That's not what the Death card means

Curled up at the foot of the bed
written 2021-05-18 17:11:05

So, we got our dog, Lennie, six years ago, when Ingrid was freshly overcome with grief from losing her previous dog, Abby.

Lennie was a shelter dog, who had been taken out of a home with "too many animals". She is a little Chihuahua mutt, she is mean, and she is responsible for one of the few scars I have. She took some getting used to, but we love her and we put up with her periodic violence and psychosis.

We've had some trouble with her vet care this last year - I might have written about it elsewhere on this page. Basically, she had an infection near her eye, we figured it was dental, the vet said she'd look at it but only after a cardiologist okayed her for anaesthesia, we got the cardiogram, the vet forgot about us, made us go to another cardiogram, checked her teeth, didn't find anything. That sentence took eight months to play out, and her face is still swollen.

We were pretty salty because the vet made us jump through hoops for six months to accomplish sweet fuck all. We took her in again today to remind them that her face is swollen and we'd like some goddamn vet care. The vet's response was to the tune of "What Do You Want Me To Do About It?" from the hit musical "Bad Veterinary Bedside Manner". She basically said we could look into some good expensive dental or cardiological care, not from her, from a specialist, or we can just accept that our dog has a swollen face and a bum ticker. The subtext was "how much money are you really trying to spend on this dog?"

She's not wrong, I acknowledge she got a degree in veterinary science. I just wish she'd minored in Not Being A Bitch To Your Clients Studies.

I admit, my go-to response to "your dog is sick" is just "give the dog everything she wants and love her and hug her and squeeze her" and not "make hard decisions about your budget and her lifespan". I frequently remind Lennie she cost us $52 in fees at the shelter. I'm a monster, I acknowledge, and a hypocrite.

I don't want Ingrid sad about our dog for the rest of Lennie's life. I don't want Ingrid mad at me for doing or not doing whatever it is she thinks the dog needs. My inclination is to do nothing and try and give Lennie her best life, and when she goes, she goes.

I have not had income for over a year, so I also feel a little unqualified to make decisions that have substantial price tags associated with them.

--5:07 PM EST, 5/18/21, Philadelphia, PA, lean in close to the little record player on the floor

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