I picked up dog food at my vet clinic yesterday. I buy the expensive stuff, Hills I/D, because my Teddy has some kind of allergy.
It might make sense to spend the money for a test to see what he's allergic to so I can go to a cheaper kind of food, but he's the second dog I've had on the Hills I/D diet. The first dog, Indiana, had the expensive test and still spent the rest of her life eating the expensive food. It worked for her. It works for Teddy.
So why spend the money on the test, right?
There was even a guy at the counter, a customer, who informed me of a brand of cheaper food I could buy. Frankly, I'm tired of spending money on a bag of new food to see if it will make Teddy barf down the passenger-side door and into that groove where I put my hand to close the door. If he pukes a second time, it will go into the little crevice where the seat belts sprout. If I'm at home, I don't want to have to leap up from the computer to slam the sliding glass door open when he's retching only to have him vomit in my yard shoes lying there because I didn't move fast enough. I'm not enamored of having him flap his ears and having to put goop in them for a week, getting sprayed with the excess glop every time as he tries to evade my helpful attention. I learned that my mouth is usually open when I'm focused on getting the liquid into the right place in his ear while I grapple his body between my knees. That stuff tastes terrible. I'm not sure I can handle being poisoned with any more of the ear gunk. And we don't even need to talk about the hot spots. I get a lot of dirty looks at the park when my dog has hot spots. I can't thrive under the glare of those dirty looks.
So, no. I don't feel up to trying the great new food that a total stranger tells me I have really got to try so I can save a few bucks each month. He spelled the name of it, you know, as if I were a dull child not understanding the value of his lessons.
Oh, we could argue all day about this, but that's not what I sat down to tell you.
I wanted to tell you about eternally sharing a kitten.
Blitz will always belong to more than one family.
At the vet clinic counter, I had made a pile of all the food I needed to buy, dry dog, wet dog, wet cat, and treats. Seeing the big bag of food, the office manager came out of her office.
"Can I help you with any of that?" she asked. She always has a smile on her face. I knew I was going to have to tell her that her smile had become an indelible image in my day.
"Yeah, I was wondering if this gastrointestinal stuff is the same as the Hills Hypo treats."
And we went back and forth, chatting, while she found exactly what I wanted behind some other bags of treats. That friendly face. It gave me a little heartache every time I imagined it.
"You know, I picture your face a lot," I said, sounding just a little bit crazy even to myself. She stopped smiling for a second. "You know what I mean." She probably didn't. "Every time I kiss Blitz's head, he leans into me. It's as if he thinks that's the only way a kitten can be properly loved. You did that."
She smiled again.I finally stopped rambling.
"He didn't like it when he was a baby," she said. "He used to squirm whenever I kissed him. I can't believe how big they're all getting. They're all grown up now."
"Except Blitz has a tiny little head."
She laughed. "They all do, don't they?"
"And the back end of him is normal size."
And she laughed again.
"Do you think he's stunted?" I asked. "He's going to stay pretty small."
"They're all the same size. You know, they could be. The kids that saved them were feeding them Ritz crackers. You knew about the kids, didn't you?"
"No!" I said.
"The kids that found them didn't have much. They only had Ritz crackers, so they fed them what they had. That's how the one, the one that was dying... That's why he's named Ritz. The kids got really worried about them and they called us so we could help. That's how we got them to begin with. The kids fed them Ritz crackers."
"Holy cow. I didn't know that."
"Yeah. Those kids saved their lives." I didn't mention to her that everyone in her office saved them too. I had seen a before picture of Ritz, the kitten that almost died, flaccid and with glazed eyes. His after picture was of a bouncy healthy kitten leaping for a string. Every time I go into the office, they tell me that now he plays with his German shepherd and Labrador retriever, that he's a pretty cantankerous kitten. They tell me that Blitz is really affectionate but that he's much quieter than his brothers.
It always takes me a while to get out of the vet's office these days when I buy food. I don't mind. It's a connection I never had with them before.
When I got home and hauled all of my bags and cans inside, dry dog, wet dog, wet cat, and treats, Blitz stood in the kitchen waiting for me to open a treat for him. The way the plastic crinkles is enough to call him from the deepest recesses of the house.
"Do you want a treat, Blitzen? Are you hungry?" I use a baby voice when I talk to him. I should be embarrassed to admit that, but I'm not.
"Yeah," he said.
He literally says yeah, now, and eh.
I opened the bag, pushed him out of the way with my foot, and popped open the garbage can so I could throw away the plastic strip.
Why is it that a cat is always standing in front of the garbage can when I need to step on that little pedal? Every single time.
"Now," he said.
I slid my fingers across the top of the pouch to close it and carried the treat into the living room where I sat down on the couch. I put a pillow on my lap and patted it with the hand that held the treat. With my other hand, I held down the hidden button that lifted the footrest of the built-in recliner. There were food crumbs in there. Why do they have to hide those stupid buttons where there are always food crumbs and lost paper clips?
Blitz jumped onto my lap and aligned himself down the length of my belly. Then he put his right paw on my left breast. He always does that. Why does he always do that?
I put the cat treat right in front of him, where my cleavage would be if I had one. I don't think he even chewed the thing.
Then, he half stood and leaned in toward me. I held him by his sides and kissed his forehead, where the little M lines score his eyebrows. And there she was, Blitz's other mommy, smiling and talking about her baby in my head.
Thank you for listening, jb
It might make sense to spend the money for a test to see what he's allergic to so I can go to a cheaper kind of food, but he's the second dog I've had on the Hills I/D diet. The first dog, Indiana, had the expensive test and still spent the rest of her life eating the expensive food. It worked for her. It works for Teddy.
So why spend the money on the test, right?
There was even a guy at the counter, a customer, who informed me of a brand of cheaper food I could buy. Frankly, I'm tired of spending money on a bag of new food to see if it will make Teddy barf down the passenger-side door and into that groove where I put my hand to close the door. If he pukes a second time, it will go into the little crevice where the seat belts sprout. If I'm at home, I don't want to have to leap up from the computer to slam the sliding glass door open when he's retching only to have him vomit in my yard shoes lying there because I didn't move fast enough. I'm not enamored of having him flap his ears and having to put goop in them for a week, getting sprayed with the excess glop every time as he tries to evade my helpful attention. I learned that my mouth is usually open when I'm focused on getting the liquid into the right place in his ear while I grapple his body between my knees. That stuff tastes terrible. I'm not sure I can handle being poisoned with any more of the ear gunk. And we don't even need to talk about the hot spots. I get a lot of dirty looks at the park when my dog has hot spots. I can't thrive under the glare of those dirty looks.
So, no. I don't feel up to trying the great new food that a total stranger tells me I have really got to try so I can save a few bucks each month. He spelled the name of it, you know, as if I were a dull child not understanding the value of his lessons.
Oh, we could argue all day about this, but that's not what I sat down to tell you.
I wanted to tell you about eternally sharing a kitten.
Blitz will always belong to more than one family.
At the vet clinic counter, I had made a pile of all the food I needed to buy, dry dog, wet dog, wet cat, and treats. Seeing the big bag of food, the office manager came out of her office.
"Can I help you with any of that?" she asked. She always has a smile on her face. I knew I was going to have to tell her that her smile had become an indelible image in my day.
"Yeah, I was wondering if this gastrointestinal stuff is the same as the Hills Hypo treats."
And we went back and forth, chatting, while she found exactly what I wanted behind some other bags of treats. That friendly face. It gave me a little heartache every time I imagined it.
"You know, I picture your face a lot," I said, sounding just a little bit crazy even to myself. She stopped smiling for a second. "You know what I mean." She probably didn't. "Every time I kiss Blitz's head, he leans into me. It's as if he thinks that's the only way a kitten can be properly loved. You did that."
She smiled again.I finally stopped rambling.
"He didn't like it when he was a baby," she said. "He used to squirm whenever I kissed him. I can't believe how big they're all getting. They're all grown up now."
"Except Blitz has a tiny little head."
She laughed. "They all do, don't they?"
"And the back end of him is normal size."
And she laughed again.
"Do you think he's stunted?" I asked. "He's going to stay pretty small."
"They're all the same size. You know, they could be. The kids that saved them were feeding them Ritz crackers. You knew about the kids, didn't you?"
"No!" I said.
"The kids that found them didn't have much. They only had Ritz crackers, so they fed them what they had. That's how the one, the one that was dying... That's why he's named Ritz. The kids got really worried about them and they called us so we could help. That's how we got them to begin with. The kids fed them Ritz crackers."
"Holy cow. I didn't know that."
"Yeah. Those kids saved their lives." I didn't mention to her that everyone in her office saved them too. I had seen a before picture of Ritz, the kitten that almost died, flaccid and with glazed eyes. His after picture was of a bouncy healthy kitten leaping for a string. Every time I go into the office, they tell me that now he plays with his German shepherd and Labrador retriever, that he's a pretty cantankerous kitten. They tell me that Blitz is really affectionate but that he's much quieter than his brothers.
It always takes me a while to get out of the vet's office these days when I buy food. I don't mind. It's a connection I never had with them before.
When I got home and hauled all of my bags and cans inside, dry dog, wet dog, wet cat, and treats, Blitz stood in the kitchen waiting for me to open a treat for him. The way the plastic crinkles is enough to call him from the deepest recesses of the house.
"Do you want a treat, Blitzen? Are you hungry?" I use a baby voice when I talk to him. I should be embarrassed to admit that, but I'm not.
"Yeah," he said.
He literally says yeah, now, and eh.
I opened the bag, pushed him out of the way with my foot, and popped open the garbage can so I could throw away the plastic strip.
Why is it that a cat is always standing in front of the garbage can when I need to step on that little pedal? Every single time.
"Now," he said.
I slid my fingers across the top of the pouch to close it and carried the treat into the living room where I sat down on the couch. I put a pillow on my lap and patted it with the hand that held the treat. With my other hand, I held down the hidden button that lifted the footrest of the built-in recliner. There were food crumbs in there. Why do they have to hide those stupid buttons where there are always food crumbs and lost paper clips?
Blitz jumped onto my lap and aligned himself down the length of my belly. Then he put his right paw on my left breast. He always does that. Why does he always do that?
I put the cat treat right in front of him, where my cleavage would be if I had one. I don't think he even chewed the thing.
Then, he half stood and leaned in toward me. I held him by his sides and kissed his forehead, where the little M lines score his eyebrows. And there she was, Blitz's other mommy, smiling and talking about her baby in my head.
Thank you for listening, jb
No comments:
Post a Comment