Saturday, 28 January 2017

The Consequence of Night Time Vomits

Bundled into the car by the master today at 9.15am, we were soon bouncing along the motorway, then country roads, eventually stopping at a car park I'd never been to. I poop outside as soon as I can, such is my opinion of his driving skill. I think he sometimes forgets I'm in the boot. He says he doesn't want to be late. I say, 'then leave earlier'.

Anyway, with all the new smells around me, I leave my spoor everywhere to remind the locals of my visit, even crossing a bed of shrubbery to pee on a particularly fragrant plant. The master isn't amused as he has to follow me and people are looking. It's an affluent area where the locals respect the footpaths and don't use rockeries as stepping stones.Then we follow the main road for a while until he stops and opens a shop door. 

It's the vet's. 

My nose is overwhelmed by all the smells, particularly that of fear. My rear starts to tremor worse than an epileptic alcoholic with the DTs. The master reassures me, then tells me to behave. I reckon he's scared a confused vet will treat me for alcoholism and epilepsy and not the real reason I am there: vomiting.

You see, for a few nights now, I've been jumping off their bed and puking on the bedroom carpet, bringing up undigested omelette that the master shared with me for breakfast (he adds an extra egg so I get my fair share). I thought I was being respectful throwing up away from the bed. They didn't see it that way. They became increasingly irritated. I can't help it if my tummy doesn't puke to a timetable that fits in around their alarm clock.

The vet checked my weight - the same, despite being starved for 24hrs; my teeth and gums; then my temperature. Bear in mind this is the first time I have met the woman and off she goes with her thermometer probing areas not even my tongue has ever breached. I am not amused. I climb up on the master, who is assisting the molester, but his grip on me is firm. A minute later the vet woman removes it and calls me 'hot'. Yeah, well, your compliments are too late. Next time, I expect dinner and a date before I'll allow you access to that part of my anatomy again. When she starts squeezing into my stomach, I've had enough. I growl then snarl until she desists. 

By this time the examination table is wobbling like an earthquake, such is my shaking. 

She pulls out three syringes.

The shaking gets louder.

The noise reminds me of the last time I was in this surgery: when my chance of having pups was taken away. I also remember that this is where they put us to sleep. I am not ready to die. I've still got a new toy that needs the stuffing pulled out of it. My life is not over. 

My hackles rise, allowing her to jab me in the soft bit without too much discomfort: antibiotics, anti-inflammatories then antacids, injected one after another. When I'm lifted off the table, I make for the door but the master and the vet want to discuss my dietary needs over the next few days, plus he's oh so interested in the medication.

By the time we get out, there is a waiting room full of annoyed canines, who bark their irritation at me.

"Do hurry up. Some of us are properly ill." That's posh designer dogs from a well-groomed area for you. 

I tell them to 'Woof off' but I'm in a minority here and they are bigger than me. I change tack and sit quietly, longing to be outside again, away from the stink. 

I'm relieved to be taken home. I'm on a special diet now and off the morning omelette. Life isn't fair. Just to be awkward I spit out the tablets I've got to take for my stomach. And if they think I'm waiting an hour before breakfast because of medication, they can shove that idea right up their own thermometer probe area.   

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

A Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

"You could have been killed!" screamed the master at me from the roadside.

It wasn't my fault. I heard 'Right' (which is universal shorthand for 'Right let's go') and I went. How was I supposed to know Jess had decided she wanted to sniff the letterbox causing her lead to get tangled with my extending lead handle, making the lead's lock click off? I walked across the road and, as he yanked me back, the lead cord just zipped longer. The master looked back at me to find me staring back at him from the middle of the road as a white Skoda Octavia's brakes screeched it to a halt. If I'd known it was that easy to make traffic stop, I would do it more often. I'm like a brindle crossing.   

The way he related the tale to the mistress you would have thought it was a drama. I didn't know the vet's was closed because of the holiday. I think if he'd made any more of it, he would have needed the hospital himself. I'm sorry he got a fright. I'm not looking to get a new master just yet.

Later, when he felt better, he joked if I had been squished, it would have been the perfect time of year to pick up a replacement. In the Post-Christmas Dog Rescue Sale there's always lots of choice and plenty of puppies. 'Christmas leftovers' he called them. I didn't think this was funny. If he'd said it on social media, he would have been flamed by dog lovers across the world, except in China. There, dogs are not just for Christmas, they're for Christmas dinner. Plus, for those so inclined, there's the bonus of four legs. I wonder if the Chinese butchers team up with puppy farms prior to Christmas, offering a shortened life in return for an all-u-can-eat dog treat buffet. 

I checked out the menu at a 'Buffet King Charles Spaniel' restaurant in Beijing. They offer multiple canine meal deal options: a 'Chihuahua for one', a 'Labrador for a family' and a 'Newfoundland for visiting Americans'. I think it was a joke. Newfoundland is in Canada.

Westerners don't eat dog for psychological reasons, because we're their best friends. It's frowned upon to eat carnivores.There's a lesson for cows, pigs and sheep. Eat other animals and humans will stop eating you.