NIGHTMARE ON STEWEY STREET...PART ONE

Scene One: A living room somewhere in the Midwestern U.S.  A portly spinster sits quietly in her Happy Chair, perusing the Pinterest.  In another room, a little dog rests in his little night-night bed...having tucked himself to bed early.

Suddenly, the little dog appears in the doorway.  The Spinster screams in terror.  The little dog grimaces as blood and gore drip from his muzzle, his arms, his torso, his good leg, his bad leg....from everywhere.  

At first, the Spinster thinks she has been transported to the set of a Steven King movie.  Once she stops screaming and regains her senses, she realizes that the little dog's bad leg has opened and she immediately goes into triage mode.

Four bitten fingers, a bottle of sterile saline, six rolls of toilet paper, and four hours later, the Spinster and the little dog collapse into exhausted heaps.  The blood and gore have been staunched for now, but the trauma of the Spinster's feeble attempt at combat nursing armed with nothing but toilet papaer and scotch tape will last forever.  She is spent, but very happy that she did not follow her instinct, which was to dial 911, fake a heart attack, and then ask the paramedics to help her restrain, clean, and bandage the little dog's leg before transporting her to the hospital.

..........................

Scene Two:  A Ford Escape makes its way slowly to the PetSmart in the early morning light.  A portly spinster grimly grips the steering wheel while praying silently for guidance.  And a latte.

She returns to the filthy, yet deeply loved little house with:

Scene Three:  The portly spinster sits in her Happy Chair sipping her third cup of coffee.  Moments ago, she calmly and expertly cleaned and dressed the little dog's leg while he quietly looked out the window with his muzzle on, thus safely preventing further unpleasantness.  The spinster is absolutely thrilled that she is now capable of dealing with this situation and will hot have to rely on ingenuity, toilet paper, and Scotch tape to McGiver her way into the What Not To Do Veterinary Hall of Fame.

Her fingers, sadly, are going to take a little longer to heal.

The End.