I don’t know how many people out there have had to make emergency room runs because of their dogs.  I do know I’ve made enough visits to my doctor’s ER over the years that the first question the regular nurse asks me is, “Are you here because of the dogs again?” 

     If I’m sniffling and snarfing, I’m there because I’m ill.  If I’m limping, in a wheelchair, or if I am swathed in bandages, yeah, most likely there’s a dog behind the reason I’m there.  Bull Terriers are not for the faint of heart.

     My doctor’s new nurse didn’t get it.

     New nurse on her first day asked me, “What brings you in here today?”

     “My dog.  You see I was out in the yard with him.  I turned my back for a second, next thing I knew he ran full tilt into my leg, and I hit the ground like a sack of wet cement.  I think my ankle is sprained,” I said, looking at my ankle that was already the size of a football and turning a lovely shade of purple.

     Dazed looking nurse said, “Your dog?”

     “No my ankle.”  I raised my foot.  “See?”

     The nurse was shaking her head trying to process this when my doctor walked by.

     Doctor, “What are you doing here?”

     I lifted my foot and showed him my ankle.  “Well, I was out in the yard playing with Malcolm and…”

     Doctor grins.  “Did you bring Malcolm with you?”  He turns to the nurse.  “I love her dog he’s a hoot.  We had him in here a few weeks ago.”

     “Yeah, that was when he chomped down on the hose and accidentally got my husband’s thumb.  No, I didn’t bring him along today.”

     The nurse was looking concerned about our sanity at that point.  “You let her bring her dog in here?”

     “Yeah, he’s neat.”

     Funny, when I went back a few weeks later to have my sprained ankle rechecked she wasn’t there.