Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Jesus Cheetoh
Yes, friends, Jesus has taken time off from his busy schedule of dealing with war, famine, and pestilence, sitting at the throne of god and whatnot, and wrought a miracle in Dorothy’s bag of Cheetohs. Hallelujah brothers and sisters! Can you say aMEN?! I knew ya could!
I am, perhaps, less surprised than anyone by such an occurrence as alert readers will recall that I myself have experienced a miracle in my very own family room. Although, it’s not as surprising to me as to other people (Satan) that the Virgin enjoys a little “Wheel” now and again.
And now, I’m afraid, on to less joyous news. It pains me to report that our poor FurGirl has returned from her local vacation accommodations somewhat less than her old self.
It all started well enough. I dropped her at the local kennel the day before we left for vacation on April 13th. Housed in a double-run and looking confused but nonetheless excited when I last saw her, FurGirl appeared much the same when I went to pick her up on the 27th.
As I led a spastically excited FurGirl to the car while talking to the Dog Lady (kennel owner), I noticed that upon reaching a patch of grass, the dog immediately squatted to pee. As the Dog Lady crooned to FurGirl that she was “her favorite baby”, I loaded her (the dog, of course) into my passenger seat, and commanded her to “sit” (which she mostly did).
On the drive home, as FurGirl panted in and goobered on my car from excitement, I noticed she smelled a little strange, and not just normal dog-stinky strange, but like she may have had a bath. Which was curious, I thought. Closer to home (a short drive from the kennel), FurGirl started to whine, and I could tell she desperately needed to potty again. Given her seemingly desperate need to pee just a few minutes earlier, I wondered at that time to myself if she’d been adequately toileted while I was away.
I however quickly forgot my concern once we were home and everything seemed back to normal.
That was Thursday. Since Satan and I were tired from the trip, neither of us took her for a long walk until Saturday when Satan took her out. It was then that he noticed poor FurGirl squatting to pee much more than usual. After a time, he realized that, although she was squatting, she wasn’t getting any results (as in—nothing coming out). He kept this info to himself until Sunday, when we were walking her together and then pointed out the problem to me.
Poor FurGirl was squatting every ten or fifteen yards or so and actually shaking with the effort of trying to go, to no avail.
A hundred different horrifying scenarios as to what terrible fate may have befallen our poor FurGirl at the kennel while I was away immediately began leaping to mind.
“Do you suppose she’s been….violated?”, I asked Satan
“Violated"?, he said.
“Yes, violated by God! By some strange mutt with a nasty case of the doggy gock”, I said, picturing a Francis Farmer scene that included a terrified defenseless crouching FurGirl and a snarling, vicious Rotweiller.
“Nah”, he said.
“Yah, you’re probably right”, I said, relieved.
“She’s probably going to die though”, he said calmly. “And, let’s face it, it’ll be all your fault” he added, as we both watched, for the umpteenth time, poor FurGirl squatting and shaking at the corner of 5th and Broadway. “After all, it was YOUR idea to take her to that kennel”, he reminded me.
“Don’t try to reassure assure me,” I said. “Really. Don’t try”, I repeated as a yet again squatting and shaking (but not peeing) FurGirl looked at me forlornly.
Cut to this morning, when I was up bright and early and on the phone with the vet’s office at the stroke of eight a.m. (Retriever! Shaking! Not peeing! Kennel! Attack!).
They told me to bring her right over.
Once in the examining room, I explained the situation to the vet. “Do you suppose,” I asking cringingly, “that something…well…AWFUL happened to poor Furgirl at the kennel”?
The vet looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment and then said, “Oh, ahem, probably not, more likely she didn’t get to pee as often as she’s used to and developed an infection.”
I've just spoken to the vet and, still unable to get a urine sample from her, they are keeping poor FurGirl overnight.
All kidding aside, I'm a little worried.