Vet

I didn’t want to write about the weather but, c’mon Minnesota, what did I ever do to you? 

We had trees budding in the middle of February and a softball game canceled in mid Apri due to snow. 

I just don’t know what to say. Sure, the sun is shining now, but let’s face it. That means NOTHING! 

Even without the snow and the wind blowing a gazillion miles an hour, it was a tough week. 

The schedule included the dogs’ annual appointment with the vet to get their shots and anti-tick medicine. 

There’s a lot of trauma involved in getting our dogs to the vet. Both of them were rescued and still have some residual PTSD. Plus, the big one is getting old and can’t leap into the pickup anymore. She requires considerable boosting, which I’m willing to do in the privacy of our garage but would prefer not to do where witnesses are present. 

It’s a half hour drive to the vet. The little dog perched alertly between the front seats, watching for traffic problems, spaceships, or gophers. Frances sat in back, panting incessantly into my right ear. Sophie loves road trips, but Frances is positive nothing good comes from pickup rides, so she likes to be preemptively concerned. 

The drive is the easy part. 

Both dogs know the vet’s office when they see it, so as soon as we park there’s a certain amount of resistance. Not a problem with Sophie since she weighs about as much as a sack of potatoes and can be tucked under one arm, but Frances hovers around triple digits and if she decides not to move, well, picture pushing a wheelbarrow - full of rocks. And upside down. 

Frances also has a distrust of rectangles. 

Yeah, I dunno. To my knowledge, we’ve never pushed her onto a trap door that dropped her into a hole full of snakes, but she certainly acts like it. The vet’s office has large tiles on the floor and Frances refuses to cross any of the grout lines. Last year we had to make a road of rugs to the exam room.  

Once in the exam room, Frances' day picks up. The vet likes her. In fact, the other day she leaned over and crooned, “Oh Frances, you’re one of my favorites.” 

Wag, wag, wag. 

Frances groaned with pleasure when the vet rubbed her ears and apparently was oblivious when she got her shots. 

Sophie, not so much. It seems her first owner not only broke her ribs but burned her with cigarettes. For some reason, that made her develop a distrust of letting people near her face or hold her tightly. This made the exam a little more perfunctory than ideal, but we live in an imperfect world. There was also some discussion about inflamed anal sacs. I don’t know what those are, and I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t have to learn. Sophie wouldn’t make eye contact with any of us the rest of the day. 

We can't forget about the scale. Frances was fine, positively svelte by Newfie standards, but Sophie gained two and one-half pounds.   

From eleven to thirteen and one-half.   

Hey, I’m in no position to judge. I’m sure she’ll start exercising as the weather gets better. 

If it ever does. 

Copyright 2024 Brent Olson