I know our morning routine and when it changes I begin to shake because a change means something bad is about to happen. Monday morning started out fine. Got up, went outside, did our business and bothered my parents while they made the bed. Then Mommy didn’t shower. Daddy didn’t get on the floor to play ball with me. No one started breakfast. Something was happening.
River was picked up and put in her crate. Oh no! Whatever was happening was happening to me! I was picked up. My leash was hooked to my collar. Mommy carried me out and we got in the car. The front seat of the car! There is only one place I go alone in the front seat of the car. I was going to the vet!
Daddy drove and I sat on Mommy’s lap barking. I was trying to convince Daddy to pullover. To turn around! To let me steer so I could go back home. But he ignored me. I ended up just whining.
We got to the vet’s. Thankfully there were no dogs in the waiting room. Daddy reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a bag of my pooh that he had pilfered that morning. I thought the taking of my own bodily waste without my permission was the last indignity I would face that day but I was wrong
They took me over to the scale. If I was a good dog I would have sat on the scale. And if they had any patience I would have sat on the scale eventually. But they took my weight while I was nervously padding around the scale and decided I gained a pound. That may not be a lot to you but I weigh five pounds and it said six. It was like if you weigh 50 pounds and then they tell you that you weighed 60 pounds. I eat right. I exercise. I don’t have sweets or soda. This was an outrage! And how can you trust a vet who can’t weight you?
Then I was put on the table. The vet came in and felt me everywhere and I do mean everywhere. (Indignity alert.) They discussed a couple of meaningless little bumps and then my teeth. My mouth is tiny and a brush doesn’t fit inside. After trying many different products my parents found a gel that seems to be working. So they vet didn’t see a need to do any dental work which made me momentarily happy.
And then wham! bam! slam! cajam! Four shoots in a row. Now that was uncalled for. The good news is that I was free.
While we were waiting for my freedom papers to be processed a woman came in with a 15 year old Chihuahua named Taco. He had been vomiting, not eating, had pale gums and was lame. He looked at us with sunken eyes. The vet tech examined him and told his owner that she needed to take him to the emergency vet for x-rays and blood work. We don’t know if it was for financial reasons, or that the owner could not accept how sick Taco was, but when we left she was arguing with the tech that Taco did not need to go to the expensive emergency vet. The owner said she was sure Taco would be fine. I barked at Taco that, if his Mom was wrong, he should look up a dog named Foley Monster, and she would take care of him.
I got home and after the walk I spent as much time as I could on Mommy’s lap. As bad as my day was it wasn’t as bad as Taco’s and I hope I don’t have a day like hers for a very long time.