30/12/2016
BOL
Pack o Wieners
Dr. Brian came around the corner next to the microscope I was peering in to with a look that puzzled me. It was somewhere between laughter and bewilderment and made his eyebrows rest at different levels on his forehead.
“You gotta go have a look at the pit bull dog in the first exam room. Just have a look at it and tell me what you think.” He said with little or no hint in his voice as to what I might see.
I stepped into the exam room as observed a nine or ten month old pit bull dog with bite wounds all over his f***y and back legs. His owner was a middle aged lady with stiff black hair and a moo moo. She was ranting something to an adolescent boy in the room who seemed to be paying no attention to her at all. It was like he had heard whatever it was she was ranting about so many times that the story was a complete bore.
When she saw me enter the room, she started to story from the beginning. This seemed to cause the young boy to give an exhale coupled with a minor sigh. I found myself totally dissolved in her story telling skills as she kept her lips pursed and her eyes large and rounded with expression.
“I looked out the front door and my pit bull was standing in the exact middle of the grass that makes up the east side of the yard. There was a pac o wieners surrounding him. They were ferocious beasts that were showing fangs and darting in and out so fast that he couldn’t defend himself. The ones closest to his head would distract him, while the ones behind him would chew up his posterior. When he would turn on the back ones, the front ones would then chew his posterior. It was horrible. They were possessed by the devil, I am telling you. There were dozens of them. I ran out the front door and screamed at them while waving a broom and they disappeared into the brush on the west side of the house. Oh my gosh, what a traumatic experience!!”
I now knew why Dr. Bryan had the strange look on his face. As her story went on, I could feel my expression molding into the one he carried to the microscope room. I was pretty sure she said, “pac o wieners”, but I wasn’t sure what that really was. It didn’t matter, the way she told the story made me have rush of adrenaline and I too was feeling the need to have round eyes and pursed lips.
I asked her what a pac o wieners was. She very abruptly snapped…..Wiener dogs….man eating, slobber frothing……wieners.
I left the room and couldn’t decide wether to laugh or foster dread for the people of her town. After all, a mere 50 miles from Lamesa, there was a pac o wieners that can out-match a pit bull.
A few days later I was coming through the lobby and encountered a rather sophisticated lady with a bleeding German Shepherd. It seemed to have bite marks all over its hind end also and I wondered if perhaps it had met the same fate as the bulldog. When I asked what had happened to the pooch, her lips pursed and her eyes rounded as the explained the series of events:
“We were taking a walk close to the park on fifth and Maple when, out of the bushes came a herd of we**ie dogs. There were dozens of them. They seemed to have no interest in me at all….only my dog. They surrounded him in a circle formation and attacked him from the rear no matter which way he faced. I was screaming and kicking, but the beasts were like piranhas attacking him relentlessly. I picked up a stick and began swinging it in all directions and finally scared them off. But my dog was wounded badly and that is why I am here.”
What? Two episodes of wiener dog savagery in a week? I felt bad for the dog, but something inside of me laughed a little more as I visualized in my head what a herd of mad we**ies must look like.
As fate would have it, the very next day a third victim made its way to our clinic. This lady was a bit more redneck than the first two and her expression was more anger driven and matter of fact. Her dog was chewed up the worst and her story involved action instead of reaction:
“The flock of wieners appeared out of nowhere and surrounded me and my red healer with bad intention. I could tell it in their bark, they meant business. They were all different colors and some had long hair, but none of them was more than seven inches tall. They surrounded us and began yipping and darting so fast that my dog had no chance. They would rear up on their hind legs as they came in for the attack. I was frantically kicking and rebuking them, but they just kept chewing up his hind end. A man working in his yard saw the event and came to aid with a shovel. We managed to run them off and they went down an alley toward the highschool. I called the animal control officer and he told me that there had been many complaints about them, but that they were clever and he could not find them. He said he was afraid that they had reverted to their primitive state and were a danger to the town!!”
“Reverted to their primitive state?” If you could have seen the cartoon bubble that popped up next to my head as I listened, it would have had a saber toothed we**ie dog with giant incisors and wooly neck hair like a male lion. Was there truly a time when savage we**ie dogs roamed the plains of Germany in giant packs, killing everything in their path?
I went to my office and wrote down a few adjectives. The ones I had heard over the last few days to describe a dachshund. As I jotted them down, I laughed to myself considering just how lucky I am to be a veterinarian. Who else gets to be exposed to::::::::
A pac, herd, flock of fang showing, ferocious, possessed by the devil, whose bark meant business and would dart, rear, and yip with multiple hair lengths, piranha like, multi-colored, man-eating, slobber frothing …weeinie dogs that perhaps had reverted to a primitive state?
After I put all the adjectives together, I just laughed for a while all by myself. Who would have ever supposed that wieners could be so tough.
