|We were on the other side of the road and when they saw us, they all came over|
|Zoe eyes the cows from inside the car|
I don't know if the Chinese herbs are starting to kick tumor ass, as my friend Dan has put it, but something is working to balance out her constitution, and that's cause for me to rejoice.
|Just say "aaah!"|
|Finding the points|
|Resting while the needles are in|
"Okay," I say, but I'm hesitant. She's been through so much. I was thinking today would be a feel-good fix, a put-in-the-needles and charge up the endorphins day, a reward for enduring with such grace the other needles that are an unfortunate fixture of her life. Our mission on this visit to the vet's is to make her feel terrific, a fun prelude to a weekend in Vermont at play with our friends, canine and human. Surgery, even a minor procedure, is a lot more than we bargained for, but my husband pressed against that nubbin the other day and she yelped in pain, so if we can fix one thing on her body that causes her discomfort, I'm for it.
|Dr. Emily Bond has a nice bond with Zoe|
"She looks great," he says, as he puts in today's acupuncture needles: the triple heater spot, the will to live spot, the appetite spot, and more. "Good color, and she looks well nourished. She's keeping her weight on." I want to write everything down he says for blog purposes, but I'm too distracted trying to take pictures while also admiring Zoe's lovely tongue.
Later, Dr. Bond (Emily), whom Zoe adores, and Kate, Zoe's new best friend, prep Zoe for surgery. I get to be with her the whole time. I'm not giving you the one picture I took that was kind of graphic because I know some of you read this blog during the breakfast hour. I have discovered that I have a very strong stomach, even when it's my dog's tissue we're looking at, as long as I know she's safe and that the end result will make her feel better.
|All I could see was her tongue|
|She's had surgery, and she wants more treats|
Today, like the other two times we've been here, Zoe ran up the ramp before her appointment began and couldn't wait to go inside. But now that being here wasn't just about getting an endorphin surge and she's spent some time under a green tent getting a clump removed from her head, I'm not sure if she'll always be so thrilled to come here. We shall see. But when we leave the surgery, she wags her tail and darts into another room, on the hunt for a kitty. She asks for more treats, and endures everyone's hugs and pats with good humor.
"She's such a good dog," everyone says as we get ready to leave. I can't take any credit, really. She has always been like this. Calm and patient and good. I give her some water before we drive away and watch as she laps it up with that fine pink tongue. Funny the things I find beautiful now. My dog drinking water in the back of the car while snow clouds gather on a late April afternoon is a sight that fills my heart. "Aaah," I say, sticking my tongue out at her, not caring if anyone sees. It's just another word for awe.