Dearly Beloved has been crunching numbers again. I hate it when that happens because then he wants to talk numbers and the mere thought sends my blood pressure numbers soaring above my weight. Did I say talking? Listen, nod affirmatively, then agree to tighten the old belt reads my role in the script.
He watches the hearings about the TARPs, the twerps, and the theorists. (Here he is, Nielsen! He’s the one!) Not that he’s money-driven; he majored in Economics and reads financial statements for the same reasons I read mysteries.
Earlier this week he wondered aloud why my prescription bills are much higher than his, since he’s the one with the real health issues. (Guess whose opinion THAT is!) I’ve pointed out the answer previously. If he has a problem, he increases his exercise and modifies his diet first. I go to the doctor for pill or potion. But I’m spared the exercise lecture this time because the champ of the budget busting is none other than Miss Piggy. . . designated rather coldly on DB’s numbers sheet as “DOG.”
Another visit to the vet this week, another couple of C-notes. (Dropping a little Latin on you here.)
The appointment to recheck her ears revealed new issues. Peepee issues. Sometime between the time we left home and the time we went into the examining room she wet herself. Is it a urinary tract infection or age-related incontinence? Additional lab tests!
I’ve been thinking I smelled doggy peepee, but as gross as this sounds, with her stinky ear infection and general eau de cocker smell going head to head against my pollen-clogged nose, it’s been difficult for me to play bloodhound around here. I’d been suggesting we try “doggy diapers” but Dearly Beloved thinks that Miss Piggy would be too humiliated. I think she’d like that much better than being sentenced to the laundry room or even worse. . . (gasp!) . . . having to spend more time outside in the fenced yard like a dog!
I took a book to read because I knew I’d be waiting for lab results. The Daily Coyote by Shreve Stockton is a photographic chronology of a woman who raised a coyote from infancy. I ‘d laid the book on the empty examining table since Miss Piggy’s girth means her examinations are done on the floor. The vet, one I hadn’t met before, noticed the book and said that it looked interesting. She offered that she, too, has a pet coyote.
What are the odds of THAT happening? Moreover, she just happened to have it with her in the boarding facility. . . would I like to see it? YES! I had to put Miss Piggy in the car first because the coyote doesn’t like dogs.
The female coyote seemed well-mannered–meaning she didn’t bare her teeth or look menacingly at me. In fact, she turned her back on me and refused to acknowledge me at all. I’ve never seen a coyote before, but she had a pretty, shiny coat and looked like. . . well, a dog. A very shy dog.
Miss Piggy is now on a different round of new ear medicine to try against the still-raging infection. They weighed her. Either ear wax is extremely heavy or she had gained three pounds since her last weigh-in less than a month ago. The lab reveal no urinary tract infection. There are more tests they’d like to do, but I asked to try the incontinence pills first.
The vets are wonderful at this facility. The entire staff must be required to attend Nice School. It’s very hard to complain about a bill to the friendly people at the front desk, but since that this ear infection is heading toward giant flat screen tv price, I did ask weakly, “Don’t you have a senior discount that one of us qualifies for? ”
“We do for people, but . . . you have to be 62, I’m pretty sure.” She called down to the representative at the other end to confirm that. The called-back response was, “yes it is 62 now but they’re thinking of raising it to 65. Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”
Oh, the conflicted feelings! For about 1.5 seconds there I contemplated whether I’d rather be thought younger than I am or get the discount. I said softly to the representative helping me. “I’m 65, so I qualify either way.” A senior’s gotta do what a senior’s gotta do.
“Dee, she says she’s 65!” she yelled back to the rep at the other end and the waiting room went silent while everyone looked up to check out the old girl. THEN, looking at her computer screen, she announced, “Oh, I didn’t notice this before. You’re already GETTING the senior discount.”
I returned home with a fluorescent AGE 65 blazing across my forehead, my charge card still smoking in my purse, two new prescriptions, a bag of prescription weight loss food, and my stinky dog in need of serious grooming which means Additional Appointment Ahead. The two-page invoice yielded plenty of numbers for DB to analyze.
I wonder if this incontinence prescription would work for humans. I don’t have incontinence issues, but I’m just thinking ahead here. If I develop a problem and share the meds, I could leave that number on the dog’s budget page.
Let’s hope my 65-year-old bladder holds up. Incontinence would not be a good thing. If Miss Piggy’s expenses don’t start dropping, we may not have a pot to pee in.