The Boston Patient

Anyone who knows me knows I work rather diligently at home every day with my trusty sidekick, Maggie, snoring away on the bed beside me. Sometimes I leave for a few hours for a doctor's appointment or go to the gym if I'm finished working early, but usually we are like glue until K comes home.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend I haven't seen in about six months. It was a two-and-a-half-hour lunch, nothing too terrible, and I came home immediately after. I let Maggie out and then deposited her back on the bed, where she snorked and complained and generally was uncomfortable for the next few hours. Finally, as I made her dinner, I noticed a bit of blood on her blanket. I didn't think much of it, as Maggie has a cyst on her eye that sometimes ruptures and oozes. However, picking her up, I noticed that the fur on her right side, between her front and back legs, was wet. Wet with blood.

After a little examination, I decided that Maggie's mysterious injury was out of my league and took her to the vet. Turns out she has a perfect puncture wound the size of a mini M&M. One hundred plus dollars later, she's resting comfortably on the bed, shaved on the affected side to let her puncture heal, and full of turkey lunchmeat (her convalesence meal). I've looked around outside and in the house and have no idea what she fell on to create such a puncture, and it's not a cat wound. All I know is that sometime, while I was out on a rare date, enjoying myself, Maggie was injured. Karmic punishment? Egads, I hope not!