And if your family asks why they can’t have a pet, tell them that Mama Vicky said so.
Blog You Later!