Sunday Night at the Animal Hospital

“Call when you’re done, it will be a while.”

Those were the prescient words of our dog walker as he dropped me off at the animal hospital with our dog, Zorro, on a Sunday evening back in July.

Medical emergencies rarely happen at convenient times, and this was no exception. This particular event involved a plastic hairclip that had popped from my hand as I was putting it on my head, only to be immediately scooped up by the dog. After prying open his mouth, looking all over the floor, and reviewing Dr. Google’s advice on “what to do when your dog swallows a hard plastic and metal object”, it was clear we needed to get to the vet.

But I was on crutches and couldn’t drive. My husband was out of town, as were each of the nearby friends and family members on whom I would usually rely for a ride. Which is when the dog walker came to the rescue.

I don’t know if pets sense that the end of the weekend is the best time to get into trouble, but Zorro and I were far from alone on this particular Sunday evening at the animal hospital. The waiting area was full of animals with their anxious pet owners.

Some of the humans in the room had eyes filled with tears and pets facing end of life or life threatening issues. Several cases clearly involved a pet that, like mine, had swallowed something it shouldn’t have. “I have a photo of it here on my phone,” said one owner referring to some type of plant. There was the ugly, snorting pug (well, what pug isn’t ugly and snorting?) that had lodged kernels of corn somewhere it shouldn’t have. I couldn’t make out whether they were stuck in its throat or up its nose. Either way, it wasn’t pretty. And there was a lab with a bone lodged awkwardly in its mouth. “Normally, he eats them the right way,” said the owner.

Other pets were barfing. This led to inevitable discussions with the intake people about the quality and quantity of said throw-up, and deployment of the cleaning crew.

My dog didn’t barf. Which was unfortunate as it would have been the easiest solution to the problem. The vets did try to induce vomiting in the hope that Zorro would spit up the hair clip, but he didn’t even lose his dinner.  There is a certain irony to this as we had gone through a day about a week prior to this, when he had barfed repeatedly all over the house.

So there were x-rays and long delays.  Zorro stayed at the hospital and I got home well past midnight.

The technicians could not find the hairclip on the x-rays, but what did become clear was that our poor little rescued mutt had been through considerable physical hardships in his short one-and-a-half years of life.

At this point, Zorro had only been living with us for about a month. But from his submissive tendencies, we had suspected that he had been mistreated prior to coming to us via a Lucky Dog Rescue pet adoption. The x-rays revealed that Zorro had bb’s (as in from a bb gun) lodged under his skin. More seriously still, he had a herniated diaphragm (meaning a tear in the muscle causing a big hole), likely from having been hit by a car or other blunt force. Most of his abdominal organs had been pushed up into his chest cavity, and one of his lungs was deflated.

Zorro, now fully recovered from surgery

Though this sounds bad, the story has a happy ending. Zorro had surgery. His organs were all returned to their proper places and the diaphragm tear was repaired. Our pocket book took a hit, and we had to cancel our 4^th of July plans. But he made a speedy recovery, and we now have a happy, healthy pup.

As for the hairclip, it turns out that it never was in Zorro’s stomach after all. After searching for days, I did find it, hidden in plain sight.

In the meantime, I’ve cut my hair short. No need for hair clips. And Zorro and I are both enjoying the dog days of summer with a fresh look and perspective.