Monday, November 19, 2012

Bribes, Breakdowns, and My Brand of Crazy

As some of you may know, I’m a little over-attached to my dog, Peek-A-Boo.  And by “over-attached” I, of course, mean that I have a “like-him-more-than-most-people-believe-we-actually-communicate-don’t-understand-those-who-say-he’s-just-a-dog” type obsession.

So, since the vet recently told us that Peek is in the last stages of congestive heart failure and doesn’t have long to live…well, things have been a little rough.

And they got even rougher late Wednesday night when I realized that I had miscalculated how much of his best heart medicine we had left…in my defense, he is on FIVE different medicines and it’s a little hard to keep them all straight.  In any case, as soon as I realized what had happened, I called the pharmacy to immediately order more.

Except the prescription had expired.

Which meant that there was no way to get more medicine in time for Peek’s morning dose.

Some people would take this news with cool aplomb and begin stoically trying to figure out a solution.

I wish I was one of those people…but I am sooooo NOT one of those people.  I am the kind of person who gets this news, decides the dog will never survive, bursts into hysterical tears and begins screaming that I’ve killed my dog.

Which was a little disconcerting for my husband, Opie…particularly since the dog in question was sitting at my feet at the time, very much alive.

“Not for long!”  I shrieked.  “He’s not going to have his medicine in time, and he’s going to die, and it’s going to be ALL MY FAULT!”

Honestly, I think Opie was a little relieved to hear that last bit since I usually find a reason these situations are all his fault.

“He’s going to be fine,” Opie assured me.  “He’s not going to die tomorrow.”

Which is when I decided the rational thing to do would be turn to Peek and forbid his death.  “Don’t you dare die on me tomorrow, do you hear me?”

In retrospect, this was a terrible idea…Peek is a spoiled rotten, willful dog who hates being told not to do anything.  I could tell he was thinking “Don’t you tell me not to die.  You’re just the food lady, you’re not the boss of me! I’ll die if I want to!”

So I resorted to my fall back plan—bribery—and assured him that if he could just manage to live through one more day, I’d give him peanut butter for dinner.

It seemed a fair trade.

“He’s going to be fine,” Opie said again.

“He better be!”  I shrieked.  “Because if I’ve killed my dog, that is just THE END!”

“The end of what?”  Opie asked. 

And I can’t really blame him for being confused because, even now, I don’t know what the heck I was talking about.  Which didn’t stop me from storming upstairs with my dog in my arms yelling incoherent threats at the universe.

Sometimes I am so fun to live with, I can hardly stand it.

And it wasn’t until the next morning—after a long night during which I flung myself out of bed every time Peek so much as twitched his tail, in case he was preemptively dying on me—that I realized the second part of the problem.  I had to work all day—and Thursday is my long day away from home—even if the vet called in the prescription the moment he got in the office, I couldn’t go pick it up and give it to Peek until late at night.

“Just call me when it’s ready,” Opie said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

But I have to admit, I was a little skeptical.  I mean, I know he loves this dog too…but he has what I would consider a “healthy attachment” to the ridiculous animal.  And people with “healthy attachments” don’t engage in the same manic, I-will-move-mountains, type of behavior that we obsessive freaks do.

Luckily, Opie’s attachment to me is little more on the I-will-move-mountains side of healthy…because as soon as the medicine was ready, he took a vacation day from work, went home, medicated the dog, and called me to reassure me that everything was fine.  “He’s alive and well,” he reported.

Which means I should have said thank you…but I had spent a really long time working myself up into this crazy frenzy and it seemed downright wasteful to let all that energy go quietly. “Make sure he stays that way until I get home!”  I snapped.

“You’re a lunatic,” Opie responded.  “But I love you.”

So, as we’re heading into Thanksgiving week let me just say that this year I am most thankful for a dog that can be bribed into life by peanut butter, a husband who has his priorities perfectly straight…and who thinks my particular brand of crazy is endearing.

You can’t really ask for more than that!


Kimbo325 is a teacher and writer who is laughing her way through life. She would like to be a sane, rational person but fears that ship has sailed.  To read more about why her husband is the luckiest man in the world click here  To read more about her crazy life, follow her on Facebook at or tweet with her at Twitter at @kimbo325

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