When the Dog Bites

Well, I can still say we haven't had an ear infection yet, but I can't say we've never been to the emergency room. Devid bit Ainslie last night. He was unprovoked, just irritable.
She is fine, and there should be no scarring. He got her right under the eyebrow, a nice deep puncture on the upper cheek and tore a little flap on the top of her ear. Devid will no longer be living here.

Ugh. I held her in the car (flame if you want, I'd do it again), and told her that the doctor was going to fix her boo boos. She told me "My ace urts" a few times and then started singing, "I'm Not Perfect." Made me cry. Oh, Lord, Thank You for this not being worse, thank you for her eye not being torn. I carried my bloody child (I didn't realize I had dried blood down my face and neck too) into the ER wearing only her underpants (I did have clothes for her in the diaper bag, thank goodness) and other people in line to check in let us go ahead--I guess we looked pretty pathetic.

Once they got her vitals, we were put in a little ER room and the wait began. By now, the wounds were pretty dried, and Ainslie was enjoying the bed "ride", going up and down. As doctors and nurses came in to check her, she spoke up and was such a little trooper. One funny moment was when a nurse asked if she could see her ear, and Ainslie pointed to her ear, and said, "it's right Here!"

Finally, she was wheeled into a suture room and this is where it got hard for everyone. My poor girl had to be IV'd and hooked up to all sorts of monitors and then they gave her morphine and some other stuff to knock her out. Too bad these medical professionals didn't know who they were dealing with. Ainslie doesn't go to sleep until she's good and ready to go to sleep, and despite all the drugs (and the local she was given) she didn't go to sleep until after we got home.

One funny thing we learned, and that is that Ainslie is a loving drunk. We had to wait an hour after the stiches to be released so her vitals could be monitored and my little 2 year old was high as a kite. As she lounged in my arms, she told me she loved me, then she told Grandma she loved her (Daddy was out getting the Rx for the antibiotic filled), then a man wandered through on his way to another room and Ainslie says, "I love you, Man!" I told her she was loopy and she says, "I love loopy." Frankly, I could use some loopy right about now.

Today she is fine. Everyone else's nerves are pretty shot, but she is fine. Thank God. I realized that I don't love dogs all that much. I've decided that once Lily is gone (and Lily wouldn't know how to bite someone) there will be no more dogs in our nuclear family until all kids are at least 10 or 12 years old. I'm not going to listen to another small child scream, "Mommy! Mommy!" so pitifully while they are having holes in their face stitched up.