Emergency Vet Clinic$

Now, this is not Greta's failed attempt at a Flashdance costume, it's the legwarmer-leg look of a doggy-hospital patient. Her little hairy legs had to be shaved for the IV's.

Well our Holiday weekend had a little hiccup, to the tune of about $700. And after all the worry, tears and a little bit of anger, here we are with one sick puppy-- literally.

Little Greta (she weighs 4.6 pounds) has been having stomach trouble for about a month. I boarded her for six days when Matt and I went to Napa Valley and she hasn't been healthy since. I could record all of the gory details, but believe me, we've cleaned up a number of things that I'm sure no Resolve, Stanly Steamer or Act of God will ever get out of our carpet. Needless to say, we've been battling this stomach bug for some time.

So fast forward to the Thursday night before Forth of July when I got off work. I came home to find a number of treasures stashed all over the house. Loads of them. Matt informed me that he too had the pleasure of picking up one of her "unfortunates" earlier in the day. Now, although a rational person would conclude, "she's sick" I was beginning to believe that this was normal for a little dog. I picked it all up, gave her a kiss and went on about the evening.

Now poodles are smart. (So I'm told. Sometimes I think Greta Boomer would have been a short bus kid if she were a child, but she has her moments of genius.) So her shining intellectual moment this weekend came when she finally communicated to me that she needed some serious help. She pooped right at my feet while I made dinner. Again, details aside, panic ensued and I snatched her up to hurry to the Emergency Vet.

Now I'm feeling all of the emotions of a worried parent, because being sans-child, Greta is my baby. I felt guilty, worried and panicky as Matt drove us to the Emergency Vet. Cue the "Money ain't a thang" music. Because this is how I felt. No matter what, we were going to make her better.

We walk in and they have us fill out the paper work which I couldn't possibly do, so Matt scribbled away. I watched a huge white mutt-of-a-dog being cared for by three midget sized adults with a bath towel. Being snobby, I got irritated when the little owner man bent over "Copenhagen" (of course, it's Arkansas) to check out the damage from the dog-fight, exposing his entire rear end. This was the beginning of our wonderful three-hour experience.

Finally, we were ushered into the holding cell, I mean, exam room, and shut away to wait it out. Everything in the entire room was puke green and plastic; as if we were waiting in the drunk tank in the county jail. Finally, the little pancreatitis test that looked suspiciously like a pregnancy test, came back a light shade of green, confirming that Greta did NOT have pancreatitis. The blood panel also came back with no conclusive diagnosis and by 10:30 p.m., we were buying (literally) a very convincing plea from the baldest of doctors to let them keep her over night.

Well, Daddy Warbucks stuck our little Greta with two IV's and a hefty bill by the time it was all over. Still, no indication of what was really wrong. She was released from the hospital with instructions to go see our regular vet the following morning, when she would be back from her 4th of July holiday.

First thing this morning, we took her straight away to our wonderful veterinarian, Laura Mahaffey. She took one quick sample (an uncomfortably probing endeavor) and diagnosed Greta with HGE. Basically, this is a really bad irritation of the bowels. She said that it could be very dangerous and sent us home with an antibiotic, for $60. Then, not meaning to add insult to injury, she informed us that if she kept a dog in her hospital for a week, she would probably not collect anything close to $700.

Now, I know this sounds like I'm just complaining about the cost, and I am, but I'm really glad that Greta is ok. She's wanted us to hold her all day and hasn't eaten much. As you can see by the photo, I had trouble typing because of my little sicko. She's not out of the woods yet, but we think she's going to recover. No thanks to Daddy Warbucks. I know this is a stretch, but Tiger Lily to the Emergency Vet that pumped some fluids for $700. I mean the irony here is that they are supposed to help you, not send you into bankruptcy.