I’ve mentioned before that Katniss, my 42-pound German shepherd mix, BFF, mischief addict and serial cuddler, has a middle initial but not necessarily a middle name. That initial, P., stands for many of her attributes, and this week we added another adjective to the list: Puffy¹.
Around 11 p.m. Tuesday night her muzzle and left eye became so swollen that she looked like a canine version of Dizzy Gillespie². Also, her inner left ear was redder than Cuba in the early 1960s, and she wouldn’t stop scratching it.
I had seen this before: Katniss was once bitten (but not twice shy) or stung by something outside, and she had a similar allergic reaction. She had picked up another dog’s poop³ with her mouth earlier that day, so maybe that was causing the reaction?
Whatever it was, our hero was looking worse by the minute, so Katniss and I went to the emergency vet clinic we had visited previously.
It was closed.
Fortunately, I knew of another emergency clinic that I pass daily on my way to work, so I sped over to the neighboring town to that facility.
It was closed.
I’m no expert, but I guessed the longer I took to get Katniss seen by a doctor, the worse the swelling could get, and her breathing could be hindered, too. At least that’s what I was going to tell the police if they pulled me over for breaking nearly every traffic law I could think of in an effort to get my little gal to a doctor.
During all of this driving, Katniss, who is an excellent car rider, was entertaining herself by sticking her head out the window. Maybe doing so even made her face feel better? Whatever the case was, she was being very brave even though she looked like Ronda Rousey’s punching bag.
I finally found a vet clinic in another neighboring town that was open, and within minutes Puffy was being treated. She received some shots and was back home cuddling with mom before she knew it. She’s her normal rowdy self again, which I never thought I would be so happy to see.
But seriously, Katniss, can you be a little less rowdy? I’m still recovering from our late-night adventure.
¹Sometimes when Katniss gets super barky outside, I open the back door and say, “Hey Bob Barker, get in here!” And she comes in. Now I can call her Puff Daddy, too. Speaking of Puff Daddy, I’m not sure what Sean Combs calls himself these days—Diddy? P. Diddy? Puffy? Puff Daddy? Eskimos supposedly have dozens of words for “snow,” but I bet Combs has even more names for himself.
²According to his official website, Gillespie was the first jazz musician appointed by the U.S. Department of State to undertake a cultural mission; he traveled throughout the world as a sort of ambassador of music and goodwill. He also had more degrees than a thermometer—14 honorary ones from various universities. I love facts like these. And man, what an accomplished guy he was.
³The doctor at the emergency vet clinic said dogs putting poop in their mouths is ultimately harmless. Dr. Kennedy, how is this possible?! And no, dear reader, this is not something you should try.
Also, if you have the chance, check out my unofficial sister blog, “Tales of Tucker,” as Tucker has been on the mend lately. Poor fella. I have a feeling he’ll bounce back better than ever, though.