Today was Voodoo's annual vet exam. And in typical Chaos Demon fashion, he used the opportunity to humiliate me completely.
It started in the waiting room. Voodoo was the first appointment of the day, so the waiting room was deserted except for us and two receptionists. And of course, that's when Voodoo decided to have an attack of flatulence. Repeatedly. And very loudly. So now I'm trapped in a waiting room that stinks to high heaven, with two snickering receptionists and a happy dog who is tooting like an off-key trombone. I want to curl up and die of embarassment.
So then it's off to the scales to be weighed. Voodoo has done this a hundred times before with no problems. But today, he decided he didn't want to step on the scales. So he dances around the scales, jumps over the scales, and in general makes a fool of himself and of me--who happened to be bragging about how far the monster has come along in obedience. Well, we finally get him on the scale. He is a svelte 68.7 pounds. Good boy! The vet tech kneels down to give him some loving. He wags his tail, presents his rump for scratching, and farts loudly. Right in her face. Tech about falls over laughing while I'm babbling apologies.
Time for the heartworm test. That means blood drawn. Once again, Voodoo has done this a bazillion times before. Vet tech 1 gently restrains The Vood with an arm around the neck. Vet tech 2 squirts some kind of antisceptic liquid on Voodoo's foreleg, and inserts needle. The demon immediately screeches, screams and squeals like he's being killed. He jumps and jerks the needle out. We pet him, calm him down, and try again. He starts screaming again as soon as the tech squirts his leg with the liquid. The liquid, for heaven's sake!
Vet pokes his head in to see which dog is being tortured to death. He comes in to do the deed himself. This time, Voodoo starts howling and shrieking as soon as the vet tech restrains him. So the vet waves her away. Vet simply picks up the leg and draws blood. No restraint. Voodoo sits quietly and perfectly. We decide that Voodoo is just not in a touchy-feely mood today.
Fortunately for my sanity, nothing else happens. The rest of the exam goes perfectly. The vet pronounces Voodoo to be the picture of perfect health. Voodoo struts out of the exam room with a wagging tail and a grin, completely unfazed, and says goodbye to all the staff as usual. The receptionists still can't stop snickering. I'm still utterly mortified and embarassed by his behavior. Thank God we don't go back for another year.
*sigh* Why can't I have a normal dog?
It started in the waiting room. Voodoo was the first appointment of the day, so the waiting room was deserted except for us and two receptionists. And of course, that's when Voodoo decided to have an attack of flatulence. Repeatedly. And very loudly. So now I'm trapped in a waiting room that stinks to high heaven, with two snickering receptionists and a happy dog who is tooting like an off-key trombone. I want to curl up and die of embarassment.
So then it's off to the scales to be weighed. Voodoo has done this a hundred times before with no problems. But today, he decided he didn't want to step on the scales. So he dances around the scales, jumps over the scales, and in general makes a fool of himself and of me--who happened to be bragging about how far the monster has come along in obedience. Well, we finally get him on the scale. He is a svelte 68.7 pounds. Good boy! The vet tech kneels down to give him some loving. He wags his tail, presents his rump for scratching, and farts loudly. Right in her face. Tech about falls over laughing while I'm babbling apologies.
Time for the heartworm test. That means blood drawn. Once again, Voodoo has done this a bazillion times before. Vet tech 1 gently restrains The Vood with an arm around the neck. Vet tech 2 squirts some kind of antisceptic liquid on Voodoo's foreleg, and inserts needle. The demon immediately screeches, screams and squeals like he's being killed. He jumps and jerks the needle out. We pet him, calm him down, and try again. He starts screaming again as soon as the tech squirts his leg with the liquid. The liquid, for heaven's sake!
Vet pokes his head in to see which dog is being tortured to death. He comes in to do the deed himself. This time, Voodoo starts howling and shrieking as soon as the vet tech restrains him. So the vet waves her away. Vet simply picks up the leg and draws blood. No restraint. Voodoo sits quietly and perfectly. We decide that Voodoo is just not in a touchy-feely mood today.
Fortunately for my sanity, nothing else happens. The rest of the exam goes perfectly. The vet pronounces Voodoo to be the picture of perfect health. Voodoo struts out of the exam room with a wagging tail and a grin, completely unfazed, and says goodbye to all the staff as usual. The receptionists still can't stop snickering. I'm still utterly mortified and embarassed by his behavior. Thank God we don't go back for another year.
*sigh* Why can't I have a normal dog?
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