Scott and I are going to the vet tomorrow with a sock puppet full of twenties and two unsuspecting pugs.
First, Gordie will be cathetered because the little bastard won't give us a pee sample. He pees all over the God damned house, but approach him with a bowl and he dries up like a Prairie slough in summertime.
At 8 a.m it's lights out, doggie style, while Doctors Craig and Morgan get up on the operating tables and yank out their molars. Ming's expected to be under for 90 minutes while they pull her smelly black teeth.
Nine of them.
Moms Mabley, that's what I'm thinking. Moms Mabley.
Gordie might do a bit better at an hour or so with four molars yanked, but Dr. Morgan says she'll probably pluck a few in the front. Which makes me wonder what will happen with Gordie's six foot tongue. Will we have to purchase a grill?
Hopefully, all will go well and they will wake up. We have, however, decided to sign a do-not-rescusitate order just in case. We can't have the vet calling us and telling us they have discovered massive tumors under the gumline and that it will cost us a hundred million dollars plus our first granddaughter.
It's already going to be three grand -- yes that's right, Brian, you stupid asshole, who thinks paying money to have a dog's molars yanked is a waste of time -- three grand.
In a sock puppet.
We're hoping and praying it won't be more.
Truth is, we've already had to borrow this money from my son while Scott and I are living on lentil soup to pay for the other grand and a half we spent dispatching Hannah and doing puggie blood tests.
I admit to being at the end of my rope with regards to vet expenses.
I hope Stephen Harper doesn't turn our health care system over to vets.
But what can you do?
We've had the pugs for more than a decade and we can't just off them because their teeth are bad.
Vet says they'll live another five years if they get the dental work.
Thank God that Ming can't speak. I will not do doggie dentures.
She and Gordie will just have to make do with two fangs.
So tonight, I will make them their favorite meal, something with a nice crunch, then give them each a chew stick.
Maybe a fifth of vodka.
They deserve it.
They'll be eating gruel for the rest of their lives.