The ODDyssey of Dingless Dooley
The following is a true story. I’m not pulling your leg none, whatsoever.
It started out as your basic, run of the mill neuter for our beloved Dooley, the chihuahuaest chihuahua you can imagine. I dropped him off at our vet all trembly and nervous, and cold, and the next morning I picked him up, all trembly, and nervous, and cold. Except one thing. Dooley’s little lipstick was run out. Like…. all the way. As they handed him over the counter I said, “Oh my” in my awkward, embarrassed voice. “Someone sure is glad to see me!” (I make bad jokes when I get nervous.) The vet stared back at me over her glasses. She did not giggle. She did not smile. “Dooley’s condition is a result of his sudden hormone change after his procedure. It is normal and will resolve itself.” With that, I loaded my little excited friend in the car and took him home. He snuggled into his bed, in his covers, and all seemed well.
The next morning I woke up, fixed my coffee, and went to check on my little Dooley. When I pulled his blanket back…. well… Help me Jesus. I ain’t never seen such a sight in all my life, and surly I never will. Dooley had chewed his own ding-dong off. Friends, let me repeat that. Dooley had chewed his own ding-dong off. Have you ever bit into a hotdog weenie and it hung on by a little piece of the outside skin? Well, thats what happened. I kid you not. I started screaming and carrying on, like you can imagine, spilling coffee and cuss words all over the place. Jon come around the corner in nothing but his underwear, thinking I don’t know what. I couldn’t manage actual words, only hysterical gasps, and I pointed with my shaking finger. Jon eyes just about popped out of his head, and he yelled, “Lord have mercy on us all, Dooley has chewed his goober off!!!!”
We screeched into the parking lot on two wheels and entered the vet like a hurricane. The vet looked over her glasses and calmly asked, “Can I help you?” Now, ya’ll won’t meet a calmer, cooler man than my husband, and he is real Godly too, but in a panicked outburst he blurted, “DOOLEY CHEWED HIS DONG OFF!” Except for he didn’t say ding, and he didn’t say dong. He used the other “D” word for goober. The vet squinted her eyes and without reaction said, “We are going to have to send Dooley straight into surgery. Has he had anything to eat in the last 24 hours?” I responded with a shaky voice through tears, “No ma’am, nothing other than his own goober.”
Surgery was a success. Dooley had 12 stitches in his ding dong. A frankenweenie if you will. We prayed, and prayed, and prayed, for that little dog. Some people said “God has bigger problems than your goober chewing dog!” But I disagreed. If it is important to me, it is important to God. That was about eight years ago now, and Dooley is still the chiuauahaest chiuauaha you will ever meet. Last year, his teeth rotted and we had to have our vet pull them out. I asked her if she thought maybe chewing your own goober off was bad for your teeth. She did not giggle. She did not smile. Not right then anyway, but I just bet you when she got home and took her scrubs and professionalism off, she laughed till she cried.
We learned a lot from that experience. We learned that Dooley is a meat eater, we learned God is God over the big stuff and the small stuff, and we learned that dog goober surgeries are pricy, and our vet takes a credit card.