Princess Puppy Goes Camping

Last week I went camping. Don't ask me why. I hate camping. Truly. But I thought the dogs would enjoy it. Remy had the chance to be Sailor Dog the week before and he was so cute, I suppose my fantasy extended to camping. I'm a very, very foolish girl.

As I said in my previous post, there were hordes of mosquitoes. Fucking hordes. We sprayed the dogs the best we could, but these were Evil Mosquitoes. There were still clouds of them around all of the dogs.

We built a fire and then went on the search for more firewood. Remy and Ruby were in dog heaven. The smells!! The places to pee!! The lack of a leash!!! Oh, heavenly day!!

I turned around to see Ruby several feet away with her face in the dirt. "What disgusting shit are you eating now?" Because this is what my Ruby Tuesday does. She eats shit, for Pete's sake! I called her, but she just looked at me and stuck her face back in the ground. I walked over to scold her, only to find that she had vomited and her face had blown up to grotesque proportions. Bumps all over her head. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut. Feeling her throat, I found bumps all along her neck. She looked like the Elephant Man in canine form. I was first horrified and then terrified.

Boston Terriers are brachycephalic dogs, which means that their airways are much shorter than other dogs. Their palates are softer and they are much more susceptible to breathing problems on a normal day. Add in a bad reaction from insect bites and it's a recipe for disaster. I called for Wife, trying to hide the panic in my voice.

Wife is an animal trainer and has worked in veterinarian's offices. I trust her judgment and asked what I should do, all the while cradling my Princess Puppy in my arms and begging God, the Universe, Whoever not to take her from me. I had brought ibuprofen for us, anticipating headaches from our night of drinking. She suggested I give her one to help with the swelling. I wrapped it in cheese, pushing the other dogs away. They hadn't properly earned a treat, being far from death.

We put Ruby in the car, to keep her from any more bites while we went to the three camp sites close to us to see if they had any Benadryl. Me with tears in my eyes, trying not to completely lose my shit. "We have Advil. " "We have ibuprofen." That is not what I asked for. Benadryl is not Ibuprofen. If I ask you for meth, are you going to offer me marijuana? Of course not.

I checked on her obsessively. At first, she laid on the car seat. Two minutes later, she was in the back seat. She perked up her ears when she saw me peering at her through the tinted window. I figured if she were alert enough to be curious about me, she'd be okay.

I left her in the car until we went to bed. She'd never been camping and had no idea what to do in a tent. She looked at me with her swollen face and an expectant look. Finally, she figured it out. She spooned into me. With her ass towards my face. And farted. I didn't care. I breathed that fart in like it was air freshener. It meant that my puppy was with me. Alive. I didn't sleep that night. I kept waking up to make sure she was breathing. If I couldn't feel her breath, I'd shake her until she stirred or snorted. She didn't get much sleep either.

In the morning, her swelling was reduced to one odd eye and a goiter on her neck. We had to leave our campsite for one without zombie mosquitoes and ended up at Sparks Lake. When she fought Candy for food, I was pissed. Bitches always fight over the dumbest stuff. And they got dirt in my macaroni salad. But I also breathed a sigh of relief.

I think my Princess Puppy has more in common with me than I thought. She's a city girl. She likes hotels and pillows. Ice water and fresh vegetables.

And, apparently, Benadryl.