The vet wrapped a beautiful, neat bandage around Katy the Dog’s torso this week after removing a benign growth.
We brought her home with instructions to keep the bandage in place and bring her back for a recheck in a few days. She should not go on her long daily hikes, but some activity was fine.
“I just want that bandage to stay on,” said the doctor. “I still haven’t figured out how it came off last time,” she added, mentioning a previous procedure.
“Um…she scooted around the rug on her belly,” I blabbed. (Does that make me an incompetent nurse, or Katy a bad patient?)
“Oh,” she said. She expressed hope that the same thing would not happen again.
We discouraged scooting. A friend said we should sit on the couch together in lieu of our morning walk. And that Katy should go out in the yard on a leash.
Both were good ideas. Neither one would happen. Guess that answers my questions about my nursing skills.
Within two full days, regular dog activity–excluding daily walks–turned the beautiful bandage into a lumpy wad. We tried tugging it back in place. I wished for suspenders to keep it from sliding off but could not figure out the logistics. We supplemented with gauze. In an hour, the gauze joined the other crumpled fabric, gathered on Katy’s lower abdomen.
Before I could call in to report this embarrassing dilemma, the phone rang. It was the vet’s office. How were things going?
Should I report that a low-tech bandage and a medium-sized mutt had bested thinking human beings?
My answer was honest: Katy was fine. The bandage, like the last one, had gone down. Literally.
We discussed solutions. They could re-bandage, or we could just remove it. Given the history of Katy and gauze, that idea made the most sense.
Bandage-free, unencumbered, we are dreaming of the things we will do next.