Drunk
Poor old B. I dropped her off this morning at the vet, fighting the urge to tell the vet once again that Greyhounds can react badly to anaesthetic. I’d already given her the number for J’s vet (bit of a greyhound expert), and printed off a piece that someone had written about giving greyhounds anaesthetic, and frankly I thought she might slap me if I flapped any more, so I gave B a big kiss, and drove home.
When I called at 4pm they said she was ‘in recovery’, but her surgery had gone well and told me to pick her up at 7 as she was being a bit slow coming round. Well, at 7pm I went to pick her up and she was drunk as a skunk. We had to lift her into the back seats (no way we could get her into the hatch, and until she finally laid down she whacked me in the back of the head about four times with all her stumbling around. When I finally got home I had to get hubby to carry her in as she was completely gone.
We began to suspect that, instead of being in the vet, she’d actually been down the pub with the girls. In fact, all that was missing was smudgy make-up, the hiccups and her skirt tucked into her knickers at the back. This suspicion got stronger as she started staggering around in the kitchen, trying to find something to eat (ah, the old midnight munchies eh?) and every so often, in an embarrassingly familiar way, had to sit down hard with a bump when she lost her balance. In the end we got her to lie down, but every time we walked past, she lifted her head up then let it go crashing down again onto the tiles – I was worried she’d end up brain damaged.
Hubby got quite cross with me actually because I’m ashamed to say I found it all quite funny. The last straw was when we took her outside and she just couldn’t stay upright in order to wee – every time she tried to squat she fell over. I tried really hard to keep my composure under his evil eye, but ended up holding my stomach with tears running down my cheeks as the giggles took over (I wasn’t allowed to laugh out loud in case I ‘upset her’. Is this the same hubby who stumped off to bed muttering ‘f*cking dog’ when she ran away the night before last? In the end we left her to sleep it off, and spent the entire evening listening to her snoring loudly from the next room. Ah well, a horrible hangover is a small price to pay for sparkly teeth I guess.
