This post is insanely long and boring. Peruse at your own risk.

This week has been all about the dog.

On Monday, she was supposed to get spayed. So, we took her to Banfield at 7am and dropped her off. She was supposed to get her vaccinations, as well. We went back home and I went back to sleep. Mark occupied himself elsewhere. Who knows what men do when left to their own devices? Anyway.

About 9am the pet hospital calls to tell me they probably won't do the vaccinations today because they don't want to put her through that much stress after surgery. Fine, whatever.

About 10am the pet hospital calls to tell me that they don't have a doctor coming in. Sammie will not be getting spayed or vaccinated today. Sorry for the inconvenience, we'll keep her here till 5pm if you have plans already. {sigh}

We go pick her up around 2pm. I felt too guilty to leave her there for no reason. We make arrangements for her to come back on Wednesday, assuming there will be a doctor. They say they will call and confirm with me.

They never call.

Wednesday morning I wake up at 7am. I decided not to drive the dog in unless I knew she would be having the surgery today, so I start trying to call the office, which supposedly opens at 7am. They don't answer the phone till close to 7:30, but tell me that they do have a doctor coming in.

So, I drag my happy ass out of bed, throw on my clothes from the day before, forget to brush my hair, and drop off the dog. I make it home before 8am, so Mark can take the truck to work.

See, we have two cars (that are working... SO WHITE TRASH), a Tundra and a TransAm. We bought a cover for the backseat of the Tundra, so that is the dog car. She barely fits in the TransAm anyway (40 lbs already). The plan is for Mark to take off work early and pick her up around 5pm, since I have to go to work at 4:30. Nothing is ever simple here.

I get back home, Mark goes to work, and I have a nice lazy morning reading. At noon, my phone rings, but I don't get to it in time to answer. So I get a message, "Mrs. JayAre, this is Dr. So&So. I need to speak with you about Sammie. Please call me right back."

Panic sets in. I KNEW we shouldn't have gotten her fixed! She's dead, she's bleeding, oh my poor dog...

So I call her back. The nurse answers, I tell her who I am, and she says, "Oh, hi. Let me get the doctor for you." MORE PANIC SOMEBODY JUST TELL ME SHE'S ALIVE...

"Mrs. JayAre? Yes, I need to talk to you about your little Sammie. We did her blood work before surgery,and it turns out we can't operate today."

(BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD!?!?!?!?!?!)

"Sammie is a little bit anemic, and I don't feel comfortable operating on her until we get that fixed and figure out why."

She then proceeds to tell me they have no idea why the dog is anemic. It might be that there are still roundworms in her, they will do a fecal exam. But it might not be that, it might be another kind of worm.... Long story short, Sammie has to be on another round of de-wormer (even though it turns out they couldn't find any parasites) and she has to take vitamins, and we will take her in again next week for another blood test. {heavy sigh}

She also tells me that this is why Sammie sleeps so often. I have noticed her sleeping a lot, right? "Um, nope. She's very active. In fact, on that little check-in sheet you had me fill out, I checked the 'more active than normal' box." The doctor laughs. "Well, wait till we get this fixed."

Maybe we should let her stay anemic until she's out of the puppy phase.

So, the doctor tells me I can come pick her up anytime. I say I'll be there in an hour. I hang up and then realize that I have the wrong car to pick the dog up. But, I don't want to leave her there all day. I call Mark and we decide that if I lay her bed across the backseat she'll probably be okay.

I end up not getting there to pick her up until close to 2pm, because I'm JR, that's how I roll. The doctor is gone on lunch, so I don't even get to talk to her. I do get to wait THIRTY MINUTES to talk to the Nurse Practitioner person. She tells me all the anemia stuff again, and says if her bloodwork is okay next week they will operate then. I ask if they at least gave her the vaccinations, 'cause she's due for her rabies and we really want to take her to the dog park. Nurse says, "Oh, we can do that right now." I ask her to also look at the bruises on top of Sammie head and on her leg, they seem to be taking a long time to heal.

TWENTY MINUTES later, Nurse comes back out with the Amazing Sammie from Poopville. Shots are done, but hey, let's talk about these bruises.

Not so much bruises. It's actually hair loss, probably from a hereditary form of mange called "Demodectic Mange." {heavy heavy dramatic sigh dear god this is why she was free}

Next week they will do a skin scraping to make sure that's what it is, no worries, it's fixable. And it explains why she has been shedding so much lately. Fine, I can deal with mange.

Now comes the fun, bodily function portion of this post.

Halfway home, uncomfortably laying in the back of the TransAm, Sammie vomits (bright yellow!) all over her bed. And my sweater. Which actually is the same shade of yellow, so it blended. Don't worry, I washed it anyway. I may leave the house without brushing my hair, but I don't wear dog puke.

We get home, I clean out the car, and we go out back. Sammie doesn't like to "go potty" unless it's on her own turf. She will hold it FOREVER - kind of worrisome on road trips. But anyway.

She poops. It is the biggest poop I have ever seen. Then she keeps pooping. Walking around the yard, shooting little poops out, like tiny brownish-yellowish water-y missiles. As she's walking, and pooping (did I mention the pooping?), she begins throwing up again. It was horrible. She was shaking, she could barely hold herself up, stuff just shooting out of every orifice. I couldn't even get her to come to me. Panic begins to build.

So, I run inside and start digging through my purse for my cell, which has the vets number programmed in, because I'm crazy like that. Can't find my cell. Panic is growing. Run outside to check, Sammie still puking and pooping, start to run back inside for the house phone, and realize my cell is in my pocket. Duh. Even through my panic I realize I am a total idiot.

I call the vet, and the very nice young man from the front desk answers. I tell him what's going on, and he says, "Hold on, let me ask the vet what you should do." He comes back on two seconds later and tells me to bring her back in immediately, it's probably just a reaction to the vaccines, but still, get her in here.

So, I chase down the dog, throw her in the car, and take off. She has miraculously stopped vomiting, and she stopped trying to poo when I grabbed her. At this point it's 3pm, and I have to leave for work in an hour and a half. I decide to call and say I might be late, because I really have no idea what's going on. Turns out they had too many waitstaff on for the night anyway, and my manager gives me the whole night off. I should buy him a candy bar.*

I get her in to the pet hospital, and the nurse comes out, grabs the leash and says, "We'll watch her, if it keeps up we'll give her a steroid to help, we'll call you if anything happens, come back around 5 or 5:30." And off she goes, running.

Um, okay.

I stand there for a minute, calming down and getting my bearings. Then I get back to the car, call my mommy, and start bawling.

Yes, I know, I am dumb. But I cry easily, and I couldn't get in touch with Mark, and seriously, if you had seen the dog SHAKING so bad she could hardly stand and all the vomit and poo... Dude, it was really scary. And yes, I know (Brittany!) that I am crazy when it comes to my dog. But that's just how I roll. You should see me when anything happens to my cats. INSANITY.

So, they never call. I go and pick her up at 5:30, and they tell me that she has to take Benadryl for a couple days, because it helps with the allergic reaction she apparently had to one of the vaccines. They gave me the Benadryl free of charge, which I think was pretty darn nice of them.

Benadryl makes a dog act pretty funny. First there's a lot of running and frantic-ness for about 30 minutes, then there's PLOP and out cold. For hours.

She hasn't moved from one spot in two hours, except for when I literally DRAGGED her outside to pee. Then she came right back to the same spot. I took a picture but it won't let me post that right now. Maybe later.

Why we wasted our money on THREE dog beds... Good lord.

*The man LOVES him some chocolate. LOVES LOVES LOVES in a woman-PMSing-just-got-dumped sort of way.