Hirplings

I’ve often joked to my friends with pets about taking their beloved fur ball to the local Chinese restaurant one day, and having some tasty ribs. Sick and twisted, sure, but they knew that when they decided to be a friend. And when we got our dog, I kidded my wife about having a spending limit to fix any ailments that may one day, um, ale our pup. Originally I said no more than a grand, that came down to $100. She didn’t much care for these jokes, so it may not have been wise to continue to crack them, even yesterday when we realized Riley needed to see a vet.

“Riley girl” as she called by the Kyd, was having a little blood in her urine, and with my wife’s extensive medical knowledge, we decided this was probably not a very good thing. She called it from the start, urinary tract infection. The trip to the vet was much like a trip to a real doctor. There were awkward glances in the waiting room, just between the dogs, and they made sure we received the full wait experience. A solid 20 minutes before getting our name called, and then another 10 minutes in the examination room before the vet came in. He promptly stuck a thermometer up Riley’s bum (and she handled this much better than I would) and asked an assistant to obtain a urine sample. Total time with Vet: 6 minutes. Dog comes back from her walk, and we’re told it’ll be another 10 minutes while they analyze her pee. That 10 minute was really 14 minutes, and the Vet came in and informed me that it was indeed, a urinary tract infection. The damage was $95. I’ve had shits take longer than that. Riley may have had the thermometer up her arse, but I had a similar feeling walking out.

And so I still wonder, what would our “price” be. How much is too much to save an animal? I have a price on what I’d spend to save a parent, and sadly for them, that little fund was spent yesterday afternoon on Riley. Sorry mom and dad. I admit it, I’m a bit sick for thinking about it. But this doggy health care has led me to the idea of becoming a canine-massage therapist. IF people are crazy enough to take their dogs to expensive “doggy hotels” hire therapists when their pets become depressed, and drive while their dog French kisses them, well then I can be a canine-massage therapist. I’m not even totally kidding here.

Sense a theme lately? Hirp wants to get rich.

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Last night, the family enjoyed some fine dining at a well known, and respected, establishment. Everyone’s favorite House, I-Hop. Yep, that’s how we roll. And the Kyd was enjoying the place mat that doubles as entertainment for a while, and then we joined in. You forget how much fun a paper placemat and two crayons can be. This lead to a family coloring and drawing session back at the ranch, and that was just a ton of fun. Back in the day, I used to really enjoy the arts. I was 13 or so when I gave it up, but I used to think of myself as something like an aspiring artist. Mainly I just wanted to follow in my uncle’s footsteps, and design cars for a living. But it was a lot of fun then, and I realized it’s a lot of fun now. Plus, a six year old thinks the shit I do is actually good. So I have a quick ego boost. Wait till she’s a teenager, and everything I do is retarded.