Dropped calls and Droppings

You maneuver up the Sepulveda pass returning from the Valley for the second time today all the while wishing there were a way to connect your iTunes from the iPhone into the trusty 2004 Highlander as well as connecting to the vibrating seatcover with speakers near the headrest. You try to field a call from the Service. You fear the reception will fail as usual since ATT&SUCK lives up to their name. Dispatch tells you the caller has some questions about a home euthanasia. You gladly accept and connect to a caller who seems to have bypassed the operator with trickery and deception. She probes your attitude about THIS reason to put her dog down. The beagle mix they rescued is biting her family. You give the speech about how the dog needs to be quarantined for two weeks BUT you hear the beeping in your headset. Call Fail. THANK YOU AT&SUCK but then you call back the service to connect to the operator and have them reconnect and you are on hold reaching the top of the Pass when the operator comes on and states the woman just had questions and as you explain to the operator about the quarantine and other measures the DAMN BEEP ending the call once again-Thank you for using AT&SUCK, how may I DROP your call? And you revel over how primitive communications have become. Did you get the point across, you wonder?

Earlier in the day in surgery you remove a lead shot bullet from a cat’s skull. The cat is missing an eye from an “accident” years ago. In your mind you try to assemble the trajectory through the eye socket to where the shot now rests lodged in the tympanic bulla. No one ever bothered to Xray the cat when the good Samaritan first brought her in after being left for dead. At the other hospital they removed the damaged eye and assumed the cat a hit by car victim. Now in your care you have battled the chronic ear infection for over a year until finally after numerous suggestions you convince the owner to xray. Unbelievable, there the shot lay on the digital rad. White metal foreign body stuck in the bulla. You realize you can reach it fairly easily and surgically remove the problem. Which you do. The cat's ear is clearing so far.

If only all cases were this cut and dried…

[DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU SICKEN EASILY]

You head back through the Pass toward Sunset sitting still the late evening logjam. Your mind wanders. You study the 405 widening project the civil engineers have going with enormous reinforced cement walls holding the mountain open for the new stream of car lanes soon to come. You are still wiped from the early morning call. Monday morning, 3AM. The witching hour…

Bleary-eyed, you drive the 10 east toward Downtown LA straight shot smooth sail not that gridlock 12 hours ago no you are cruising in on the Downtown loft community: people with lots of pets without a vet. No one seems to want to set up shop. Not yet. But you have been Downtown many times and it’s always the same scenario. Downtown parking during the day is a HUMONGOUS hassle for the housecall vet. No garage is nearby best find a meter. You discover parking garages take no credit cards. And you never carry enough cash. However, the meter DOES take credit cards. The meter is always a long trek with a cart two plus blocks around the corner. But at night, Downtown is awesome for parking and live entertainment on the stage of life. You never know what human drama is about to unfold. You are never concerned for your safety. You count on the “911” part of your brand to command some respect which it does in other hoods. And this time a loading zone is ready and waiting for you, doctor. You buzz the intercom. The owner has to come down. She’s disabled film student and her A.D.D. service dog Sporty (not his real name) You recall opening up squirrelly Sporty’s stomach a two short months ago to remove a bunch of bones and plastic. Doggy-rooter being successful kept Sporty alive just so he could get in trouble repeat offender. The lovely young woman in a wheelchair greets you with that happy-as-hell-to-see-you-again-doc look. She is cough-retching, she explains, from the awful stench going on up in her loft. Great, you think.

You enter the Downtown Deco building that reminds of Gotham City. Retro elevator doors slide open and summon you in. On the way up the owner states that Sporty had diarrhea everywhere and there is blood. You enter the loft with its spacious floorplan and picture windows with their big-ass view of the city. You gaze across the room and notice the large plastic airline kennel. From what you can tell, looks like the kennel got caught in a shitstorm. It’s completely smeared inside with feces. She directs you to the bathroom where Sporty is. You anticipate the worst. A morose creature laying in his own waste. You open the bathroom door and are perplexed by a Sporty who greets you by leaping to get out. The bathroom is a horrific bloody shit swamp. You tie the dog and find him… dehydrated. You wonder what foreign objects he dined upon this time. Last time bones and the plastic from the crate are what you removed. You search the room checking for clues not breathing through your nose: a technique perfected over the years. You explain to the woman Sporty has to go back to the hospital for X-rays. But first you must tackle the lovely task of cleaning the airline kennel. You glove up. Scoop after scoop of poop. Spraying. Wiping. Gagging. Flushing. Sopping. Wiping. Washing. Etc. You fathom bathroom cleanup after a Dodger game is easier… Finally, Sporty rides in the kennel upon your rolling cart back to the loading zone. The woman waves good bye…

But you never find any foreign material, never find the cause. Probably was somebody’s sandwich. A piece of garbage resembling food that the Sporty dog loves to get. He is lucky this time. No surgery. You tell the film director to keep an eye on him. Keep him on the halter. We must control what goes into that mouth. Don’t we all?

And now you have the Puppet cat to deal with…