Memaw Strikes Again

Warning: I have another Memaw story to tell.

Depending on how well your bladder is aging & how keen your sense of humor, you might consider a quick tinkle trip to the loo before you continue on. When Memaw first told me this story about 2 years ago, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both. And, let me tell you, if I hadn't been crying from laughing, I might have been crying from embarrassment. Especially when I consider for one moment that some of her nuttiness charm just might be genetic.

I hope I do her story justice. Remember: This is her story, told my way.

Memaw and Pepaw have a little Shih Tzu named Precious. Yes, Clarice, that's the dog's name, and for some reason, it adds dimension to the story. Anyway, it had been a while since Precious had been groomed and the poor puppy was having problems, as Memaw put it, shoo-shooing.

Oh, yes, this is a puppy poo story. Do not say I didn't warn you.

And, once I learned that this tail tale was about doggie-doo, I should have just stopped listening. I mean, there were major bells & whistles going off inside my pretty little head. But, I chose to ignore them. We all know that I'm a really big fan of morbid curiosity - it was really out of my control at this point.

So, where were we? Oh yes, the puppy’s butt hair was too long and became matted up with puppy poo to the point that her little butthole couldn't see the light of day. Constipated, backed-up and plugged-up, Precious needed an emergency visit to the vet. On a Sunday.

Memaw has limited mobility, so Pepaw was tasked with taking puppy to the vet. The vet does whatever medical procedure vets do when dogs can’t poo. Yeah, I prefer not to get bogged down with the specifics, but this is how the vet chose to earn a living, and I have no sympathy whatsoever. Let's face it, people who are smart enough to make it through vet school are smart enough to train for numerous other professions – especially ones that may not require dealing with elderly people’s constipapted dogs on the weekend.

After this rather expensive vet trip, Precious is mostly cured and Pepaw is sent on his merry way - loaded down with an obnoxious assortment of medical paraphernalia because the poo problem needed some follow-up treatment at home.

So Pepaw brought the dog home and showed Memaw a wide array of latex gloves, syringes, enema bottles, & KY jelly. Pepaw swore he couldn't remember what the doc said needed to be done, how, when or how often. I’m convinced that he knew exactly what to do but chose to play dumb. He feigned ignorance to ensure that he wasn’t slammed with dogshit doodie duty for the next week.

I mean, afterall, he did drive the dog to the vet, wasn't that sacrifice enough?

So, Monday morning rolled around & Memaw flipped through the Yellow Pages to find the Vet’s number. She dialed-up and explained her unique situation.

One ringy-dingy.

Two ringy-dingies.

Three ring . . .

Memaw: Yes, hello, my name is Memaw. I'm HausFrau's grandmother. I live in Holliday (it's in Texas). My husband, Pepaw, had our little dog, Precious, in to see you yesterday. She's the little Shih Tzu with the pink bows who had shoo-shooing issues.

Memaw: Pepaw can’t remember what we are supposed to do to fix the poo-poo problem.

Memaw: Pepaw came home, driving his green Caddy, with all this stuff and we don't know what to do with it. Can you tell me what to do?

Are we supposed to just rub the KY on the outside of her anus to help her poo?

Or do we stick it up into her rectum, using the gloves and syringe? You know, kind of like a little doggie KY enema?

If so, how much KY needs to be squirted up in there? How do you measure that?

How far past her anus would the syringe need to be placed? That is, if that’s how we are supposed to do it.

Again, I'm just the over-eager messenger. And, I warned you back a few paragraphs that this wasn't a skittles & sunshine post. If you are still reading, it's your own darn fault.

Hey, I was still listening at this point too. It's kind of like watching the proverbial train wreck - it's just too hard to turn away.

A n y w a y,

According to Memaw, she goes on & on making sure that the vet is not confusing her and Pepaw with any other grandparents who brought a Shih Tzu into the Emergency Center for failure to properly poop any time in the last decade just the day before.

Once she was convinced that the vet knew exactly who she was, exactly where she lived and the exact doggie diagnosis, she took a breath and paused just long enough for a reply. Anxiously, awaiting professional medical advice.

And, the vet responded:

Ma’am, I believe that you’ve dialed the wrong number.

Now that guy. He's the one I have sympathy for.

Moral of the Story: To save yourself embarrassment, make darn sure you are talking to the Pizza Guy before you order an XL pepperoni.