A Visit to the Veterinarian
Not that we have been to veterinary 4,762 times in the last year or anything, but Finny is due for his yearly check-up and vaccines this Friday. I am already biting my nails in anticipation of hearing bad news or learning I have not been caring for Finny as I should be. Overall, he seems to be doing fairly well. He eats like a hog, his hair looks awesome (finally), and he wants to go for walks. I continue to worry about his strength in his rear legs but honestly, he has always had skinny twiggy legs. A champion Irish Wolfhound Finnegan does not make. Of course I already knew that.
The problem with going to the veterinarian is that it is tiring for both of us. Typically, I struggle to get him into the Subaru and he stresses out because I am stressing out and he's panting and I'm panting and we are both a mess by the time we arrive. I end up wearing more Finnegan hair than he does. I think we both need Valium before we go. Once we get there, we typically must wait because my vet is very busy and I am usually early. Finnegan refuses to relax and instead stands over me as I sit in the lobby. And pants. And drools. Once the technician calls his name, I have to encourage him to follow her and then convince him the scale is a Safe Space where he can feel comfortable and accepted for who he is. Like his mother, he cheats when he gets on the scale and usually keeps one back foot off. So of course, the weight bounces between 100 and 175 pounds. This time I might actually have foresight and bring a treat with me to keep him still and on the scale.
After the scale ordeal, we are parked in an exam room more suited for your ordinary variety of canine rather than a baby camel. After violating Finny with a thermometer, the tech leaves us and again, Finnegan feels the need to practically crawl on my lap. This is after he lavishes the tech with wet kisses because what is not more enjoyable than taking one's temperature rectally. Finally, the moment of truth, the veterinarian comes in for the examination and dreaded vaccines. Again, Finny is thrilled to greet someone "new" and he wags tail against me causing bruises about my head and neck.
The examination is thorough and the injections painless. We finally get to leave and pay yet another vet bill (this one is much smaller compared to the other cancer treatment). Again, we struggle back to into the car and drive home, relieved that another appointment is complete and we can both drink a lot of water, or beer, and lay on the living room carpet together, panting, and glad to be at home.
posted by Veronica @ 10:15 AM
3 Comments:
That makes me tired! I'm glad you're home!
The cat doesn't go to the vet any more because, even after I give him his kitty valiums, he STILL completely wigs out, they have to use the falcon gloves on him, he makes noises you only hear at the zoo, and, even with the aforementioned falcon gloves, someone in the room always ends up bleeding. I know he's going to have to go eventually, but he's an inside-only kitty, so we don't worry too much.
Al and I both go when we take PugPei. She's not crazy about other critters, so one of us goes inside and checks in and waits to be called, while the other one stays outside with pooch. She usually behaves relatively well. The last time we were there, the vet told us pooch could stand to lose a pound or two...and then proceeded to give her FIVE biscuits because she thought she was so cute and laughed at the way she gobbled the biscuits like we hadn't fed her all week.
Woh, that really sounds very tiring. Glad to hear that Finnegan's fine. :)
~ fufu
Post a Comment
<< Home