09 May, 2013

Babies and Fur Babies.... The Irony!

Splinters... Ugh!! We've all had them. Do you remember as a kid how painful it was when your parents would poke your feet and pull splinters out? I do.

I had the distinct "pleasure" of removing one of those splinters from my wonderful, beautiful, and HIGHLY overly dramatic nine and a half year old who's the size of a 12 year old. I pretty much haven't been able to "hold her down" for anything since she was like three. That includes shots, ear exams, broken toe nails, hangnails, and of course, splinters. For my own safety, I haven't tried either. I'm fairly certain she could take me. Luckily SHE hasn't figured that out yet.

As luck would have it, it couldn't be one of those decent size ones you can just grab with tweezers, yank out, and then move on. It has to be one of those that are so small you can barely see it that goes down into the actual foot where all you can do is peel back little layers of skin until you can grab it. AND, it's not even in a toe, it's in the ball of her foot.

I have one of those kids who's well, just like me. You can get NEAR her foot with a needle and she's writhing and screaming in pain. Mind you, nobody has even touched her yet. I probably shouldn't complain because even at 34, the dentist STILL has to cover up the needles and drills before I can walk in the room - and we won't even talk about my tendency to purposely huff the nitrous gas so I'll be sure to be totally out of it before they work on me. (And yes, I still cry. I think I was 17 the last time my mother had to bust into a dental room because I could be heard in the waiting room.) So, truth be told, my kid TOTALLY comes by all of this honest.

After about 30 minutes, we got the little bugger out. How can such a itty bitty piece of wood cause SUCH drama?

Fast forward to later in the night when two of my dogs who are absolute buddies decide to rough house. They love to play and they love the fact they are both willing to play rough. One of these two is my husband's special girl. I'm convinced that if we divorced tomorrow I could have everything in the house and the bank account so long as he got his dog. So, we left her inside for a few minutes of special "daddy time" and sent her sissy, the Wheaton Terrier mix affectionately referred to as "The Wookie" to bed.

Here's a photo to to explain why she's called "The Wookie":

Yep, that's a dog... one giant mass of red hair. The pic on the left is her first night home with us after coming out of Animal Control. On the Right is after a while at home with us. Note: While she's loving on me in THIS photo, she actually LOVES my husband. She's just one of those dogs that gravitates to men, and Gabrielle.

Anyways, I digress......

So, Gabby and Wookie have their little rough housing match. Hubby tells the girls to calm down and Wookie goes to bed. Gabby hangs around in the office with the hubby for ear scratches and belly rubs from Daddy. As Todd rubs her ears, he slides his hands down her "chops" - and hold the phone, we've got some blood. So, being the good dog parents we are, we rush to the kitchen and find a little more blood than we are comfortable with.

I straddle this 80 pounds of big black dog and wipe her mouth out with a paper towel so we can see where it's coming from. No dice. I tell my hubby he'll need to get Gabby to lay down so I can inspect closer. Gabby lays in the middle of the kitchen floor (because my kitchen lights could guide airplanes in) and I proceed to wipe out the blood. We find a couple of scratches in her lips and I proceed to do as I instructed numerous individuals on the 911 lines back in the day: "Take a clean dry cloth and apply pressure. If it keeps bleeding you aren't pressing hard enough. If it bleeds through, then apply another cloth on top of the first one".

Essentially I've got my hands in 80 pounds of a Rottweiler's mouth. They have REALLY big teeth in case you didn't know. My sweet little Gabby lays ever so still, licking my fingers. I can tell she's politely asking me to stop, but refuses to be angry at me. (WHY can't I be more like my dog?) After we finish with our procedure she's up, all kisses and loves. We are blessed.

The moral of my blog tonight is simply to tell you that I'd rather do surgery on my dog than on my kid. I'm kidding. I'm totally one of those moms who rolls up the sleeves and jumps in when I need to, I'm just fortunate that I also happen to be married to a man who does surgery on a daily basis when I need backup.

It's been an eventful night. I'm going to bed! Luckily tomorrow is Friday and I can look forward to a WONDERFUL weekend with my family! I'm SO excited for that one!
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