I hate taking Zephyr to the mobile vet clinic. It’s way too hectic for my sensibilities. The yelping, chaos and anxious energy of the dogs–or maybe it was me. I’m not sure.
We finally got to the doc, a handsome guy. (I took in a ten second vision of marrying the doc and settling down with our trio of dogs. My imagined ideal: marry a vet.)
This guy blew that idea right out of the hot tub. Arrogant with a capitol A. I am overly cautious about the way people treat my dog. How they approach him, pet him, relate to him. If it isn’t good, I will forever be leery of that person to the point of writing them off completely. It’s that simple.
The doc man started out okay, at my council. Zephyr has slipped disks in his back, arthritis in his legs and feet, and he doesn’t like to be grabbed at, especially by strangers. Well, who does?
The doc was too forceful, in a hurry, impatient. Zephyr whelped through the roof, backed out of the tourniquet and began growling. I stopped everything. The doc called Zephyr a “chicken” . . . a chicken? Really? That’s your response to an animal who has no idea what is happening other than being grabbed and stabbed by a stranger? Dude, you’re an asshole. On my hit list, you’re now tops. Congratulations.
When it was over I rushed Zephyr to the car’s safety, then hugged him until he squirmed. I desperately wanted KFC. (Anxiety wants junk food. I’m not sure why.) Instead I did a little mantra and went to the nursery. I bought too many veggies for my small garden–4 kinds of tomatoes, cantaloupe, sweet corn, Japanese cucumbers and something else, I can’t remember. I had the same frantic, junk-food-yearning energy, but I came away with life affirming plants. Om…
Still, this incident is an amazing reminder. People have actually said to me: “Well, you’re not a mom…” and I want to stab them with a kitchen knife. The truth is I AM A MOM. I am a mom. There is one ferocious warrior inside me that will not be messed with, especially when it comes to mine–my niece, my dogs. Don’t ever go there.
Meanwhile, there’s a Sacramento veterinarian, with a nasty voodoo spell on his head.
There are some gang bangers that cruise the liquor store down the street. It would give the boys something to do. See how the doc likes to be bound up and stabbed with needles. No? Really? “Chicken.”