My little monkey on a string got himself into a heap of trouble. Everyday while at Hunting Island, South Carolina, we hiked to the beach. Mostly we tried to go at low tide, but we managed to show up at high tide several times because the pet parent forgot to check the tide times.
Somehow, Harley managed to get those awful sandspurs in his fur. The first one I noticed because just as we came off the beach, I needed to borrow the restroom. There was nowhere outside to hook up Harley's leash to wait on me, so I took him inside. Just as we entered the door from the sandy beach, he let out a cry then began limping and crying, woefully looking up at me.
I picked him up to look at his injured paw, seeing a sandspur stuck in it. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper, then removed the offending hitchhiker. Harley was happy again, bouncing around on all 4 paws.
The next day at the beach, a lady was flirting with Harley. She picked him up to pet him, then yelled "Ouch!" as she encountered a sandspur on his silly head. Between the two of us, we managed to dislodge the sandspur from his head. Harley was not amused, but tolerated our actions.
Later, after returning back to the motorhome, I noticed Harley had picked up several more sandspurs on his head and jaw. I tried to remove them, getting only two out before my precious sweet darling snapped and snarled at me in such a vicious way that I know my own jaw fell open in disbelief. I screamed "NO!" at him. We gave each other dirty looks.
Once again, I started to remove the sandspur with the aid of some blunt tipped first aid scissors I found in my kit. He snapped at me again, clearly quite hurt and angry at me for seemingly making it worse. Now we were at odds with each other. It made me enormously sad.
Later in the day, another camper volunteered to help, but when she saw Harley do his angry snarling snapping attitude, she too was as stunned as me. Could a little 5.5 pound dog be so savage? It really was a shocker, because Harley is well known for his delightfully happy enthusiastic personality. Indeed, I have been trying to train him in hopes he could volunteer at children's hospitals in his future, spreading cheer and love.
If anything, I now know this little fellow could stand his ground. I never thought of him as being much protection, but a great alarm system while we are traveling in far flung places. But heaven forbid, I think he could scare the living daylights out of somebody if they saw his dark side.
I remembered somewhere in my addled brain, that a gentle creature, when injured, can appear to be quite malicious, because the pain is speaking for him in the only way he knows to project his discomfort.
We still had a day left on our reservation. It was 25 miles to the nearest town where I might find a willing groomer or veterinarian to assist. I began breaking camp in anticipation of our leaving the next day. I checked around for vets in the Beaufort area and finally settled on one that seemed to have good reviews on the internet. I know that's a strange way to pick a vet, but I was clueless what else to do.
Meanwhile Harley and I regarded each other with an edge. I didn't bother to take his harness or little red T-shirt off that night. Normally I remove his harness when we are in for the night, this signals to him we aren't going out again until morning. He often likes to sleep on his back at night. But with the harness on, he can't do that because it pokes him in the back where the dual D-rings are for attaching his leash. His T-shirt was dirty from his romping around the camp, but I feared pulling it over his head, would cause him to snap at me again in that frightening way.
We were poised to leave early the next morning, but I woke up having a rough time. Right when I think my life is fabulous, my health on the mend, I seem to have a relapse. Very frustrating all around. We didn't get out of the campground until past 11am, hardly the early start I imagined when I awoke at 5am. I felt truly awful. Harley was still kind of grumpy.
First on my list, was to visit the vet, second was groceries and third was to find a new campground further south. Actually I had radically changed plans. I searched all over the internet, maps, guides and books, for a budget friendly campground. I reasoned the vet costs were going to put a serious dent in the pocketbook so our planned visit to another coastal island, went out the window.
I also had no idea how the vet would react to a walk-in client. We've had good and bad luck with vets. Last year when Harley got a stick stuck in his jaw, a friend used her car to rush us into a nearby veterinarian's office, asking for help. Harley was seriously distressed and I could not figure out the problem. The bill for that 30 seconds to remove the errant stick that I had somehow overlooked in my own attempts to fix his ailment, cost us an astronomical amount of money, more than I had at the time. My friend graciously loaned me the rest but she was as shocked as I at the triple digit cost for removing a stick.
Furthermore the vet lit into me, telling me what a horrible pet parent I was, that Harley was severely malnourished and neglected. On and on she went thoroughly chastising and lecturing me. Finally, I was able to get a word in edgewise to explain that I had only had him a few weeks. He came to me severely malnourished and I was feeding him a healthy diet to improve his situation. We paid the enormous bill and left.
So today, I was a bit worried, wondering what his latest mishap would cost us. Harley and I walked into the new vet's office. The waiting room was empty, save for a massive cat. I mean this cat gave new meaning to the term fat cat. He was the biggest cat I have ever seen in my entire life. He was ensconced under a chair by the window, looking cool and confident, totally ignoring Harley's sniffs and inspection.
At the reception desk, a slender gold tabby feline sat in the chair, giving us an inquiring look. I already liked the place, but I was beginning to wonder if any humans worked here. I began explaining to the cat, what our problem was, when a lady appeared from a back office to assist. She was amused that the cat and I were engaged in conversation.
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| Harley's new look... |
I explained we were travelers, who had just spent time camping at the beach. I wasn't even sure we needed a veterinarian, but we did indeed need help, as Harley had these painful sandspurs stuck around his face he would not let me remove unless I was willing to donate fingers or arm. Harley was of course flirting wildly with the lady, trying to show her just how cute he could be. The kind lady called a vet assistant to come out. They dtermined that putting a muzzle on him would be impossible because of the sandspurs on his jaw. So one grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, holding him tightly, while the other one used a cordless shaver or trimmer to quickly zip-zap-zip the offedning sandspurs out of his fur. Meanwhile Harley screamed like they had skewered him alive while I tried to comfort him with soothing words. He wasn't hurt or being hurt, but I think he was just mortified that these strangers were more powerful than him and clearly they were going to do something against his current will.
When they were done, he stood on the table, looking very confused. He now had a large tuft of fur missing from the top of his head and his sideburns had been severely trimmed, leaving him a fluffy goatee. Finally he shook himself as hard as he could until he got his fur laying just the way he liked.
The bill was ridiculously cheap, matter of fact they refused payment entirely. Even when I opened my wallet to make a payment anyhow, they waved my money away. Talk about angels looking out for us! Such good people exist in this world!
Harley and I are back on loving terms. However, I gave him another 24 hours of peace, before I resumed petting his farcical head.
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