TheBanyanTree: Visiting the Vet

[Monique Colver]

I have an old dog. She's so old that every time she sneezes, or sighs, or
looks at me just that way . . . which way could mean any of several things,
like 1) give me an ice cube, 2) give me a snack, 3) let me out, 4) let me
in, 5) rub my belly, 6) ouch, I panic and ask if she's okay. She finds this
annoying so I've made an effort to not be so bothersome.

Sunday I noticed a lump on her left side. She's never had lumps before. Her
winter coat has arrived in all its glory, and it's thick and soft and thick
and did I mention how thick it is? So thick that it's amazing we could tell
anything was underneath there at all, including the dog herself. I myself
am subject to lumps, the biggest one of which I have fondly named
"stomach," because it is my stomach. But mostly my lumps are harmless. The
dog is much older than me though, at least in dog years (and yet, when I
first met her, she was much younger than me, which makes me question the
nature of time) and so any unexpected issue calls for immediate attention.

I was all set to be reclusive this week, since I spent the weekend sick and
am making every attempt to recover, including taking vitamins and lounging.
That, and my knee is wrecked, so I'm staying off of it now and then. But I
made an appointment with the vet, and since Andrew's working today, I put
Honey in the car to take her to the vet.

Vets make her nervous. Vet offices freak her out. So it's always a good
time. We sat in the waiting room, near the back door, away from the front
desk. Of course, then she thinks she can leave, since the door is so
 close, and she's not above shoving her way out. But I tell her to sit, and
I pet her and tell her what a good dog she is. And she whines, and she
cries, and it's as if we're at the entrance to hell and she's certain I'm
going to throw her into the flames at any time.

Other waiters compliment her on her astounding good looks, and to this she
whines. I kiss her soft furry head and tell her she's a good dog, though
she's not, but it doesn't really matter.

When they call us in she goes hesitantly, thinking that perhaps it's
another exit, but then we get into the room and both doors are closed and
she turns to me and says, "It's a trick! I've been tricked again!" By again
she means, when we left the house earlier I told her the two of us were
going for a spa day.

I can't believe she falls for that every time.

Dr Eric has learned to check her out while she's on the floor. No more of
that silly lifting her up onto the table. The slippery metal surface really
freaks her out.

I show him the lumps, and he finds another, and then they lead her out so
they can stick a needle in and see what it looks like. I'm fairly certain
it's nothing more than lumpy fat deposits, the kind of thing us old people
get, but better safe than sorry I always say.

When I'm not saying other things, that is.

Honey came back shortly, none the worse for wear, and Dr Eric confirmed the
best case scenario -- fat deposits. He told her what a good girl she was,
because she was, she likes Dr Eric, he pets her and tells her how fabulous
she looks, and we discussed her general state of health which is, even at
her age, outstanding.

We drove home, after I boosted her into the back seat. She's in great shape
for someone her age, but she doesn't jump like she used to. But neither do
I, so that's okay.

Now she's napping, but me, I have to get to work.

Monique