I take my dogs to the vet more than I go to my general practitioner. And they cost a whole lot more than a general consultation.
Ruby, my beautiful Bichon Frise, has a regular appointment for a urinalysis and an anal gland check. Yes I know, too much information, so I will just call it a wee and a bum squeeze and leave the rest to the imagination.
I’m on a first-name basis with my vet these days. Considering that I probably paid a good portion of her mortgage in the first half of last year, it is not surprising but she still insists that I collect the urine sample myself. The logic of this escapes me, as the end result is the same and she’s the one getting paid.
For the privilege of the do-it-yourself urine collection, I have to follow my poor dog around with a small tray for days before I can catch her in the act. She’s become so paranoid lately that not even her favourite treat can coax her ‘to go’ when I am within a twenty-metre range of her back end. A recent attempt resulted in urine everywhere but in the designated receptacle and a spooked dog who wouldn’t come near me for 24 hours.
I’m surprised that I haven’t been asked to perform the ‘bum squeeze’ myself but there’s a surcharge for that one so I guess I won’t be standing in the way of a profit anytime in the near future – for which I am extremely grateful.
My dog, for her part, conducts herself reasonably well, although she does try to crawl under the table and hide the moment she walks in the door. She’s seen enough bum action in the last few months and she knows what’s coming, so I can’t blame her. It’s the aftermath that’s the problem.
She won’t talk to me for hours after we get home. I guess she feels a bit ‘put out’ and wants to share it around. Whoever said that a dog can’t reason or understand has obviously never owned a dog.
She is off the hook next month. I have to take her brother, Angus, in for a teeth clean. As he is the drama queen of the pair, I can’t wait for the epilogue.