Last night we took Graham to the emergency clinic for a suspected urinary tract infection. She’d been having accidents in the house for about a week but last night was the first time we saw blood in the urine. So we decided to take her in to get her started on antibiotics last night instead of waiting until after work today. She’s doing fine (she didn’t see the estimate we were given for ultrasound, x-rays, blood panel, urinalysis, etc. so of course she’s fine) and got her first dose of antibiotics last night.
It’s always awkward visiting the emergency vet since you don’t know them and they don’t know you. Routine questions like, “What does she eat?” can get weird. Sometimes I wonder if I should just lie and name a popular brand of kibble. That would be one way to guarantee a hassle free visit. But I braced myself and answered, “Homemade food”. The technician then asked, “Is it people food or some type of dog food?”
Well you got me there. Is it people food? Dog food? I hesitated for a moment and the technician chimed in with, “Believe me, I’m not going to judge”. M’kaaay. I replied that it was a high protein, moderate carbohydrate diet with added calcium and essential fatty acids. I thought that was a clever way to avoid the question while providing an answer that demonstrated I wasn’t some dummy feeding my dog moon pies and gum – you know, to reassure the technician that everything was going to be all right, even though I was feeding my dog homemade food of unspecified people/dog origin.
The technician dutifully wrote my answer down on the record then looked up and judged. She said she was concerned about the high protein, considering Graham’s age (she’s 12). Billy spoke up at that point, joking that the dogs eat better than he does. He probably thought this would lighten the moment and prevent me from going into food wonk mode. The technician didn’t laugh. But mercifully she shrugged the whole issue off with, “Well if she’s not having any problems, I guess…” Whew. Crazy dog lady fit averted.
After the technician left the exam room, I of course turned to Billy, my captive audience for the inevitable protein requirements of senior cancer dogs diatribe that was bubbling inside me. Because he thinks he’s funny, and because he’s suffered through one too many such diatribes, Billy tried to cut me off with, “I agree with her.”
Isn’t he just a laugh-riot?