"Reggie, the dog could be dying right now. She looks ill." Actually, Frankie has taken up a spot on the couch and appears fine. On second thought, I've never seen her so calm. This could be a problem—a good problem.
"Fine, I'll give you the number because if you kill the dog, then you'll never get to have sex with him." She rattles off a few numbers, and I hurry to scratch them down on the back of my palm. "When the dog lives, promise to call me back with an update."
"My God, woman. Get your priorities in order."
"They are!" she yells right before I hang up.
The phone rings three times before the automated messaging systems picks up. While the calm, soothing voice of a woman tells me the hours and location of the vet’s office, I flip back and forth between worry about the dog and panic over what Spencer will say.
Should I put her in the tub? Maybe I can wash her mouth out. The odds of me being able to hold Frankie under the faucet are slim to none, so the thought doesn't last long.
"Dr. Pike's office. Can I help you?" A real human finally answers the phone after I frantically press the zero key three times.
"I need to talk to the doctor. I have a dog emergency." I grab on to Frankie's collar and try to tug her off the couch and into the bathroom, but she doesn’t move.
"What kind of emergency?"
This can't be happening to me. "A big one. Can I just talk to Dr. Pike please?"
This woman has no idea who she's dealing with. If the dog dies, I’ll miss out on a chance to have sex with Spencer and then my best friend in the whole world will sell me out on the phone tree.
They’ll call me the dog killer.
I’ll have to move out of town.
Find a new job.
His secretary finally loses some of her sweetness. "Just a moment please," she says, ending her sentence with an overdramatic sigh.
The line is silent, and I worry she's disconnected me when no background music plays, but I refuse to hang up.
"Dr. Pike speaking. What seems to be your emergency, sweetie?" He sounds like this is any other phone call.
"Dr. Pike! You remember me. I was there was Spencer and Frankie, she had to get a shot a few days ago."
"Oh yes. How is she?"
"Not good.” I get right to the point. “She ate a bar of soap. I don’t know what to do.”
Chewing sounds come over the line. I hope to God it’s not more dog treats. I may not be talking to the best source of help. Maybe I should have called someone out of town.
“What kind of soap?” he asks.
"The kind? You know, the organic oatmeal bars. Molly makes them.”
"Oh." His demeanor lightens. "Did you buy it from the farmers market? I prefer her lavender bar myself."
"Yes, but Dr. Pike, the dog?" Does no one understand the significance of my problem? The whole town has gone mad.
He's quiet for a moment. "How much of the bar did she eat?"
I stop and think about what was left the last time I showered. "At least a quarter of the bar."
"Hmmm, did she chew it up or eat it whole?"
Shouldn’t we be calling the dog ambulance right now? Is there a dog ambulance? What do dogs do in a time of emergency?"I'm not positive, but I think pretty much whole."
"Ah, you’re fine, young lady. Frankie will throw it up in a few minutes. Keep an eye on her and get her to drink lots of water when she's done passing the soap."
