Teeth, teeth, teeth

Andrew is home, feeling miserable, after his wisdom teeth extraction.

The Cattle Dog is going to the vet this afternoon because she has a broken tooth that is may be bleeding. It is a canine (the tooth that is, although the dog is too) and there is definitely a reddish spot in the middle of it.

And I am an evil person because we just spent $250 for her swollen foot (which is now better) and I am resenting having to spend however much more money now. I mean, one budgets for yearly visits and shots, but not for things like this. Terrible thoughts go through my head -- like how much I would be willing to pay for her if I was buying her and how I don't really like having two dogs anyway. I like each dog, but the thing where the Cattle Dog has to keep proving that she is the dominant one is annoying. Although the thing where the Cattle Dog uses her natural herding skills to keep the Shih Tzu in one place while the brain damaged cat that can't run or jump gets away is pretty cute.

I've been putting every cent of money I can identify as "extra" into the fund to take all seven of us out to dinner at a nice restaurant to celebrate Andrew's graduation. I'd like to take them to the fondue restaurant because I know they would all love it and because a meal there takes at least two hours. Carl and Evan barely know each other and I really want everyone in one place for that long. I want to enjoy the "big happy family" thing. Roland suggests that I just cook spaghetti and pay everyone $10 to sit at the table. He's joking of course. At the fondue restaurant there is something you must DO. It is an experience. I want it, and it ain't cheap.

Why is that relevant? Well, I found myself looking at the poor, sweet, obedient, GOOD dog and thinking, "If your medical bills cost me my dinner out with the boys I will never forgive you."

I am a bad, bad woman.

No really. When we took her to the weekend-emergency vet for her swollen foot they had to give her anesthesia in order to examine her -- the fact that she was snapping when you tried to touch her foot was the reason I brought her in. She never snaps. When I had to fill out the form giving permission for the anesthesia I had to check a box indicating if I wanted her resuscitated if she had a really bad reaction. Roland saw me hesitating and said, "Check it." I looked at him and said, "Well, if G-d WANTS to take her, should we really get in the way?" He gave me "the look" and I checked the box.

Roland, pet lovers everywhere will be happy to know, will take her to the vet today. He is much more willing to spend money; always confident that it will work out somehow.

I do hope the dog will be fine. I just also hope it isn't going to cost an arm and a leg.