For $3000, You Can Have Your Very Own Bionic Bulldog Who Farts on You

Since his injury, Hopalong Wonderbutt has been sneaking on to the lower pieces of furniture – where he is not allowed. You can see his reaction here when he is told to get off the couch.

It turns out my anti-depressant only works when there is nothing to be depressed about.  Which seems kind of ineffective.  I mean, if your medication isn’t going to help you look on the bright side of things when you find out that your dog probably needs $1500 surgery – TWICE – then, really, what’s the point of taking it?

As I mentioned in the last post, Wonderbutt has been limping.  Cap’n Firepants and I could not agree on which leg was hurt, which was embarrassing to admit to the vet.  We were pretty sure it was a back leg, but the darn dog has two of those.  I was certain he was favoring the left one, and the Cap’n was equally sure it was the right one.  It turned out that I was right.  And I’ve never been so depressed about being correct.  Because the Cap’n was right, too, apparently.  According to the vet, it appears that Wonderbutt tore the ligaments in both of his rear knees.

So, first of all, I didn’t even know that Wonderbutt has knees.  I still can’t find them.  Who’s the stupid idiot who decided to give dogs knees?  Next, you’re going to tell me they have elbows, too.

Secondly, the vet does not know this for sure.  So we must pay $500 to be certain with X-rays that must be done while Wonderbutt is anesthetized.  (Apparently, the vet is doubtful that Wonderbutt will be relaxed enough to get good X-rays done while he is awake.)  Then, we get to fork out the $3000.  Which should be very interesting since we don’t happen to have that in our Swiss bank account right now.

I came home from the vet, and decided that the best way to deal with this information would be to take a nap.

Another astounding revelation – naps at 10:30 in the morning really don’t help to combat the threat of oppressive veterinary bills and a hobbled bulldog.

In the meantime, our daughter, Dimples (who has a “touch” of scoliosis, and needs to go to a specialist so we can get more specific bad news) is alive with the Christmas spirit.  She is cheerfully dancing around the house, decorating, and delighting at placing ornaments in unusual spots for me to find.  Her birthday happens to be in a few days, so nothing is going to dampen her good cheer.

And my mother-in-law called this morning to see when we were going to pick her up for Thanksgiving. Which we did. Yesterday.

We all find our own ways of avoiding reality, I suppose.