Two of the dogs, Saphie and Cujo, had to go to the vet today. Saphie needed her annual shots, her nails trimmed and her back legs checked. Cujo needed to have a lump on his chest examined. The drama started the minute we attempted to leave the house. The dogs not going, Celie and Harpo, were not happy that Saphie and Cujo were being leashed up to go somewhere. Celie took her aggression out on Saphie while Harpo jumped around hoping this would inspire us to take him, too. Finally we headed out the door to the car. Saphie and Cujo were elated. I’m sure they were thinking the dog park was in their future. They figured out this wasn’t the case the minute we pulled into the vet parking lot. At that moment, reality set in and their nerves took over and pandemonium ensued. When we opened the door, Cujo bounded from the car (he is a Corgi mix and has short squatty legs and a rotund middle) and attempted to run away sideways to avoid stepping on his own leash. Saphie tried to hide in the backseat. She is overweight and fluffy white while the car interior is black. We spotted her right away. Her eyes were filled with terror as if the backseat were made of quicksand. Finally, we walked into the vet. They know us there. People know us anywhere we go with our dogs. We are memorable. We signed in and Saphie immediately took a giant crap on the floor.
Cujo is nervous as shit.
Saphie is nervous as shit...literally.
Shit clean up. Saphie is under the chair at this point.
Cujo is the first one up on the table. He is generally really good at that vet. He is just nervous and does a lot of panting and pacing. The lump on his chest hasn’t grown since the last visit, but the vet did a fine needle aspiration. Everything appeared to be fine. That is until they weighed him. He has gained weight and we were told he needed to go on a diet. Tiffany and I decided we would discuss his new diet plan over waffles at the Waffle House.
Saphie was next. We both dread taking her to the vet. She has several red marks in her file…large ones, bolded and underlined. She doesn’t like her nails to be touched, she doesn’t like her hair to be pulled (she is a wire haired terrier and you are supposed to pull certain hairs out to groom her), she doesn’t like to be looked at directly in the eyes, she doesn’t like baby talk, she abhors the fecal test (we believe this is why she always craps in the waiting room), she hates needles and even the sight of them, she does not like tile, she detests the muzzle which she now has to wear as a result of her many outbursts in the past, she doesn’t like fluorescent lights, talking, clinic tables, medical charts, scales, microscopes and other dogs. It is a traumatic experience for everyone involved and naturally everyone who works there knows Saphie. They all rush in to assist. Her reputation precedes her. I see their looks, I see them putting on the Kevlar vests, bird of prey full arm gloves and chainmail. I know what they are thinking, but she is my angel. She just doesn’t like the vet and feels that through drama and violence she can express her loathing. She got her shots, she got her nails trimmed and she got her back legs checked. Her legs have been bothering her. She has a touch of arthritis. I will get her a special velvet pillow. Arthritis, however, did not prohibit her from putting up her usual fight at the vet. She is made of piss, vinegar, clouds, love and rainbows.
Mission accomplished...time to get the heck out of there.
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