I have two beautiful dogs, Lola, a plott hound, and Bella, a pug. They test my patience like no other sometimes... especially this morning... But I feel I should mention a tiny bit of "back story" before I tell you guys about what happened today. So....
I broke my ankle the day before Thanksgiving and it's been a long process of healing since then. I had to have surgery to repair the crazy amount of damage done. My fibula was broken into multiple pieces and my tibia twisted as it dislocated along with tearing all of my ligaments holding the two bones together.
The day of the accident:
Four day after the accident:
After the surgery:
I've been through two months of physical therapy so far and last Friday I had to have another surgery to take out the screw holding both of my bones together. The past week my sleep schedule has been thrown completely off once again and now I'm going to sleep around 3-5 am instead of (hopefully) midnight.
So back to the original story:
It's 5 in the morning and I'm finally tired enough that I'll be able to fall asleep. I take my hydrocodone (with the pain in my ankle it helps me sleep) and I wake up the dogs so we can go join my boyfriend, Robert, in bed. I lay down and am starting to drift off when Lola gets up and starts pacing from our room to the living room, to the kitchen and back into our room. I get up, let her outside and then she comes back in. I go back to the bed and then she starts pacing again. And again. And again. Then it's 7:30 and I'm so irritated that I've woken Robert up because I'm cranky and I follow Lola back into the living room to find that she's thrown up.
My hydrocodone has worn off and I've still had no sleep so I take another one and Lola actually lays down again for about 45 minutes and I'm almost asleep when she gets back up and starts pacing again. She looks miserable so I call the vet and they tell me to bring her in... well I can't drive because I've got pain meds going through my system so Robert has to leave work and come take us to the vet.
The vet says there's nothing wrong with her that they can see. They can tell that she's not feeling well (they know her well - she's a constant visitor!) so they send us home with a certain type of dog food that's more sensitive for her tummy. We get home and start giving her some of the food when the smell sends me praying to the porcelain gods. When I come back out I look at the couch and realize Lola has thrown up and peed all over (and probably at the same time, poor girl) and I call the vet again and, luckily, I'm able to drive her in so Robert doesn't have to come back from work again.
The vet has to xray her stomach to see if any bloat is happening or something is lodged in her stomach and basically...
She is full of shit. So full of shit that it's coming out of her mouth and not her butt.
I love my dogs.
I broke my ankle the day before Thanksgiving and it's been a long process of healing since then. I had to have surgery to repair the crazy amount of damage done. My fibula was broken into multiple pieces and my tibia twisted as it dislocated along with tearing all of my ligaments holding the two bones together.
The day of the accident:
Four day after the accident:
After the surgery:
I've been through two months of physical therapy so far and last Friday I had to have another surgery to take out the screw holding both of my bones together. The past week my sleep schedule has been thrown completely off once again and now I'm going to sleep around 3-5 am instead of (hopefully) midnight.
So back to the original story:
It's 5 in the morning and I'm finally tired enough that I'll be able to fall asleep. I take my hydrocodone (with the pain in my ankle it helps me sleep) and I wake up the dogs so we can go join my boyfriend, Robert, in bed. I lay down and am starting to drift off when Lola gets up and starts pacing from our room to the living room, to the kitchen and back into our room. I get up, let her outside and then she comes back in. I go back to the bed and then she starts pacing again. And again. And again. Then it's 7:30 and I'm so irritated that I've woken Robert up because I'm cranky and I follow Lola back into the living room to find that she's thrown up.
My hydrocodone has worn off and I've still had no sleep so I take another one and Lola actually lays down again for about 45 minutes and I'm almost asleep when she gets back up and starts pacing again. She looks miserable so I call the vet and they tell me to bring her in... well I can't drive because I've got pain meds going through my system so Robert has to leave work and come take us to the vet.
The vet says there's nothing wrong with her that they can see. They can tell that she's not feeling well (they know her well - she's a constant visitor!) so they send us home with a certain type of dog food that's more sensitive for her tummy. We get home and start giving her some of the food when the smell sends me praying to the porcelain gods. When I come back out I look at the couch and realize Lola has thrown up and peed all over (and probably at the same time, poor girl) and I call the vet again and, luckily, I'm able to drive her in so Robert doesn't have to come back from work again.
The vet has to xray her stomach to see if any bloat is happening or something is lodged in her stomach and basically...
She is full of shit. So full of shit that it's coming out of her mouth and not her butt.
I love my dogs.