March 11, 2012So I took Emily in for her procedure yesterday - to get spayed and to terminate the pregnancy. I took her in at 11 am and the doctor said he'd do the procedure at 3 pm and call me at 4. But he didn't call me at 4. I tried to be mellow about it. But he still hadn't called me at 5. I started freaking out. I tried calling him, but the vet's office was CLOSED. I drove by there - it was locked and I couldn't get in. Now, although I knew it was illogical, I was panicking. Much of the panic was fueled by my friend's doggie Deja having a heart attack at the vet and dying out of nowhere. Finally, I called my vet friend Kay, who was at a drive-in movie (different story) with her husband. "I'm sorry," I told her. "I'm a little freaking out." I was a lot freaking out. I asked her if she could get a hold of the doctor doing the procedure. And Kay is such an awesome person that she took time out of their drive-in movie to call the backline at the vet's and the doctor's cell phone. A bit later, at 6:30, the doctor doing the procedure called, and told me he was sorry, but he just got finished. They had a rush at the vets' and he didn't get it till later. "Of course," I said. "No problem!" He said Emily was fine and I could pick her up in the morning. Which I did. She came with a sheet that said all of the stuff she shouldn't be doing, like jumping or going up the stairs. Obviously, she doesn't care about the sheet because she's jumping all over the fucking place. Whatever. I'm happy she's okay. And she doesn't even seem to be mad at me - just happy to be back home. Now I need to figure out what we're going to do next.