Around 10:15 She finished checking email and web stuff and drinking tea, and put on her contacts and some make-up. Normally this means She's leaving the house for the day. But I sensed something was up, and that something involved me, because She sent Lola downstairs to his office, separating us. Hmmmmm.
I began considering an escape. Down the stairs and through the front door.
Suddenly She appeared with my red leash. Goody--a walk! Except--She forgot my extremly cute and very becoming matching red harness. And--here was trouble--She attached that leash to my collar.
Now, I enjoy going places. And if Lola was staying home, clearly we weren't going off to the kennel. So I cheered up and went obediently to the garage and expectantly climbed into the car.
We rode by the field where the 4 appaloosas graze.
It occurred to me then that this is exactly the same route we take to the kennel...whenever They are going to England or Ireland or some other place They can't take me and Lola. But Lola isn't here, so what gives?
At the fork in the road She turned right at the sheep farm instead of left (the way to the kennel). The horrible truth dawned upon me--we were only a few hundred yards from...oh no, not the vet!!!!
Maybe, I thought, we're just paying a friendly call on Dr. Fiona.
Nobody else was in the waiting room but us. Then Dr. Fiona opened the door to That Evil Room and called my name. Seemed like a really good time to get back in the car...but I was on a leash and had no choice. Just give me credit, please, for not peeing on the floor this time, okay?
The vet and her nice assistant don't even try to put me on an exam table any more. They let me stay on the the floor while carrying out their torture. I stiffen up pretty good, but they aren't deterred. My heartbeat is checked, then my ears and eyes. I get poked and prodded to see whether I have any bumps growing or swellings. Nope! Then alcohol is rubbed on me, followed by needle jabs--one of them sucks out blood for a lab test of some sort. Then liquid is squirted down my nostrils.
And to top it off, my toenails had to be cut. I hate that--hate it!
Eventually the bad stuff ends, and the fun stuff starts. Dr. Fiona gives me a treat--two treats. (Maybe I get the extra for not peeing on her floor!) And I do like being weighed. And guess what--I'm down to 74, meaning I lost 2 whole pounds since last year! I can afford to eat 2 treats.
Wagging my tail, I say "bye, and no hard feelings" while She pays the bill. Then it's back out ot the parking lot. I climb into the Mercedes and we're off. Back past the sheep, the dairy cows, the Jersey calves, the appaloosas...up the hill and down the hill and past the lake and we're home.
Lola sniffs me all over to figure out where I've been. All that icky rubbing alcohol--it must be obvious.
She tells Him how truly good I was, and how wonderfully healthy for my age. And that I lost 2--count 'em, 2--whole pounds.
I spend the rest of the day napping, mostly. I deserve a break.