Magic

It would appear that everything in my life currently needs attending to. My car just got back from the shop - did you know that if you leave $700 with your mechanic you'll get a new battery and an alternator and lose your will to live? It's true. I know.

There are a few other household things that we've been doggedly ignoring. It's amazing how you can just stop seeing things, like that splotch of paint color in the kitchen that I was "trying out" two years ago and haven't gotten around to painting over, or the hole in the ceiling that makes my brain hurt to think about fixing. It's so high up and people REALLY have to crane their necks to get a view of the gash in the drywall, so perhaps we're ok as long as we just put sparkly things in front of our guests or distract them with jazz hands.

But the dog. The dog cannot be ignored. I started getting notes from the vets office earlier this year that sang the tune of, "Kylie needs her rabies vaccination updated, lalala!" I sort of put it off for a while until a wretched, WRETCHED flea hopped on board and decided to bite the ever living shit out of Kylie which then turned into a full two weeks of scratching scratching SCRATCHING to which I recall saying to Marc, "This doesn't seem right...she never scratches this much," to which he responded, "Meh, she's fine. Did you finish this episode of How I Met Your Mother WITHOUT ME?" And since this is my blog, I feel entitled to point out that Marc will sneeze and IMMEDIATELY take himself to the doctor, all while gripping his throat, clawing at his eyes and screaming, "BLARGH! I HAVE THE PLAGUE AND AM DYING IS MY WILL IN ORDER?" He'll also mysteriously come down with the same symptoms I have whenever I fall ill and sequester himself into the best corner of the couch for a day or two, asking that I stop typing so loudly and will I make him some tea? It's true. It will be interesting to see what happens should I ever bear a child.

Anyways, this flagrant hypochondria does not extend outside of his own orbit, meaning I had to physically point out a raw spot on the dog and say, "I'm taking her to the vet RIGHT NOW!" to which he responded, "Are you sure it's not just the lighting in here that's making that area red?"

So. Fleas. I won't go into what kind of work that caused me as I'm still recovering from all of the laundry and scrubbing and apologizing I did to my dog for not taking her in the minute I suspected something was wrong. BUT, while I was at the vets, I decided it might be the right time to get the rabies vaccination updated. I mean, let's get this shit DONE. Kylie hates the vet and uses each visit to almost physically crawl up my body and wrap herself around my head all while shedding her entire coat of fur. There are not enough lint rollers to combat THAT, let me tell you.

I told the vet we were seeing that day that we ought to also follow the vaccine protocol and get Kylie updated. I should mention that he's not our usual vet and was someone I requested we NOT see again while checking out. He liberally smattered expletives throughout his speech, which is totally un-fucking-professional, and I think had this idea of me the moment he saw me...that I must be the kind of girl who sups on caviar and sleeps in the Chanel boutique at Neiman Marcus. I disliked him almost immeidiately.

So the vaccine. I mentioned it. He looked at me quizzically and said, "I think that vaccines are bullshit. Unless you're in an area where she is going to come into contact with wild creatures, she's fine." Um, like bears and bats and coyotes and things of that nature that you see when you're in the back country? Because she sees those things a LOT - our recreational activities involve carrying large amounts of gear deep into the wilderness where we then sleep on the ground and poo behind trees. I said as much (minus the poo) and the vet looked at me in complete disbelief and then said, "No, I mean, like WAY back in the woods...NOT just car camping." That's when I kicked him in the head.

I finally just said, "Look, just give me the vaccine." He seemed put out that I would at all challenge his opinion, but at this point we were neck deep in tufts of Kylie's undercoat and he fled the scene telling me he would send in a tech to administer the shot. I swear he told the tech to really go for it as she walked in with a needle the size of which I hadn't seen outside of a Halloween novelty store. This thing could have stitched a leather couch together. The tech was bubbly and sweet and trying to coax Kylie out from underneath my legs where I assume she was saying things like, "Fuck, NO!" I asked the tech to ratchet down her enthusiasm a notch since at this point Kylie was in danger of leaving the office bald. Finally, she just sort of wrapped her fist around the syringe all Dexter style and JAMMED! it into Kylie's rump. Kylie just wilted against my legs and looked up at me in a way that said she would rather have been left on the streets of LA if being rescued by me meant THIS sort of abuse. Especially since she didn't even get a fancy band-aid or a lolly pop. Just a smack on the ass and a GOODGIRL from the tech who left promptly...probably to go and find the nearest lint roller.

Regardless, my dog now has super human blood and can go and smack a bat or lick a monkey or harass any feral creature and not be in danger of dying a foamy death. She is magic. Marc is jealous. There is nothing he can come up with health wise to compete with magic blood. Though I'd like to see him try.