The Sheela Dilemma

As longtime readers and real-life friends will recall, my parents have three dogs, all of whom have had blog entries dedicated to them at some point or another. The eldest of these is Sheela, the one who doesn't understand that my husband actually belongs to me and not to her. (I've got the ownership papers, but dogs can't read.)

We had a recent scare concerning Sheela because she developed a large tumor in her little eight-year-old body. We were pretty sure it was cancer, so it came as a surprise and relief to learn that it's only Cushing's syndrome, which is not uncommon in dogs and is quite treatable. Thank goodness for that.

Today, Sheela had surgery to remove the large fatty tumor from her body. The indignities to which she's been subjected are at least tolerably amusing. She's been shaved and stapled. The vet told my mother that she wasn't sure where the tumor ended and the fat began, so "I probably gave her some free liposuction while I was in there." Mom has her dressed in a baby's onesie so she leaves her staples alone.

The other two dogs are less than sympathetic to their big sister's plight. Molly is sulking over the amount of attention and fussing Sheela is receiving, while Rikki is disturbed by the hospital-ish smell she's emanating. He sniffed her wound when I was there earlier this evening, and ran away shrieking. Sheela was still too doped up to care much, fortunately.

Hands down the funniest part of the whole ordeal is the list of rules the vet sent home with Mom. Most of them are tolerably sensible; she needs to be carried outside to do her thing, can't go down or up stairs on her own, and must not be allowed to lick her incision or pull at her staples (hence the onesie). It's the first item on the list that made us laugh.

No running or jumping for the next several days.

My immediate reaction: "Has the vet met this dog?"

"I looked at her when she gave me the list," said Mom, "and said, 'Sheela doesn't run or jump. Ever.' The vet replied, 'I didn't think so.'"

"Hey, now, she does run," I objected. "She's the Squirrel Scout leader. She runs to the window when there's a sighting."

No Squirrel Scout meetings for a while, I guess. I sure hope the neighborhood will be able to survive until she's back on active duty.