somebody better call the cops

I assume if you have a pet then you have probably given them a voice. Something uniquely fitting to his or her personality. Greta is a Muppet. A female Grover if you will. This particular Muppet is also a bit of a pillow thief. Every time she manages to steal my boyfriends pillow, he turns to me and tells me to call the cops. I always say, “huh? why?” and he says, “Because someone stole my pillow.” and we laugh like children.

Today was Ms. Muppet’s surgery day, and what a lonely day it has been. I dropped her at the vet at 8am and won’t get to see her again until late tomorrow afternoon. That may not seem like a long time, but I don’t think I’ve slept in my apartment without her since I adopted her. While parking outside the vet, I noticed a beautiful white pit bull going into the animal hospital…she only had three legs and looked perfectly content. I took this as a positive omen.

When asked at the front desk what the nature of our visit was, I said that Greta was having her front left leg amputated. The tech behind the counter immediately melted and started sharing stories of all the wonderful tripawd pets that come into the hospital. I was told that the surgery would happen between 12-6pm, and that I would receive a phone call before and after the procedure. Promptly at 12:02, I got a phone call that she was headed into surgery and she would be out in about 60-90 minutes. I tried to do some work from home, but decided that taking a nap would pass time more quickly. I slept for an hour and a half, and as I got ready for my 2pm meeting, I tried not to keep checking the clock. Sitting through my hour meeting was practically torture, and I kept pushing thoughts of the Anesthesia / CPR waiver I had to sign out of my head. When my meeting wrapped up with still no word from the vet, I practically ran outside to call him. The tech said that Greta was still in surgery but assured me everything was going well and the doctor would call me in 15 minutes.

The doctor called exactly 15 minutes later and assured me that everything went great. The surgery lasted quite a bit longer than estimated because the tumor was larger than anticipated (grapefruit size). It had started to erode the bone and work its way into the muscle. This made me feel very fortunate that I opted for amputation and not radiation therapy. He patiently answered all of my questions and said to give them a call at 10am tomorrow to arrange a time to pick her up later in the day.

Since then, time has been crawling. As we sat over a beer tonight, my boyfriend and I talked about the fact that neither one of us wanted to go to my house because she wouldn’t be here. We wondered what she thought when she first woke up from surgery. We got sad for a moment. So I said (in my best Grover voice), “Umm…hey guys…somebody better call the cops. Somebody stole my leg.”

Sometimes a sense of humor helps.

Greta's last photo as a 4-legged pup

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