His name was Coos Coos...

     I like dogs.  Really, I do.  We always had dogs growing up, and I even have a dog now.  I have found that I tend to favor larger dogs which don't qualify as "nippy, ankle bitters".  As a home health nurse, part of my job is to go into the homes of strangers and provide whatever nursing care that's ordered.  Most of the time, people who have ankle biters, usually have enough sense to put the dog in another room or outside or shove it in a drawer when someone visits them. This was not the case today.  His name was "Coos Coos"..yes, just like the ricey/noodlelish food. He was a tiny, white, long haired Chiwawa, and he hated everyone except his owner.  He was solid white except for a light brown patch of hair that surrounded his little white butt...Yes, it looked a lot like poop. I was not impressed with Coos Coos, nor he with me.  But I was there to take his owner's vital signs and discuss her medications and quite possibly, he would get kicked or I would get bitten before the visit was over.
     I don't know why....I have a theory for another blog - but most of the patients I see would qualify as active participants in the show "Hoarder's Buried Alive". This particular house was no different. There were boxes lining the doorway and little paths through the maze of clutter as I found my way to a level spot on a box where I could put my bag. The difference between this hoarder's house and all the other houses I've been in was the fact that most of the time, I've been barricaded away from the pets or they've been too scared to attack me.  Not this time. We went through the usual niceities and after I washed my hands, cleared a chair, scurried away a roach and sat down, Coos Coos settled down a bit.  I talked to his owner for a few minutes then it was time to take her blood pressure.  Standing wasn't something Coos Coos wanted to see me do, but something I desperately needed to do for fear of more roaches. He would be content to stare at me as if his beedy little brown eyes were keeping me paralyzed in my chair. However, I had no intention of staying in this lady's house any longer than required.  As I took out my blood pressure cuff and approached his owner, he danced around in circles and lunged at me if I ever turned my back.  It was the first backward and blind blood pressure cuff placement I'd ever completed.  He must have thought we were playing "Red Light/Green Light" because each time I turned my back on him, he gained a little ground.
     His owner, we'll call her Ms. B. (though that's no where near her real name) said, "Don't turn your back on him or he'll get cha!"
     "Do you think he'd be happier in a different room so I can do your assessment?" I hinted...
    "Oh, no, he'll be ok...Just don't take your eyes off of him," she said.
     "Ms. B, that's kinda hard to do since I have to read the blood pressure cuff dial," I said.
     "Well, you'll be ok.  It'll upset him more if I lock him up," she said.
     With my irritation meter reaching hypertension levels, I quickly finished up my half blind assessment and headed toward the door.
     "I think you'll probably have to walk backwards so he won't try to bite you," said Ms. B.
     This was not easy in the least bit. Not only did I have to maintain eye contact with the doglet, I also had to maneuver backwards toward the door and try not to knock over any boxes into the tiny little path carved out to the door.   How do people live this way?  Why do people live this way?  Do they just become blind to the junk?  Mental illness runs rampant. I just know it does.
     Anyway, as Coos Coos escorted me to the door, his anxiety level started growing because his high pitched bark started getting louder. Just as I was almost to the door, Coos Coos grabbed my pant leg and was shaking his little head trying to tear my pants leg off.
     "Coos Coos!  Stop that!" Ms. B yelled which was the end of her involvement or control of killer Coos. 
     Thankfully, just then Ms. B's phone rang and she went to the other room to answer it.  I was almost to the door, and then my foot just accidentally - and with no ill feeling or premeditation of any nature on my behalf - kicked Coos Coos clear across the room.  I think he landed on a roach.  But don't feel sorry for the Coos. That little foot fling bought me just enough time to slip out the door and close it...Just as I closed it, I heard Coos Coos hit the door with his nose..followed by a deep, throaty growl that I've only heard on nature shows documenting the mating habits of wildebeests...or so I've imagined.  Needless to say, so I must say it, I am kinda dreading the next visit to that patient's house.  Maybe I should bring it a snack...maybe it won't contain rat poisoning....maybe it will.....: )