Saturday, January 19, 2013

Fog and Frankenweenie...

It's been dense, icy fog in my part of the world for days now, temps in the mid-twenties.  If I were in Edinburgh, everyone would be bundled up to ward off the haar, a weird weather phenomena that basically only occurs on the eastern coast of Scotland, along the North Sea.  None of those things are in any way around me now, and yet, it's exactly the same: bitter cold, seeps into your bones, ice particles float in the air, stick to clothes, boots, lashes, skin.

Did I mention it's dense?

Two shots taken this afternoon...

Somewhere out in that nothingness is the winding mountain road in front of my house:

And I hope to see the valley again one day.  It must still be down there, though there's no proof from my back deck:

So, Thursday I have to take the dogs to the vet at the crack of dawn.  I can't see past the hood of my Blazer, the roads are icy, I'm on a one-lane road driving blind down a mountain.  Great way to start the day.  Still, I made it safely, dropped Ozzy off for his annual teeth cleaning, and Max for his surgery to remove the tumor thing.

[Here's a good tip I'm happy to share:  It is a big fat mistake to schedule more than one dog on the same day for a veterinary procedure.  Instead of just dealing with the aftermath of surgery to keep Max from licking, chewing and recovering from being knocked out and carved up, I also have Ozzy who won't stop licking and chewing his leg where they shaved him for the blood work/IV stuff.  And no, a cone was not an option.  I only had the one from the vet for Max which wouldn't fit tiny Ozzy's neck.  Then Max freaked out so bad, I couldn't leave it on him either.  Being a rescue dog, he truly has fear issues and I just couldn't stand the crying and violent shaking.  He'd already had a really shitty day.]

In any case, things went fine--at least between the vet and myself; I'm pretty sure the dogs would disagree.  The tumor was completely removed, though poor Max looks like he's had open heart surgery.  Not only is he shaved right down the front of his chest, but the line of sutures is nearly four inches long and looks just grotesque.  The vet also snipped a little growth off his right eyelid--more embroidery--so he looks like the sorriest loser in a street fight with his chest wound and swollen, stitched eye.

Thankfully both the boys are feeling much better and more perky today.  We even went to the park this morning, blundering through the zero visibility fog, both on the road and along the walking trails.  They're both conked out now, sprawled in their beds, no doubt happy to have survived.  Ah, the joy in peace and quiet, and having the whole ordeal over with.

And for my part?  I going now to refill my wine glass.  It's been a rough couple of days all the way around...

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