|I dropped Munson off at the veterinary surgery at about 8am with some paperwork kerfuffle that didn’t put me at the greatest ease. I was signing the necessary paperwork when I noticed that the quoted figure was much higher than what the vet had told me over the phone last week. When I looked at the breakdown of charges, it seemed to be for the full lumpectomy rather than the initial biopsy. While I would have been overjoyed to do both at once, saving Munson a lot of stress, and me a lot of money, the proper procedure had to be followed. I ended up having to leave Munson there and wait for a call from the vet at 10am to sort out the details. |
Then home and to work, and ten anxious hours.
At 6pm I could hear the unmistakeable pounding of Munson’s 51kg across the surgery floor from across the waiting room. With an Elizabethan collar strapped to his neck, he had all the grace of a drunken dinosaur ambling through a forest. The biopsied lump was stitched and wrapped in bandages, its dizzy pilot very happy to see me, even if it meant crashing into every other door-frame to get to me.
Munson hadn’t eaten since Saturday, his enthusiasm for a new meal overcoming the difficulty of getting food to his mouth without being able to lower himself to a bowl, or use his paws to assist with the delivery of a pig’s ear. The one side-benefit of his conical head gear was the residue of food grease that lingered within tongue-reach for hours…