Posted on October 22, 2012
Okay, what I didn’t know is that Los Angeles is Halloween CRAZY. It’s kind of cool. They have so much space out here that everywhere you turn there’s a hayride, a haunted house, a scary-assed corn maze, or a fright night. Wifesy and I have decided to go to as many as we can. Like little kids. It’s sort of great.
Yesterday, we were gearing up to go to a pumpkin festival.
As we were finishing our last cup of coffee, my bestie, Miranda called on the phone.
She was very upset.
“Roxy was bitten by a pit bull last night.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” I asked.
Miranda was choking down sobs and explaining how the little chihuahua that her and her husband recently adopted recently became a chew toy for a pit bull.
“It was so bad. We didn’t know what to do,” she said.
I immediately handed the phone to Wifesy. There is one medical healer (okay, doctor) in this house and it is her.
Wifesy reassured Miranda and told her that she would call over to the emergency room where little Roxy was awaiting surgery. Thankfully, she was at a clinic that is part of the company of clinics where Wifesy works.
Wifesy spoke with the other doctor and found out the extent of the damage. Apparently, it was a very big wound, but luckily, not so deep that it went through major tissue, bones, veins, arteries, and all the other things that you just don’t want to feck with.
The other doctor asked Wifesy if she wanted to perform the surgery. It was Wifesy’s day off and my Wifesy works hard. So, I’m all for her not taking anything extra on. She said, “No. I’m sure she’s in good hands,” and got off the phone.
We felt good about it, UNTIL Wifesy found out how much the emergency room was going to charge Miranda. Let’s just say, it was the purchase price of a small car or the down payment on a new one.
Wifesy jumped in and said, “I’ll do the surgery because it’ll cost less.”
Miranda and her hubby transferred the animal to Wifesy’s clinic.
Wifesy and I had a few hours together before she was to go in. So, we started up our P90X workout and decided to have a nice breakfast together afterwards.
I kept saying to Wifesy, “Ohhh, it’s so hot, you’re going to save my friend’s dog. You’re a rescuer, a hero, that’s so sexy. Who’s my little sexy lifesaver?”
I realized that I felt how straight women must feel when their husband is a firefighter.
“You go out there into that fire, baby, and you save some lives! You come back to me in one piece and you save that puppy!! Yeah! And then I’ll treat you right.”
And she did and I will.
Poor Roxy looked just like something out of one of those Fright Night Farm attractions. As Miranda’s hubby put it, “It looked like her throat had been slit from ear to ear.”
But, now, little FrankenWeenie (as we’ve come to call her) is on the mend and it’s all due to my sweet, lady, firefighter – doctor.
I look over at my Wifesy and I see a Chippendale in a firefighter hat and a speedo, but with brains and great boobs.
Life is good.
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