These days life seems to be a carnival of doctors appointments, what with my male staff's blood clots and my female staff's squirmy tummy. Then a couple of weeks ago Badger decided that he's like to learn to fly and the resulting crash landing broke off his two front upper teeth. He was okay for a while and his teeth are growing back nicely, but over the last couple of days he's not eating much, and not pooping much either. The pooping thing is the real worry because he usually fires 'em out of his bottom passage like a little furry gattling gun.
Anyway, my male staff took him back to the vet again just this morning. I declined to accompany them as I am allergic to having baseball bat sized thermometers shoved up my bottom passage. I therefore learned about the events from Badger when he returned with a somewhat bulgy-eyed look about him. While my male staff held him down, the vet - Auntie Cara, aka Doctor Friggin' Doolittle prodded and poked him and even pulled his willy out. He didn't mind that, but objected to having a cotton bud shoved up his bum. This seemed to unclog something as you can imagine, but the smell was so bad that my male staff almost passed out. He said his whole life flashed before his eyes and that it was so boring that he nearly fell asleep. All sorts of strange looking stuff came out with the cotton bud followed by a rat-a-tat-tat of properly formed bush chocolate which landed neatly in my male staff's hand as he supported Badger's butt.
Next Auntie Cara decide to give him an enema - Badger that is, not my male staff, though in truth he probably needs one too. She produced a kidney dish full of brown liquid. Maybe it had already been used a few times. Anyway, she filled a syringe with this stuff and squirted it up Badger's bottom passage. My male staff says he's amazed at just how much brown liquid you can get into a small black and white guinea pig through the back door. Then she dried him off with a clean towel. This whole episode reminds me of a story I overheard my male staff's mad sister telling my male staff. It concerned a friend of hers who for some reason had decided that she needed a series of coffee enemas. That's right - coffee. What a strange way to get your caffeine fix. Mind you, it would certainly wake you up in the mornings, especially if you weren't expecting it.
My male staff's mad sister's friend had been getting repeated infections and her doctor told her that if she must continue giving herself anal capuccinos, she should make sure she cleans the tube that she uses properly to reduce the risk of infection. Well, the infections finally stopped and when she was chatting to my male staff's mad sister she confided that she had taken to cleaning the enema tube by placing it in the dishwasher with the dishes. Male staff's mad sister doesn't go to her friend's house for coffee anymore.
In any case, as far as health goes, prevention of illness is better than the cure. In fact almost anything was better than The Cure - terrible eighties music. Sorry, got distracted for a moment. With this in mind my male staff's mad sister embarked upon a fitness campaign and joined a health club for an exhorbitant amount of money. Her first visit was going well. The gym was crowded, but she was pounding happily away on the treadmill and the flab was falling away and leaving a bigger slick behind her than did the Exxon Valdez. Suddenly she felt as though she urgently needed to pass wind through her bottom passage. We all get that, except the Pope and the Queen obviously, and maybe Julie Andrews. There was very loud music playing so she thought she'd get away with it and let loose a real teeth vibrating rip-snorter. A moment later she could feels two dozen pairs of eyes staring at her in amazement and possibly admiration. At that very same moment she remembered that the loud music was coming from the earphones of her MP3. She hasn't been back.
I'm glad it was my bum that was poorly, not my feet.