Tough as nails, dumb as a stump

The dog. The dog. The dog. Oh lordy, the dog.

Yesterday morning Max comes hobbling in (on three legs) from outside with the most pathetic and sad look I've ever seen. Crap, I think. He's broken his foot or something. I have to take him to the emergency vet (because it's a Sunday). I wait 10 minutes hoping he'll buck up. And he does. The whole days goes by and I see nary a limp from him. Phew. No trip to the vet.

Phew, not only because I don't want to fork over $500+ for a check-up only to learn he's stubbed his toe, but I'm home alone again, whilst the husband is off gallivanting around again. (Notice, if you will, a pattern. The husband leaves town, the dog gets sick and/or injured. This is a true fact.)

Hobbling and sadness reappear later last night. Does he have a sliver or something lodged in his toe? Can't possibly be a true injury because he's been fine. All.Day.Long. Hobbling stops.

This morning and no hobbling. Phew. Just an anomaly, I tell myself. Until late morning and the three-legged hobble rears its ugly head. What is going on? Call to the vet, and an appointment set for 3pm.

Vet checks him out and recommends X-Ray (the same vet who did the X-Ray four weeks ago - almost to the day - when the dog ate 17 rocks). Sure thing. I'll pick him up in an hour or so.

"He is quite stoic," she says. "He is in quite a bit of pain, but you'd never know it. He either has a broken or dislocated toe. I've sent the films off to the radiologist who will examine the films more closely and then we can decide the course of treatment. In the meantime, I'll wrap his foot and you can bring him home as long as you keep him calm and off the foot."

Are you kidding me? My dog. This dog . The dog. The one that never sits still ? "Um, okay," I say. "I can try, but can you recommend some trick to keep him calm and off of his foot? This dog pretends to be Superman on a fairly regular basis, and his favorite pastime is seeing just how much air he can catch when he leaps off the retaining wall..."

Pick dog up at vet. Poor, pathetic dog. Foot is wrapped in a boot-like bandage and he has one of those cones wrapped around his neck. But he must have no depth perception because he comes banging down the hallway, bumping into everything imaginable. Misses getting his head through the doorway. BANG! Hits his cone-head on the wall. BANG! Runs into my leg. BANG!

All I can do is laugh. Hysterically. I am snorting and crying from the laughter. And wish I had a camera on me to immortalize this moment, because I know it won't last long. He is, after all, the craziest dog alive. He will figure out how to get this bandage off before tomorrow.

I struggle to get him in the car because this lack of depth perception is causing several issues. BANG! BANG! BANG! This is quite a sight when you consider the dog with his bandaged foot and a cone head, coupled with me in my about-ready-to-give-birth state, trying to foist the pathetic dog into my hoopty rental mobile.

But I was right about the bandage. Even with that damn cone-head, he's managed to chew the complex wrapping made of tape, gauze, cotton batting, more tape and more gauze, off the foot before I have even pulled out of the parking lot. Some good that stupid cone-head contraption did me. By the time I'm home 5 minutes later, the bandage is half eaten and he's now figuring out a way to get the cone off of his head.

Into the house we go. I finish getting the collar off of Max, even though he did a pretty good job of it himself. And off the dog runs. Hobble, limp, run. Hobble, limp, run. Hobble, limp, run. Jumping up on the chair, off the chair, back on the chair. Barking, hobbling, limping and running all over the place.

Yep, I'm doing a great job keeping him calm and off the foot.