Petra has come home. It took ½ hour to coax her out of the back seat of the Toyota Tundra. Not a soul was around to help me lift her, sedated by 80%, out. She resisted me lifting her front end, and that was unusual for her. So I finally gave a serious yank, and instead of using the platform I set for her; she leaped, and leaped out. I hope that she did not disrupt the line of staples keeping her abdomen closed.
She now’s deeply asleep. The cone around her head will hopefully ensure that she does not work at those staples. A diet of boiled chicken and white rice awaits for her tomorrow, Jeff the Chef will prepare.
When she is buff, Petra and I walk miles daily. She demonstrates a near perfect heel, and stops at each street corner and goes into a ‘sit.’ This behavior changes when another dog is spotted. I’ve heard from many dog behavior experts about that, mostly faulting me, arguing that she should be more respectful of my ‘Alpha’ position and disregard the other dogs. She’s a Black Russian, and Me thinks that they are more liable to address other dogs than not, owner’s pleas notwithstanding.
Thank you to all who expressed their concern. She had nearly died, with severe ‘bloat’ and a stomach that rotated 180 degrees. The heft of your combined well wishes surely helped win the day for Petra.
Shaved legs and underbelly will soon, I hope, give Paws of Munhall, her groomers, fits. That’s the kind of concern I look forward to, not the fear (it turned out to be fear) that Petra would slip away . . . Oh, and the Vet surgery bill was itself Very impressive.
And it was to be an average, routine weekend.
Black Russian blues.