Tonight I lie on my couch while it snows outside, the beginning of a blizzard, with the three boys tucked snugly in bed, my husband at the local bar with friends, and my new puppy asleep beside me. Yes, already, a new puppy. Emotions are running rampant.
I had my heart set on a Great Bernese, a cross between a Great Pyrenees and a Bernese Mountain Dog. They are very expensive and the breeder I found was in Colorado, so tack on a $400 airfare fee. Our names went on the waiting list. It'd be a few months out, the perfect time to wait and grieve.
I'm not a dog shopper, typically. I'm usually a dog adopter. I felt a little guilty about "buying" a dog, so I looked around on some rescue websites. The first dog I saw was this cute little brown lab mix called "Holly the Pup." Let me back up a bit...
My oldest son who was having a really hard time with the loss of our dog spent the night of her death with my husband and me talking about passed loved ones. My husband and I both said our dogs are always with us, even if they now are in heaven. Our loved ones send us signs to let us know they are watching out for us, our own personal guardian angel dogs. I told him how when we got our Indiana, we didn't know anything about her, what kind of dog she was or even what color. We just said we'd take a puppy. As it turns out, she looked just like my dog Hollie from when I was a little girl. (You see where this is going, right?) And that was how I knew Hollie was looking out for me, by sending me Indiana.
So, this Holly the Pup shows up first on like three searches I ran, and I kept ignoring it, even though she was super cute. I didn't want a lab. I wanted a bigger dog. My husband wanted long hair. Then an email came through that a dog matched my search...it was her again. I inquired and filled out a short application. Do you know how competitive it is to rescue a puppy? Hundreds of applications! I didn't like that. I don't want to compete to do good for a dog. The lady who reviewed my application called that night and left a message asking if we had a fenced in yard, which we do. I returned the message with a message that we did. The next day she called and said "Holly the Pup" was ours if we wanted her. She was saving her specifically for us because out of all the applications, she felt we were most suited to her. Suddenly, there we were on a cold Friday night in an overflow parking lot at the Cracker Barrel with three excited boys in the car waiting for a van to arrive from West Virginia, a partner rescue group with ours in New Jersey. I'm pretty sure we foiled a few drug deals and/or lady of the night exchanges while we waited, our own car rocking back and forth as the children could not contain their enthusiasm.
Puppies are hard work. They pee and poop a lot, and they don't care where they do it. They will eat ANYthing in front of them regardless of whether or not it is likely to kill them. And they bite! Hard! With very sharp teeth! I knew all of this. I've raised a puppy before. I've been around tons of puppies. I thought I was ready, and then...
That first night with her was obviously rough, and it didn't help that I woke up sick around midnight. I'm pretty good at feeling a cold coming on and will make my echinacea tea and take my vitamin C and zinc tabs to help fight off a cold. This hit me without warning, slowly but powerfully. I was okay over the weekend, but not feeling any better than that first night. Then Tuesday morning came, and threw me a whole new curve ball.
Last week, I fell off a chair. Yes, a chair. I went to sit down. I thought the chair was over farther than it was and only one butt cheek hit it, making it slide out even farther and I went down into a basket of magazines. My right elbow hit the knob of an antique sewing machine near the chair. It hurt. It bruised a little. But, I got over it pretty quickly because who wants to brag about falling off a chair and then having to convince people that no, I was NOT drinking.
This past Tuesday morning, my elbow started hurting me really badly. I couldn't put any pressure on it, and bending it started to hurt. The skin started to feel sensitive as well. So I looked in the mirror and there was a giant pimple on the tip of my elbow! A giant pimple! I will spare you all the oozy, gory details, but it got worse as the day went on. I thought about going to urgent care, but who goes to urgent care for a pimple on her elbow? Well, I do because the next day when I was getting ready for my shower and took off my nightgown, I looked in the mirror to find a brilliant red ring around the pimple four inches in diameter.
Apparently when I fell, the skin must have broken ever so slightly and bacteria got in causing an infection. It happens, so I'm told. I sat in the waiting room, getting sicker by the minute, my throat becoming sore and swollen and congestion building in my chest. Luckily with the pimple, I could forego the strep test and was put on a round of antibiotics that will hopefully knock all the crap out of me.
This. This with three little boys and a new puppy. And now a blizzard. A blizzard! And did I mention that I had the pup to the emergency vet today? I haven't even been able to research pet insurance and the dog vomited this morning and had mucus in her urine. She's fine now and has shown no signs of anything wrong since this morning. The vet is running a urinalysis to see if it's an infection. He kept saying that they never close, even in a blizzard! Good for you! I get that you are here all weekend, but that doesn't help me if I can't get to you! That's why I went to the emergency vet in the first place, because I was scared of waiting and having something happen during the blizzard. The blizzard! A frickin' blizzard when we went to Christmas Eve church service in shorts and t-shirts!
So, yeah, it's been a long week. I kept thinking about this blog and then about the laundry piling up and then about getting the entire house cleaned and eating five servings of fruits and veggies every day and yeah, it's just been a big fail.
But, my cold is better. My elbow is sort of better. Parts of my floor are very clean wherever I wipe up the pee. And when I feel sad or overwhelmed or lonely, I have a very cuddly puppy to scoop into my arms and make me feel better.
(Stay tuned for the next installment written by Ramsy, the fifteen year old cat who is not amused by the addition of yet another puppy.)
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