He was drinking copious amounts of water, foraging even more for food, and lying around exhausted.
Either he was getting to be a middle aged man, or he was unwell.
We decided unwell. Google approved of our decision.
Husband made an appointment for dog with the vet, then, on the day of the visit, he had to work.
Son was already going out, daughter was already out.
Oh. That leaves me to escort said canine to the vet.
Sigh.
I've taken kids to the doctors many many times for years, and many many times for other medical stuff, how hard could it be, really? How different?
Oooohhhh.... That different. *facepalm*
When I go to the doctors, the receptionist looks up and asks who I am, points to where to sit.
Go in to the vet, receptionist looks not at me but at the hound and says "ohh hello milhouse! *fuss fuss fuss pet pet* Aren't you beautiful? And so funny. Does your mummy want to sit down?"
(Note: You really need to know at this point that I do NOT refer to myself as his mummy. If I gave birth to something like that it would be a medical miracle. And I'd be very afraid.)
Note, however, that this happened after we got into the actual clinic.
On the way into the clinic... Oh good grief where do I even start. It's been over a fortnight ... And I'm almost ready to spill details.
Getting him into the car was ridiculously easy. Trying to explain to him halfway to the car that I had the wrong keys and needed to go back inside was the stuff of horror movies. Wailing, begging, hunkering down... Dragging the lead... (Uh yeah him)...
Then he thinks he's people so shouldn't sit in the floorwell.
Well. He sits there now.
Score one to me.
As soon as I opened the car door outside the clinic and grabbed hold of the lead, he leapt out. He trotted nicely along the path through the gate towards the door.
We looked like any normal pet owner and pet, really.
The dog looking for all the world like a normal dog. Me looking like I was holding a lead.
He saw the open clinic door. And shook his head madly, dislodging the lead. (Still don't know how)
He ran inside the door, leaving me to collect the abandoned lead from the path. He raced into the reception area where he was greeted as described above.
He then ran around sniffing everything in sight and scratching the walls, the chairs and the weight scale while I was picking up the contents of my handbag that he'd knocked out of my hands; then the packets he pushed off a shelf. He then raced out of the room, down the corridor, though the clinic, through the staff room and into their kennels.
Where he sat waiting for me to find him.
The clinic cat sat on a bench looking rather alarmed at the unwelcome visitor.
Even the receptionist was amazed. And amused.
I was furious.
Had he been a child, I'd have been tutted at, had whispered comments about naughty children, bad parents, ADHD, WHS standards and repercussions, etc. by anyone in attendance.
Because he is a dog, he was 'cute'. Not even remotely naughty or disobedient, even though I had called him several times and his claws scratched me when he wouldn't be held.
He was called 'nervous'. I called it 'painful'.
I reattached his lead, lifted and carried him back to the waiting room, and sat with him on the ground firmly wedged between my legs waiting his turn. I wished I could distract him with a book or a look out the window as I could with a child.
They still called him 'excited' and I had to remove him from the waiting room while another family brought their dog out, as the staff were worried about them meeting. So was I, so was I. He had become 'that dog' and I reluctantly 'that dog's owner'.
So anyways, after reaching the treatment room, there was only a bit more trauma (for me) as he tried to dislodge his lead, climb the furnishings and explore... This including my receiving praise for how much he loved me because I had him so calm (HAH!!!) while they extracted blood....
and a quick blood test ruled out diabetes, but they sent his specimen away for more testing.
Inconclusive results but we're pretty sure we know what's wrong. Apart from having a ratbag attitude, that is.
He sits nonplussed, I am in fear of ever entering a vet clinic again.
The lizards in the backyard are still endangered as are the birds, butterflies and garden. His stupidity knows no bounds, and his desperately seeking sustenance from empty breakfast cereal boxes continues.
As yet, my brother's dog still holds the record for bizarre behaviour (it pooped out a whole sock) but since Milhouse heard that story a few months back, he appears to have taken this record as a personal challenge.
Weirdo.
