Monday was already shaping up to be a nasty piece of work and the last thing I needed was a constipated dog. So suddenly the schedule was scrambled to accommodate a trip to the vet.
We found a vet a couple of months ago, not far away in a new business park. I'm sure at one point this was to be the bustling hub of commerce for yet another new master planned community. But then the bubble burst and the homes never materialized and now it squats all alone, an oasis in a miles wide desert of vacant trash filled lots. Fading signs still trumpet "Model Homes Opening Spring '09" above the official Bakersfield logo and motto.
The good news was, they weren't playing Glenn Beck in the waiting room, like the last time. The bad news? There was a "blockage". The dog couldn't shit.
I thought of Jamie Lee Curtis in those "Activia" commercials.
The solution was simple. They would have to give the dog an enema.
Better them than me.
They took the poor guy away and after a few minutes a nurse came in.
"You don't have a nice car, do you?"
Why in fact I once did, in a previous life, but now I don't, and what the hell did that have to do with anything?
"We've given your dog the enema, and we tried to take him out back but he didn't go. Do you have a sheet or something because he could erupt at any minute..."
Well I try to plan for most contingencies, but I'll admit that that was one I didn't see coming. So no, I didn't have a sheet. But we didn't live far. We'd have to take our chances.
He insisted on sitting on my lap on the way home and we came to one of Bako's eternal stoplights. As I sat there scanning across the abandoned homesite wasteland, he blew.
In my lap.
I'm covered with dogshit, the light finally turns green, and I look up and the first thing I see is that faded real estate sign:
"Bakersfield: Life As It Should Be"
Dear God let's hope not.
