Dog Tail

For the past week, Fiorella has been anticipating a blessed event--a new dog, a big lug the animal shelter calls Bowser, but whom Fio would rename Jericho. He's a beautiful American bulldog, all one-hundred plus pounds of him. Fiorella likes big dogs, and living in the boondocks, and often in the house alone, she also likes having extra muscle around.

Bowser needed some eye surgery common to bulldogs so Fio and Husband had to bide their time, but yesterday was D Day--Dog Day.

Except it wasn't. Turns out Bowser's heartworm testing had fallen through the cracks and he wasn't free of the wigglies, as we'd been told, although he needs further testing to determine just how bad the infestation is. If it's light, he'll do just fine on the monthly pills and we could handle it. If it's dire, he'll need to be given a heavy dose of arsenic, which just might kill him, and be kenneled for three months. The shelter would pick up the tab, but the anxiety would be all ours.

The real deal breaker is that we've been told Bowser has recently exhibited an antipathy toward small dogs--and we have Son and his pug living with us now. As a last ditch effort, we're making a family trip to the shelter this morning to check out how Bowser reacts to Bosco, but the situation does not bode well.

Fiorella is a master escape artist. She's good at finding solutions, of creating happy endings in impossible situations: story plots, family finances, the summer drought. She's even dodged diagnoses of multiple sclerosis, diabetes, histoplasmosis, and cancer. But sometimes there is no way out.

She mourns the Jericho that never will be.