Well gosh darn goodness, Internet, I've been so consumed with real estate and cat pee smells and posting a hundred times a day at Mamapop that I COMPLETELY neglected to tell you what's going on with my dog's urinary tract.
I am sorry for this oversight. I know how you care. Deeply, is how you care.
On Saturday afternoon we had our windows washed, which was 1) completely thrilling, 2) an example of the violent turn towards boring my life has taken, just like the time I countered Jason's offer of pointlessly fancy shoes for Christmas with a request for a Dyson vacuum instead, and 3) an example of how my many years of Spanish language instruction failed me, as the team of window-washers only spoke Spanish and you'd THINK six or so levels of Spanish in high school and college would have left me able to converse with them just slightly instead of pointing a lot while sitting there, eating a burrito, unable to remember the fucking word for "windows" (VENTANAS! God, what is wrong with me?).
And this is why I let Noah watch Dora the Explorer AND Go Diego Go. I'm only thinking of his future.
ANYWAY. The presence of the window washers upset Ceiba greatly (Ceiba: (ears back, full body mohawk in effect) BARK BARK BARK YAP YAP YAP) (Window Guy: hurón estúpido), and Noah really REALLY wanted to upend some water buckets, so I took both of them outside for a walk. Where Noah proceeded to shove acorns, mulch and pebbles into his mouth (whatever, it's great to see him eat something other than hummus and carpet lint), and Ceiba proceeded to pee and pee and pee and squat and squat and squat.
<-- This is how she squats, by the way. Balanced on her front legs with her back legs sticking straight out, which never fails to crack people up, which is great, since she's already an embarassingly-teeny freak-of-nature goofy-looking ratdog, so thanks for being even MORE WEIRD, Ceibs.
Anyway, after squat number eight or nine I finally started thinking that hey! I know that feeling. I know that feeling very well.
(WHY DOES MY DOG ONLY GET SICK ON THE WEEKENDS? WHY CAN SHE NOT CONFINE HER ILLNESSES AND INJURIES TO NORMAL BUSINESS HOURS?)
Blah. So off to the 24-hour emergency vet place, where I learned that 1) Animal Planet still shows back-to-back-to-back episodes of The Crocodile Hunter, oh my GOD, 2) urine cultures for dogs do not involve peeing in a cup, although if they'd just been patient I'm sure I could have made that work, since it's not like I'm above totally embarassing myself in front of people in regards to Ceiba's evacuation habits, 3) the visit cost THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THREE DOLLARS, and 4) we accidentally let our pet insurance lapse sometime earlier this year, FUCK ME.
I don't think I will be getting that Dyson after all. I will, however, be sticking festive bows on Ceiba's butt at every occasion. Merry Christmas!
We got the results of the World's Most Expensive Urine Culture back this morning, and it actually showed no evidence of an infection. Which means the constant squatting and fever could be a stone. I don't know. I think she seems better on the antibiotics, so I am hoping we just caught a UTI super early? Or maybe she's just perfecting her balance beam routine for the Olympic qualifiers?
On the plus side, her urine sample revealed no evidence of doping.