Well, it was a busy day, and I’m running late so I’m going to see if I can get this all down before I totally go past my bed time.
I wake up feeling grubby for some reason. I can’t explain it, nor can I find its source, so, hoping for improvement as the day goes on, I head for the house. Once there I am rather pleased to be able to go through the laundry bit record time and then settle behind my computer for another writing session, just as soon as I’ve finished with my messages.
Just when I’m about to start on the vampire bit for real, the electricity flickers, goes off and then on again, announcing that something is amiss. Though I try, for some reason I can’t really focus on writing, with the continuing lapses in the electricity, becoming more frequent in the hours that pass until at last the power shuts down entirely.
After flicking the switches on the fuses several times, we shrug it off, mumbling about the unpredictability of the power company and shut our computers down by the time my battery is warning me that it’s almost depleted.
Rather than twiddling our thumbs while we wait for power to come back on, big brother and I head up to the bungalow to make use of daylight hours and put in the new linoleum we’ve acquired several days ago. It fits fell enough, creating a smooth surface for when our tenant returns.
Next, we remove the inner door that really is too narrow for the passage of a wheelchair, after which dusk announces that it is time to leave for our daily visit to Clue.
The power’s still off, and though I suggest a quick peek at the fuses and wires, big brother informs me that nothing can be wrong there since it was all recently replaced for the dreaded power company inspection.
So, we head for the village, stopping on the way to get our order of our new kitchen counter loaded up and then proceed on our way to the Veterinary hospital.
A few customers are there before us, but as we wait for our turn, the vet bids for our patience while he deals with the other customers. He says that he has to have a long talk with us about Clue’s condition.
Of course my stomach does an immediate flop from worry. And I can feel tension humming all through my body as we wait, and then follow the vet into the main examination room.
Slowly, he shows us an entire array of X-rays, explaining that all the bones look fine and that nothing is wrong with Clue’s spine or basic physical condition… and then drops the bomb.
This very morning they did a biopsy on Clue’s side where a tiny bump had formed during the time of his stay. The vet tells us how he’d found a small (coin-sized) hole in the swollen tissue and in order to measure its depth he had inserted a catheter– which proceeded to slide in, and in, and further in, going on endlessly. He makes no secret of his own astonishment, or that of his two assistants while discovering this, and reveals two more X-Rays where the catheter is fully inserted.
It does go on endlessly and I stare at the pictures in horror as I try to imagine what possibly could have caused such a… well, the only word to describe it is a tunnel system through Clue’s entire torso filled with puss and dried blood.
Next, the vet disappears into his office, only to return with a metal dish that is filled with the nasty substance, consistent of colligated blood, fresh blood and black little lumps, which he has removed from the mentioned tunnel system. There’s so much of it that I feel a little nauseous.
For a moment I actually don’t know what to say, and just stare from the pictures and the bloody mess, to the Vet, who actually appears fascinated by this find and actually informs us that this is definitely a case for the books that will be told over and over again to his students in the future.
At long last, I get over my stupor and manage to ask what he thinks caused this. I wonder if it was a bullet, or maybe some sort of parasite, and am even more astounded when he explains his hypothesis.
He thinks that sometime in the past year Clue has somehow inhaled one of the big grass seed that tend to float around in this area during the summer. Now, this seed is no normal seed, apparently. It has a big head, two long stretching appendages sticking out, and lots of hooks that tend to get stuck in the fur of our longhaired canines every now and then.
Gesturing us towards his computer, he puts on this small home video where three of said seeds are shown on a white sheet of paper. Next, as the camera zooms in, some water is sprayed over them after which, much to my astonishment, the seed seems to come to life.
It looks like an alien, I swear. It starts to shiver and then slowly –amazingly– begins to flip over making its way off the paper while applying this shocky drilling motion.
It begins to dawn on me where the Vet’s heading by then, my heart beating sluggishly and somewhat sickeningly when I listen to the full hypothesis.
He thinks that after inhaling the seed, the darn thing slowly, but steadily, started to drill its way through Clue’s body, creating the maze that we saw on the X-Rays.
Gods. I should write a friggin’ horror book about “Seeds of destruction” or “The Attack of the grass seeds” or some such. Walking through a beautiful meadow won’t ever be the same.
Hearing the vet talk about it, I’m not at all surprised that Clue was in pain, and even lost the use of his legs since the puss had been pushing against his spine, and listen while the doc tells us the worst part of it all: There’s no way in hell that they will be able to locate the seed, should it still be inside Clue’s body.
There is a slight chance that his body has broken down the bio material, or that it has already left his system through some sort of tiny wound without notice, but there’s no way to be sure. It will be just a matter of watching and waiting.
So, with that bit of disturbing news, we visit with Clue, finding him lying in the cage looking rather miserable and acting sluggishly pained, due to the catheter that will need to stay inside the tunnel system until antibiotics have stopped the infection and thus start the healing process.
He wants nothing more than go home with us. It is clearly visible on his face when the vet suggests that we should take him out for a bit; let him walk. We do just that, taking him out to the car and telling him that he’ll be all right and that he can come home just as soon as he feels better and the catheter is removed.
Poor Clue tires fast, however, and soon we bring him back inside, giving him some more affectionate pats before we have to leave again.
It is quite like the vet said. These particular seeds are a miracle of nature, allowing the seeds to burry themselves deep in the ground where they can grow up to be plants, but they’re a genuine DISASTER for dogs.
I feel a bit depressed as we head home. Arriving to semi-darkness now that the solar panels are our only source of electricity, and help big brother put the new kitchen counter safely away before we head into the house where a Thai meal –made by the younger sibs– awaits.
They’re shocked by the news of Clue, as well as annoyed by the lack of power as little sister and I finally convince big brother to check the fuse box since it has become apparent that all our neighbors still have power.
Armed with torches, he and little brother head into the pantry where the fuse box is located, and minutes later they inform us (with appropriate chagrin) that indeed one of the wires has melted causing the entire box to short.
Within minutes the mess is replaced and repaired, making a weak cheer go up as the younger sibs joke –the way we always do when the power’s out– “Thank God, here we thought we’d actually have to talk to pass the time.” Before they wave a jaunty goodbye and disappear to the location of choice throughout the house.
It has been a long standing joke between us all, since on the overall we see little of each other due to different interests, unless there is a joint project that needs to be dealt with.
For a while I lounge in front of the TV watching an NCIS rerun. My dogs are draped over my feet and knees, as I try to muster the energy to switch my empty battery computer back on, and get some more work done.
A big mug of coffee finally gets me to my feet and back to the kitchen table to start.
It takes me a while to get in the spirit of writing. My mind is awhirl with worried thoughts that I can neither pinpoint nor categorize since they combine with the disturbing news of Clue, but I work hard at it, because I’m determined to get at least a full page down.
In the end, after letting big brother pelt me with information that he has been compiling for the story to get my motor running, so to speak, the creative juices start to flow again.
The first few paragraphs go slowly, stuttering from my fingers until at long last inspiration strikes and the words begin to flow automatically. For the next two hours, with me shushing an enthusiastic big brother every two minutes (he’s like me that way, once he gets going it is practically impossible to shut him up) until five marvelous pages bring the latest story up to two thirds of the way.
What with midnight having passed, and the younger sibs impatiently waiting for me to get my butt out of the house so they can do their nightly cleaning before they settle down for a snack and a movie, I finally jot down a few details to remind me of all that’s whirling inside my head, and shut the computer off.
By the time I settle on my bed for my usual relaxing time on the Net, worries are once again wreaking havoc on my brain: In particular because my stereo is on the fritz and won’t start for over an hour due to the long hours of power failure.
Silence is not my friend these days, I’ll admit.
If there’s no noise, or, more specifically, music, I hear myself think. Not a good thing! My own brain is my worst enemy if it is allowed to run free and I’ve found that I need at least three different kinds of input to function properly. Hah.
But my usual chats and talks online calm me enough –with the help of music playing on the background at last– for me to feel somewhat relaxed by now.
I think I’ll be able to sleep, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed, just in case.
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