Two weeks ago I noticed that my dog Bear-Bear had
something that felt like syrup in his fur. After feeling tiny bumps on his skin
under the sticky fur I realized that something wasn’t right so I shaved the
area, revealing a very gross-looking patch of raw skin. I thought he had a
chemical burn so I took him to the vet and was informed that my dog had a large
hot spot. The vet gave me pills and a crème to treat my dog. For the next few days I was attempting to nurse
this area. Within two days, instead of getting better, the hot spot preceded to
mutate and grow all the while oozing foul yellow puss and smelling up my entire
home. I called the vet and asked “Is it normal for this to happen?” The vet
told me to give it a few more days.
Thank you Google for the suggesting socks to keep
him from scratching and screw you for not explaining that the socks only stay
up with duct tape. For several days, Bear-Bear walked around like he was
stepping on lava doing a strange sort of shamanistic doggy dance while trying
to get accustomed to the strange cloth wrapped around his paws. In a way his
doggy dance reminded me of synchronized swimmers having seizures in the
pool.
My dog, deciding to be the asshole that he is and
needing extra love during his time of need, made it a point to wipe his gook
off on my clothes any moment that he could, especially right after I changed outfits.
Of course running away screaming only encourages him to chase after me with a
wagging tail and this point he was looking more and more like he had leprosy.
Have you ever had an English Mastiff chase after you with an oozing, infected
head? It’s horrific. I felt like I was being chased by a furry Godzilla wearing
socks duct-taped to his legs.
When I realized that the socks weren’t working, I Youtubed
videos on what I should do because I was absolutely clueless and the vet didn’t
seem to be providing good advice. After watching a few veterinarians bob their
overly-teased heads around on my cracked computer screen, I decided to go with
suggestion #3: The Cone of Shame. I went to the pet store and found the largest
cone that was available in the obnoxious shade of Barney purple and wrapped it
around my dogs head, then stood back to admire the new walking, drooling,
four-legged, slightly cock-eyed satellite dish. My dog looked up at me with a
look of absolute disgust and within a few minutes I realized that his next move
was slamming his cone-imprisoned head into EVERYTHING. Now at first it was
funny to see Bear-Bear walking around like a drunk collage girl at a frat
party, but when he started knocking everything off of my desk-including my
computer screen, it was not so funny. Initially I thought that he was doing
this by accident, but after the third time of knocking everything off of the
desk, I began to suspect that this was actually a strategic war tactic to seek
revenge on the evil cone-buying monster he believed to be his two-legged,
furless, biological mother.
After a week on the antibiotic, the prescribed
crème, bactine, hot spot anti-fungal spray, and the cone of shame along with
socks on all four paws, the infection only seemingly got larger, smellier, and
spread now to his entire face. I took my dog back to the vet where they had to
shave his fur into a haircut that oddly reminded me of a tonsure haircut found
during the medieval times in western Christianity. The veterinarian sent me
home this time with extra strength massive horse pills that I believe even an
elephant would have a hard time swallowing and an anti-fungal shampoo that is
ironically tutti-frutti scented. Although this medication seems to make my dog
believe that he must drink copious amounts of water and now I’m pretty sure
he’s single-handed responsible for the California drought. It is at least
making him appear less like a leper and more like the furry monster that I
adopted.
I can tell he is feeling a bit better because today
when I came home, I wasn’t even able to open the door more than two feet before
feeling a happy kiss on my hand and looking at the giant tail wagging dog that
I call my 4-legged son. No matter how gross things get, and they have been
challengingly vile and drippy, I will always be there to nurse him back to
health.
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