Dog, What a Day!

I read once: To give an animal human attributes is dangerous.

Dan has been after me for weeks to take Snap somewhere to have her nails clipped. They had grown uncomfortably long and were affecting her step. We’d tried many times to do it ourselves, but she became defensive and snapped at us. (Hence the name) There are no dog-groomers I trust around here so I made an appointment with the vet.

Logistically, every move had to be thought out very carefully. First of all Snappy does not like to ride in the car. She is perfectly happy being the master of her own domain and riding in the car puts her off. She gets carsick.

Since I was alone, I needed to plan this out perfectly. I moved the truck to the far end of the drive. I brought the Subaru closest to the house. I put a sheet on the passenger seat, my handbag in the floor, the leash on the floor, opened the windows and left the keys in the driver’s seat.

Snappy needed to go out to pee. Perfect! Then she wanted to chase birds - not so perfect. I walked out and caught her tie out rope and guided her to the front porch. “Jump up.” She did. I removed her tether and telling her what a “Good Girl” she is, wrestled sixty pounds of “I don’t like getting in the car” into it.

I kept my hand on her through every country road turn. I talked to her constantly. She could not stop panting or drooling.

We arrived at the Vet’s office five minutes ahead of schedule. I opened my door, grabbed her leash and said, “Come on, baby.” She jumped out, confused by the strip mall parking and the noise and went right into the office. There was a lady with a dog, and a woman with a cat and two ‘Special Ed’ kids that could not talk but loved a new ‘dawg’ to pet. Snappy was already distressed after the drive. I hated keeping her from the hands of those loving children, but I was afraid she would bite them.

It was our turn into the inner offices. I picked all sixty pounds of “I don’t want to stand on that slicky stainless steel table” and put her there. The vet started by lifting her hind leg and snipping at her back claws. Snappy turned around and bared her teeth.

“Ah,” says he. “We’re going to have to give this one a little Mellow Yellow.”

What about her owner?

A quick shot, a lift down and he leaves me – in the room he put my sixteen year old cat to sleep in with a dog that can’t stop panting and pleading with me to “Get me out of here!”.

The shot took affect in ten minutes. She even stopped panting and lay down to sleep on the floor. I got her up, lifted all sixty pounds of “I don’t want to go back on that damn table!” and motioned to the vet she was ready.

He brought the office girl in with him. It’s a good thing.

It took both of us to restrain my poor little scared little sixty-pound mound of anxiety to immobility while he clipped her toenails.

He had to muzzle her.

It broke my heart.

After it was done, I got her off the table, paid the bill, got her out of the office, picked her up from a prone position in the parking lot because “I don’t want to get into that damn car again!” and into the car.

I drove her home where she hopped out of the car and headed straight for the front door. Inside, she absolutely collapsed. I watched her for four hours, making sure she was breathing.

Tonight, she is fine, bright eyed and ready to play.

Drugs scare me, but I have a massive doggy headache, and I’m wondering if the vet has anymore “mellow yellow”. I could use an injection….

…or a good stiff drink.