On Our Way To Crazy

I think Miles is kind of depressed. Possibly because someone stuck a stick up his butt this afternoon.

I took Miles to the vet today. Holy pajamas, y’all, that is an experience. The problem is this – Miles hates the car. HATES the car. But I don’t think he knows he hates the car. I open the carrier? He hops right in. I put him in the car? He’s totally fine. The car moves? END OF THE WORLD.

So we’re in the car. I am driving and singing along with Ben Folds and trying really hard to drown out the wailing and gnashing of teeth that’s going on in the backseat. We drive the thousand miles to the vet (that we unfortunately LOVE, which sucks because it’s not all that close to the house) and I put the leash on Miles and get him out of the car and into the building. I’m trying to talk to the girl at the desk and get checked in. Miles is shaking from head to toe and plotting his escape.

The exam goes mostly okay. Miles, contrary to his general demeanor, is pretty mild-mannered at the vet. She gives him shots, pokes around his ears and face, and sticks the aforementioned stick where the sun don’t shine. We were almost done. And then I made my tragic mistake.

See, Miles has been a little limpy lately. Nothing crazy, but he favors his front left paw every now and then and lets his right just kind of hang there when he’s running. So I asked about it. Which prompted an in depth leg exam, including shaving some fur from between the pads on the bottom of his feet. And that’s where it got ugly. My mellow, laid-back, cooperative dog started flopping around like a fish out of water and snapping at the assistant. Snapping at her! Granted, he doesn’t have any teeth and can’t hurt her, but still. Unacceptable.

We managed to get everything checked out and fixed up, finally, her giving me instructions on what to look for and me apologizing profusely. Then I paid them ten bazillion dollars and we were on our way.

I will tell you one thing – if you want a dog to calm the heck down on the drive back home, just hold him down on a table for a bit while someone pokes and prods him and pulls on his feet. He will be THRILLED to get back in that carrier where no one can get to him. Then, when you get home, give him a treat. And give yourself one, too. Like a hugemongous glass of wine.