Terrier Troubles--by Linda Kozar

My dog Patches needed her teeth cleaned--and it happened to coincide with an out of town trip my husband and I planned this past weekend (to celebrate my mom's 80th birthday). So we boarded our pup and headed out of town with the satisfaction of knowing we'd come back to a more pleasant doggie breath.

But I got a call on the way to New Orleans. The Vet's office. It seemed that Patches would have to undergo surgery to remove two infected, molars. Wow. Of course we agreed.

Then we received another call a couple of hours later. . .

"The surgery was a bit more involved."

"What do you mean?" I asked, concern rising.

"Well, we had to remove seventeen teeth."

I envisioned my dog--a senior citizen being fitted for dentures, and me extolling the virtues of Polygrip. What would be next? Dog food the texture of pate'? Would her bark sound the same or sort of gummy and weird.

"WHAT? Seventeen teeth?"

"Yes, they were rotten and infected. There's no way we could leave them in. We're only going to charge you for the original molars though. No charge for the other fifteen teeth."

"WHAT? How many teeth will she have left?"

"About ten."

"How's she going to eat?"

"Dogs don't chew half of what they swallow. She'll eat, no problem."

* * *

My husband and I returned home last night. Eager to see her, I woke early in the morning and went to the vet to pick her up.

"Patches just vomited," said the vet. "She's been doing fine, but this morning, she threw up. You can either leave her here or take her with you."

I opted to take her home, figuring life at home would be a far better place to feel miserable. And they soon brought her out, the cone-of-silence wrapped around her head to prevent her from pawing at the wound sites. Drugged to the intense pain, she was docile and limp in my arms. Poor baby!!!

The fact that she'd just lost her cookies in mind, I was thankful I'd brought an old towel along in the car in anticipation of a situation like this. I sat her on my lap and arranged the towel under her head in case she got sick again. The ride home would be relatively short. No problem.

And there wasn't a problem, at least until we were a few blocks from home. That's when I felt something warm on my thigh. "Uh-oh. Not good." I figured she's lost control of her bladder on all the meds. Thank goodness for the towel! I wrapped it around the other end of her.

However, when we pulled into the driveway and I opened the door, I noticed that the warm liquid was not urine . . .

She's curled up in her little bed right now. Sleeping, though definitely not comfortable.

Please keep my little doggie in your prayers if you have a heart for animals. If Patches could thank you, she would. I will keep you all updated.

Thanks for letting me share.