Leavitt-y: A Real Dog of a Day
by Josie Leavitt,
September 22, 2011, page 9.....

I had a day off last month, and I was anticipating a busy day filled with fun and productive things.  What I got was an astounding melange of ever-increasing, unbelievable calamities.
It started early. My 13-year-old dog, Theo, was increasingly uncomfortable after breakfast. Endless pacing was accompanied by intermittent howling. I put Theo in the car and raced to my vet’s office. I was driving fast, very fast, and not paying attention to anything until I noticed a police car from Colchester parked in a driveway. Rather than think, “Oh, I better slow down,” I just kept looking at the cruiser, wondering why a cop from Colchester was in Shelburne. I passed him and then he put on his blue lights.
I was not surprised. I did something that I had no control over. I started to cry. Not because I was afraid of the cop, but because I knew this was going to take a long time. Honestly, has anyone ever gotten a ticket in less than 15 minutes? I found my license, but had the wrong registration. I told him why I was speeding (I’ve been pulled over four times and every time I admitted to speeding, I didn’t get a ticket). I actually asked him if he could just mail me the ticket, so I could keep driving. He said he thought the dog looked fine. I actually said, “Oh, you’re a vet now?” I apologized, and he took pity on me and let me go.
Once at the vet’s, it was clear the dog was really sick. Turns out he had bloat which can be a devastatingly fast killer of dogs. Theo was whisked into surgery; the vet told me he might not survive because of his age. I went home fearing the worst. 
During this waiting time I got a phone call from the spa where I had booked a fun day-off massage. They were calling wondering where I was. I apologetically explained about the dog, paid for the missed massage and thought that was the end of it. But the owner called me back to literally yell at me for not calling to cancel. Wow. Was I supposed to remember about a massage when my dog was in life or death surgery? I reminded her I paid for the missed appointment and suggested we leave it at that. Luckily, the phone call was interrupted by the vet calling to say Theo was great, and I could pick him up at five.
That week we were moving my partner’s father, Bob, to Shelburne Bay, so while I was waiting to pick the dog up, I went over to his apartment to get him packed up a little. He’s been in the hospital, so I had free run of the apartment. I should mention that Bob is a magician, so every suitcase I picked up had false bottoms and collapsible sides. Snakes popped out of cans, one suitcase had eyeballs, and I fully expected to see rabbits and doves appear in hats.
What I wasn’t expecting was the bowling ball. I moved what I thought was a joke paint can, and for some reason it had a false bottom, and a 10-pound bowling ball fell out of the paint can, onto my little toe, from a height of two feet, breaking my little toe.
Happily, the dog and the toe have healed, and I still laugh about the whole day.