Poor Mabel.

I thought taking the children to my doctor's appointments was the most dreadful task imaginable.

I was mistaken.

Try taking 4 children and a sick, large canine to a veterinary office when you have no appointment and must wait for them to work you in.

Good times.

Good times with kids.

Good times with kids and dogs.

Good times with kids and dogs and a husband who is worried about how expensive this is all going to be.

Allow me to explain, dear readers.

As I mentioned on my Tragical Thursday, Mabel, our beloved dog of nearly 10 years, threw up.

This is not a rarity.

She throws up on occasion.

But on Thursday, it just kept coming.

Then I noticed she was acting funny.  She wouldn't come when called.  Her eyes were droopy and sad.  She was shaking.  She would not eat.  She would not drink.

She would only sleep and throw up.

By Friday afternoon, she was seeming slightly more perky, but still throwing up.  So, I called The Lumberjack, who was working, and he said he could meet me at the vet.

And then the waiting began.

It was actually quite entertaining, watching all the pet owners coming in with their dogs and cats.

It is super true that people kind of look like their pets.

What do you think . . .

Mabel

Me.

Thoughts?

I don't see it.

She is much better looking.  And has better camping hair.

Any-whooooo . . .

Some people are really wacky with their pets, treating them like their children and such.

I never treated my dogs like they were my children.

(Yes, we used to have two dogs.  To hear all about that nonsense click here, here, and here.  In that order.  That is important.  The whole universe will collapse if you click out-of-order.  Thank you)

So, we waited and waited.

And we saw the largest dog known to man, a Great Dane, come in with NINE puppies!

Ouch.

We finally got called back to the tinier exam room.  And the super nice escort lady brought each of my children their very own balloon.

Yes.

All six of us were crammed into this tiny exam room, that was the size of a fairly roomy bathroom, the kids are competing in Balloon Wars 2010, and Mabel is hovering with fear in the corner.

It was a treat.

The doctor came in and long story short, we spent a sizeable amount of money and we don't know what is wrong with her.

We are supposed to try to get her to take some medicine to help with the vomiting.

But she will not eat it.

We have tried several times.

The Lumberjack hid the pills in some food.

Nope.

The Lumberjack actually put the food/pills in her mouth and tried to help her chew them and swallow them.

Nope.

So we have to keep trying to fish out the pills for later use, seeing as how each pill costs like $6, and she needs to eat them all.

I guess.

I don't know.

Also, the doctor wants her to drink Pedialyte.

Nope.

She won't even smell it.

I did, however, in all my awesomeness, get her to drink about 1/4c of water.

Holla, Taylor!

Holla.

Lest you are confused, Taylor is the person who is sitting here typing out all of this rubbish.

So, last night we went to bed.

I could not sleep.  I am worried she is dying.  And I don't know how to help her.

I really don't want her to die.

She was our baby when we were first married.

She has always been around.

She is our dog.

We all love her and she is a part of the family now.

Besides, we are most likely moving to Ruralville with 20 acres for her to run around and get to be real dog at.

So, hopefully, we will be able to get her to take some pills today.

And maybe even drink some Pedialite. 

Because everyone knows, sick dogs crave grape-flavored electrolyte-filled beverages.

Pedialyte.

For a dog.

Honestly.

Poor Mabel.

Please get well, old dog.