Wednesday was Dogs Go To The Vet Day. Vaccinations and a couple prescription tweaks. Not for Miss B–she’s healthy as a horse and extremely active. Her only complaint is anxiety around loud noises–thunder, fireworks, et cetera. So she is a ten-minute exam and a couple quick pokes of vaccine, and off we go.
So why, might you ask, do vet visits usually take almost two hours?
Well, it’s Trundles, poor Trundles. He is just so…inbred. And troubled. Furuncles and eye and ear problems, oh my. Not to mention the spinal stuff–his entire skeleton is corkscrewed, poor thing, and sometimes he moves wrong and yelps. When it begins happening more often at night, I dose him with a muscle relaxer to keep things from getting too painful. If he’s had an exceptionally busy day, or has suffered a mishap (like being flattened by an airborne Aussie) it jolts his poor spine something awful.
At least his seizures have quieted down. We’ve managed to arrange his life so the triggers–excitement, turning his nose up at breakfast, certain loud noises or toys that lead him to overexert–are largely absent or he receives soothing right after the triggers to keep him from spiraling into seizure-land. It’s a lucky thing that we have the luxury of arranging things around and for him.
Miss B will suffer the vet because I ask it of her, but she’s always QUITE clear that if it were not for my asking, she would have no part in pokies and examinations. Trundles, who loves all humans (except one or two of the rotten kind) and cannot wait to be petted and told he’s a good boy, is beginning to get the idea that the vet, while full of humans who pet and love him, is nevertheless somewhat unpleasant. He’s five, almost six years old now, and just beginning to get the faintest intimation.
It takes him a while.
The biggest concern is that he’s developed an allergy to something, and that’s why his ears and eyes are so vulnerable to infection, and furthermore while his paws are afflicted with furuncles so badly. Right now he’s on antibiotics, since everything else we’ve tried–epson salt soaks and compresses, Vetericyn washes, cocoanut oil, erythromycin ointments, and others–just hasn’t worked. First we’re getting the infection manageable, then the vet has suggested a relatively new allergy medication. He’s already had the bloodwork for it.
The allergy meds also require a urine sample. Which brings us to somewhat of a small problem.
Trundles won’t pee for them. Hr’s a little funny that way, he doesn’t want to pee unless it’s his own back yard.
So, sometime in the next couple days, yours truly gets to catch a stream of dog urine, fill a syringe, then fill a vial.
It’s a good thing I love this dog.
The vet–she’s a new one– asked how many pets we had, and I explained about the cats and the cavy, and then the Princess–who had accompanied me to keep B from trying to boss everyone in the damn office–said something about squirrels. To which I said, “I’m running out of places to bury rodents.” (There was another roadkill squirrel up the street and…oh, for God’s sake, I am not about to tell THAT story here too.)
A long moment of silence ensued, the vet’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and I wondered if I should try to explain. In the end, I just settled for saying that the little bushtailed bastards are disgraces and a plague upon the earth, but I can’t stand to see any animal rotting at the side of the road, denied a proper burial, and besides, my rose bushes were glad of the extra fertilizer.
I meant it to sound kind, I suppose, but I think the vet now thinks I’m some sort of, I don’t know, squirrel criminal waiting for a squirrel Hannibal and Will Graham duo to solve my burial crimes.
Anyway, that was our visit to the vet. Now I’ve got to coax Trundles to drink some water so I can fill a vial. I’m hoping nothing happens while I’m out there doing so.