So this whole thing started when I got home after being gone for like a week and a half working at that job thing I do in the big city. I got home fed the pets that I knew the farm sitter had already fed that were lying lie faces because lets just face it I do whatever they want me to do and then I took the dog out. Which is when I noticed that he looked a little well, bare.
As in his hair was coming off.
And then I freaked out because I knew he was scratching himself but it hadn't been that bad until I left and apparently that was the trigger for him to go to town on himself.
Itchy town, apparently.
So then I freaked out because instead of stopping to scratch two or three times a walk he was now stopping to scratch every ten feet. So then I made Scott come outside so we could stare at the dog who had these scabs all over his head and was missing hair all over his legs and looked like he had been through some sort of crazy adventure while we were gone. I briefly considered that he had been on some sort of National Treasure style hunt and these were just marks from his narrow escape and that he had secretly buried the ancient golden artifacts in the lawn but then I realized that was probably not the case. Mostly because he was gnawing at his own forelegs, but also because he is kinda dumb.
Then I told Scott that we should call the vet and then we figured out who was going to pay for this round and we decided it was going to be Scott.
And by “we” I mean “I.”
Of course it was like after the vet was closed because that's how life works so then I had to call the vet the next morning and try to get a same day appointment before Jack scratched one of his own limbs off or something. Or got like, mange. I dunno. Bad skin ju-ju. Okay the Internet was down so I was hazy on the details and Jack was fucking itchy as fuck all and I felt really, really bad for him.
Luckily the next morning at 9 O' 5 because waiting is for suckers they asked if I can make 11 and I am all like, yeah that would be great sure fantastic and then I rounded up the pet crate and a towel and some paper towels for the inevitable vomit and Jack's leash and the husband and then Scott was all like hold on I have to put the bullets in the car and I'm all like WTF and he's all like I am taking these to the gun store and then I was all like that is not how gun stores work and we have to get going because Jack could have mange and he could have been getting mange germs all over our bed for weeks and Scott was like that is not how mange works and I sold the gun that takes these rounds and the gun store is out so they offered to buy these boxes and then I look and see that not only does he have two cardboard boxes of bullets but that they are beer boxes and then I wondered if there was any way we could make this more suspicious and then I just decided to get in the damn car and then we were off.
So then we get to the vets and they do their stuff and then I tell them he doesn't have fleas and they act really skeptical and then the vet lady recommends the mites and mange test thing and Jack is looking more and more like he was having a day where he never should have got out of bed and then we tell her to do the test and then she disappears. Then the other vet lady person takes a flea comb to Jack like maybe I am super lying to her but then she doesn't find any fleas and I am all that's right motherfucker. We are flea free up in this bitch.
But I didn't say that part out loud.
So then the real vet lady comes back in and says Jack has no mites or mange so the problem is most likely allergy related and gives up some steroid pills and some antibiotics and then I also ask if bathing him will help because his coat was like super really greasy and he is a hound dog so he kinda smelled like a minotaurs butt hole. And then she recommends some of there fancy dry skin vet shampoo they have out in the lobby and on the way out I grab some of it and then do that married people thing where we ask questions with our minds and Scott gives me this look like well if you have to and then we bought the damn soap.
And by 'we' I mean 'Scott.'
So we get home and decide to give him his first round of pills and the container says “give with food” and I am all like IT'S A DOG HOW THE HELL ELSE ARE YOU GONNA GET PILLS IN IT'S FACE and then Scott is like quit shouting and help me so we shoved both pills into his face and did that thing that parents do when you make your hands into cups to catch spit up and in the end we had to hold his mouth shut until he swallowed and then we fed him like a crap ton of pepperoni.
And then I was all like, whelp time to give him a bath. So I start the water and get out the two towels, one for him and one for me and I drag him in there and put him in the tub and grab some of the super fancy as shit vet soap and lather him up and then I realize it smells really freakin weird. And then I was all like WTF and I read the label while Jack shoved his soapy head into my torso and discover that it's pina colada scented.
So he pretty much spent the rest of the day smelling like a Caribbean party. He was less then thrilled. And of course it would be the greatest shampoo ever and make his coat feel like clouds made out of softness and his dry red skin would be all like smooth and the redness would go away because now I know someone somewhere is going to be all like, “why does your dog smell like booze?”
And I'm gonna be like “you don't get to judge him he's sick!”
And then they will probably call PETA.
Anyway, the good news is that after the evening dose of meds I discovered that the steroid bottle says that the pills increase appetite so then I started sticking those damn ginormas pills into hot dogs because Jack has suddenly become a treat hound like whoa.
In a way it's like the problem almost fixes itself.
But it is all worth it to see Jack not scratching himself down to nothing. Even if it means controlling my drinking problem is a tad bit harder when my dog smells like a girls night out.