Adventures at the Vet

My dog Chunk is an 80 lb. black Labrador retriever. While away on a business trip my wonderful boyfriend offered to keep him so I wouldn’t have to pay for a kennel. My boyfriend has two large dogs as well – Zoey an Aussie Doodle; and Zephyr a Scottish Deer Hound – so it made sense that Chunk would have a fun time vacationing with the Z’s while I slaved over work in Spokane.

My boyfriend called me when I was away to say that Chunk seemed to have an ear infection because he was shaking his head and his ears smelled bad. I told him that I would make a vet appointment and take him in when I got home. I had been home just a day and realized Chunk was also likely constipated. After a quick Google search, I learned that pumpkin would remedy the pooping situation but I still would need to take him to the vet. I called the vet once more and bumped his appointment up by a day.

We left for the vet a little early and was greeted by the receptionist where I was asked to have him stand on a scale. Now, anyone who has ever encountered a lab knows that they are made of all springs and fluff. Getting this big oaf to stand on the scale – with all body parts on the scale at the same time – was no small feat. We weighed the back end of him, the front end of him, the both of us on the scale but with one paw off and finally after a lot of coaxing with a treat he didn’t even want; we got him on the scale. He had lost 2 pounds since January which proved to me that our recent running regimen would also work for me if I could just stick to eating bland food.

Anyhow, the nice reception lady ushered us into exam room 4 where we would just have to wait a few minutes for the vet and technician. Ten minutes later a very nervous looking veterinarian entered the room. Chunk walked over to greet him and I extended a slobbered hand in salutation. He spoke in a very kind way and had a general look of concern for my dog but I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that this man might be afraid of the Chunkinator. I thought, if you can’t make it past a Labrador, what do you do with the other larger more aggressive dogs? Little did I know that his chart indicated he was that large aggressive dog. Apparently there is a doctor/patient privacy act when it comes to K-9 behavior with veterinary staff. Had I known ahead of time he was a jack-ass I would have sent my boyfriend. But I digress…

Dr. Nice Guy bent low to the ground and held out a tentative hand for Chunk to sniff. Chunk got really still and then leaned into me. The vet reached for Chunk’s big black lips and attempted to examine his teeth. They were somewhat orange looking based on the pumpkin I had been feeding him so I made a mental note to purchase a Sonicare toothbrush and cruise the internet for some doggie white strips. As Dr. Nice Guy tried to get a good look, Chunk let out a warning growl (much to my amazement and somewhat pride) and the vet immediately backed away. As a courtesy, I apologized for Chunk.

Next he decided to try and feel Chunks belly and tail. I thought to myself, I am not a veterinarian but my instinct tells me that if someone doesn’t give you access to their face, their rear end has got to be off limits. But I wasn’t the professional here, so I kept my mouth shut. As soon as the doctor reached for the rear end of my dog, Chunk let out this awful growling snarl and nipped his hand. I didn’t think it was an actual bite because I didn’t see blood but it was enough to startle Mr. Nice Guy. The doctor again stood up and stated that he would need to take my dog in the back room to be able to examine him. I figured this is a nice way of saying, We need to beat your animal into submission so that we can then heal him. So I handed over the leash and away Chunk went.

I sat in exam room 4 for about 10 minutes by myself and there was absolutely nothing to do in there and the cell service was spotty at best so there was no updating my Facebook status or Words with Friends games. I decided to count ceiling tiles in case there was ever a trivia question about this topic and then started on the floor tiles. I was almost done counting the Q-tips in the jar on the counter when the door opened and the vet technician led the team through the door.

Excited to have company in exam room 4, I enthusiastically greet them with, Oh, did it go a lot better back there? The tech looked at the floor tiles*, and then I saw Chunk – with a smiley face printed muzzle around his snout. That asshole. Doesn’t he realize what a terrible owner I look like when he acts like a frickin animal? I raised him better than this.

“What happened?” I asked the doctor.

“Well, he got a bit aggressive with us back there so we had to muzzle him.”

“I’m so sorry!” I look down at Chunk. Then I start thinking about this muzzle situation. This could really benefit me. I wouldn’t have to keep food off the counters at home, he wouldn’t bark when I was on the phone, and he certainly wouldn’t do that weird heavy breathing thing in my face while I was driving. Maybe I needed to look into one of these contraptions. But then, why stop there?? You know how many annoying people I encounter when I go out? I could just muzzle them up and slip a straw in between their lips and they can drink their beer and I can enjoy my night out without listening to them. This thing has endless possibilities!

I rearrange my face so that I am looking less excitable and more sorrowful.

“So what’s next doctor?” I try sound like one of those worried pet owners that you see on Animal Planet. I don’t want to look like a complete dick that I think the muzzle is cool.

“Well, he needs his shots still.”

Damn it! Why didn't they do that while he was in the back and they could muscle him around? The vet then instructs me that I am to “hold” this beast while he shoots practical arrows into his rump. I really want to know how many Q-Tips are in that jar now. Why can’t these people take my dog, go away and bring him back new? I straddle Chunk like the moose he is and brace for impact as I know this to be a bumpy ride. I wonder, how buck can you get with your own dog before they would think about calling the equivalent of Child Protective Services on you? I know from experience I can body slam him into submission – I have bathed him a time or two.

The first shot is attempted. I can practically hear Chunk yell obscenities at the doctor as he bucks and huffs and puffs through his muzzle. He is jerking like a bull at a rodeo and I am holding on for dear life. Then I hear the doctor say, I missed. What?? We have to do this again? The doctor is standing there with a wild look in his eyes and a needle in his hand. He eyes Chunk and Chunk’s brown eyes widen in fear. I tighten my grip once again and bury my face into his neck. Again, the rodeo bull is bucking and thrashing and in a finale of bucking he rears his head and knocks me straight in the jaw. I see stars and an instant headache starts pounding in my head. I reach for my chin and I can already feel a lump forming. Neat. My dog just totally chin checked me.

The next two shots are less eventful and the doctor gives me instructions for Chunks care. After all the commotion I forget that he can’t poop and both of his ears are infected. I buy every prescription imaginable and some treats to hide the pills in and after paying a grand total of $236 to have my dog beaten, molested, stabbed and have my jaw crushed, we head back out to the car. I need a coffee, a nap and an ice pack.

*Probably trying to out-count me, but I already committed the number to memory. 55.

My Burning Curiosity with Bikini Baristas

I decided to resurrect Adventures in Dacialand after a long hiatus due to a Bikini Barista stand by the name of Blendz Girls moving into my little Podunk of a town in Nowhere Western Washington. I would like to start this article by clearly stating that I, in no way shape or form, care whether or not scantily clad ladies are hanging out in a box on downtown street US of A. However, I would also like to state for my readers out there that I am rather Fascinated by these businesses and I will tell you why. My only hope is that some lovely lady at one of these stands would read this and answer all of my burning questions.

In a past life I worked as barista – one which required me to be fully clothed. What I really want to know is when these girls wake up in the morning to go to work, are they really arriving at 5 a.m. in lingerie? Now; as a young(ish) woman, I can’t tell you a time when I was actually excited – nor looked good – nor felt comfortable – wearing lingerie. In the past if I actually felt the need to wear such clothing, I would wait until evening (when it was pitch black outside with no chance of light for hours), there were no chance of guests dropping by my house to visit, I had had a few boxes of wine and after evaluating the garment for a long while – mind you this stuff sat in its Victoria’s Secret* bag for months if not years before its “big reveal” – I would finally muster the courage to adorn it only to yell at my partner to shut the damn light off and to quit looking at me while I dove under the blankets only to take the lingerie off and fall asleep due to the wine. So really – 5 a.m. with daylight around the corner, strangers and coffee (not wine)?

Secondly, I like my co-workers. They are decent human beings. We all work together because we don’t have a choice and we are all committed to the long haul. However, all of that being said – I don’t ever want to see ANY of them in anything less than a bulky turtleneck sweater, trousers, and more layers of clothes due to the excessive air conditioning in my office. I don’t even really want to be able to differentiate between male or female co-worker. So, when these girls go to work, and their box partner is wearing, let’s say a thong and pasties – where do you look? Do you compliment her choice in blue pasties rather than red because they bring out the color in her eyes? I just wonder how awkward that is. I would like to note here that I also have a phobia of naked people who walk around gym locker rooms for the sake of it being a gym locker room and they are allowed to be nude. I agree their nudity is slightly more appropriate; however I stress the word slightly.

Staying on the topic of clothing…I live in Western Washington. It isn’t a part of the country that I would necessarily consider “balmy”. In fact, I wear *yawn* office attire to work and most of the time I am wrapped up in my wool dress coat and Snuggie, shivering in fingerless gloves while I type. Tomorrow morning, the temperature outside is supposed to be 34 degrees at 6 a.m. How do these girls not freeze when they go to work in fishnet leotards and go-go boots? Are the boots that insulating? If so, I would like someone to post a link to where I can purchase a pair for my own wardrobe – seriously.

Still on the costume kick – how much are these ladies spending on these get-ups? They are like mini-celebrities in that they can’t be caught twice in the same outfit. As any woman knows, lingerie is ridiculously expensive (which baffles me, but that could be another post entirely). So are they able to write that off on their taxes or does their employer supply the costumes? I can hear it now, “Bambi, tomorrow you are going to be a sailor and Buffi, you are going to be red riding hood – but a slutty red riding hood.” And my biggest burning question, do they stop by the store on their way home for a gallon of milk in their crotchless teddy? If so, I have some single guy friends that would like to know which grocery store they frequent. (Bambi and Buffi, if you are reading this, you can PM me.) J

I understand that you can earn really good tips by showing some skin. I am totally not that out of touch with reality. In fact, if my employer offered that, I might ditch the Snuggie. (Heavy on the might.) However, what kinds of men are tipping that money? I am venturing a guess that women don’t frequent these barista stands as their hate messages clearly imply they won’t be taking their mini-van and ten snotty children for a stroll in the drive-thru lane, so we are left with men. I would also like to remove men who respect (fear) their angry mini-van wives, gay men, and you’re left with single men before 8 a.m. and then bums and criminals for the rest of the day. Do these women really want to interact with this type of clientele? I would guess the answer is no, considering they are attractive women and have “bubbling personalities”**. If I were them, I would rally for a bodyguard and/or bouncer.

As a customer, I would like it advertised better when there is a bikini barista in the area. I am a total lookie-lou and would love to do a drive-by of these establishments and then tell all my friends about them. However, the name “Blendz Girls” doesn’t tip me off to what the business actually is. Just as there is a male bikini barista stand in Bremerton named, “Banana Hammock”. I was disappointed that these men didn’t sell bananas or hammocks and instead I got stuck with a crappy cup of coffee that was overpriced. Please, to anyone who is operating one of these businesses, name them appropriately. Edmonds, Washington was smart with theirs and named it “Java Jugs”. I get that nomenclature.

Finally, I would like to end this post on a serious note, I hope all these ladies are safe, don’t burn their pretty body parts with scalding hot water, and enjoy the crazy career that they have started – Go get those dollars naked ladies! You earned it!

*Ross

**Direct quote from an adoring customer on Facebook.