March 2008

This morning, we took Beastlet in for another round of shots. This is her fourth round, and the others went perfectly, so we didn’t think anything of it. The doctor gave us the standard lists of reaction signs to look for in the next couple of hours — swollen face, labored breathing, hives, etc. — and we nodded dutifully, never imagining we’d see any of them.

After her appointment, we brought her home and spent a couple hours playing with her and watching her. We went for a long walk, played fetch, etc. After that, she was pretty tired, so we put her in her crate for a nap and ran out to get lunch. An hour later, we got home and she was still sleeping. When JP opened her crate and woke her up to take her outside to go potty, her first reaction was, “She looks funny.” Her second reaction was, “Oh my god! Oh my god! She’s so swollen! Call the doctor! Call the doctor!”

We didn’t bother to call, we just ran straight to the car and floored it. Let me tell you, I’ve never been so glad that our vet is a mere five minutes away. (Though I have to admit, it felt more like five hours on the way there.) JP was absolutely inconsolable, and Delilah’s face was so swollen she was unrecognizable. Her face was probably close to three times the size it should have been.

We rushed inside the vet and held her up so the receptionist, who was on the phone, could see her. Never one to avoid stating the obvious, I piped up with, “She’s having an allergic reaction!” The receptionists eyes widend in shock for just a second before immediately ending the call, snatching her from my hands and disappearing into the back. She came back ten minutes later and told us that Beastlet was stable and the doctor was hooking her up to an IV. (The shrieks coming from the back room corroborated her story.) She also told us that when she approached the doctor, who was with another patient at the time, the doctor took one look at Beastlet, grabbed her and ran. Not exactly comforting. What felt like twelve hours later — but was probably more like twenty minutes — the doctor appeared and assured us that Beastlet was fine. She also told us that she might have partial hearing loss due to Beastlet’s protests. They had to restrain her to get the IV in, and once it was in, she was still pissed and screeching.

They pumped her full of intravenous benadryl and steroids (awesome — that beotch is crazy enough without adding ‘roid rage to her repertoire) and kept her for five hours for observation. We picked her up just before they closed for the evening, and she’s been home for two hours now. She’ll be getting benadryl orally for the next three days, but otherwise she’s mostly back to her old self. Her face still looks a little swollen, but nothing like it did this morning. And it’s definitely not slowing her down — she doesn’t hesitate to whoop Winston if he gets out of line.

We’re just thankful that she’s okay and home with us again. We’re relieved, but also nervous about a relapse. I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight. Still, a sleepless night is a small price to pay for the love of this little beast.


A few weeks back, Kathy asked if I could post a photo of Beastie and Beastlet together so she could see their comparative size. What a brilliant idea! Only, every time I tried to take a photo of them together, it turned out like this:

Or this:

Because Beaslet is EVIL. She just can’t stand near Beastie without chasing or attacking him. For now, he can still outrun her. Heaven help us when she is big enough to catch him. Luckily she is a cute little devil. And I have to admit, I think Beastie secretly likes her. Note the fact that his tail is up in these photos. Mr. Submissive is quick to tuck his tail when he’s scared, so this running and chasing thing…it looks suspiciously like playing. Just don’t tell Beastie we’re on to him.

I did manage to get one semi-clear shot of them together.

Don’t let this pastoral scene fool you. Two seconds after the shutter clicked, Beastlet jumped on Beastie’s head and had to be physically removed. Evil, I tell you. Evil.

Actual phone conversation with JP today.

Me: Baby H. threw up all over my shirt and I don’t have anything to change into.

JP: Ew. What are you going to do?

Me: Well, I washed it in the sink with hand soap. So now I’m clean, but I smell like melon vomit.

Many moons ago, I publicly chastised JP for repeatedly failing to put the new roll of toilet paper ON the holder. Since then, I regret to inform you that not much has changed. Except that she is more aware of this and will often gleefully inform me that she put a new roll on top of the holder rather than replacing it.

Then Wednesday after work, we were doing a little cleaning. I was in the bedroom and JP was in our bathroom, when I heard an inexplicable: ClinkClinkGlubGlub. Followed by an, “Um…uh oh.”

Apparently, JP — in an effort to be loving — was changing the toilet paper, when the metal rod of the holder sprung from her hand into the flushing toilet. As fate would have it, the rod landed at the EXACT moment the water was at it’s lowest point and the flush was complete, meaning there was no way for Jamie to prevent certain disaster.

Three hours of googling, plunging and snaking to no avail and I was kicking myself for ever nagging JP to change the toilet paper.

Yesterday I spent all day waiting for a plumber. I called at 8am, and was told someone would arrive between 11:00 and 1:00. At 12:45 they called to say they were running behind. At 1:00 they called and said someone was in the area and on the way. At 2:30, I called them to make sure the driver wasn’t lost or dead. They assured me that he was not lost and would be there momentarily. I guess by “in the area” they meant “in the state”. Thankfully, this is where the incompetence stopped. The plumber who showed up was quick, capable and and polite. Thirty minutes later, he was on his way…with the mangled rod and $364 of our hard-earned money.