Why I Love Dogs More Than People (Subtitle: the Bitch With the Kate Spade Bag)

Love me some Stinkyfeet
Stinkyfeet is sick. She’s been ill for a few weeks now, and while we’re all hoping it’s nothing serious (and the tests we’re doing keep ruling out the truly awful things), it’s still a lot of trips to the vet and the vet hospital. I should add that her illness appears not to be terminal, she’s in exceptional spirits aside from the pain, and she’s only seven – for a dachshund, not very old. For all these reasons, it seems appropriate to order the ultrasound and the x-rays and try and cure her. Yes, it costs more than I’d like. 
I am fortunate to be in a place where, although it’s a concern, the cost is something I can handle. We will adjust our budget and make sure she gets the care she needs. Even when I was broke, though, I wasn’t above a payment plan for pet care. I readily accept that choosing to have a pet in your life means that sometimes you’ll have higher vet bills than you’d like. You’re responsible for a life. Period. End of story.
Which is why the little scene I witnessed at the vet hospital today still has me so angry. While I was settling the bill, another woman came up to the counter to pay. She was very upset at her bill. I freely admit I didn’t hear the entire exchange, but I did hear “but it was only one night” and – this gets me – “had I know it would be this much, I would have put him to sleep.”
Now, this particular hospital, Blue Pearl, is not inexpensive, but both times we’ve been there, they’ve given us a “high” and a “low” estimate before they did anything but the exam. It’s entirely possible I mis-heard this woman, but I doubt it – she was six feet away and it wasn’t loud or crowded. When she made the comment about euthanizing her dog – loudly, in front of people and kids who were waiting to see if their own dogs were going to survive the day – I looked over at her.
She had a Kate Spade bag, diamonds, and clothes that clearly didn’t come from the local discount store. Me? I’m in my Old Navy dress and $2.50 flip flops. 
I paid my bill, gathered up my sick puppy, and left for the car, steaming at her. It’s not my business to say anything, and I know full well that her diamonds could have been passed down through her family and the bag could have come from Salvation Army. Still… also in the waiting room was a family who’d been there with their dog for no less than eight hours. They had no clue what was wrong with the dog, and they were clearly sick over it. Nothing excuses that comment and how it must have made them feel. 
This is just a rant because I’m exhausted and worried about my dog and things like this remind me why I love her more than most people. Mostly, though, I pity her dog. He loves her, I’m sure, and trusts her to do what’s best for him, and her reaction is to not only put a price tag on his life, but to announce to all the world that she would rather kill him than pay for the care she believed he needed.
I’m done. I’m going to hug my dog.

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I write. I take pictures. I love my dog. I love Florida. My 2016 book, 'Backroads of Paradise' did really well for the publisher and now I feel a ridiculous amount of pressure to finish the second book.