Lucy loves bags.
Virgil hates bags.
Lucy hates not being in bags.
Virgil loves anything that Lucy hates.
Yesterday, these things came together in a perfect storm of misery for all parties involved.
I had to take Virgil to the vet, and getting him into the carrier case (one of those big hard ones, which fits Virgil and his energy better than our little soft, zippered one) while keeping Lucy out of it was a feat of considerable difficulty.
What’s that? Lock Lucy in another room? I did, and she turned into a wildebeest. Judging by the wail-slams coming from the other side of the door, it seemed likely that she’d actually hurl herself directly through the paneling, so I let her out.
I finally got Virgil tucked away, and then Lucy, in a fit of total hysteria about the fact that I was taking Virgil on a fun trip and not her, bolted out the door the second I opened it. Bag of Joy or no, girlfriend wasn’t planning on missing out on this little adventure. So I chased her up a flight of stairs, then back down five, and then carried her back into the house. Meanwhile, Virgil ping-ponged around in his case, panicking about the fact that I was taking Lucy on a fun trip and not him.
I finally wrestled Virgil + case out the door, down the steps, and out into the icy street…
…and the case disintegrated. It actually separated into four distinct parts in my hand and fell to the ground with a very surprised dog in the middle. And to keep Virgil from madly careening down the street and into oncoming traffic? I instinctively clapped down the disembodied lid of the case over his body to keep him in one place until I was able to scoop him out of harm’s way. That’s right: I pinned my dog to the sidewalk.
Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, left Virgil in a bit of a state.
Oh, and then I took him to the vet and he got shots.
(My horoscope, by the way, said that I would find myself “in an enviable place in the universe” on Feburary 2nd. I spent much of the afternoon in a muddy taxi filled with resentful dog. Envy me?)