It was time for my dog, Scout, to visit the vet and he was so excited! See, our dog is not like a normal dog, because our dog is totally outta control. I mean really, how many of you have had your dog come home in the back of a police car? Now I said dog, not teenager. Crazy thing is, when the cop car pulls up in front of our house, I am thinking, okay, which child of mine is climbing out of the back seat? Once the policeman goes to open the back door and this over sized, overly happy hound bounds out of the car and starts running circles around the cop, I about lose it.
So anyhow, enough about all the laws that my dog has broken. I want to tell you about his vet visit.
Now, those of you who know me, or have been following my blog, know that I am what you'd call a "closet" dog person. And what that means is... I'd really rather wave to my dog and tell him he is a nice boy, than have him get all mushy on me. I am just not crazy about a big wet tongue, emitting hot "outside" breath and sloppy kisses. I hope that doesn't give you the impression that I am not an animal lover. Please no PETA calls. I really do like, err, love my dog; just not close up.
Anyhow, I take him to the vet and that in itself is a job for me. First off, dogs in fine German cars. I don't think so. Then there is that whole dog smell issue again. Uh, not in my car. But this time, there is no choice in cars, so off we go. Scout, an Airedale hound, piles into my car and just cannot get over how great the leather seats are. He starts prancing around, licking the leather. He quickly finds my missing chicken nugget from last week. I open the back window, thinking, I have seen other "dog lovers" do this, and their dogs always look so happy, hanging their heads out the window, nostrils flared, sniffing at the wind. Yeah? Well, no, not Scout. He practically leaps out the window. In my quest to get the window up quickly, well, let's just say, the patch of missing fur is hardly noticeable.
So finally, we arrive at the vet. The first thing Dog Nurse tells me is that they have to get his weight. So I am thinking to myself, fine, do what you have to do. They have this big industrial looking scale, but Scout, being the outta control pup, just won't stay up on it. So Dog Nurse looks over at me and cheerfully suggests, "Why don't you get on the scale and hold him, and then we can subtract your weight to get his weight?"
I can't believe my ears. The way I see it, there are two gigantic problems with that scenario. One, I wasn't going to hold Scout. Two, if she thought I was gonna jump up on that livestock scale and expose my numbers to her or the guy sitting in the corner chair, pretending to be reading some magazine on "How to groom your cat in ten easy steps," she was colossally misguided. Yeah, I see magazine guy looking. He is thinking to himself, "Self, this is about to get interesting."
I peer up over my glasses and smile just as sweetly as is possible for me to do so. "Oh," I explain, "This isn't even my dog." Like that reasonably covers why I couldn't possibly jump up on that scale. No, scale jumping requires ownership of said pup. "I am just here helping out a friend. And actually, (fake sneeze), I have bad allergies, so that whole idea would not be a good thing for me. Plus, I actually ran out of the house this morning without my Epi-pen, so yeah, er NO."
By now, Scout has knocked over several bags of Science Diet dog food. He has run over to "cat lover guy" and lifted his leg up to his chair, as if to...you get it. Scout is peeing all over the leg of the chair, while cat lover, magazine guy is sitting in it. Now he sports an even more astonished look on his face. A look he NEVER would have had, should I have actually gotten up on that scale. Serves him right, I am thinking. I helplessly look over at Dog Nurse and say, "And this is what I get for helping out a friend." With that, I scrunch up my eyes and tilt my head back ever so slightly. I sputter out a single "Achoo" for good measure.
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