To vet or not to vet. That is the question you ask when you’re out of town and you have your dog and your dog inexplicably — I don’t even know how this happens! — gets stung by a wasp between her toes. And this prompts an insect-induced stupor that makes you think she is either having a serious allergic reaction or joined the zombie corps.
There is no better way to start a family reunion than with a dog injury and a moral conundrum: Do we take her in or not? Because every pet owner knows that if you take your animal to the emergency vet on a weekend, you’ll find out you over-reacted and your wallet is now thinner. But every pet owner also knows that if you don’t, something will be seriously wrong, your dog will die a horrible death and your daughter won’t speak to you until she’s 35.
Whew! Talk about pressure. It’s a conundrum.
My sister was down from Chicago, and a mass of Thompsons had converged upon my dad’s house on the lake in Tampa. There were dogs. Many, many dogs. And when dogs get together, they do stupid stuff that inevitably injures someone in the most preposterous way.
“Dad!” my daughter said. “Something’s wrong with Lily.”
The pitiful dog stood there with a back paw held aloft like it was on fire.
“I think a wasp stung her,” she said. It made sense. My daughter had been stung in the same spot the night before.
No big deal … until the dog went from mild-hobbling to strange breathing and general stupor-fication. She had to be picked up, and she looked around as if to say, “I’m going to the promised land now …”
That’s when the wild theories rang out.
“This doesn’t seem normal for a wasp bite,” I mused. “Is that definitely what it was? Maybe she was bit by a cottonmouth by the lake?”
“COTTONMOUTH!!!” my daughter gasped.
“Or a wild, deranged coyote,” someone else chimed in. “Dad said they’re around here.”
“DERANGED COYOTE!!!” the kid gasped again.
We did quick Google searches. We tried to force a pink Benadryl down her throat. We pondered mixing up balms. And then we settled on the one thing that every dog owner uses to determine whether a vet is necessary: the cookie test.
“See if she’ll eat a cookie!”
And she didn’t. Gasps all around. That was it. Off we went.
At the front desk they asked what was wrong. Simple: We think she was stung by a wasp, she is in a deep catatonic state and more importantly … SHE FAILED THE COOKIE TEST!!!
“Barb,” the receptionist called out. “Another cookie test failure.”
And this, of course, is the dog’s cue to make you look dumb. Because the minute we were ushered back to the exam room – making us a billable customer – she made a miraculous recovery. She started sniffing around and acting as if nothing ever happened … right as the vet came in.
“Um, so why are you here?” she asked.
“Oh, you know … just figured you could use some free money,” I said. “Do you have a cookie, by any chance?”