Get me out of here!
There are two Labs who fart,a cat who has sniffles,another dog who snores, and some college student who comes by to check on us and who means well enough, but just doesn't bring sincerity to a fine point.
This is infinitely worse than when you go off to your workshop in Woodside and leave me because the people where you stay are allergic to dogs.
I may have complained a time or two for being left in the car while you go out hunting for supper or lunch, but you have to admit I was still happy enough to see you when you returned.
Listen, I'll make you a deal. I have a few bones buried in the back yard and I know of one place where there is a portion of a hamburger, ageing near the rose bed. I'll go sharesies on them.
I'll pick up the tab at Art's Deli next time we're in Studio City.
You're shrewd enough to get me through the check-out process here. They mean well, but oh, please, I've got work to catch up on.
Yr. Pal,
Sally
Showing posts with label Hospitals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hospitals. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
Hospitals Suck
It is said of us--by humans, I might add--that we are short on long-term memory, interested only in such things as walks, treats, and such stratagems as will give our people status among their friends. As in, What a well-mannered dog. Or, worse, I wish my dog could do that trick!
Even though it was three and a quarter years ago, I remember when Boss was in a hospital, away from his job, away from me.
Now it is my turn and although the situation is reversed, I am away from my job and from Boss. There was something said about an IV drip to ease the pain and get me out of shock, which in a way reminds me of the story Boss told me on the occasion when an artist named Zoe Strauss didn't get a Guggenheim grant she'd applied for. Well told. In fact, fuck shock, hospitals, and IV drips. Fuck not being able to work, or have any sense of getting things done.
Some dogs apparently like this kind of life, the lay-about life. There was a dog at Peet's the other day who seemed to have a handle on things. Called itself a Therapy Dog. Goes around to hospitals and rehab centers, inspiring people to get off their sorry ass and out into the weather, where there are things to be sniffed, plans to be made.
I don't mind the occasional wait for Boss in his car, which he also refers to as my office. Mostly I go to class and faculty meetings with him and we work the writers together, so the occasional wait isn't too bad.
Waiting in a hospital, on the other hand,is simply against Nature. Dogs were not meant to wait in hospitals. Dogs are meant to get on with it, to get the job articulated, to get the job done.
Of all the places in the world to be, a hospital on the lower end of Milpas, even if it is across the street from The Habit, which does a pretty good burger, is no place for a dog. No place at all.
They have got me fucking drowsy, which may be from the meds, or it may be the result of this being one boring place. When I get a nap, I'm going to look for a way out of this. I think the term is AMA, against medical advice. Being a good patient is not in my job description. I am a dog. That is my job description.
Even though it was three and a quarter years ago, I remember when Boss was in a hospital, away from his job, away from me.
Now it is my turn and although the situation is reversed, I am away from my job and from Boss. There was something said about an IV drip to ease the pain and get me out of shock, which in a way reminds me of the story Boss told me on the occasion when an artist named Zoe Strauss didn't get a Guggenheim grant she'd applied for. Well told. In fact, fuck shock, hospitals, and IV drips. Fuck not being able to work, or have any sense of getting things done.
Some dogs apparently like this kind of life, the lay-about life. There was a dog at Peet's the other day who seemed to have a handle on things. Called itself a Therapy Dog. Goes around to hospitals and rehab centers, inspiring people to get off their sorry ass and out into the weather, where there are things to be sniffed, plans to be made.
I don't mind the occasional wait for Boss in his car, which he also refers to as my office. Mostly I go to class and faculty meetings with him and we work the writers together, so the occasional wait isn't too bad.
Waiting in a hospital, on the other hand,is simply against Nature. Dogs were not meant to wait in hospitals. Dogs are meant to get on with it, to get the job articulated, to get the job done.
Of all the places in the world to be, a hospital on the lower end of Milpas, even if it is across the street from The Habit, which does a pretty good burger, is no place for a dog. No place at all.
They have got me fucking drowsy, which may be from the meds, or it may be the result of this being one boring place. When I get a nap, I'm going to look for a way out of this. I think the term is AMA, against medical advice. Being a good patient is not in my job description. I am a dog. That is my job description.
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