I came home a few Fridays ago thinking I would have a nice relaxing weekend.  That wasn’t what I got.

The first indication something was off: Hershey’s celebratory barking was much louder than usual.  I thought she was just extra excited for me to be home…  Then I got to the front door.

It became immediately apparent WHY her barking was so much louder and I had a pretty good idea from past experience what had happened.  If any of the CSI series are to be believed,  all the glass on the outside indicated the force breaking the glass must have come from the inside.

We have a number of neighborhood cats who like to hang out or cross my porch at various times of the day.  Hershey has gotten it into her head that she must ferociously bark at these cats and throw herself at the window for good measure.

I’m guessing she did just that sometime in the afternoon (the window hadn’t been like that when my Mom checked on them at 11:30) and the window, having had as much as it was going to take, fought back in the only way windows know how.

Coming in, I did a quick check of the dogs, didn’t see any blood anywhere on them or around the house and thought I’d lucked out with just a broken window.  A not as quick as I would have liked excursion to the hardware store later, I had tape and cardboard to cover over the window long enough to find a place to do glass repair…on a Friday.  As I was taping up the window I noticed Hershey licking  her paws…  I hadn’t lucked out with just a broken window after all.  Jumping at the window she had managed to cut herself on both wrists.

A couple of calls, a hastily covered window, and a cancelled trip to the gym later, Hershey and I were off to the vet’s office.

I’ve heard tales of some weirdo animals who LOVE going to the vet. Hershey is not one of them.  Early on I thought I was at least getting her used to going to the vet’s when we went pet supply shopping.  I had her get on the scale, get a weight, and then we’d leave and do what we needed to in the store.  What I was really teaching her was if you get on the scale you can leave and we don’t have to see the vet!  If we stick around in the lobby for a while she gets nervous.

This time she was also getting the lobby a bit bloody as well.  It wasn’t much, but one of the cuts had opened and was staining the floor with my dog’s precious bodily fluids.

After not too long a wait the doctor came out took a look at her and declared that staples would do the trick, they wouldn’t even have to knock her out (ouch!), and did I have a half hour or so to wait around?  Of course I did!  I walked Hershey to the door to the back of the office, as always feeling bad that I can’t make her understand this is for the best.

While she was being patched up, I wandered around the shopping center, picking up a few things I needed from a home improvement store, and eyeing all the carbs at a grocery store.  Before getting her to the vet I had pretty much been all business, and no emotion.  I was concerned, of course, but it didn’t turn into panic.  Now that my part of the crisis was over and all I could do was wait, all the what-ifs, and the jitters that had been held at bay came for a visit, flitted around the inside of my skull, and persistently hinted that a box of chocolate glazed doughnut holes might make them go away…

The vet called before I succumbed to frosted temptation, and I hurried back to retrieve my dog.  She had been a perfect, if scared, angel for them and hadn’t even noticed when they put the staples in!  We were given antibiotics, told the wrappings could be removed on Wednesday, and made an appointment for the Monday after that to have the staples taken out.  Soon she was back home, and able to pose for pictures with her victim in the background.

Shortly after that, she received the crowning glory of all dogs who make poor choices and live to tell the tale, The Cone of Shame.

Next time:  Window vs. Erik