Hot Toots

A few months earlier....

I had decided to meet up with my friend Lauren in my lobby, bringing Marley and Mojo for a walk. This was already against my better judgement, because it was hovering around 90 degrees outside, and we all know, I likey my air conditioning. But, after a whole summer of turning down "outdoors" invitations, I figured that a quick walk to the park would be tolerable. The dogs did their usual worst, pulling, straining toward traffic, panting with collars dragging them back; really, what every dog owner dreams a walk could be. 

When we got to the park, aside from a rogue break towards some friendly bikers, the dogs were pooped. We sat under a tree for a little bit, giving them water, and getting twice the drool back in return. The walk home seemed exactly like the walk there, only I had a bit more pep in my step knowing I left my air conditioner on 68 and it would be gloriously waiting for me.

After a few hours, I noticed Mojo had a limp that continued to get more pronounced. I checked for rocks and class and splinters, I pulled his legs in every direction, and soaked his feet in cool water. He never made a sound, so I thought maybe he had sprained his something. The emergency animal hospital at midnight told me that if he wasn't crying in pain or bleeding profusely, to take him to the vet the next day and save myself at least five hundred dollars. I obeyed.

I got to pay only three hundred dollars to learn that my dog was hurt, as a direct result of myself. Apparently, the cement that we had walked on was a little too severe for Mojo's paw pads, and had burned through a few layers. Since the paw pads are a hub or nerve endings, this was painful for him, but since the burn didn't actually break skin, it wasn't open to infection or conducive to yelping. That seems to be a theme in my life: Pretty bad, but could be a lot worse.

And this is what I got to hear when I shared my story at work:

Alex: "Adolf for animals over here. Why don’t you just go out with Sarah Palin and shoot your dog from a helicopter?"

Or another time:

Me: "I’m not leaving them in the crate as much anymore."

Alex: "Oh, great, so you’re letting them either get locked up in a small cell all day, or tortured?"

Or my favorite: 

Me: "She rubbed me the wrong way- like scraped my skin with a grater."

Alex: "Oh, like you mean what you did to your dogs feet? Oh, that was bad. Not as bad as what you did. God- I'm like a termite. Once I get in, you just can't get me out."