And I shall call the sequel “The Exploding Dog with the Most Unbelievable Timing Ever”.
Did I mention BestFriendWendy and family are headed here on Friday to visit for a long weekend full of fun, food and many, many little girl activities? And that we did decide on a nanny (Maria!) and she is set to arrive the day after they leave? And that The Swimmy is starting summer day camp the Monday that BestFriendWendy and girls leave? And that before all of this happens in the span of 4 days I have THIS MUCH work to do including a meeting half-way across town at the end of the day in which I’ll be caught in rush hour traffic for the first time in, oh, several months while THIS PREGNANT?
So. Today, I plan out the next several days in order to accomplish all that needs to be done so that the weekend is extraordinary. Or at least not a free for all. Or somewhere in between. And as I’m getting ready to finish up some work things, the dog explodes.
In the same two places she did before: The front room and the front of the hallway. So now I’m rushing to get her to the vet, getting a back up Swimmy Pick Up plan for school, calling Husband to get the carpet cleaning service (AGAIN) and praying that they can get out here immediately so that all this can be fixed in, say, 20 minutes.
You know, ‘cause I’m reasonable like that.
Nope. No dice. So now, I’ve begged the carpet people to please, please, please find a way to get out here ASAP and I will totally be their BFF if they can do this for me oh and, by the way, I am unavailable tomorrow afternoon because I have a meeting and traffic to deal with and aren’t I the best kind of customer in the world?
Long story short (too late), I’ve now got my father in law (who rocks) hanging out at my house tomorrow afternoon to wait for these nice folks and I’m hoping the dog exploding episodes are under control by then.
Now for the sad part. Because it never just ends there, right?
It appears that since our last exploding episode not too long ago, the Pfluftagus has developed a rather pronounced heart murmur due to some fairly typical schnauzer mitral valve prolapse issues. So, they’ve asked that after we address the current exploding issues, that we bring her back in a couple months to check on its progress and see if we need to do further testing for heart enlargement which could lead to congestive heart failure.
This makes Husband very sad.
You see, we bitch (a lot) about the dog and her tendency to be needy and smell and, well, explode, but we love her. And The Swimmy loves her. And he is most upset about the fact that at some point, the Swimmy is going to have to learn “that lesson” that we chose not to confront her with when the fish died, or was murdered, or whatever.
And so, he’s spent the last hour watching her breathe and feeling her nose and even came in the bathroom to tell me “It’s getting a lot wetter and colder now. I think she’s getting better.”
And I didn’t laugh at him. (Well, much.) ‘Cause that’s the kind of guy he is. A hero.
My hero. But if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got a Swimmy to put to bed while dodging towel-covered landmines in the hallway.
Just another Tuesday at Casa Pammer. Happy Anniversary to Me!