Odie had his surgery to remove the bits we discovered, and he does not need, the other day. It was more involved then the normal neuter as his bits were hiding in his belly, so his pain meds lasted a LONG time. All day in fact. But let me start from the beginning.
Dropping him off that morning went fine- his little trusting self walked to the back of the vet hospital with a tech he'd never met before a smidge apprehensive, but mostly curious. Poor kid had no idea what was coming. Many hours later, my husband went to pick him up, and apparently he and his brand new Cone of Shame made it halfway down the ramp to the front desk when....
BLERGH
Barf- all over his cone and the floor.
Was it the excitement of seeing His Boy (as I now call my husband in reference to the dogs pick of favorite human) or just the surgical drugs wearing off an empty stomach? Either way, our kid made a lasting impression, to be sure.
So they walked him to the back again, this time to clean him up. He came back out in the arms of the vet herself, and she held him while going over all the outpatient information. I found that absolutely charming.
The boys headed home, which is a blessedly short trip, and Odie got to rest up in his bed which had kindly been put in the middle of the living room by His Boy. I was doing my best to get home as fast as possible, knowing that my husband had to leave for class soon. Sadly, traffic didn't seem to know about this and slowed me down considerably. The incredibly blazed pup ended up alone in the house for about 30 minutes.
When I finally arrived, this staggering, stoned out of his mind pooch came wobbling my way, making an unholy whine and cry noise that broke even my cold heart. He came right up, sat on my foot (swaying a bit) and cried for a literal 5 minutes. I'm pretty sure it was a combination of fear at being alone in an altered state, pain from the surgery, excitement to see me, and just general confusion. I rubbed him until he calmed then encouraged a rediscovery (since his reality was shifting pretty rapidly still) of the cozy bed provided.
The next 2 hours of the evening were spent with him curled up in his bed, occasionally looking up as I moved around- but unable to really focus on me. I felt so bad for him, because nothing in his system was working right, but at the same time, the obvious tape delay in mental processing was really friggin funny. A pitiful funny, but funny nonetheless.
He fell asleep with his eyes open several times. He found his foot once and was very confused about it for a couple of seconds. He was unnerved at me putting a blanket over his shivering little form, because apparently walking right towards him didn't process, and my touch was jarring. Grass outside seemed to be the most foreign thing in the world, and why was I making him stand in it? Everything was seen through a haze of meds and lack of food. Poor kid made me laugh about 15 times with all of this.
The next morning, he was doing much better. Progress continued with the slow and fearful introduction of food. Last thing anyone needed was more barfing in the cone. Food stayed down, and first batch of meds went reasonably well considering its a liquid being forced upon a dog who doesn't like the smell of it. Now our biggest challenge is keeping the firecracker contained. 2 weeks of limited movement is tough on a highly active, very jumpy tiny dog.
Kinda makes me wish I had some of the meds he was stoned on that first day.
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