Freakout!

Gotta take the big dog, Tralfaz, to the vet this morning and not looking forward to it. He goes batty in there, and it's getting worse with age. Constant vocalizations -- not barking, just a loud, whiny "Ror ror ror ror!" on heavy rotation. Don't really know why.

This is just a routine thing, just checking his nails and ears (history of summer ear infections), but for all he knows he's getting another "operation" or at least getting a thermometer shoved up his rear. He can't even stand getting on the scale. I mean, I feel the same way about the scale, but you can't fat-shame a dog.

What I have to do is get him inside the building just far enough to sign in and let the receptionist know we have arrived; then we stand outside so he can freak out in the lawn by the parking lot until we are called, at which time he runs inside like he's a kid going to an ice-cream social with Batman and Spider-Man and all the Disney Princesses, and then the freakout continues right where it left off. Because he isn't unhappy or reluctant to go to the vet, just very, very agitated.

Don't be fooled by his calm exterior;
this dog is wacka-ding-hoy.

I wind up sitting in the little exam room yelling over his vocalizations to the deafened vet techs.

Really, when it's over I feel like I've run a marathon.

The interesting thing is, if they have to take him to the back area, where no owners are usually brought, he will quiet down. I have to wonder if all the prior hullabaloo comes because he thinks he's protecting me, trying to get me out of this dangerous place; once he can't see me, he thinks I'm safe. I can handle this, but YOU, Dad... You're in peril!

I don't know. I just am grateful that the junior dog doesn't mind the vet so much. He never makes a lot of noises. Although one time when they had him on the table and they gave him the thermometer, he gave me a shocked face, like, YOU KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?

That's the way it goes, kid -- we all get it in the end.

Ah, puppies! Ah, humanity!