My Other Children October 14, 2006
My dog, Her Name is Rio, has been acting funky these past few days. Lots of extra scratching, some hair loss and scabbiness around the backside. Today, most of the skin on said backside was very red, and I feared infection. I took her to the vet. It’s a one minute walk for a normal person, but between me, The Boy, Little No Limit, and Her Name is Rio it’s ten minutes of dog pulling, kid tripping, and me barking out phrases like “hold hands!” and “stop pulling on the leash!” and “yes, I see it, don’t touch it.”
The vet lobby is totally packed. I’m trying to manage the kids and Her Name is Rio, and this strange dog that won’t leave us alone (unknowing that Her Name is Rio can be quite territorial), and everyone is watching my kids ransack the treasure chest of toys, like it’s totally appalling or something. Is it just me, or is the vet clinic lobby the worst place to bring toddlers? Every pet freak in the world is just watching your kids, while cuddling their pampered pooch or finicky feline, whispering in their ears, “that’s why I have my precious little Princess Star Bubbles instead of nasty, snot-nosed children, yes precious.”(Admittedly, The Boy had snot on his nose. I felt like this commercial.)
We finally get to the exam room, and the good (ahem, cute) doctor checks my girl out, asks me questions about her behavior, I admit I lapsed on the Frontline, and he takes her to the back to do a skin scrape for mites. He comes back with this prognosis: “I think she has fleas.” I’m surprised because my other dog, Notorious F.O.X., has no itchy & scratchy problem and no fleas. Nor have I seen fleas. Anywhere. But the good doctor tells me that she might just be more affected, blah, blah, blah, medicine, blah, inflammatory shot, blah, here’s your $311.62 bill.
I shall never again forget to administer Frontline.
After walking home, I sat down with Her Name is Rio to have a heart to heart about her not scratching, a speech I often give to The Boy. Notorious F.O.X., thinking that some of that bacon-coated medicine was just bacon joined in on the talk.
ME: I need to give you this medicine because you’ve scratched so much you now have an infection. Please eat it in this tasty bacon and melted cheese concoction I’ve made special for you.
No way.
ME: Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but you’re eating the medicine.
How come she doesn’t have to eat any?
Bitch, why you gotta be bringin’ me into this?
I have repeatedly asked you not to call me that.
Read a dictionary, fool, you are a bitch.
Do you see how she treats me! It’s bad enough you stick me in a crate with her whenever you’re gone, now you’re going to make me take gross medicine while she gets off free.
Stuck in a crate with me? Oh no you didn’t just act like I’m beneath you. Get it straight–I’m the alpha dog around here. I’m the one stuck in the crate with YOU.
Yeah, well, neither of us would be in the crate at all if you could have shown a little more self control inside the house. I told you if you kept tearing things up, they were going to do something.
ME: She does have a point. It’s your fault you two have to be crated when we’re not home.
Mine? You the one who had to go and have kids. Look at what you subject me to:
Having a blast. Can’t you tell?
I used to be the Queen around here. Now, I’m like the court jester.
ME: If you really were the court jester, I’d dress you like this:
Dare you. I DARE you to dress me like that. See what happens.
ME: What is that, a threat? What more can you possibly do? Remember these bad boys?
You got no proof I did those things.
Oh, right, like I did it. I’m too busy scratching my fleas because SOMEONE never gave me Frontline.
ME: Why are you turning on me like that? I’m sorry about the Frontline.
Sorry you had to shell out 300 bucks, more like.
ME: Hey! Keep this up, and I might just forget to feed you.
Might? Girl, you crazy. You always forget. No question about it. Have you even seen our food bowls lately?
ME: Oh. Damn. Sorry, I’ll clean that up.
That’s what I thought. So now, I’m going to make it easy for YOU. We want real food, we want a water dish—
ME: You have a water dish.
No, that piece of shit Ziplock-to-go container is not a water dish—we want a real one—
And I want a new bed. And I won’t take any medicine until we get it.
Word. Make that two new beds.
ME: Now girls…
What are you still talking for? Shouldn’t you be heading over to Petsmart? Time to bounce!
I’m pretty sure I heard one of them mutter “Now who’s the bitch?” as they trotted away. When did they get so tough?
Hey, dogs! I don’t have dogs. I have cats. They suck. I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one who thinks that many Child-Free Pet Owners are right out of their minds.
That is the coolest dog name I’ve ever heard (both of them are cool, but Her Name is Rio is the very coolest). Do you address using all four syllables each time? I knew of someone once who named his dog Spotrover (two kids, both of whom wanted to do the naming), and it was apparently essential that the full three-syllable version get used every time.
I had to make a quick run to the bathroom to avoid PEEING ON MYSELF.
Day-yam. Ghetto dogs scare me.
Can’t. Stop. Laughing.
Omg, this trumps anything funny you have ever written before.
You had me from “why you gotta bring into this bitch”.
One of your best.
I had never seen the condom commercial. It horrifies me on many levels.
I read this 3 days ago. I’m still laughing.
Come by and pick up your ARBY. I won’t explain…just come by.