The Beer Bitch

I drink beer. I am a bitch.


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This is a little tough to write.

I have the day off today, so I wanted to blog a bit about the
apricot jam I made the other day, the chocolate chip cookies that
finally (after 29 years of attempts) turned out right, the new pickle
recipe I found online, or the freaking kimchi recipe I promised forever
ago, but never got around to blogging.

But, today hasn’t turned out exactly as planned.  Our poor little
Ginger is at the doggy hospital right now.  She had two seizures this
morning, and they were really scary.

Sean came running to get me while I was putting on my makeup this
morning saying that there was something wrong with the Ginger.  I ran
out into the living room to find her on her side, convulsing, her
little legs twitching and foaming at the mouth.  It only lasted for a
couple of seconds, but it was awful.  All I could do was hold her shaky
little body until it was over.  She’s usually not very cuddly, but she
didn’t try to pull away from me at all; I think she was as scared as I

I called the vet, who told me they didn’t have any time to see her
today, and I should call the emergency vet.  The emergency vet told me
it wasn’t a big deal, and most likely she wouldn’t have another
seizure, so I should just keep notes if she did.

So I watched her.  She was shaky, and nervous.  She couldn’t seem to
lay down.  About three hours later she seized again, and we bundled her
up to take to the emergency vet.

The vet was really nice.

He watched little Ging run into the walls as she circled around the
examination room.  She’s a circler, and we’ve taken to calling her
circling “sharking.”  Our little “land shark.”  It’s been a little joke
around the house, but it turns out that it’s not such a joke.

She’d run right into every wall before turning.  I’ve been speculating for a few weeks that she couldn’t see.  The vet agrees.

My mom just asked the other day if I thought something was really
wrong with her, to which I answered, “No.  I think, like Helen used to
say about Diane, she’s just retarded.”  We both laughed.  I know
retarded is not a PC term.  But Helen, a family friend, has a daughter
who is about Sean’s age.  When Diane was still in the womb the
umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, and she was brain damaged.
Diane is mentally handicapped, but Helen is not one to bullshit anyone,
and tells everyone that Diane is retarded.  She doesn’t mean to
offend.  It’s just her truth.

Anyway, I thought it was just my truth that Ginger was retarded.  I
love her all the same.  She’s awkward, runs into things, she’s
unfriendly, and pretty much an all-around pain in the butt.  But, I
love her anyway.

It turns out those pain in the butt things are probably a
neurological problem that can be found in pugs. We’re not sure if we’re
going to get to take her home tonight.  But maybe.

Frank is bummed.  Sean is bummed.  And I’m certain that Ginger is
really bummed at the vet’s office instead of curled up next to Frank in
the living room.

So, here I am looking for pictures of my retarded dog.

I don’t have very many good ones.  She always looked so awkward.

This is her looking at me awkwardly.

This is her NOT looking at me.  She never can cooperate.  Also, she
was licking the couch.  See that wet spot there.  She’s a couch licker.
What a weirdo!  That’s also water on her back.  She stands in the flow
of water being poured into her water bowl.  I realize now it was
because she couldn’t see.

That’s her looking at me with one eye.  Sean calls her “town and
country.”  ‘Cause one eye’s looking to town and one eye’s looking to

I’m having a hard time, and trying to joke.  But to be honest, I’m trying really hard not to cry.

OK, to be really honest, I’ve been crying most of the day.

I really hope she makes it home tonight.


Written by thebeerbitch

July 25, 2008 at 10:54 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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