The Week Of Peek -- A Tribute

As some of you know, Peek-A-Boo was my chihuahua.  And I hate that I have to say "was" but last night we finally had to put him to sleep.  I don't want to talk about how incredibly awful that was--I can't even write the words without crying.  But I freaking loved that dog with the fire of a thousand suns and since I'm sitting up, unable to go to sleep, I thought I'd use this time to create a tribute to him. 

Not a mushy, tear-jerker tribute--that wouldn't have been his style AT ALL--but just a collection of some of my favorite memories of him, saved from all the emails, notes, etc. that I've written about him through the years...so here begins A Week of Peek.

(This is the tuxedo I got him for my wedding)

 

 

 

And I’ll start with the first story I ever shared about him:

 

So, I brought my new puppy home on Monday…Peek-A-Boo the cutest long haired Chihuahua that you have ever seen!

 

How many of you guessed that this dog was going to make me even crazier than I already am?

 

I am a lunatic…I have had the dog a week and I have already rushed him to the vet twice.

 

The first time I called, I reported to the vet that he was acting “weird” and dashed over. When I got there the vet’s 7 year old daughter was in the waiting room, chattering, trying to pet my dog, and generally being completely annoying. The little girl asked me ten times if she could hold Peek; I said maybe when he calmed down…he (no doubt sensing my own feelings about the little monster) was gallantly trying to climb into my coat and hide. So the girl sat down next to me, and continued to try to pet my poor squirming pooch, all the while explaining the disgusting things she had been seeing all day.

 

Oh, how I wished for a pit bull.

 

In any case, eventually we went in to see the vet (the little girl came too, chattering away until Dr. Dad sensed my discomfort and gave her the boot) and I began explaining Peek-A-Boo’s weird symptoms.

 

“He’s acting weird,” I reported.

 

And the vet asked if he was lethargic, had diarrhea, or had been throwing up?

 

“No.”

 

“Panting excessively? Shaking? Refusing to eat?”

 

I shook my head.

 

“Foaming at the mouth? Howling at the moon?”

 

Ok, he didn’t really ask me those last two. But only because he was too busy staring at me like I was some sort of mental patient.

 

“What is he doing” He finally asked.

 

“I don’t know…just acting weird,” I said.

So he took Peek’s temperature, listened to his heart, took a stool sample…Guess what was wrong?

 

Nothing, that’s what.

 

A big fat nothing.

 

I’m sure my vet now thinks I am a paranoid, child-hating-yippy-dog-owning-pain-in-the-ass…

 

The second time (only one day after the first fiasco) I looked at Peek and thought his eye looked a little weird. I took a closer look, yep, definite weirdness.

 

I considered taking him to the vet, remembered the humiliation from the previous day and hesitated. I had my friend Martha come over for dinner, we considered the dog carefully. We compared pictures from the first day to the eye and decided there was a definite nasty growth, like a sty.

 

“Gross,” she said.“Take him to the vet!”

 

But I was still hesitant to call the vet because I was embarrassed by the previous day’s non-emergency (which cost me $185.00, although part of that was for his shots). So I waited until morning then called my parents, hoping for some advice.

 

Unfortunately, my parents find these little dramas in my life amusing.I hadn’t even gotten two sentences out when I heard my dad start laughing hysterically in the background, especially when I explained that I don’t want to alienate the vet by being a hypochondriac. That’s when my dad grabbed the phone and assured me that at $185.00 a session, the vet would be thrilled if I came in every day…twice
a day if I’m in the mood.

 

So, I went to the vet again. And the daughter was there again (seriously, can’t a vet afford some freaking daycare?); she tried to yank Peek right out of my arms and I almost bit her myself…

 

Luckily Dr. Dad walked in and called her off before I got past the growling stage…anyway, I showed him the eye…

 

And, this time, there WAS something wrong. He has an inflammation of the 3rd eyelid (whatever the hell that is!).

 

IT MAY REQUIRE SURGERY!!!!!

 

I have a sudden visual image of this dog as a money funnel; it’s not pretty.

But at least the vet can’t accuse me of being paranoid again…though, in retrospect, I probably should have kept that to myself because when I said “Well, at least this time you won’t think I’m insane,”he gave me an odd look…

 

I’m now trying to determine if the look meant “That’s not why I think you’re crazy” or if he now thinks I am paranoid,child-hating-yippy-dog-owning-pain-in-the-ass with Munchausen by Doggie Proxy Syndrome.

 

But the worst of it is, we have the option of medication before we try the surgery route…I have this nasty cream I am supposed to put in Peek-A-Boo’s eye 4 times a day…

 

And one thing I learned when I had Pink Eye last year is that I am not so good at putting stuff in eyes.

 

It has been hysterical. There’s been squirming…there’s been whimpering and sobbing…and Peek doesn’t like it either!

 

So my Dad called last night and told me he heard the vet is now able to finance a new home in the Bahamas, all because of this mysterious new patient…

 

I have a sneaking suspicion this puppy isn’t going to be the calming companion that all the dog books promise.