Having owned and housed various Danes across the past several years, many of whom have come with health or disability issues, and then having felt our way through goat and miniature horse ownership, we have had a front-row seat for veterinary care for treatments ranging from spays to sutures. I have held goats as they were being de-manned, and squatted alongside the Vet in our front yard as I learned about a “brave cut” while gelding the horse. We have learned about blood conditions, cherry eye, endometric eyelids, stenosis, colds, osteoporosis, and displaysia; we have explored the full landscape of the wonderful world of NSAIDs, and treated lots and lots of UTI/bladder infections.
K pointed out yesterday that Presley had gone out like clockwork every hour overnight, prompting us to wonder if she might have a UTI/bladder infection of some sort. Presley had dealt with such issues in the past, making her a prime candidate for these types of ongoing issues. K mentioned she has the day open today, so she would be happy to take Presley in to see Doc. Well, even if she is somehow able to wrangle Presley into the CRV and get her over to see Doc, I know from past experience: we will need a urine sample.
Knowing my chance would surely come to collect such a sample, and believing firmly that chance favors the prepared mind, I loaded my pocket with a syringe and one of the little vials we have re-purposed for taking urine samples in to Doc. Seriously. We have done this enough to have designated containers for this purpose.
Sure enough, a short while later, I followed Presley as she wandered out into the yard for a potty break. She squatted and I tiptoed up behind her with the vial, trying to make a “clean catch.” For my trouble, my hand was given a warm sprinkling, the vial remained empty, and Presley scooted away from me, shooting a disgusted look over her shoulder. In retrospect, I can’t really blame her. But I wasn’t done. I didn’t have my sample. Thankfully, Presley wasn’t done, either.
She re-squatted a few yards up the path to finish the job she started, and in a desperate attempt to make my catch, I ran up behind her, cupped my hand, and thrust it into the stream. I dipped the vial into the puddle I had gathered in my hand, and stood up triumphantly, at least until I fully processed that I was feeling a sense of accomplishment while holding dog urine in my hand. My feeling of triumph was slowly replaced by a sense of wonderment about what I would do now that I had my uncapped sample in one hand and a fistful of uncontained urine in the other.
I did what any reasonable, college-educated person who suddenly found herself standing with urine in her hand would do. I began calling for K to come save me. She padded outside, shot me a questioning look as I stood there with my urine hand-cup, and without a word, took the sample vial from my “free” hand. She then held open the door and waited as I dumped the hand-cupped urine out onto the ground and followed Presley into the house. I washed my hands and capped the vial off, but somehow I can’t get Presley’s disgusted look and my concurrence in her sentiments out of my mind.