DAY
Last night after his second laser therapy treatment my baby pig was gaining a little weight, slurping up Critical Care and eating most veggies and some fruit and trying to eat hay and pellets -- anything to get him to eat. my big pig, on the other hand, was VERY tired and not eating much and seemed to have trouble walking. Probably the result of being overheated, stressed out, too little water and too much fruit/veggies. I gave her a slug of vegetable oil and gave them both some CC and a little simethecone. This morning the baby seemed good, the big pig was much better but still a little slow.
Miraculously we got to the vet's office and got seen to EARLY -- the treatment was done in eleven minutes. Lots of poops in the baby's carrier and either he and the big pig finished their snacks or the tech threw them away. The big one peed in her carrier.
Things went fine until we got to downtown Bethesda. First the ABS light went on on my dashboard and then the airbag light, which was kind of unusual as the airbag had not been deployed. Heck, I didn't even know my car HAD one.
Now the fun begins. It's probably about 90 degrees and the car dies TOTALLY. I put on the flashers and try to call Progressive. Curse you, AT and T. It takes more than one effort. When I finally get through the stupid woman apparently has never heard of Bethesda. Probably never heard of Maryland for that matter. After I have to spell my name and address several times and explain that Old Georgetown Road, and Cordell Avenue are all MAJOR roads and it shouldn't be hard for the tow truck driver to find them. It turns out my Progressive Policy (eff you, Flo) does NOT cover roadside service. Before the woman can ask if I'm interested in subscribing to Progressive's roadside assistance program I hang up in disgust and call Triple A.
Of course my coverage has expired but fortunately I have my handy-dandy Mastercard with which I can renew. The catch is, if I want same-day service (uh, who plans to have their car break down?) it will be another sixty-plus dollars. Plus four dollars extra because it is more than three miles to the Connecticut Avenue BP Station. I am told the usual wait time is about forty minutes, but because my car is smack in the middle of a five-lane road the wait time will only be about thirty minutes. Meanwhile, the pigs are nice and cool on the floor of a nearby resale boutique and are polite enough not to wheek at the shop attendant for food. I go to the nearest pizza carry out and buy a two-dollar Coke Zero, but they don't have ice. And the bathroom door is blocked and needs to be cleared before I can get in to use it.
The tow truck actually arrives in less than 30 minutes. Unfortunately it has vinyl seats which are not terribly comfortable when it's 90 degrees outside and you're wearing a mini skirt. And the A/C isn't working. The driver suggests I roll down the window. I refrain from telling him I have a party to go to and don't want to mess up my hair any more than it is. To make things better I spill most of my 30-oz Coke onto the plastic floor of the truck. What doesn't go onto the floor goes into my shoes. At least they are not the "new" shoes I had planned on wearing to the party.
While I am in the truck the vet returns my call and the poor driver has to hear about the baby's abscess, which I try to be as decorous about as possible. I refrain from getting into to much detail about either pigs' bowel/bladder function. The vet advises me to drink heavily at the party.
We actually get to the BP station with no more incident and the garage owner tells me it's probably the alternator. Prepared for a cab ride home and a driver who conveniently has no change I get some at the Suntrust across the street. Two or three cabs ignore me and the Metrobus actually arrives before a cab does. The driver apparently does not know I am carrying pigs and lets me board with them. The bus ride to Woodley Park goes without event and so does the brief cab ride home.
BTW, the party was lovely and the host, a former co-worker, paid my bar tab. Both pigs are eating well and I am watching House. The baby's next treatment is Saturday afternoon. Really a good thing, as another ride in this weather tomorrow would be pretty traumatic for all of us. The question is how to get him there if I don't have wheels by then.
Miraculously we got to the vet's office and got seen to EARLY -- the treatment was done in eleven minutes. Lots of poops in the baby's carrier and either he and the big pig finished their snacks or the tech threw them away. The big one peed in her carrier.
Things went fine until we got to downtown Bethesda. First the ABS light went on on my dashboard and then the airbag light, which was kind of unusual as the airbag had not been deployed. Heck, I didn't even know my car HAD one.
Now the fun begins. It's probably about 90 degrees and the car dies TOTALLY. I put on the flashers and try to call Progressive. Curse you, AT and T. It takes more than one effort. When I finally get through the stupid woman apparently has never heard of Bethesda. Probably never heard of Maryland for that matter. After I have to spell my name and address several times and explain that Old Georgetown Road, and Cordell Avenue are all MAJOR roads and it shouldn't be hard for the tow truck driver to find them. It turns out my Progressive Policy (eff you, Flo) does NOT cover roadside service. Before the woman can ask if I'm interested in subscribing to Progressive's roadside assistance program I hang up in disgust and call Triple A.
Of course my coverage has expired but fortunately I have my handy-dandy Mastercard with which I can renew. The catch is, if I want same-day service (uh, who plans to have their car break down?) it will be another sixty-plus dollars. Plus four dollars extra because it is more than three miles to the Connecticut Avenue BP Station. I am told the usual wait time is about forty minutes, but because my car is smack in the middle of a five-lane road the wait time will only be about thirty minutes. Meanwhile, the pigs are nice and cool on the floor of a nearby resale boutique and are polite enough not to wheek at the shop attendant for food. I go to the nearest pizza carry out and buy a two-dollar Coke Zero, but they don't have ice. And the bathroom door is blocked and needs to be cleared before I can get in to use it.
The tow truck actually arrives in less than 30 minutes. Unfortunately it has vinyl seats which are not terribly comfortable when it's 90 degrees outside and you're wearing a mini skirt. And the A/C isn't working. The driver suggests I roll down the window. I refrain from telling him I have a party to go to and don't want to mess up my hair any more than it is. To make things better I spill most of my 30-oz Coke onto the plastic floor of the truck. What doesn't go onto the floor goes into my shoes. At least they are not the "new" shoes I had planned on wearing to the party.
While I am in the truck the vet returns my call and the poor driver has to hear about the baby's abscess, which I try to be as decorous about as possible. I refrain from getting into to much detail about either pigs' bowel/bladder function. The vet advises me to drink heavily at the party.
We actually get to the BP station with no more incident and the garage owner tells me it's probably the alternator. Prepared for a cab ride home and a driver who conveniently has no change I get some at the Suntrust across the street. Two or three cabs ignore me and the Metrobus actually arrives before a cab does. The driver apparently does not know I am carrying pigs and lets me board with them. The bus ride to Woodley Park goes without event and so does the brief cab ride home.
BTW, the party was lovely and the host, a former co-worker, paid my bar tab. Both pigs are eating well and I am watching House. The baby's next treatment is Saturday afternoon. Really a good thing, as another ride in this weather tomorrow would be pretty traumatic for all of us. The question is how to get him there if I don't have wheels by then.
posted by Numerologist at 10:09 PM
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