The Fat Lady Can Sing
My sweet Sven and I believe that pets should be held accountable for their actions. That is why our little Hunter Bunter is in the other room at this moment, writing a letter. Here he comes now. "Thank you Puppy Dog." Dear Doctor Amy, I am very sorry about the unfortunate incident last week when my fangs sank into your skin. I was feeling a little woozy at the time on account of those three little pills that I have to take before visiting your office. My teeth were actually intended for the technician who stuck a thermometer up my ass before you came into the room. But, I couldn't get my shit together in time to nail her. So. Please accept my apology. Love, Hunter "Hunter. This is not an apology letter. Go back in that room and try it again." Pets these days. Our Mr. Puppy Dog is a one of a kind canine. And yes, it is true that he takes three little pills before his doctor appointments. They are supposed to take the edge off. Even though he is a big, tough, king of the jungle kind of a guy around here, he is a chicken when it comes to riding in a car, slippery floors and scales that move up and down. My Sweet Sven and I, as well as the clinic, dread his annual check up as much as he does. Sometimes those three little pills turn him into a pile of pudding and we have to carry his dead weight out to the car rolled up in a blanket like a murder had taken place, only to slide him out still in the blanket onto the black top in order to pull him across it and into the door to the much more forgiving tiled floor. It makes no difference how many of those pills he takes, although it is always three, at some point he is going to curl his lips back and show off his somewhat yellowed pearly whites. But this typically happens under the muzzle that has been handed to me to slip over his cute little face. On this particular visit the new technician didn't seem to hear my reference to using a muzzle or see the highlighted, MUST BE MUZZLED, note buried in his charts. Sven and I noticed that those little pills had barely touched him this time. He was able to walk in on his own. We were instructed to maneuver him onto the scary scale where he stood in a frozen daze as the woman in scrubs took his temperature from the rear. Here comes my puppy dog now. Let's see if he did any better with his second try. Dear Doctor Amy, I know I shouldn't bite somebody who is only trying to listen to my heart. I am terribly sorry. Please tell that technician of yours to keep her hands away from my backside next time. Maybe things will go more smoothly for you that way. Yours Truly, Hunter "Hunter! You are supposed to apologize. This will not do." Oh my word. Some people's dogs. Hazing is outlawed, isn't it? Well, every time that veterinary clinic gets a new doctor, that new doctor gets Hunter. It just seems fishy to me. Considering the toll these examinations take on all who are involved, we try to cover everything that is possible in one fell swoop. That is why when we leave that place, not only is our bank account wiped clean, we have a bag filled with ointments, flea and tick deterrents, heart worm pills and Hunter has had every available vaccination that is due within the next six months. It's a shame he missed the new one for Covid-19. We were so close. Sven and I prefer to wait in the waiting room after the preliminaries, where we roll our eyes at all the commotion coming from behind the door. Hunter has never had any formal acting classes and it really shows. He is so over the top. Anyway, he finally staggered out of there with his technician friend hanging on to his leash. While I paid the bill that took several minutes to print out, she followed Hunter and Sven outside with a silver cup in order to catch a little bit of a golden stream from the old dog with the new manicure, pedicure and special paw pad treatment, where some sort of an adhesive had been applied to the bottom of his feet for better traction. Broke and exhausted, we stuffed his uncooperative, eighty-eight point nine pounds into the back seat of our car and drove home. We were able to coax him back out of there with a hot dog and he wandered into the house and collapsed on the living room rug in a big heap in front of the fire, where he remained for the next fourteen hours. It was all so very peaceful. Those three little pills had finally kicked in. Along about four AM Hunter tried snapping to with some muffled woofs and failed attempts at standing up. It was another twelve hours before all four legs were working at the same time. That is when he went out the kitchen door and did his business. "I don't think he likes his new feet," I said to Sven. "Look at the way he is holding them out." "They are paws," said Sven. We are six days past the incident and are all doing fine. At least on this end. Just as soon as Hunter gets his apology letter finished, the fat lady can sing. Here he comes now. Hopefully the third will be the charm. Dear Doctor Amy, I did not mean to bite you. My dad says I did it because I was afraid that you would find out that I have no heart. That is not true. I do have a heart. And this heart of mine is very sorry. My mom told me that I don't have to come back for a whole year and luckily for me it will feel more like seven, which will put me at ninety-one. She said that when you are ninety-one you don't have to do anything that you don't want to do. You don't even have to have your temperature taken. So, tell that to your technician. Sincerely, Hunter "Not bad Puppy Dog. Let's put a stamp on it." Now it is time for us to get back to playing in the snow.