It’s been awhile since I have sat down to write about one of our adventures. Don't take that to mean that there hasn't been any; it may be just that I take longer to recover from each one. :)

Everyone tells me and I know from having labs (my beloved Arbuckle) that it takes a good three years before you notice the difference between puppy and dog in labs. Dempsey is close to his third birthday, and with a sigh of relief I see a light at the end of the tunnel. Not a bright one mind you, but, a pinprick glimmer of hope. He hasn't run out the front door to go galloping through the neighborhood and hasn't made me fall or nearly drown lately, so I call that progress. We still struggle to go out anywhere without making a spectacle of ourselves though, which leads me to my little story today.

On Labor Day, we took Dempsey and his bestie Grayson to one of their favorite doggie day camps. Usually one day a weekend we drop them off at one of the local camps to spend the day playing so that they spend the next two days sleeping, don't judge.... Dempsey weighs 100lbs and Grayson 140, so any time they are sleeping means time with me not following them around with a trash bag and broom.  I like to think that I am so in tune with my dog, that my hesitation that morning was because I had a feeling something was going to happen, but, my daughter insists I always say I have "a feeling" and it turns out to be nothing so, I won't dwell. (Even though it turns out this time I was right, yes, I am flipping my daughter off again, this time in my head). 

We went about our errands and returned in several hours to pick them up. When I came in, the owner, says, "So, he’s fine, I swear but, we had a little incident today" UHHMMM What? She kept speaking this calm voice she almost had me convinced that it was not big deal. (Kind of proud of myself from not going completely mama bear on her, but, she was r e a l l y calm). She radios to her husband that Dempsey's "mom" was there and to bring him out, I remember her in the background as I was trying to look at Dempsey, thinking, he looks fine and I hear her say "we've already called the vet, but, he hasn't called us back yet." Wait, what?? YOU HAD TO CALL A VET?? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?? Bells are going off in my head and I am losing my cool which in turn makes Dempsey start jumping on me to calm me down and she is still talking in a ridiculously calm voice "we shouldn't have had a toy in there, but, we really didn't know the other dog was toy aggressive, it doesn't look too bad, we cleaned him up pretty good, I don't think its very deep, but, if you have another vet who might be open on a holiday, you may want to take him in."

By this time I am frantically inspecting him and he is just as frantically attempting to not let me inspect him and everyone in the room is calm, except for Dempsey and I in our one women, one dog shit show. I can see he has some marks on the side of his face, but, I can't see how bad or deep the injuries are because he literally will not stand still for a SECOND. The owner, says, if you want to take him in, (as if I wasn't going to...duh) "please just call me, we will take care of the bill, we are so, so sorry this happened" 

My daughter, who again, is always the calm in the center of our storms, ushers us out and into the car. I can see that there is blood on his face but, it doesn't look too bad, we resigned ourselves to looking at it better when we got home and he/I calmed down.

It took awhile before he was relaxed enough for me to look at his face. Turns out he had not one but, three bites, all of which looked serious enough for a vet visit, which is not super easy on a holiday at 4pm. We finally find a vet that is open and rush him down there, I try to explain to the girl at the desk who wants to take him in the back without me, that he isn't the most well behaved dog in the world, and everyone always underestimates his strength, she looks at me with the same knowing smirk every single vet tech has, and insists they will be fine, they are used to dealing with stubborn slash strong dogs. Uhmmm k, have fun. Not five minutes go by before I hear, them on the radio calling another vet tech in, then another, then another. About 10 minutes later, the vet comes out, looking disheveled  and well frankly, like he got hit by a bus, asking for "Dempsey's family" I rush to the counter and he says, lets take a step into one of the offices, so, now, I’m really worried, why couldn't he just talk to me there, why do we have to go into an office, where's Dempsey, what's going on, all just a few of the things going through my head. The vets starts to close the door behind me, then stops,

 "Wait, is it just you, or is your husband here"?

 I look back through the open door and see my husband got interrupted in his walk 3 feet to the office door by a vending machine. 

I say "oh, its ok, we can go ahead, he’s gonna be awhile, he saw candy"

 The vet stops, perplexed, "oh, no, we can wait for him"

 "Uhmmm no, you don't understand he's gonna be a bit, its a c a n d y vending machine, what’s going on with Dempsey 

"Oh well we will wait, its fine, we should wait for him" as I can hear rattling and pounding in the hallway. 

 "Oh did it get stuck?" the vet calls out to him through the open door

 Jeff says, "yeah, it took my money but the candy isn't...

" WHAT THE HELL??? G E T I N H E R E N O W-Screw your candy bar, WHAT IS GOING ON WITH MY DOG????" Now, I am yelling. How is talking about my dog not, THE most important thing right now? 

They both look at me like I’m the crazy one...whatever. When the vet finally turns his attention to Dempsey and not Jeff’s lost snickers bar. We find out, that he has three bites, one of them all the way to the muscle requiring stitches on the inside and outside and a drain (eww) and one requiring stitches on the outside. MY POOR DOG!! Not only that but, they will have to keep him for the next few hours and will have to knock him out to do the minor repair to the muscle and put the drain in. He has to be on antibiotics and pain pills and wear a cone. A CONE!!!! A 100lb dog, which on a good day is like a drunken toddler, now has to wear a cone 3 times the size of his head!!! 

Before you get too worried, Dempsey is fine, well on the road to recovery. I obsessed the first week, stayed up with him all night the first night, slept on the floor with him when he got uncomfortable on the bed, and hand fed him his food. Even rushed him to the vet twice when he threw up and one time when it started bleeding like crazy and even had worried about all his fur growing back. But, he’s a strong dog, he's doing great. We even survived the CONE..Mostly.

At his appointment to get his drain removed, he was a little anxious and full of energy-he had spent the last 5 days mostly in the house (I was suppose to keep him as still and quiet as I could... so that he wouldn't rip out his stitches or drain, which means he was drugged 99% of the time-it was a nice break) so, while we were waiting to be called, we stepped outside so that he could sniff around. I swear he had no idea he was wearing a cone on his head, he looked like a black, furry vacuum cleaner with his nose down and his cone dragging on the sidewalk and dirt, he hit that damn thing on every single bush and tree trunk in sight, pieces of bark and leaves were flying out behind him. A lady came out, and said, "oh, I saw him inside, what a beautiful dog”, and since I love when people say that about my dog, I bent down slightly to nuzzle him as I opened my mouth to voice my agreement, JUST as he whips his head around to see why I am suddenly nuzzling him and flings all the dirt stuck on his cone into my mouth.... only us. Jeff watching through the window, sticks his head out the door and yells out, "did you just get a mouthful of dirt?" choking---yes, Jeff, yes I did...."but, hey did you hear that lady? She said Dempsey is beautiful".

Cuddles make everything better