30 March 2010

The worst therapy dog in the world.


Yesterday, I wrote a squooshy little bit about Gustavo and visiting the old folks home. Gustavo was made for this job, just like I was made for the job of wandering aimlessly in the woods and spending long hours with no interruptions in a room full of blank paper, black pens, and endless stacks of magazines and vintage engravings scavenged from hoaders in an abandoned desert trailer park. Oh, or pie testing. Some things are our destiny. Gustavo would be happy visiting old people or kids or actually, anyone, except for bus drivers on loud buses with hissing brakes, all day, every day.

It would only be a better job if he could run laps around the building at top speeds for 10 minutes between each visit. And have a snack.

Otterpop, on the other hand, is best kept away from frail patients who cannot defend themselves against pure evil. She is the anti-therapy dog.

Gary had his knee surgery yesterday. It was all very efficient, he was in and out of the offensively southwest teal and dusty rose hued surgery center in just a few hours time. Peeling wallpaper and horrible carpeting doesn't necessarily inspire confidence, but there was a staff of jovial nurses and a icy cool surgeon who brought me arthroscopic print outs so as better to admire her masterful work in cleaning out the ragged tear inside poor Gary's knee joint.

When I brought the patient home, stumbling in a post anaesthesia haze up the driveway on crutches, the dogs ran out the back door to greet us. They knew something was up. Otterpop, on seeing the ogre-like figure, limping up the driveway supported by metal sticks, proceeded to FREAK OUT and was ready to attack it. She was nearly all the way over to the dark side when I corralled her and tied a leash on her and tried to point out that is was her beloved Gary but she was having none of that crap. Her pot had boiled over already.

She was sentenced to her bed while I got the poor patient in the house and followed instructions of ice packs and elevating and pain meds. Gustavo quietly jumped right up and took up residence on a pillow. Ruby was off doing projects, likely making herself busy in an effort to be nowhere near Otterpop. Otterpop barked her head off from her dog bed in the living room. Impulse control with a really loud soundtrack.

When released, under a verbal, "OK, you are FREE you over-reacting drama queen bratface!", she proceeded to launch from across the room onto the now elevated and ice packed, heavily bandaged leg. Which had just had a camera and a sharp knife and pokers and prodders pulled out of it a couple hours before. How much do we love tiny little arhtroscope cams? Much more than tiny little tanks of dogs who cannot control their emotions and leap across rooms due to these emotions that, if were coming out of a human package, would have police cars and EMT's with straight jackets and assault weapons surrounding our house in full riot gear.

Otterpop eventually settled down and can administer therapy now by leaping straight to Gary's chest and head instead of leg. Therapy from Otterpop is somewhat frightening as it is loud and involves massive amounts of face licking and leaping and slamming. Sort of the mosh pit rules of bedside manner. Gary was on pain meds. He didn't seem to mind.

5 comments:

Mary said...

Wow. Good pain meds. (If there are any left over, Gary...)

maryclover said...

Okay, I just laughed so hard...

Thanks you made my day.

team small dog said...

Poor Gary. He is held captive by over zealous anti-therapy dogs and now is discussed on the internetz. If you see Gary, don't tell him you read about him on the internetz. Actually, if you see him call me because he is not supposed to walk around for 2 weeks or drive. If you see him driving, stop him at once!

I will go and entertain him with another poetry reading now. Jello Biafra counts as poetry, right?

Mary said...

Wow, poor guy. Two weeks? Perhaps you should give him a pseudonym.

Elf said...

Otterpop saves the world again from incipient crutch evil!

When they mucked with my menisci, I don't think it was a specific 2 weeks. It was some number of days and then the surgeon kept saying, "listen to what your body tells you" for how soon to be doing what. I probably used or carried the crutches for a couple of weeks, don't remember now, but pretty sure I was walking on it by then.

Tell him, ICE! Lots of ICE! I had to call the surgery center on day 2 to say, it hurts like heck and the bandage is so thick that I don't think the ice is getting through to the actual knee; can I take off some of the wrappings? And they said yes, so I did, and I and my knee were much happier then.

Karey loaned me her ice machine, which I used day and night for several days; it was wonderful, just required someone else to help me haul it up and down the stairs during the crutch periods.