So, it's Spring in Maine all of a sudden. One week we're pushing ice out of the way of the boat and the next we're in a fight for our life with a mosquito named "Ziki" carrying an AR-15 and a copy of the Koran, arguing the prophet's interpretation with a moose fly the size of a Buick while a phalanx of the infamous black flies of ISIL fame are attempting to lop off my head with their scimitars.
And then I wake up.
It's Wednesday morning and that means it is time for Iggy's appointment with the Vet for shots and the like. Off we go down the lane, with the previously cited moose flies (similar to horse flies only larger with filed teeth) holding on to the truck mirrors as they scream epitaphs like "Death to the Infidels", "Eat Mor Chiken" and "Allah akhbar Khan". Or maybe it's just the buzzing in my ears.
Realizing where we have turned in to stop, Iggy's joy at going for a ride in the truck is replaced with a sullen "You'll get yours, buster" as he slinks out of the back seat. In through the doors we go, yours truly dragging the reluctant hairy pig, parallel grey scratches on the pavement where he tried to express resistance, He shares a butt sniff with an apricot mini-poodle on her way out and settles in to cowering against my leg awaiting his turn.
Soon enough, Dr. O. is ready for him. She's been his vet for 5 years and despite his disregard, actually likes the little twerp. He allows me to lift him onto the scales where we discover he currently tips those scales at 45 POUNDS!
Oh my. Breed standard specifies </= 30 lbs. for male schipperkes. Last visit (two years ago; he saw a Baton Rouge practitioner last year) he weighed 32 lbs. and we were chastised for allowing him to get so fat then.
Surprisingly, Dr. O just tsk'ed and continued with the jabbing and poking. Then came the moment he was afraid was coming. New gloves and a great glob of K-Y jell on the Vet means only one thing. I held him tightly and she applied the jell in a judicious fashion to the orifice capable of accommodating her index finger. He turned red -- no mean feat for a black dog, let me tell you -- and expressed his indignation by chewing through my bicep while Dr. O expressed his anal glans. A quick swipe or two with a baby wipe and the indignity was over and he was all cuddles as she sympathetically offered him a biscuit. Me, he didn't have the time of day for.
I ran him outside into the truck so he didn't have to repeat the whole shaking and whining thing in the waiting room as I waited to pay the bills. And ouch, they got you (me) by what few short & curlies I still have. It cost almost four times as much as my personal doctor charges for an office visit.
The things we do for pets...
And So It Goes, y'all.
And then I wake up.
It's Wednesday morning and that means it is time for Iggy's appointment with the Vet for shots and the like. Off we go down the lane, with the previously cited moose flies (similar to horse flies only larger with filed teeth) holding on to the truck mirrors as they scream epitaphs like "Death to the Infidels", "Eat Mor Chiken" and "Allah akhbar Khan". Or maybe it's just the buzzing in my ears.
Realizing where we have turned in to stop, Iggy's joy at going for a ride in the truck is replaced with a sullen "You'll get yours, buster" as he slinks out of the back seat. In through the doors we go, yours truly dragging the reluctant hairy pig, parallel grey scratches on the pavement where he tried to express resistance, He shares a butt sniff with an apricot mini-poodle on her way out and settles in to cowering against my leg awaiting his turn.
Soon enough, Dr. O. is ready for him. She's been his vet for 5 years and despite his disregard, actually likes the little twerp. He allows me to lift him onto the scales where we discover he currently tips those scales at 45 POUNDS!
Oh my. Breed standard specifies </= 30 lbs. for male schipperkes. Last visit (two years ago; he saw a Baton Rouge practitioner last year) he weighed 32 lbs. and we were chastised for allowing him to get so fat then.
Surprisingly, Dr. O just tsk'ed and continued with the jabbing and poking. Then came the moment he was afraid was coming. New gloves and a great glob of K-Y jell on the Vet means only one thing. I held him tightly and she applied the jell in a judicious fashion to the orifice capable of accommodating her index finger. He turned red -- no mean feat for a black dog, let me tell you -- and expressed his indignation by chewing through my bicep while Dr. O expressed his anal glans. A quick swipe or two with a baby wipe and the indignity was over and he was all cuddles as she sympathetically offered him a biscuit. Me, he didn't have the time of day for.
I ran him outside into the truck so he didn't have to repeat the whole shaking and whining thing in the waiting room as I waited to pay the bills. And ouch, they got you (me) by what few short & curlies I still have. It cost almost four times as much as my personal doctor charges for an office visit.
The things we do for pets...
And So It Goes, y'all.
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1 comment:
Today we have an appointment with the Vet for all three of our pooches. Time for their shots, etc. They like to ride in the Jeep or motorhome, but somehow they all seem to know when they are heading to the Vet and protest. Their body language speaks very loud. . .
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