Mr. Perfect

If you follow me on Facebook or Instagram or have like ever met me even once for like 5 minutes, then there's a good chance that you know I'm a mama to the most perfect, sweetest, cutest, bestest puppy gentleman in the whole entire world named Bloo.  He's a chocolate-colored labradoodle and he's about 7 years old (I think...I adopted him as a stray puppy) and he's been my main man since 2010.  He's been with me through 5 moves including moving to Mexico, he's had a couple different papas, and he is the LOVE OF MY LIFE.  We actually refer to him as "Mr. Perfect" around the house, and he responds.  Because, duh.  

Here is Bloo pretending to be a GQ model on Anderson Island....

The definition of a "fur baby".... I was regularly asked, "Where is his face?" when I let his hair get this long.  But isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen?!  Of course he is. 

Anyway... We had our first mini scare this week.  Bloo has had a harmless, benign, fatty cyst about the size of a walnut on the back of his head for over a year and it recently became infected and started oozing and doing gross cyst things.  Let me just interject here for a minute -- wives/mothers are always right!!!  Ty has this really disgusting habit of "popping" Bloo's cyst like a giant zit and our vet back home said it wouldn't hurt him, so he kept popping away...like daily.  (Boys are GROSS.)  I was constantly yelling at him not to do it because A) it's friggin disgusting and B) because I said so.  

When we got here, I specifically told Ty, "Do not pop his cyst anymore.  There are tons of stray dogs and diseases and who knows what kind of bacteria!!!  He doesn't need an open wound on the back of his head at all times.  Just STOP."  Well... Do you think he listened?  Of course not.  

I don't ever look too closely at Bloo's "bump" as we call it, but a few days ago Ty meekly admitted that it's been sorta oozing and leaking the last few days and that he thought it might be infected.  Please insert the biggest "I told you so" wife rant here.  UGGGGH. 

The next day, Ty drove Bloo the couple blocks to the village vet (without an appointment) to have his head looked at.  She instructed him to come back at 4pm and she'd cut out the non-cancerous mass because it was most likely infected and it would just be better to get it out of there.  

Ty took Bloo back that afternoon and the vet gave him what she referred to as "puppy tequila" to sedate and calm him (we were told it's like taking a Valium) and then gave him a local anesthetic before slicing his head open.  Meanwhile, I stayed at home and was being perfectly calm and rational and not thinking of all the worst-case scenarios possible.  I definitely didn't cry and I wasn't even pacing or freaking out or anything.  (Please note as much sarcasm as possible.  I specifically didn't go with Ty, because I knew I would just stress the vet out and probably Bloo too.) 

It took her over an hour to cut out Bloo's cyst because there was so much scar tissue around it.  Hmm, I wonder HOW THAT GOT THERE.  Anyway.... Ty had been gone for about an hour and a half and I was starting to get antsy, so I made the 3 minute walk into town and arrived at the vet just as Ty was about to leave.  Bloo was like a drunk baby....that's the best way to put it.  After lumbering awkwardly out of the vet's office, we had to lift him into the van for the short ride home.  I rode in back with glossy-eyed Bloo and told him that his papa was sooooooooo sorry for doing this to him.  (I was probably being a little passive aggressive and bitter, but....HE IS MY BABY.)   Once we got home, I stupidly tried to help Bloo out of the van (he was like a 100-pound sleeping toddler) and he ended up face-planting into the dirt driveway.  Awesome.  

I, of course, doted on him all night and spent a lot of time sprawled out on the tile floor kissing his puppy face and telling him how brave he is.  That's normal, right?  He was thoroughly annoyed with me, which I took as a good sign that he was feeling okay.  

If that's not a mama's boy I don't know what is... 

The next day, we were doing some yard work around the beachfront casitas and tiny flies were flying around Bloo's stitches (GROSS) and he scratched the back of his head and ripped his stitches open.  Extra awesome.  Again, I remained totally calm and didn't freak out at all.  Oh, wait.... 

We knew the vet was planning on making a house call to check on Bloo (because apparently that's a thing here), so we impatiently waited for her to drop by.  Long story short, Bloo has been re-stitched up (a little sturdier this time) and seems to be doing well.  In fact, I don't think he even knows anything was ever wrong.  He didn't seemed stressed about being cut open and stitched up twice, he's been taking his antibiotics without any trouble and he amazingly doesn't even seem to be in any pain.  (Didn't I mention he was perfect??)  Here's a disgusting pic of his frankenstein head after his second round of stitches....

Side note:  Our vet bill, which included:  initial exam (aka stopping by unannounced), sedation, local anesthetic, hour-long, same-day surgery, antibiotics, a house call and being stitched up a second time = 63 bucks total.  We couldn't even get Bloo groomed back in Seattle for 63 bucks!!!