At the end of June River wrote a funny blog about how we like to scoot on rugs. Boy were we wrong!
My scooting increased last week and my parents entered the “keep an eye on it,” stage. On Monday, when I took a poop on my walk, my Dad was keeping an eye on was my butt, which, when I completed the poop suddenly my butt looked like the faceless Nichlos Cage in “Face Off.”
Dad rushed me home. He told Mommy they had a problem. Then he picked me up. How was I the problem? I was feeling good. A little too much junk in the trunk but I’m no spring chicken anymore.
Mommy looked at my butt and agreed it wasn’t good. She said it looked like I had impacted anal sacs. They immediately called the vet to make an appointment for the following afternoon.
The next day, after my parents went to eat with Mommy’s brothers and their wives, it was time to see the vet. I was very excited to go there. They are kind to me there and often give me toys and treats.
We were brought into one of the rooms where everything is shiny and white. Two vet techs entered and said hello. I was put on a table, and the dark-haired tech hugged me from the front while the short-haired vet tech put on a pair of gloves. It was all very sweet and innocent. “It doesn’t look too bad,” the short-haired tech said checking out my glands. Then she stuck her finger in my butt.
“Excuse me!” I said and desperately trying to get away.
“She won’t let me in, “ the tech said.
You’re damn right I’m not letting you in. I’ve never let anyone in before. You want in open that treat jar and give me a little something. I’m not easy.
“It’s huge,” she said.
Well, that isn’t a nice thing to say to a lady when you have a finger up her butt.
The tech, digging her finger up to the knuckle in my anus, said, “it didn’t look this good from the outside.”
Yes, lady, I have the TARDIS up my ass.
She brought the finger out, and I felt sweet release. “I didn’t get it all,” he said and plunged back inside.
The dark-haired vet tech told my parents to talk to me to try and calm me down. I looked up at them, and they seemed more distressed than me. I was on my own.
The short-haired tech removed her finger for a final time, said there was no sign of blood or infection, and, after a few days, and some warm compress on my butt, I should be as good as new. I was upset the vet did not say thank you although she did apologize a lot.
My parents also bought me what they called new treats, but the box said: “No Scoot” so I figure they are medicinal, but that’s alright with me. I am all for no more fingers up my butt.
Scooting is a hard habit to break. My butt is recovering from the terrible torture I endured, but like so many souls, I am my own worst enemy, and still scoot turning my butt red again. My parents are making me wear pants at night, so I can’t lick my butt. What a pain in the ass. If it doesn’t get better, I have to go back to the vet. What a pain in the ass. Even after a scooting session, my butt doesn’t look as bad as Nicholas Cage’s face.
That’s something to be proud of if you ask me.