Mollie-riffic

In previous posts, I've mentioned my "special" dog, Mollie. She's a terrier mix - most people in the south would call her a bird dog, but I don't know how that description carries. However, she's a dog I'd describe as pretty high strung.

I assume the Dog Whisperer would have a field day with her and with how I have trained her, but over the years of our association, we've developed a strange way of coping with one another. For instance, she's highly anxious most of the time, and I describe her as a "Velcro" dog. In other words, wherever I am, she must also be. I've lost more fringed sofa pillows in the 20 minutes it takes me to close the bathroom door to her and wash Petey, her brother. She absolutely can't stand to know I am spending time with him and not with her. In addition to chewing up pillows, she has destroyed full trashcans, the stuffing inside pet beds, and squeeky toys, all out of anxiety.

In short, she's a minor disaster.

But this brings me to something else, actually. A confession. This year, I haven't kept up with the shots and pills and various items for my dogs. Whenever I walk into a vet's office, I can plan to spend $300, and this year I just haven't had it. True, I've had it and been paying down my debt, but I haven't had both. So this year, my dogs weren't up to date.

Well, during my last visit to my parent's house, my mother remarked at how skinny my dog looked. I too had noticed this, and had noticed how bony Petey felt in his haunches.

That's all it took for worry to set in. I think every day since then, I worried that Petey had heartworms and tape worms and Mollie had rabies. I'm serious. No, really, I'm serious. Those out of date tags jangling at the end of their collars were like an accusation to me. You are a redneck idiot who cannot even take care of your dogs. I have to tell you, I was saying *terrible* things to myself.

All that changed this week. Petey was resting on my tummy and Mollie didn't like it, so she jumped up to bully him off me and take over this coveted spot. Well, somehow in this transition, she cold cocked him in the eye which set him off and they had a snarling hissy fit right on top of my belly. When it was over, Petey had a bloody eye and Mollie was in the other room.

I was devastated. Now, not only does Petey have tape worms and heartworms and fleas, he's going to have to get his eyeball removed.

It was gross looking, it really was. And he milked it too. The next day I put food in his bowl and brought it to him at the foot of MY bed. Really.

The next day at lunch, I called the vet. I had a thousand in savings now, afterall, and my poor boy needed both his eyes. I got an appointment for 11am on Saturday.

So as it turns out, Petey doesn't have heartworm. Or tape worms. Or parvo. Or cancer. Or diabetes. He does have a second eyelid however, which all dogs have to protect the eye if it suffers trauma. Oh, and he's old. Old dogs start to get bony in the butt, right where Petey is.

The relief I felt was hard to describe. I mean, I'm glad he can still see, don't get me wrong. But he's also HEALTHY. His main problem in this world is that he's nearly 10. And I can't tell you how stressed out I was that I was neglecting him. And he was suffering as a result of it. And I'd let his care lapse so long that I'd actually caused him to become diseased. Not to mention but that I made it impossible for me to proudly take either of them anywhere. Without tags, I was even afraid to leave them for long periods out in the yard, for fear of animal control, or a wayward child who would approach them, get bitten, and then contract rabies.

And here I make fun of Mollie for being anxiety ridden. If there's anyone in the house who is Mollie-riffic, it's me. I felt so good when I drove home that I stopped to get a haircut too.

Next paycheck, I'll take Mollie in too. Might as well get a clean bill of health for the whole family.

Is there a lesson in this for me? Maybe the energy I spend worrying about things is worse than if I just jumped in with both feet and took care of them? Maybe I don't need to go Mollie-riffic over the giant to-do list I've written for myself this year. I just need to tackle each thing one bite at a time and stop creating this dark, sucking black hole of terror in my mind, which serves only to make me even less likely to tackle them. I might suffer setbacks, true. There might be times when I encounter a situation that's more complicated than the "whole lotta nothing" I dealt with in this case. But at least I will know exactly what I'm facing. What I imagine is usually a whole lot worse.

All that wisdom AND a haircut. Not a bad day.