this land mine might just ruin everything.

*Because I was stuck in a hotel room earlier this week and because I am determined to use my iPad for something, I decided to add some illustrations to this story. I know what you’re thinking, but no, I did not commission them from a 6 year old. I drew them myself.

My dad once told me that when he dies, he wants to be reincarnated as one of my pets. And here’s why: I’m hopelessly devoted to my dog. Look! I drew you a picture to show our undying affection:

See how much fun we have together? Our love is unconditional. He doesn’t judge me for not knowing how to draw my own hair or for being an all-around terrible artist. He gets me. He’s all: “I get you.” And that’s good, because since the 21st Century family has moved from Atlanta to Savannah (and I don’t know anyone here) (and I don’t have a job), he’s kind of all I have going for myself.

Most of the time we spend together is sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. But last week, things took a turn for the terrible.

I’m going to have to blame UPS for setting things into motion. Originally, I wasn’t going to, because they are far more reliable than FedEx, and even though they usually don’t get to my house until after 7:30 p.m. with their deliveries (which can be a long time when you’re waiting for something awesome, like a new camera), they always (eventually) bring me stuff I want. And I like that about them.

But last Monday afternoon, the UPS delivery guy became the catalyst for something terrible, and I can’t excuse his part in all of this.

See, last week, when I opened the front door to accept a package, I was holding Winston, like I usually do when I answer the door, because Winston was barking so hard I thought my ears were going to explode, like he usually does when someone comes to the door.

Now, I still can’t figure out what would have compelled him to do this, but the UPS man thought–foolishly–that he could diffuse the wild-eyed barking dog. Not by backing up or leaving, oh no. He thought he could make things better by trying to pet the angry beast.

I guess that’s what Winston gets for being a Maltese. Even when he thinks he’s sending someone death-ray dirty looks and he’s giving his most aggressive growl, he’s still 12 pounds of puffy white fur.

Winston’s reaction to the UPS man’s attempt to pet him was a combination body twist (in an effort to scoot away from contact) and guttural groan (to let me know that I was messing up his universe by allowing this to happen.) But with one arm around the delivered package and the other around Winston, I was powerless to stop the advancing hand.

We can go ahead and talk about the fact that I feel terrible for not putting Winston in an enclosed room when I went to answer the door, but I’ve never seen anyone try to pet a growling, barking, angry dog before. I did not see the attempted contact or the consequences coming.

Although the UPS man wasn’t able to actually lay a hand on Winston, the experience had obviously made an impact, because when I closed the door, Winston was rigid and shaking. I thought he was frightened by the unwanted petting. This seems like a mostly believable scenario since my dog is afraid of everything (including loud noises, cats, corn products and T.V. remote controls.)

But the shaking didn’t stop, and his mobility seemed to be limited. He could walk, but he preferred to be still. Curled up and shaking.

He spent the next several hours like this:

When it became clear that there was no end to his shivering in sight, the Mr and I decided to take Winston to the vet.

Have I mentioned we’re new in town? About 100 times, huh? Well, when you’re new in town, finding a vet is kind of tricky. We weren’t sure where to get a good referral, so of course, we turned to the internet, booking an appointment with the best-rated doggie doc we could find.

The vet we saw was very kind. She suggested that it might be a back problem, and then gave us enough drugs to knock our dog out for eternity if we so desired. Anti-inflammatory, muscle-relaxing, pain-killing drugs.

And for the next few days, Winston looked a lot like this:

But by the third day, he was up and ready to run and hop and chase and play. We thought: “Oh boy! The worst is behind us”

Not so fast.

Because back problems can lead to more severe issues, like disc disease, paralysis or the end of the world, we decided we should be proactive and get a specialist’s opinion on the whole experience.

“Look at us being adults,” I thought. “Nothing but the best for my BFF.”

And this is where being new in town is definitely a problem. We took the referral we were given by a vet we had never seen before and walked happily into the unknown specialists office like lambs. Blind, stupid lambs.

As we carried our happy, tail-wagging dog into the exam room, we had no idea what was waiting for us inside.

What happened in that exam room left me cursing dishonest people everywhere.

The specialist wanted to do an invasive procedure just to diagnose the problem. And if he found any problems during this procedure, he wanted to operate immediately. There wouldn’t be time, he said, to call us for our consent, so we needed to go ahead and agree. Then he said that, if he performed the surgery, it would be about a week before Winston could be released to our care.

And after Winston completed inpatient and outpatient physical therapy (which would last about a month total), the specialist wanted to see him again for possible knee surgery.

It went down sort of like this:

As you can see, we are each having a very different experience here.

Vet: This is going to require multiple surgeries, thousands of dollars, your first born, and–was the a Prius I saw you driving? Yeah. I’m going to need that too. Money, money, money.

Me: What the hell is going on? Is this all true? Stop trying to scare me. I’m already terrified. This is MY BEST FRIEND. (I was roughly 18 seconds away from reenacting that “GIVE MY DAUGHTER HER SHOT” scene from Terms of Endearment for no reason except that it suddenly felt like the most dramatic day of my life.)

Winston: Why won’t they let me play? I did some of my best work trying to get them to chase me. Maybe if I wag my tail, they’ll know I’m ready to go home. Maybe if I lick them, they will give me treats.

The Mr: I am a newly minted lawyer, bub. I have just enough knowledge to be dangerous, and if you make one more move, I will lawyer your ass in to next week.

Then the Mr actually started lawyering this guy. RIGHT THERE IN THE EXAM ROOM.

He was all, “I don’t doubt your qualifications, but this seems extreme.” Then I was like “Dude! What if this guy is right? And he’s our only hope? AND YOU’RE PISSING HIM OFF!?!?”

The specialist and the lawyer went back and forth for several more minutes.

And while they were…um…let’s call it respectfully disagreeing, I was trying not to swallow my tongue from panic.

It wasn’t that I wanted to hand over our beloved dog, but I didn’t know what to believe. I just kept wondering if this guy was trustworthy or not, because while I stood there like my head was going to explode, Winston was wagging his tail and licking me. And signing a seemingly healthy dog up for a month of medical procedures seemed so mean.

And then we left. With our dog. No surgery. We told the guy we wanted a second opinion. “OK,” he said, “but if you’re dog’s spine explodes over the weekend, we run an emergency clinic, so bring him here. Feel free to bring your crippling guilt with you. You will have totally earned it.”

We did get second opinions, though. Four of them.

We are don’t mess around when it comes to this dog.

The consensus ended up being this: This guy was probably a crook.

While it’s not uncommon for specialists to want to take that kind of quick action in an emergency, Winston had only had two episodes like this in his life, and he was responding to medicine quickly. It’s too soon to subject him to such invasive and aggressive procedures. We just need to keep him calm for a few weeks while he is recovering and keep him from jumping on and off of furniture.

We were warned, however, that disc problems are sort of like land mines. If left undisturbed, they may never be a problem again. But discs can rupture without warning sometimes. When that happens, you have to be prepared to take the dog in for surgery immediately, because there can be a very narrow window of time to correct the problem before the damage cause is irreversible.

So for the time being, I’ve elevated the threat level in our house to yellow.