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.