Needling Sandy
Grandad February 28th, 2011
I had to bring Sandy to the vet today.
She wanted to drive, but it was my turn so she had to make do with the passenger seat. I couldn’t have let her drive anyway, as then I would have to tell her where to go, and I know she would have refused.
I parked at the vet’s, and Sandy gave me her usual “so you’re going to leave me in the fucking car again, huh?” look, so she was pleasantly surprised when I clipped her lead to her collar. She hopped out of the car, and merrily enjoyed the plethora of delicious smells around the car park.
Then we got to the vet’s door.
There is only one thing Sandy hates more than fireworks, and that’s a visit to the vet. She planted her four paws and refused to budge. I had to slide her the rest of the way.
We had to wait a wee while as an emergency had come in. Apparently a dog had eaten a bottle cap, and it was disagreeing with him. Fucking idiot! Why couldn’t he use a bottle opener like our Sandy does? She has more respect for her teeth than to open beer bottles with them.
We eventually got to see the vet. Once again, I had to slide Sandy into the surgery on the end of her lead. Now I know why vets have such highly polished floors.
It was a simple visit. All that was required was a simple blood test to confirm that she has caught rabies. She even had a wee shave for her troubles. They had to clear a small patch on her leg to insert the needle. I could tell she would have preferred a Brazilian, but tough – I was paying so I decided what was shaved.
We are back home now. I let Sandy drive to cheer her up. Now I have to write up a sign for the front gate.
“DANGER Rabid Dog”.
Incidentally…. if a veterinarian fought in a war would he then become a vetvet?
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