And I Decided to Call Her 'Shelly.'

Saturday afternoon a good friend/neighbor called to ask for help with a puppy she took from another neighbor. Wilson and I made our way back from shopping and found this cute little thing being coddled by the friend/neighbor:



She was scared and shaky and listless and clinging on to life. Mostly because she also came with this (WARNING: Potentially disturbing photo):



And this:



We don't know exactly what happened, and this photo is the cleaned up mess. We spent about 4 hours at the Animal Emergency Center where, thankfully, she had no broken bones, no major infections and was overall in good general health. The friend/neighbor rescued her from the house across the street after she heard her crying all day. We're all just a little bit concerned about the fact that there are four or five other pups out there. Even more concerning is the thought that maybe they were using poor little rescued pup as a punching bag.

So, we've done the rescuing, the medicating, the feeding and now we need to find the housing. We're all hoping she makes a speedy recovery and she will find a good home. Which is where you, good reader, come in. Please, please, please make some calls, send some emails - this little puppy needs a home. A quiet home where she can recover and be loved.

She's about 8 weeks old, a boxer/lab mix and currently in an e-collar while she recovers.

Here's one more pic, just for cuteness' sake:

Triage Me Now!

Saturday morning: I stub my left pinky toe on the foot of the bed. I curse (as per usual) and proceed to go about my day.

Later Saturday morning: Bruno, the lug, that he is, in a fit to see what I am looking at through the window, tromps (if that's not a word, I don't care, it is apropos) on the toe I stubbed on the foot of the bed Saturday morning.

Saturday midday: Wilson and I meet Mike at PetSmart on Yarbrough to look at a dog we might adopt.

Later Saturday midday: Wilson and I and Mike go to the Animal Control Center because the dogs at PetSmart were not what we were looking for. We find a cute little Shepherd/Hound mix.

Saturday afternoon: Wilson and I and Mike go to the PetSmart on the West Side to see if they have any puppies. No puppies there so we decide to go eat at Super China Buffet.

Later Saturday afternoon: Wilson and I and Mike go back to the Animal Control Center to adopt the cute little Shepherd/Hound mix.

Early Saturday evening: Wilson and I and Mike go back to the house in Horizon City where I take off my shoe. My toe is about double its original size and the color of a ripe cherry. I decided that I should probably remove my toe ring.

Saturday night: We decide to take me to Hospital to see if my toe is broken as I'm finding ever more difficult to walk and can't bend my toe.

Later Saturday night: We're at the hospital.

Later later Saturday night: We're still at the hospital.

Early Sunday morning: We're still at the hospital.

Later early Sunday morning; I finally get to an exam room.

Slightly later early Sunday morning: I get up to go pee.

30 seconds later than slightly later early Sunday morning: The doctor comes to my exam room.

20 minutes after the 30 seconds later than slightly later early Sunday morning: The doctor comes to my room to tell me that my toe isn't broken, I should stay off of it and gives me a prescription for Vicodin.

15 minutes after that, I pay my $100 copay and am wheeled out of the hospital (Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!)

2:30 A.M. I scarf down a #6 combo from Wendy's and go to bed.

All in all, I guess it's a good thing that I got it checked out. I got to go to the brand spanking new hospital in El Paso and can now tell people that the service there sucks.

42 Examples of How My Dog Doesn't Care That I Have a Sore Throat

42 cough drops

Yes, those are cough drops. Cough drops that were wrapped in their little paper wrappers. Wrapped in their little paper wrappers sealed in their ziploc bag.

The ziploc bag and the little paper wrappers were no match for my dog and his determination to eat their yummy menthol sugary goodness.

Minor Surgery!

In an earlier post I talked about having to go to the doctor. I went to the dermatologist yesterday to get this bump on my arm looked at.

This bump has been with me for a little over a year, close to two. At first I thought it was an ingrown hair - the skin around it was sore like an ingrown hair - only when I tried to dig it out I just bled. So I let it be and, eventually, it became painless and I kind of forgot about it.

That is, until about a month ago it became a little discolored. So I figured I would have a professional look at it instead of my friends and co-workers whose only comments on it were, "Huh. You should get that checked out."

So I went in today and had the doc take a look at it. She felt around and irony of all ironies guess what she said ... "huh."

Yeah, never the exact phrase you want to hear from a doctor. The befuddled, puzzled sound of "huh." She even said, "I kind of thought I knew what I was going to be dealing with, but this isn't it." She then tells me I could schedule an appointment for "a little surgery" or we could cut it out today. I was thinking, "a little surgery?" This isn't like the parmesan cheese guy at Olive Garden - "Would you like some cheese?" "A little." No, this is surgery. So I opted for the "cut it out today" option. I didn't want to take the chance that I would convince myself not to go back.

So she gives me a local and proceeds to hack into my arm to retrieve the aforementioned "huh" foreign object. After she took it out she told me it may be a foreign body granuloma. Sounds scarier than it is. Basically some type of foreign body (a piece of glass, a grain of sand) entered my body and in response my body formed this "cyst" around it. I guess I'm pretty thankful for that part as I don't think I would be too fond of a shard of glass floating around my body. Anyway, we're both befuddled as to how it got in there, but it's out now. (To be honest I have some theories, as does Wilson, but we won't get into that now.)

I find out in a week what it actually is. In the meantime I have three stitches to tend to and a what I'm hoping will be a boss scar in the making.

Oh and regarding the discoloration, it was more than likely scar tissue due to the size of the cyst.

My biggest trepidation/stressor at this point, however: pulling the band aid - and my arm hair - off every night.