She fell from a horse.

Maybe I jinxed her by putting my fears out “there.”  In writing.

Good news items: she was wearing a helmet, and she basically bellyflopped.  Still…

She was shaken, crying.  She clung to me like she hasn’t in a looooong time.  I was scared.  We went back into the barn so she could make peace with the horse (no bogeyman needed, thankyouverymuch).  I then carried her to the car, called the doctor’s office and started driving there.

On the way there, Sophie’s normal sassy self emerged.  I paused.  We went for ice cream.

While sufficiently distracted by the ice cream, I made her jump on one foot, recite all kinds of facts (our phone number, Quinn’s nickname, her school’s name, which horse she’d been on) and perform all manner of manual dexterity exercises.  She passed every test I could conjure.  She also claimed to not have any pain (a far cry from when we left the barn).  Frankly she could have been bullshitting me to get out of a doctor’s appointment, but I really challenged her.

So I did what any paranoid mother seeking validation would do: I texted a friend whose kid also takes lessons.  I presented the facts, and she agreed: the appointment could be cancelled.

I have been watching Sophie like a hawk the last 24 hours.  And she’s FINE.  No bruises.  No fear of going back.  Just a few small scratches.  New found passion still in tact.

By contrast, I will need to call my chiropractor in the morning to fix my back which got jacked up carrying Sophie to the car…

So naturally, spearheaded by our 5-year-old, we visited a dog bakery and had a little party to celebrate.

But rather because of our frequency of visits to the vet.

First up: Large Dog, High Anxiety

We started with the acknowledgement of Martha’s anxiety, which was hitting a fevered pitch with the ingesting of baby onesies (found later in her poop), panting and staring out the window for long periods of time, and stealing food off the kitchen counter.  Oh yeah, and peeing in the dining room, which is a well-established no-no given the volume of the big girl’s bladder.

Result: anti-anxiety medication and a dog as chilled out as her breed dictates.

Next up: The Incredible Shrinking Cat

Oliver started to shrink.  As in, he was getting thin.  Wafer thin.  So I trucked him into the vet for every test under the sun: blood, urine, stool, xray, ultrasound.  You name it, I authorized my credit card for it.

While there were some interesting (moderately alarming) results, there was nothing conclusive.  The likely culprits were not happy news: Inflamatory Bowel Disease (treatable, but special diet and/or life-long medication likely), Cancer (maybe treatable, but likely just temporarily life prolonging) or F.I.P. (fatal).  Not the best holiday news.

So we opted for surgery to try to get something definitive.

Though the biopsies ruled out cancer, nothing else is very clear.  Ollie seems better since his surgery, despite the dreadlocks from the cone-of-shame (which, let’s be honest, I haven’t made him wear since day 2).  He’s stable, even gaining a tiny bit of weight.  I’ll take what I can get.

Result: 6 medications later (one which we are still administering, and might be indefinitely), I am just clinging to the fact that he “seems better”.  More tests next week to confirm that he isn’t getting worse.

Lastly: The Self-Poisoning Dog

Ace ate 1/2 of a large-ish dark chocolate bar.

I called the vet, hoping she’d say, “Don’t worry about it.  It wasn’t enough to make him sick.”  Instead I heard, “I’d recommend for his sake you bring him in.  Or watch him tonight and take him to the emergency vet clinic if he exhibits odd behaviors.”  To preserve my own last shreds of sanity at 5:45pm on a Friday, I hauled him on down to our vet.  It was that or risk lying awake all night listening for pacing or panting.

Upon arrival, the first goal was getting him to vomit.  The drug they gave him is a morphine derivative and takes effect immediamente.  He was narc’d up in a matter of seconds, dry heaving within a minute, and had emptied his stomach with chocolately kibble shortly thereafter.

Next came the charcoal, which, after the mixed it with a thimbleful of chicken baby food, he gulped down like a delicacy he might never see again in his lifetime (and hopefully he won’t!).  The vet tech was impressed.  So was I.  But it’s not like Ace is exactly discerning.

Last came the subcutaneous fluids.  From the moment the IV bag came on the scene I saw trouble.  It was 7pm and he was getting enough fluid to create a hunchback that would absorb into his body that evening – and go into his bladder.

All in all, it was a positive trip for Ace.  Drugs, gastronomic delicacies, lots of scratching behind the ears.  Oh, and the removal of a tick from his face.

That night, the little dude had to pee approximately ever 25 minutes.  He was so out of it that pee was leaking from his penis onto his leg and he didn’t even notice.  I even put one of Quinn’s diapers on him at one point.  He didn’t care; he was a hot mess.  And kept me up most of the night to let him out to pee at regular intervals.

Result: charcoal-black poop and his own personal party on a Friday night.

Silver lining: pet insurance
Scott started a new job in September and one of the benefits offered was pet insurance.  We’d never considered it for any of our pets before (though most definitely should have), but signed up anyway.  THANK GOD.  We might actually get a fraction of the $ back, which, on the heels of the holidays, would be welcome indeed.

In the meantime, our crew has been put on notice about maintaining their healthy lifestyle we have now monetarily invested in.  It’s not a new year’s resolution, but a requirement.

Much like her mother, Sophie loves animals, always has.  She has a particular affinity for horses.  When asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she says “farmer” (equating it with riding horses all day).

So, she has been pumping me for lessons for ages.  I always had convenient (sort of) excuses.  But after going to Alisal Ranch, and attending her friend Anna’s birthday party, the bug has really taken hold.  And winter break provided the time, so…  the seal is now broken.

I can’t help but wonder if this is how my mother-in-law felt when her young son wanted to start BMX bike racing.  We want to support their passions, despite our fear of injuries.  All you can do is invest in a good helmet, ask them to use caution and judgment, and then cross your fingers (and maybe close your eyes).  Oh yeah, and open your wallet…

The good news is that a good portion of Sophie’s lessons involve a lot of prep, grooming and animal care, which she loves.  For her I think a good part of the experience is just being with the animals.

Something I am in no position to argue with…

Doesn’t look like I’ll be successful there…

Have a Holly Jolly Ollie,
He’s the best cat of our year.
I don’t know if there’ll be snow,
But have a cup of beer…

You know, like siblings.