The Problem with a Good Vet by Pocket

I have always been jealous of my friends with good vets, the ones their parents trust completely.

I have been to multiple vets.  There was the one who held me by my front paws and looked me up and down, there was the one who charged way too much money, there was the one who only saw dogs in the morning and didn’t seem that interested in our well being.  Last Tuesday we went to another new vet.

We walked into the small waiting room.  The walls were covered with thank you cards, drawings, and pup pictures.  I liked that.  My parents put me down to sniff.  The Sniff reviews were good.

We went into the exam room.  I got weighed (I am up to six pounds) then I checked out more sniff reviews.  The vet came in with a tech.  They both began to tell me how cute I was and they fawned over me.  They certainly knew how to impress ]parents.  My dad held me as they took a picture for their wall.

Then they began to check me over, and they said everything seemed good.  I did some shaking when it was time for the shots, but they said I was very brave.  They gave me a treat and a stuffed duck toy.  It was a fantastic experience.

“Her teeth do need work,” the vet said. “The only thing holding them in place is the plaque.  It is common in Yorkies.”

Forget about it toots.  My parents have gone to other vets who mentioned my teeth, but they never trusted the vet enough to have them cleaned.  My dad has used every toothpaste, spray, water additive and foam known to man in the last four years to combat my tooth decay.  We weren’t winning, but my teeth were still in my head, so that was a victory.  Sorry Mrs. Doctor Lady, but no expensive dental work for this dog.

“It might be time,” my mommy said.

Excuse me.  Time?  Time for what?  Time to leave in a huff?  Time to call the SPCA?  

The woman who does the dental work entered and looked in my mouth.  “Yes, some of these are going to have to come out.  Would you like us to do an estimate?”

No.  No estimate.  Keep your fingers off my teeth!  Mom!

Mom thought it over.  I knew she would say no.   So I had a few bad teeth?  What’s the harm?  

She said yes.  Then things moved very quickly.  An estimate was done, an appointment was made, and now, nine years after I lost my forlorn ovaries some of my teeth are joining them in the doggy scrap heap.

On March 29 I am going to have my teeth cleaned and some extracted.  

Some dogs say a good vet is a great gift.  To me, not so much.   Give me my old incompetent, uncaring vet any day.  At least no one makes appointments with them.