“Daisy blew out her knee.”

None of those words are registering.

“What do you mean?”

“She tore her ACL.”

Silence.

I look over at Herschel Walker who starts to wag her tail.  Thump. Thump. Thump.

Now some people say that you can tell if you are in shape or not by looking at your dog.  Seeing as we each have our own dents in the couch, I am having trouble getting my head around the “dog blew out her knee” part.

“What does that mean?” I ask Polly.

“Well, the vet says the only way to fix it is with surgery.”

Thump, thump, thump.

Uh-oh.

“How much is that?”

“You can guess what number it starts with.”

“Is there any chance this is a string of three numbers?”

“No”

I frown.  I see two things.  1) the car bumper that is currently attached to the car with leopard skin duct tape;  2) my dog with three legs.

Three legs isn’t so bad. I get along fine with two.

I look up.  “Does it start with a one?”

“No.”

“Two?”

“Nope.”

Thump, thump, thump.

I am close to swearing in front of my children.

She doesn’t really move that much.  I see three legged dogs everywhere.   One of them is kind of like a spare.

We don’t need to do this.  She’ll be fine.  No.  End of story.

I am standing at the animal hospital listening to the nurse explain post-op procedures to me.  Well, listening is kind of a directional idea.  I was fixated on this crazy cat lady who I think was pulling cat food out of her pocket.  The wet kind.  Ew.

Pet people can be crazy.  At least it’s clear in our family who is in charge.  Thump, thump, thump.

I look down at my fuzzy friend with the bionic knee.  I do have to admit that I feel personal pride that she qualified for no head cone – the dunce cap of petdom.  Unlike Fozzy Bear over there that looks like he is one of the coneheads on an SNL skit.  OK, I am a crazy pet person.

Thump, thump, thump.

I smile knowing we have never been a family of only 6.

“C’mon Herschel.”