I know what you must be thinking, I love animals & I'm such a good person. Truth me told, yes, I love them but I'm not really a good person. There are aspects of pet ownership I, well, hate. One thing I hate? Take my pets to the vet.
I'd rather be without electricity than take my pets to the vet. Of course the reason for this is, well, crappy vets. There have only been 2 vets in my lifetime I've liked & who have done good things for my critters. One is 2 hours away, & the other is who knows where. So I'm back to crappy vets. I managed to find a decent vet, though I'm not too impressed overall but when you have a fucking assload of pets, you need a vet.
I also try everything possible before I take my pet to the vet. I mean, if it's something that they need medical help for I'll of course do it. But if it's something minor, I'll try your run of the mill home remedies. Like recently, Murphy got itchy. Itching led to scratching. Which led to digging. Which led to chewing. Which led to pulling her hair out.
When we hit that point, I decided it was time for a vet trip.
I called on a Monday. The earliest they could see me in Friday. My dog is getting more & more bald, & now we're waiting until Friday. Awesome. After I get off the phone, they called me back but I missed the call. No message, so I figured it wasn't anything important.
Friday morning, I get a call that they can't see me at the time they gave me. They can see me earlier, or next Thursday. Um, no. They finally come up with the idea that I can be seen that day at the same time at their other office across town. I agreed, even though I hated the idea. You see, I've been to that office. I'm not a fan personally of their care. The past few times I've been, I've had to wait & wait while they took people they knew ahead of me & people from the local pet shops. People who just popped in, announced they didn't have an appointment, but I guess since they are BFF's, they get my slot while I wait.
But my dogs ass is bald. And I can't wait until almost a week. And on a Friday afternoon, I can't really call around & find other vets & be see before a few days. So I figure my dog has a bald ass, so I need to suck it up & go. And I did.
First, Murphy & I played a fun game. It's called, "Get in the Car."
Murphy won that game.
I then wrestled her. Seriously. Battle music was playing in the background, I'm trying to take her down which is hard because dogs have 4 legs you have to bring down. She's also big. I'd later find out she's 55lbs. That's 55lbs of shedding, drooling, avoiding the car battle I dealt with. I totally see why people drug their dogs.
But eventually I won.
And she acted totally cool. Why do dogs do that?! We'd just wrestled in the street, I was dirty, my hair was all over, my left boob was popping out of my nursing bra. I was sweating. I hate to sweat. And her? You'd never know we just battled. Then it got worse. She looked as though she was fucking ENJOYING IT.
Yeah, she was totally into this idea. Suuuuure.
I drive with this big ass dog all in my face, trying to act cool. I'm not sure why, but I felt like people would point & laugh at me & my dog. Weird, huh? So I tried to act like this was something I did all the time. Drive around, with a dog...cover in hair, & annoyance. I get across town, but not before that dog drool drop started. If you have a dog, you know what I'm talking about. They panting with the excess doggie spit. And they always have to hover their heads over you or your stuff. I had it down my arm. On my purse. It was on Adam's coffee cup.
Ummm...sorry honey. I just realized I never told him that & never took it in to wash it off after it was covered in doggie spit drops.
I pull in & see this.
I don't know. It felt like I needed to get a picture at that moment. So I did.
Murphy is, of course, totally willing to get OUT of the car. And the hippies stare at me while I wrestle this dog. You're loitering at a vet's office wearing a comic book t-shirt, but I'm the weirdo? Hmph.
When I go in & wait in line, I see this.
Oh fuck me. That's instantly what I thought. They are trying to sell me pet pictures?! Where I dress my fucking dogs up?! I wanted to run away screaming.
I wait my turn in line. Then I wait some more. I waited for 15 minutes before I was finally able to tell them who I was. I then stand there, because there are no seats. People are there with one dog, but 3 members of their family. Does it really take your entire family to take your dachshund to the vet? A woman is there with a kitten, wrapped in a towel. She looks at me, Murphy, then me again. "What's she do with cats?" I tell her, "Oh, she loves cats." She then replied, "yeah, to eat them I bet" then we back to playing with her cell phone with the Michael Jackson ringtone. I have 12 goddamn cats, my dog will not eat yours! I guess Murphy knew I was offended on her behalf, so she walked up to a cake where the vet had stray cats up for adoption & made friends with a kitty, nose to nose. I wanted to say, "See, bitch?! I told you so, fuck you!" but I didn't. I was the bigger person. Go me!
I wait. And I wait. Then I wait some more. Murphy isn't happy with this either.
During my waiting, I feel...something. It's wet, it's weird...it's lactation. I then realized that in my haste, I hadn't put those lovely breast pads in my bra & I hadn't nursed for a few hours. I was in trouble. I tried to hide it. Put my arms over it. Held my purse up. I looked insane. So finally, I decided to do this.
I took a brochure about flea prevention & fanned my boob. I tried to make it look like I was interested in it, then I announced to my dog that I was warm. Because that wouldn't make me look weird at all. And then I fanned myself. When on one was looking, I fanned my boob like I was trying to make a windmill create electricity. I look around the room, I see art. I see...this.
At least puppies & kittens in flowers are less odd than dressing your pets up.
Finally, at 5:30, we're called back. Last people in the building. Then I wait some more in the room.
At this point, the decor gets, uh, weirder. I look up & see this.
I thought "wow, that's a bad flea!" then I turned around & saw this....
Then I realized I was an idiot, because that was a flea & the previous thing was a tick. I felt dumb, shouldn't I know my inflatable parasites?
Then this killed any appetite I had.
Mmmmm....blood rich feces.
But you know what's worse than blood rich feces?
DRESSING YOUR FUCKING PETS UP.
Why are people doing this?! Jeesh. I hate to tell you this peeps, but your dog doesn't want to dress up as a witch or lay in a basket of flowers. So stop it already. Have I said jeesh yet? Jeesh.
Murphy isn't cool with this whole thing. She keeps peeking around the table.
She gets weighed, she's 55lbs. Funny since she wasn't suppose to get any bigger than 30-ish. This is why we're at the vet...
Bad, huh? I tell the woman she's on flea prevention, but we still find random fleas. She tells me this is normal, nothing can keep 100% of them off. I then tell her I saw the brochure for a flea pill & I'd like some for her & my other dog at home. See, I really did read that brochure I fanned my boob with!
Speaking of my boob, it went from bad to worse. Wet was bad. Worse was dried.
Yeah, that's not noticeable AT ALL. I started just wanting to tell people, "I'm breastfeeding!" so it didn't look like I was a dirty mess. With how I looked, I'm surprised they didn't insist on payment before treatment.
I wait for the doctor. Finally, she comes in. She looks at Murphy. She tells he she's raw & itchy. Tells me it's the few fleas on her & says she'll get the pills for the dogs. She leaves. Another few minutes go by, the assistant comes back in & gives me the pills for my dog. She tells me the vet is gone. Like...gone. And to go check out at the front desk.
So all this time & the $100 I'm out? I get told she's itchy.
Also on the list of "well no shit" diagnosis were "she's a dog" & "she's white & brown in color." Or maybe "she breathes." I could have, well no I did, already diagnosed that one. And that was that. Minus the $100, of course. Oh, & this.
MORE TRYING TO SELL ME PICTURES! I don't want pictures, I want my dog to stop pulling her hair out. Thanks though.
I think she fell victim to the "last patient whose not really our regular patient, so I want to go the fuck home & get this over with" syndrome. Because that was insanity.
On the way home, Murphy tried to kill me several times.
A 55lb dog jumping up at the dashboard is not for safe driving.
After I dropped her off at the house I went to CVS to get my medication. Because, dammit, after that day I needed it. I also got cokes. In my tiny little cart.
Then I LOL'ed because after I took them out of the cart, I saw this in the CVS cart.
I'm easily amused. Except by wet spots on my shirt. That shit isn't cool.
Later that night, Murphy & Buddy both took their magical flea pills. And they really are magical because within a couple hours, a few fleas were up at the top of her coat. And like a sick, disturbing person, I sat in the floor & picked them off of her. We're monkeys like that. But I put them in tissue & disposed of them, I didn't eat them. I promise.
Murphy enjoyed this bonding.
This was almost 2 weeks ago. Since her adventure (well, ours), she's gotten alot better. We continued what we were doing for her & she stopped digging as much, which let things heal. Though her hair is still thin in the areas that were balding, she's no longer bald looking in places. So basically I should have dropped in on my vet, got a flea pill for $20, & kept the stuff we were doing ourselves at home up. I'd saved like $80 & all the insanity. But I can't complain, I'm a sucker...uh...I mean an animal lover. The things we do for our pets.
Like NOT dress them up. I love them too much to shame them.
...unless it's Halloween & we're giving out candy. Then I usually shame them, but only a little.