Shakespeare was back at the clinic today.  I heard him coming too.  He really barks a lot; "I'm here, I'm here, pet me, pet me"  was mostly what he said.  I guess his heartworms didn't slow him down at all.  In fact, Vonnie had to give him an extra-special pink treat to help make him sleepy. So much for that.
Bea and I had hoped that the treatment for heartworms was over after last month.  Not so.  According to mother, they don't want to kill the worms too quickly.  Imagine that, keeping worms alive on purpose: tasty, squiggly little worms.  Mother says if the worms die too quickly that Shakespeare could have "an anaphylactic reaction", which means drop over dead.  As much as I get tired of hearing Shakespeare howl on and on, I wouldn't want that to happen.  So he spent the whole day here again: bark, bark, bark, one quick poke in the back and then bark, bark, bark.  I really don't see how the worms could even want to live in his heart, I can barely stand one day in the same clinic.

Another day at the clinic and some of the sick pets are starting to look, and smell, too familiar. 
Fluffy, the white wonder dog, comes in every day now to get her wounds cleaned and new bandages put on.  Mother has some crazy way of tying the bandages on so they don't slip off.  Fluffy says she's tried to get them off, but it's no use.  She says it feels good when the bandages get changed because things are starting to get itchy.  Mother says that's a good sign.  The Fluffster definitely has more spring in her step, so I think she's "out of the woods" so to bark.  But to me, being a dog and all, I think I'd rather be in the woods.  There's so much more to sniff and chase in the woods, it just sounds like good times.

In the afternoon, a shrunken little cat named Lady came for a visit.   She smelled sweeter than red syrup, or yummy lean treats.  She had a smell like the crunchy crumbs from the muffins on Friday mornings.  During her visit with mother, she kept yowling, " I"m so hungry and so thirsty, all I do is eat and drink and still I'm soo hungry. "  Apparently the shrunken cat used to be twice her size and the reason for the visit was to find her missing half.  Mother looked in the red syrup and the marking yellow juice and found her answer.  "Diabetes" she said, as if that word made any sense to me.
Hearing mother explain it, the problem has something to do with sugar, and Lady not being able to use the sugar.  Sadly, Lady's parents were too upset about the news to learn how to help her, so they took Lady home leaving mother with the worried look.  I do not like the worried look. 

Next, Candi came for her last visit.  She had fought the battle against the thing trying to take over her tongue, and lost.  Mother helped Candi and her mom say good-bye one last time.  I know that I would be sad to never see my mom again, but the people are always talking of the Rainbow Bridge and about everything being peaceful and getting to chase rabbits, so I don't think it can be all bad.  Of course, I'm in no rush to find out either.

Ruben's face -- part two

This weekend mother had to go back to the clinic early on Saturday morning.  One of my boy pals that I've written about before, Ruben, was having an emergency.  Not a typical emergency I guess because there was no running around the house frantically eating breakfast.  Mother said that we had to go help Ruben with his face.  Not again, I thought, how much of the metal can they put in one dog? 

I knew that Ruben would be fine from the minute I caught his tail wagging as I entered the clinic.  He had a small amount of the sweet red syrup on his face, but not enough for me to get any off the floor.  Also, he was not howling like he was the first time, when he was broken face Ruben.  This time he kept wondering why everyone was looking at him.  Mother checked him out, but now that Ruben is always so worried about his face, he had to get the pinch just so that he would hold still!

Mother had to get the vibrating hair scissors out and remove some hair off of Ruben's face.  I don't know why you would want to make the sores on your face to stick out, but mother seems to like them that way.  Ruben had to have a couple of other pinches too, one to fight off "infection" and one to reverse the sleeping medicine.  I guess Ruben needs extra of the fighting off medicine, because if he fights off infection like he fights off Bosco, he needs all the help he can get!

As for Bosco, he sent a little note along with Ruben, because I think Bosco knew I would be blogging about this again, and I guess he's tired of getting all the blame.

The note was simple and to the point, it read: 

I have lived in this house long before the barking, biting, wagging, fluffy Ruben came here.  I go where I want, when I want and am the only dog trusted to be left out of a crate when my people leave. I tolerate the barking, I tolerate my mother fawning over the Ruben, and taking him places only I used to go, but I will not tolerate any tasting of my treats or my squeaky rubber balls.  I have told him this many times and he does not listen.  I have taken it upon myself to teach him the ways of proper dog etiquette.  For this I do not apologize.  -- Bosco.

After reading this note and looking over at my best friend Bea, I realize how lucky I am to have a best friend like her.  It sure doesn't hurt (no pun intended) that she missing most of her teeth.

Another Friday, and Sweet Sally was filled with happiness and joy. I think if she had a tail it would have been wagging. She got to do some of her very favorite things today. Brutus and Daisy the fluffy pomeranians came in for their monthly sharing of anal gland essence. Sweet Sally loves her some anal glands. Another of Sweet Sally's favorite things is to pull fur out of dogs ears. Some of the really hairy type dogs like poodles and schnauzers grow hair in their ears as thick as the hair on mother's head. The humans really covet this trait and grab and harvest it until not even one strand remains. Sweet Sally not only enjoys it, but she's good at it too. Today, she pulled out a wad of hair about the size of my head!


Later that afternoon, she seemed especially tickled as she came out of one of the exam rooms. “That dog just couldn't help but fart while I trimmed his nails”, she giggled as she cleaned up for the next patients. “And I don't care who you are.... farts are just funny.” Sweet Sally observed. Apparently, farts are funny because this statement, said completely straight-faced, led everyone in the room into laughter. As a dog, I can fully admit that we envy you humans your laughter. As dogs we love to have fun, and live to have fun with our people – but laughter, that is something I can only dream about.

So tonight, I plan to find out just how funny farts are, while lying right next to my dad.......

Today mother had a day off.  I knew it was a day off when we got to go back to bed after dad left for work.  I almost never get to go back to bed.  Usually, my human sister, Anna, wakes up when we do and from that point on in the morning, I'm being carried, brushed, dressed and paraded.  But today, dad took Anna to school so Bea, mother and I trotted happily backed to bed.  Of course the peace and quiet didn't last long -- even in dog time.  Vonnie was calling from the clinic.  A sick dog had come in as an "emergency" and they needed mother's help.  Emergency must mean run around and eat breakfast fast because that's exactly what we did.

We barely had time to finish our kibbles when mother finished her rain shower, dressed us all and shuttled us off to the clinic.  I expected to find everyone rushing around;  maybe some red syrup puddles or wailing dogs.  The place was suprisingly quiet when we arrived.  It was only after Bea and I got settled into the apartment that I figured out why we were there.

A white dog named Vixen, about the same size as Bea, was hunched up in the corner of one of the upper apartments.  Her breathing was fast and shallow -- not the panicky kind of breathing, but the way you breath when it hurts to do anything else.  Every few minutes she would grunt, move around, switch positions and curl up again.  Her voice was weak, and straining, and with every breath I could just make out, " I gotta go, I really gotta go".  But despite her groaning and straining and pushing, nothing was coming out.
I overheard mother and father talking:  "She's obstructed.", father said, "and I've taken x-rays and I don't see any stones".  Apparently this was a problem, because mother and father both had the worried look, and the smell of fear started to waft off of them.   Mother is not one to stand around too long though, and soon she got to work -- setting up all of the beeping machines, and the tubes and wires.  It didn't take much pinch medicine to help Vixen sleep.  I really hoped that she would be able to get the yellow marking liquid out in her sleep, the way Bea sometimes does.  I could tell mother wanted the same thing because she tried lots of different ways to make it happen.  Vixen was moved all around the clinic when she was asleep too -- from the humming picture table, to the moving picture machine that tickles your tummy with the white goo-covered stick.  After spending what would have been several days in dog time, mother finally said. " This just isn't working, I can get a tube in but nothing's coming out!".  So Vixen woke up from her sleep.   Some of the pokes that mother gives make you feel happy even when you are sore, and Vixen wasn't complaining about much when she woke.  She had been dreaming about swallowing a large egg and she was sure that it was stuck inside her.  Vixen's mom showed up while Vixen was still going on about getting the egg out.  Vixen's mom was really sad, and had lots of water coming out of her eyes.  I heard mother say that Vixen was getting "referred to a specialist".  I don't know what that means, but by the end of the day mother and father found out that Vixen was never coming back from that "specialist:".  I made sure that I went outside later and marked a little extra yellow juice just for her. 
So I guess that the story of Vixen is that if there are any dogs, or cats, out there with yellow marking juice problems don't keep it to yourself, because it might be too late.  Some dogs would be afraid to leave yellow juice in the house and get in trouble, but if it helps people like my folks find a problem before it's too late, then I say go right on their bed if you have to.  That's my motto.

Mother really had a "long day" today.  It felt the same length to me.  Same time spent in the apartment, same amount of time cleaning Bea's ears, same afternoon potty break and same snacks.  I did see lots of toenails go flying around the clinic today, so I kept holding out hope that I would get to snack on some of those as well.  Since I have some extra time on my paws, I often look out for the toenail bits that get snipped off and watch where they go.  That way when I get out of the apartment at night, I can find an instant snack!
So mother's day was "busy".  She did seem occupied with lots of different things today.
The morning started with a procedure: a tall very-fast-looking muscle machine type dog got her teeth cleaned and one of her thumbs removed.  I guess she had ripped her thumb a couple of times before on things around her den because she would run so fast and not pay attention.  I was lucky to get that much out of  her because before her procedure she was shaking and drooling so much that most of what she said didn't make any sense.  I never even caught her name... maybe something like Sunshine.
After lunch, Fluffy came back in.  She had some wag back in her tail and seemed to be feeling better.  The smell of old meat still seemed to follow her.  Mother worked on her sores, and had to do some cutting and wrapping.  From the look on Sweet Sally's face, I could tell that it wasn't pretty.  The most amazing thing about Fluff's story is her unbelievable sweet toughness.  Mother, Vonnie, and Sweet Sallly barked and howled on and on about what a great patient she was.  I think even Bea is impressed by Fluffy, and that doesn't happen very often.   Although, I may just be confusing Bea's interest in Fluffy, with an interest in Fluffy's used bandages.  Bea can be sneaky that way.  Don't worry, if anyone gets to get their mouth on tasty used bandages, it will be me!

Bea and I spent another day lounging at the villa at the clinic today.  As bad as our Monday turned out to be, Tuesday wasn't much better.
Fluffy came back in to have a small tube removed from her leg after last nights ordeal.  Sweet Sally calls it a "catheter".  Mother and her helpers leave the tubes in legs just in case they have to give more pokes and pinches, because for some reason having one of those in your leg makes it not hurt so bad.  Of course, the tube in Fluffy's leg was the least of her worries.  She looked like Bea does if I play with her non-stop for a couple of hours -- flat out exhausted.  But Fluffy wore an expression of pained endurance; wincing with every move she still struck me as the bravest cottonball I'd ever met.  She never once tried to bite the people that worked on her.
All of her tubes and strings were still in place all over her body, but I detected an odor of rotting meat.  It's a fabulous smell when it wafts out of the garbage.  When mother's not looking, I do everything I can to get into the garbage bins and bags to eat whatever it could be that smells that good.  Humans tend to heat up all of their food, but if they would just leave it in the garbage for a few days, I can't imagine that it could taste much better than that!  I realize that I don't know much about what my mother and father do to help dogs and cats, but I knew that the smell coming from Fluffy wasn't a good one.
Later that day another dog came in with a similar scent. This was a big hairy red dog.  I think her name was Candi -- but it came out sounding more that Camthee when she said it.  After a little sniffing around I figured out why.  Her tongue had a large, purple, sick but yummy smelling swelling on it.  Mother had seen the swelling a month ago, when it was smaller.  Tests had been run, but the outcome was that nothing could be done to really help Candi.  I'm not sure if the humans know how important our tongues are to us, and if they would dare remove one, swelling or not.  Unfortunately for Candi she was having a hard time getting food and water into her mouth now.  Somehow, mother knew this and gave Candi water under her skin instead of in her mouth.  There was definitely an air of sadness in the room with Candi today.  I got the sense that although the sinfully fabulous smell of rotting meat will bring dogs running for miles, that when that smell is coming from you, it's a cause for serious concern.
I spent the rest of the day wondering what life would be like if my tongue stopped working.  I mean, who would clean Bea's ears?

Mondays!  No one seems as happy for Mondays as me!  Don't get me wrong, I like lounging around the den as much as the next dog, but after a few days I'm ready to make an impression on the world again.
Mother never seems as happy about Mondays.  We get to wear our work clothes and head off to the clinic. 

Dad says "At least there's football", but I don't understand what that means.  I don't get any new balls on Mondays, and none that smell or even taste like a foot-- believe me I would remember that!  I love to lick feet!

A cute little cottonball of a dog came in to the clinic today.  She wasn't happy that it was a Monday either.  When she first arrived she was dazed, and shaky.  She had holes all over her back and sides, and little pieces of meat and fat sticking out too.  She was breathing fast and smelled of fear and sticky red syrup.  Mother said "the poor little girl's in shock".  Most of the team had left for the day, but Vonnie and my dad went to work to try to put the little piece of fluff back together.  She wasn't talking, so I decided that Fluffy would be a good name for her.   Fluffy was one tough cookie too:  she got tubes and wires connected to her, and then she took a nap for a bit while doctor dad removed some of the dried-up looking meat pieces and used string to hold together the rest.  He also put some long strips of plastic under her skin,  "to help it drain", he said.  After my parents were done with her, she had more holes than when she came in, though she did smell a lot better and her breathing had returned to normal.

Fluffy woke up as quietly as she had gone to sleep and I had new-found respect for white little cottonball dogs.  Fluffy mumbled some things after she woke; talking about her whole chest being sore, about the giant black dog that bit her over and over thinking she was a rabbit, and only once wondering where her mom was.  The fluff dog did get to go home that night, but I knew that it was going to be a sleepless and sore night for her.
After everything at the clinic was clean and tidy again we got to go home.  When we finally got home Bea was upset that our dinner was late.  Dad missed his football.  I couldn't help but think of poor Fluffy and all her wounds -- too sore to even lick them. 
I realized that I was right after all -- there are a lot worse things than Mondays.

Fridays are supposed to be fun!  And for the most part they are.  I was able to find lots of tasty muffin crumbs, so from the start the day was looking up.  Nicky the chocolate lab came back to have more of his syrup taken, over and over all day.  I overheard mother and Vonnie discussing something called "Cushing's" disease.  Now I know that Nicky has bubbles all over him (the ones that mother couldn't pop last time) but I don't know why he needs cushions.  He's got lots of extra padding as it is.
Vonnie wasn't really at work today; she just brought Nicky and picked him up at the end of the day.  I thought he talked a lot when Vonnie was working, but that was nothing compared when she leaves him.  You would think that he was abandoned.  Of course, it didn't help that Bea had to chime in:  " I was left like that once.  Thought I was just staying for the day.  Come to think of it, that was the first part of my trip to get here."  she said with a wry smile.  " But I like my new mommie..." she added.  Boy, that was it.  Nicky yelled none stop for the rest of the day.  Sometimes I wonder if the cushions are in his head?

So the clinic is back to humming with the sound of wagging tails and purring cats.  Never a dull moment here.  Today, Crash, a young boy Visla came in for his first procedure.  He didn't seem very smart.  He drooled a lot, and stepped on everyone's paws including his own.  But he must have had some kind of sense that he was at the clinic for a reason, because he was not going to go quietly.  He had a rope for leading people around his neck, but instead of his doing the leading he planted his feet and tried to drag the humans backward.  When Vonnie crouched down to hold his head up, he would roll over.  When they tried to keep him on his side, he would stand up!  Everyone thought that he was just being difficult, bulldog-headed as some might say.  Sweet Sally just figured that Crash was smart enough to have figured out that he was set to get some pinch medicine, and was fighting to get out of it.  I, on the other paw, have unique insight into the communications styles of the dog, and I speak canine body language better than anyone.  Crash was having fun. 
Some dogs grow up always rough playing with their brothers and sisters.  Bea yells at me at least once a day when I bite her too hard.  It's just fun to get a rise out of her!  I never really get to play with the people like that though.  Sometimes my dad holds me down when I nibble too hard in the mornings, but I don't ever get to fight back.  Dad's just too strong.  Today I saw what real strength was;  Crash was being held on the front by mother, on the back by Sweet Sally, Vonnie was working to cover his mouth with a blue mouth-closer and Dad was figuring out how to get in on it too.  That boy jumped, played, twisted and turned.  Finally, Dad gave him one big pinch in the back end and it was game over.  Crash slept so quietly after that too, long after his procedure was over.  I took a long nap myself after all the excitement.  Tonight, I think I'll pretend to be a Visla when Bea comes around the corner.....

Wednesday, Sept. 16th

My day was very busy.  First of all, Bea got taken away to someplace called the groomers. To hear Bea tell it, the groomers is a loud, scary place filled with dogs, hair and buzzing machines.  After a long soap treatment Bea is made to stand, have warm air blown on her for hours and then have all her hair removed. 
I am so lucky to be naturally cute, and not need the hours of work that Bea does to maintain her beauty.
With Bea gone, I had to watch over the clinic all by myself. It isn't easy to warn every dog when they come in that if they don't behave, they'll have me to answer to.  Especially without Bea as my back up.  But perservere I did.
My dad spent his day putting thread into a holey Bichon, made that way by a pushy neighborhood Rottweiler.  Mother was in and out:  in long enough to give me my own soap treatment, then out long enough to have a really bad day.  So, I juggled -- growling to keep the visiting pets behaving, consoling Bea when she thought her grooming made her head look too small, and looking just cute enough to melt mother's heart when she looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
Some dogs look at me and think that I have such an easy life -- believe me when I tell you that I just make it look that way.

Slasher the sad Police dog

My mom and dad had recently become friends with another family – two dogs, two people. The people, Stephanie and Steven, were police officers, and their dogs, Switchblade and Slasher were what the people referred to as “canine officers”. These dogs were unlike any dogs I had ever met before.
Switchblade was a Dutch Shepherd, and he was every bit as frightening as his name would suggest; big eyes, big teeth and a very big voice. He walked like he ruled the world and as far as I was concerned he did. When Switchblade came in to the clinic, he decided what was going to be done. If he didn't want the beeping machine up his back end, he didn't get it. When mother needed to get some red syrup, she had to wait until Switchblade gave her his paw --- everything was on his terms.
Slasher on the other hand, seemed to be missing something. He didn't talk much, or walk with the same attitude that Switchblade did. He was a German Shepherd and, to me, all of those Shepherds just look alike – big. There was something about Slasher that made his size a lot less scary. Maybe it was the way his ears lay back against his head, or the way his tail never moved, or the fact that I didn't feel the need to run and hide when he looked directly at me.
Today, mother and father went to have afternoon kibbles with Stephanie and Steven, so Switchblade and Slasher stayed at the clinic. Stephanie and Steven never left the house without their dogs, whether they were working or not, so it always worked out well that the dogs could stay with us. Bea had no interest in the big dogs, but I couldn't help but be fascinated.
After the people left, I finally got the chance to find out why Slasher acted the way he did.
Switchblade did most of the talking, I think he liked the sound of his own voice – I mean really, what self-respecting dog doesn't. Switchblade told me that he and Slasher used to police the entire town. There wasn't a bad person or dog in town that didn't respect their authority. If a child was lost, they would find it, if a bad person was running away from the human officers they would run him down and take a few nibbles just for good measure. I have to admit, Switchblade made it sound good to be a police officer. Knowing that you could do good, fun work everyday, keep the people happy, and get rewarded all made my tail wag at the thought.
Switchblade continued to talk until he fell asleep, and finally Slasher started to speak up. “It's not all as good as he makes it sound” grumbled Slasher, referring to Switchblade. “He doesn't just follow the rules, he makes his own rules, and sometimes he makes more trouble”. Slasher admitted that he used to follow Switchblade with complete devotion, playfully doling out the canine authority. Then one day, one of the dog trainers was on the other side of the flashing red and blue lights. Officer Steven had pulled over one of the dog trainers; he had been driving the roaring tire machine all over the road. Steven and Switchblade handled the situation, but since the dog trainer was known to them both, nothing was done. The trainer was allowed on his way. It wasn't until later that night, when Switchblade and Slasher were out for their nightly bathroom runs that the consequences of their leniency became evident. The trainer lived just down the road from Stephanie and Steven, so no one thought twice when they saw his car coming down the road. Even Switchblade and Slasher knew he would slow down when he got close. But not that night. The trainer hit Slasher and just kept on going. “I was in the hospital for two weeks after that. I was sleepy most of the time and my belly hurt a lot. I felt really weak and my tail has not been able to wag since. I know that Switchblade and my dad were just trying to help the trainer out that night, doing a friend a favor. But I was trained in the dog academy that we follow the rules for a reason, not just for the people we don't like, but to keep everyone safe. My whole body hurts every day now, so I have a constant reminder of that. The really sad thing is that Switchblade still to this day doesn't realize that he did anything wrong. He would do a favor like that again, just because he can. It's like the power has gone to his head. Makes me glad I don't work anymore.”, grumbled Slasher.
After hearing Slasher's story, I was really glad that mother treats sick dogs and cats for work. That way, at least I know that I'm safe.

Monday, Sept. 14th

I simply do not understand humans sometimes. They will run and hide when the rain is falling down from the sky, but every morning they go into a special room and stand in the rain on purpose, without any clothes on. Most mornings mother has to drag me out of bed first thing to go outside, but on mornings that we don't go to the clinic she gets all upset when I try to wake her up. The humans just don't make sense.
A cat came in to the clinic today, that told the same story. It seems that this cat was "blind as a bat", or so his owner said. Now, I've never met a bat, but they must bump into walls and stuff because that's what this cat was doing. The funny thing was that this cat thought that the blindness thing was the least of his problems. He'd been trying to tell his owner that he wasn't feeling well for the past month. He told me that he'd been hiding, and letting his coat go without grooming it to give his owner some hints. I have to say that cats don't make a lot of sense either. When my belly is upset, I have no problem going right up to my mother and bringing up my entire breakfast at her feet. That way she knows I'm sick, and she has to rub my belly and check me all over.
But this cat, just went away quietly while the silent sickness took over. I could smell it inside his belly. Mother quickly knew it too, and told the cat's dad that it wouldn't be long.
So in the end, the humans didn't do anything; no pinches, no tubes and wires. There was a lot of soft talking, the kind I have a hard time overhearing, and some water from the cat person's eyes. The final result was that the cat got to go back home. I wonder if I brought up my dinner on mother's lap if I would get to go home too. I may have to try it.

Friday

Friday, Friday, Friday! I love Friday! I don't know why but mother says so, so it must be true. Fridays start the same as any other day. But on Fridays there is a warm feeling in the clinic, more smiling and it's the only day to find tasty muffin crumbs on the floor.
Fridays are usually the day when the fewest number of pets visit the clinic. Today was no exception. Vonnie brought Nicky her chocolate lab, to help keep us company. For a big dog, he really acts like a puppy! He follows Vonnie, whines for Vonnie, and shakes a lot when my mother does her testing. Nicky is covered with bubbles all over his body and mother tried her best to pop every one of them. None of the bubbles would pop, so after nine tries, she gave up.
Becky came for her weekly bath. I still didn't a chance at her eye goop, but it's always fun to watch another dog get the soap treatment. Better her than me, I always say.
The day was pretty uneventful until the end. Irwin the golden retriever came in to pick up some medicine. But instead of the normal panting and shaking that the nervous dogs have, Irwin was awake one minute and fast asleep the next. He must have been dreaming instantly too because his legs were running, his mouth was chomping and drool was flying everywhere. Most dogs don't sleep like this in the front of the clinic and pretty soon everyone was out there to watch. Mother put some liquid medicine up Irwin's back end, and then he was awake again; dazed, but awake. Irwin stayed with us until the end of the day. He was really confused and kept wondering how to get home. "Home, home, home" was all he would say. What felt like weeks later, his dad came to take him home. Why he fell asleep at the clinic, instead of his own den is something I'll never understand.
All I can say is that I hope mother doesn't try waking me up like that tonight. Maybe I'll sleep under the bed with Bea.

A Beau for Bea

There was only one visitor staying at my clinic this morning. His name was Thor. I'm not really sure what kind of dog he was but he seemed long and pointy in every direction. He was already at the clinic when Bea and I made our morning entrance. I think my whole body was the same size as his head. He brought that big pointy nose right down to us in greeting too; not in an angry way, but in that gangly curious way that some of the young people have. I am very forgiving of these kind of introductions and usually just raise a paw and give a cautious tail wag so no one gets offended. Bea, on the other paw, is not always so forgiving, but today was a different day. She did not snap, or crouch away. She just took two curious sniffs and proceeded on to our villa with a notable shimmy to her gait. Later Bea told me that the large dog was a boy dog, and he had boy parts that reminded her of her days at her first home. She said that there was a time when a boy like that would have got her really excited, but for some reason she just never feels like that anymore. I, of course, had no idea of what she was talking about.

Thor was at the clinic today for a procedure. He took his pinch like a real dog though; never so much as a whimper. He must have had a lot to fix too because he went from the no-non-sleepy-dogs allowed room to the water table with all of this tubes and wires. Mother worked on his belly parts and his teeth parts. He woke up like a champ too; none of that whiny “I want my mommy” stuff that so many dogs go on about. Thor was regal, and tough. I was just starting to think that Bea must have some good taste if she fancied a dog like that. It wasn't until he stumbled by later, hopping a little as he walked because of the sore spot between his legs that Bea noticed something was missing. “His boy parts, he's missing his boy parts!”, she panted. And that was it, as quickly as the acceptance had come, it left. Bea was no longer smitten. Just as well I thought, only room for one dog with my Bea.... and that's me!

The worst dog they'd ever seen...

My story today, is not about what happened at the clinic, but who. He was not the biggest, or the hairiest, the strongest or the worst smelling, he was not even the meanest dog ever to enter my domain. What he was, was the most determined. I think the people misunderstood him though. All of the technician helpers got the concerned looks on their faces, and each took on their own fear smell. Mother wasn't so much afraid, as she was cautious, but concerned nonetheless. Hannibal was his name. He was a Belgian Malinois, at least I think that's what he was saying: he was saying so many things when he came in that it's hard to remember it all.
The visit should have been a quick one. Mother just likes to introduce herself to the dog and to his family, and then do some of the touching and poking tests that sometimes tickle. Well, Hannibal would have none of it. When she said “Hello”, he growled that he was “Not interested.”. When she said, “Can I just listen to your heartbeat”, he yelled, “Never, never, no, no, never, never, no”. At this point, pretty much everyone in the room became stiffer, the fear smell grew stronger, and I could tell that Hannibal was just starting to hit his stride. Soon, Hannibal's mother, his father, and his older brother were hugging him, trying to reassure him, and trying to hold him still. But the more they held on, the stronger Hannibal's resolve grew. “I will not be held down, you can't restrain this, I'd just like to see you try” he rumbled as he twisted and turned, bucking each family member off in turn.
By this point, mother had backed off, trying to find another way to approach the crazed canine.
She seemed to have shaken off the fear smell, and had replaced it with one of my favorite smells – liver snacks. Bite sized, marvelous bits of yum!! Clearly, Hannibal had tried them before because his body seemed to soften too. Mother approached him cautiously with one delectable tid-bit in her hand and before I could lick the drool from my lips, it was gone. Then went another. Pretty soon, Hannibal was sitting and wagging his tail. Mother handed the bag to Vonnie who continued to keep Hannibal busy sniffing and gobbling goodies. This allowed mother to finish her examination of the dog. Completely unaware that he'd had anything other than a good snack, Hannibal and his family went on their merry way. Some people think that every dog has to be held down and forced into submission. Hannibal's lesson is that not all dogs think alike, and so not all dogs should be treated alike. Also, liver treats can go along way to making us dogs forget about stuff. So liver treats for everyone... that's what I say!

A Rose by any other name....

Not much going on at the clinic today. Mother was worried after the long weekend that we might see lots of pets that had gotten into trouble. Maybe dogs are getting smarter and just not causing the havoc that we usually do.
Not a problem. It gives me the chance to address a topic that has been kept quiet for way too long. I am referring to our sweet smelling scent sacs – or anal glands, as my mother tends to refer to them.
Contrary to some opinions, these sacs produce the most intriguing and appealing and useful substance known to dog. The most popular use is for marking the den and surrounding lands. For me and Bea, this involves covering ground at both the clinic and our den, so we are kept very busy. Each time we produce the brown nuggets a thin coating of sweet smelling sac perfume is left behind as if to say, “Veronica was here”. Sometimes Bea and I have a contest to see who can make the most. I usually win.
The other use for the sweet smelling scents is to help us stay calm when we are nervous. Unlike those very smelly black and white cat-like creatures that skulk around outside of our den, our sacs are not intended to be sprayed to ward off enemies, but rather to emit a cloud of calm, happy aroma to soothe all that encounter it.
I know that the scents are highly sought after by people. It seems like every day dogs are brought in to the clinic to have the sacs squeezed so that people can get their hands on our valuable nose candy. Just one look at Sweet Sally’s face when she’s getting ready to harvest the puppy perfume and you would see how coveted it is. I think some dogs enjoy their own scent too much and are always licking and rubbing to make more come out. Obviously these dogs have more than enough to share, so bringing some to the clinic I guess is understandable.
I’m not sure why no one ever wants to squeeze mine. I wonder if maybe I don’t smell as good as I think I do. Nah, not possible!

Long Weekend!

This was definitely a long weekend! We stayed at the den for days on end.
Now, I realize that as dogs our concept of time is not the same as it is for people. For dogs everything seems to take a long time; like when mother makes breakfast or dinner, it seems like it takes forever! I sit pretty, do my best dancing and gently tap her leg over and over in the hopes that she will hurry up with the food before I completely pass out from the hunger! And when mother leaves the den without us, Bea and I have to sit in our snuggle cave until she comes home, it seems like she's gone forever! Bea and I have a dance that we do to welcome her back home. Mother always appreciates the dancing and gives us all back scratches.
Anyway, I think this weekend was a particularly long one. This was due to the fact that we had a visitor at the den. I don't know much about her because mother and father kept the little one all to herself in the raining room.
Mother saw the little dachshund puppy, named Lacey, at the clinic last week and Lacey was sick, sick, sick. I didn't need mother to tell me that. The puppy was slow, and cold and her eyes seems to sink back in her head. The rumble sounds from her belly could be heard from the back of the clinic. She had long strings of cold drool hanging out of her mouth and she smelled of red syrup and liquid nuggets. Last week, there was a stiff, hard lizard that slept in the same spot upside down on our patio, and this Lacey puppy was starting to smell like that. Bea told me to roll on the lizard and that way we would never smell like that ourselves. Mother always yelled at me when we tried to do it though.
So Lacey stayed at the clinic the first day, but she had to be in the special room because mother said she had the Parvo. But despite the Parvo, when it came time to come back to the den, she brought the puppy with her! She didn't even ask me and Bea if it was ok. After all, it is our den too. But knowing mother even if we'd said no, she probably would have done it anyway.
The puppy stayed in our raining room all weekend. They took up all the rugs and made the whole place smell like soap. Mother and father would go in every few hours to change the papers, make sure that the water bag was still running in to Lacey's leg and give her pinch after pinch. Little Lacey was one tough cookie though because she never cried. Maybe it was because the pinches all went in to the same spot on her leg – where the bandages and tubes were attached. By the last day, it seemed like all of mother's work started to pay off. Little Lacey stopped gagging up the white foam and started wagging her little tail. I could hear her belly less and less and her heartbeat more and more. Pretty soon, mother was breaking out the food in the can – the stuff Bea and I never even get to have – and the puppy couldn't seem to get enough. After all that, you would think that Lacey would have been thankful, but yipe, yipe, yipe is all she would do.
So it was one long weekend for more reasons than one, and I'm happy that Lacey got over her Parvo, but I'm really glad to have her out of my den!

It's not often that I get to tell a story with a happy ending; my tail wags just thinking about it.
I have noticed that people seem to be very concerned with the way things look. For dogs, looks are something we rarely think about. If it's not functional, it's generally not worth worrying about. Some of us have warm furry coats built to handle cold weather, and yet our people, out of concern for the hair we leave behind, insist on removing our beautiful fur only to leave behind skin that feels prickly and sharp. Then there are some dogs like my friend Buddy the Bichon who can hardly see because of all the hair in his face.
Today at the clinic a long haired cat that I call Fishface, or Missy as it's known to it's family, came in to have a “lioncut” done. A lioncut is what they call it when a cat gets all of his hair removed with the buzzing machine. Now to say that this cat was unhappy to be here, would be like saying that Bea likes to eat breakfast -- clearly an understatement. Vonnie was very careful not to upset Fishface and placed her inside a clear box that got hooked up to the procedure machine. Pretty soon, Fishface was not upset anymore, in fact, she was not even moving any more. Vonnie made quick work of the hair leaving only the fluff around the cats' face and one little tuft on the tail. I'm pretty sure they leave that to make it easier to chase.
After the fur was removed and the procedure machine was all tucked away, Fishface starting moving again, and returned to her usual angry demeanor. Since I have the perfect coat that never needs to be removed, I don't know how I would feel about having it all gone. I can tell you that each cat handles it differently – some seem to relax and appeared relieved, while others act down right insulted. Fishface was mortified. When Missy's family came to pick her up, the young one with them had the water coming from her eyes, and smelled of sadness and salt. She had been told that Missy was being put to sleep when she was here, which is what had caused the young person to be upset. I couldn't see why sleep could cause such sadness, especially since I sleep several times a day. When Missy got to see her people again all of the sadness seemed to lift: Missy forgave them for removing what she had insisted was a beautiful coat, and her people were happy to be reunited with their beloved cat. In the end, it seemed that everyone agreed that appearances sometimes take too much focus, and that the most important thing is to be together with the ones you love.
Luckily, I'm lovable no matter what!


Note: mother wanted me to dedicate this blog to her best friend, Kim. Wet kisses to you Kim!

It's not as easy as it looks

This blog is the first sad story I've had to tell. You see, despite my happy-go-lucky life here at the veterinary clinic with my mom and dad, not everything that happens here is fun. Today was a perfect example of one of those days.
The morning started out as any other with dog and cat visits; lots of wagging tails and barking banter. Thankfully, we had completed our lunch trot around the building, making sure all the the right spots were appropriately scented, when the sick cat came in.
I know it was sick because he wasn't moving, or breathing, like any cat I had ever seen before. Instead of a normal cat voice, he had a low gurgle that seemed to bubble as he breathed. My mother and her team quickly surrounded him and soon, out came all the tubes and wires. The look on my mother's face was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. She was worried. What exactly what she was worried about I wasn't sure, but it's not often that I see her worried, so I knew it wasn't good.
Once all the machines were set up, the cats' breathing seemed to calm down, but then so did all the other parts of him. With each breath he seemed to be saying, "Rest, just rest". I don't think mother speaks cat any better than me because she did everything but rest. She kept looking first at the sick cat, then at some books, then at the machines and then back to the cat. Soon another cat arrived and red syrup was being taken out of one and then given to the other.
"Rest, just rest... just rest" was all that cat would say with each labored breath. Before long, that's just what he did. I heard his heart stop before mother did, and still the worried expression never left her face. I thought that she would have been happy that the cat got what he wanted. As she talked into the black button machine on the wall, I could see her sharing the story all over again.
It's weird that the cat was the sick one, but everyone else seemed to be feeling the pain.
That night at home the water came from mother's eyes, and I did my job and cleaned her face and let her hug me. Although I wish I could have done more to help her today, I know that my very presence that night was enough. After all, this is me we're talking about.

Heartworms. That's why Shakespeare was here today. Heartworms. Neither he nor I knew what that meant. I'd heard mother talk about heartworms daily at the clinic but still had no idea what they were, or how they were related to Shakespeare.
Whatever they were, they had Vonnie quite upset. She had adopted Shakespeare about 4 months ago. Prior to him living with Vonnie, Shakespeare had lived a wild life in the outdoors not far from here. He was always coming in the clinic trying to spread his scent all over my territory. He used to look so strange too; big fluffy black head and bald along the back. He had so many little bugs crawling on him that you could here their heart beats louder than the dogs'.
It was all Vonnie could do not to steal him on those earlier visits. Mother doesn't realize that many of her helpers confide in me. One look at my face and out it all comes. They just know that I will be able to help. And wouldn't you know it, but next visit, there he was, being handed over to Vonnie. Shakespeare's parents couldn't keep him anymore, and they knew that the little black dog would find a perfect home with Vonnie.
Of course, Vonnie agreed out of blind love and then began the work of nursing him back to health. This process started with her taking nugget and red syrup samples. Shakespeare took it like a dog though, and didn't cry once. “Hookworms AND Heartworms” was all we heard the rest of the day. Vonnie couldn't stop barking and howling about hookworms and heartworms. Again, I wasn't sure what it meant, but I knew it wasn't good.
Worst of all, I was worried that whatever it was, Shakespeare was going to give it to me! Bea assured me that her and I were both safe. “We take a brown yummy once a month and we're protected.” she said. I couldn't understand why, if it was that easy to avoid whatever it was that made Vonnie so upset, every dog didn't do it. According to Bea, “It's up to your people. They have to know to give it to you. That's why dogs bring their people here to the clinic, to learn about that stuff.” Sometimes the sheer volume of information Bea has astounds me.
So, today Shakespeare was being treated for heartworms. He'd already been on the humming table for heart pictures and now was the day of his pinch.
I watched as he got the poke with the metal stick. He cried a little but then he didn't fall asleep. In fact, all day long he just yelled at Vonnie to pet him, and to take him outside and to feed him and to brush him... I don't think he stopped yelling all day! It took everything I had not to join in. As we were leaving for the night, Shakespeare said his back was sore, but all in all, he felt fine. I'm glad Shakespeare got to get rid of his heartworms, and that he found a happy new home with Vonnie. I just wish that his treatment had cured him of his voice too.

Life is never dull at a veterinary clinic. Sure sometimes all I do is lie here and daydream about chasing lizards. Other times it is my sole responsibility to protect this clinic from all intruders. Today, two men came to fix the rumble machine in the back; the one the technicians put all the wet clothes in. I warned him when he came in that I was watching him. But I waited until all his work was finished and he was walking back by me to let him have it. My timing was perfect, and my voice hit just the right note to make him jump straight in the air! As expected he quickly left my domain, so I would not have to repeat myself. I honestly don’t know what they would do here without me.

Sometimes, I think they should let me help more. One of the pets that came in today was not as happy as most. It was one of those cats. Now, I don’t profess to be very knowledgeable about cats the way I am about most things. But this one was especially difficult to figure out. He began yelling at mother and sweet Sally from the moment they entered the room with him. Sally must have been especially concerned because she layered on some thick green hand coverings before going in. I don’t know why the cats would prefer those to being petted with bare hands, but then again cats don’t make a lot of sense to me. One time, a wise old cat came in to the clinic. I tried to play with him and he just wanted to smack me in the face. Now I like a good game of face smacking as much as anyone, but I sensed that his intent was different.

Anyway, I don’t speak cat very well, but I can discern a lot just from how things are said. That cat was yelling at the top of his lungs all sorts of things like: “Get your hands off me”, “I didn’t say you could touch that”, and “Just wait until you take those gloves off”! I just knew that if I had been allowed in that room that I could have straightened the whole thing out. You see, most pets don’t realize that mother doesn’t really want to hurt them. It just looks that way. Finally, the visit ended without incident. The cat crawled back into his mobile home and didn’t say another word. Sadly he did not leave behind any of those tasty nuggets that they make. Oh well, maybe next time.